by Elise Faber
Stef winced again.
“What?” he asked.
“He’ll scratch your floor.”
He snagged her purse from her, dropping it onto the table where he left his keys. Then he wove an arm around her waist and tugged her close, his other hand slipping into her hair, tilting her head back. “Baby,” he said, “I’m only going to tell you this once.” Her throat worked, and he ignored the temptation of that creamy skin, continuing, “Fred could chew up the couch cushions, could shit on this white rug. He could scratch the floor and dump over the garbage, and I wouldn’t care.”
A breath shuddered out of her, coating his lips.
“Everything here is replaceable. It’s all just stuff. He and you are more important.”
A slow blink, her brown eyes chock full of emotions. “But you don’t know me.”
He trailed his fingers along that throat. “I know enough,” he said. “And I know enough to know that what I’ll learn won’t change that fact.”
She swallowed.
“Okay?”
Her nostrils flared on an inhale. Then they relaxed, her mouth curving into a small smile. “Okay.”
“Friends, too?”
Her lips tipped up further. “We all usually have dinner on Thursday. If we’re all in town,” she added.
“Are you having dinner this Thursday?”
A nod.
“I’m coming.”
“Okay,” she said again.
“Okay.” He brought her a little closer. “And now, I’m going to kiss you.”
“It’s about time.”
Sweet and soft, a flash of fire and spice . . . and red, red lips. God, he liked this woman.
He dropped his head, took her mouth in a kiss that he felt to his toes, that rebuilt him from the bottom up to the top, cell by cell by cell.
Now, he just needed to do the same for her.
Nails clicking on the floor had broken their kiss.
Or rather, their make out session, as their kiss had transitioned from standing in the middle of that rug to the table where he dropped his keys. He’d set her on top, stepped between her thighs, and let their tongues dance together, all while mentally making a note to fuck her here as soon as possible.
Preferably without two dogs nudging at his knees.
Stef was out of breath and looking deliciously rumpled, her lips swollen, and her fingers clenched into the fabric of his shirt.
He wanted to kiss her again.
To not stop.
But Fred—now nudging harder at the back of his knee—was apparently hungry.
Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth away from Stef’s and glanced down at the cute, fluffy cock-blocker. “You hungry?”
Fred’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in a way that seemed to signal the affirmative. Smothering a smile, he helped Stef down from the table, made sure she was steady on her feet. Then he took her hand and led her into the kitchen.
“Come on, pups”—he slanted a glance to his red-lipped, curvy woman—“and Stef. It’s time for dinner.”
This time, her smile wasn’t filled with any uncertainty.
This time, her smile didn’t come after a moment of hesitation.
This time, she just met his eyes, gave him her unhindered smile, and asked, “What’d you cook me?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stef
She was waiting outside the restaurant, trying not to shiver against the chilly air, nerves bubbling up in her throat.
It was Thursday.
She and Ben hadn’t spent a night apart since the previous Friday.
Tuesday he’d come to her place.
Wednesday she’d gone to his again.
Tonight she was going back to his place, had actually boarded Fred for the evening, not that he was sad about getting extra doggy day care time, and Ben had asked his assistant—no VP—Claire to watch Sweetheart for the night.
Because he wanted to take her somewhere after dinner.
Somewhere he wouldn’t divulge.
But somewhere he’d said wasn’t time dependent when she’d worried about the dinner running long and ruining his plans.
He’d merely nuzzled her throat, fingers threading through her hair, and had told her, “It’ll hold if you’re too tired or it gets late. Just have fun with your friends, and we’ll see how it goes.”
And her heart, already vulnerable from that first night nearly a week ago, from the dinner he’d cooked on Monday and brought for her on the other days, from the coffee and bagel and food for Fred, from the other small things he’d paid attention to, had firmly cracked open.
She was exposed.
She was gone for him.
As she’d known she would be three months before, when she’d avoided that coffee date.
As she’d known when he’d left on Sunday, and she’d convinced herself he wouldn’t come back.
And Stef was scared.
So fucking happy and sexually sated and enjoying the hell out of Ben, but she was also scared of what would happen to her when it ended. Still when, no matter if he’d said he’d stick around. Because a week wasn’t enough time for him to find what everyone else had, to know her, all of her, including the parts that made people leave.
So, she was scared for a lot of reasons—because he might—probably would—leave and then she would be broken, because he might not show up that evening or her friends might hate him or—
Knuckles down her cheek.
A soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to show you,” he murmured against her skin, slipping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close.
And that right there was another reason she was freaking terrified.
Because she wanted to believe him.
Was quite desperate to.
Was quite desperate to kiss him, since it had been nearly twelve hours since she’d last had her mouth to his and when he was kissing her, she could pretend that everything was fine and her world hadn’t been tilted on an axis it might eventually topple off, all in a little less than a week.
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, and she shuddered, lifting on tiptoe, her hand on his chest and able to feel the thundering of his heart beneath.
His arm around her shoulders tightened. His mouth came close.
Her tongue darted out, wet her bottom lip, and—
“Ahem.”
Stef startled, nearly flying out of Ben’s arms, but he merely tightened his grip, brushed his thumb over her mouth once more.
An impatient tap of a foot. “Well, are you going to introduce us?”
She stifled a groan, ignoring Ben as he chuckled before releasing her, turning them to face Heidi, who was standing hand in hand with Brad, the former’s tone sharp, though seriously tempered by the utter delight and mischief on her face. Brad, on the other hand, was staring at them with curiosity.
“Heidi, meet Ben.”
Heidi’s eyes narrowed, and Stef couldn’t resist interjecting a little bit of teasing. God knew she’d be getting plenty of it inside the restaurant and for the foreseeable future. It was the way of her friends, to give as good as they got, and since this was the first time Stef had dated anyone since Jeremy, she knew there was to be no little amount of playful banter. Most of it at her expense. “Ben, this is my boss and bully of a friend, Heidi, and her lovely husband, Brad.”
Heidi gasped.
Cora, who was just walking up behind their friend, cackled, her brown curls bouncing. And God, she seriously had the best hair. “Hi, lovely Brad,” she said, kissing him on his cheek. “And bullying Heidi.” She came over to Stef and Ben, narrowing her eyes at the latter. “You will treat my girl like the queen she is.”
Stef winced, opened her mouth to . . . say something.
But Ben merely nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“Good.”
A beat as he extended a hand, his other arm still around Stef’s shoulders as he lightly rubbed his palm up and down her arm, knowing she was nervo
us and soothing her; be still her heart. “I’m Ben.”
Her friend studied his arm then Stef’s face, but after a moment, she shook Ben’s hand. “Cora.”
A breeze kicked up, and Stef shivered, burrowing into his warmth. He nudged her toward the door. “Why don’t you head inside? I can wait here for everyone else.”
It was silly, but they always waited outside for everyone before they sat down at their table. She didn’t know who had started the tradition, but it was kind of nice, all walking in as a big group together. They always made a reservation, usually sat at the same table, but it was different chatting with everyone outside—no interruptions from the waiter taking orders or food or drinks being delivered. Just them and their little circle of small talk before everyone came and voices started getting lost, conversations flowing over one another.
“You don’t know everyone else,” she pointed out.
“I’m sure I can figure it out,” he began, right as Jaime, Tammy, and Kate, along with Kels and Tanner walked up.
Introductions were made, small talk commenced, and though she was shivering through her hoodie, she was loving the anecdote Jaime was telling about a kitten he’d taken care of that day. Ben shifted, slipping his arm away, but a moment later, his jacket was around her shoulders, his arm on top, and she was wonderfully warm.
And surrounded in the masculine spice of him.
She glanced up at him, but his gaze was on Jaime, lips turned up.
As though sensing her look, he glanced down, brushed his mouth over her forehead, and then returned his focus to Jaime, who was getting to the punch line of the little mischief maker clawing her way up his arm to perch on his head . . . and then launch herself on top of the cabinets in the back of the office.
It had taken them nearly thirty minutes to get her down, mostly because she was yowling over her predicament, and all the staff couldn’t stop laughing.
And neither could they, because Jaime was damned good at telling stories.
But eventually they got it together and moved into the restaurant, Ben holding the door for them as they moved inside.
Cora lingered at the tail-end of the group, pausing and studying Ben once more. Only this time, her eyes relaxed, and she rose on tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly before she moved inside.
Stef, trailing her friend, did the same, adding after her thanks, “She likes you.”
Ben winked, ushered her inside.
And then they went to dinner.
“What do you do?” Kate asked, as they sat around the table, beers and prickly pear margaritas in hand.
Stef’s gut seized, remembering the way he’d reacted that first night.
But tonight, Ben was relaxed, his mouth soft and curved when he shrugged. “I’m the CEO at Hunt Inc.”
There were raised brows all around, but Kate just smiled. “I loved the new movie. Did you have any part in that?”
He shook his head. “No. I just helped negotiate some of the distribution deal. Though I can’t even take credit for that. I’m just lucky to have great people working for me.”
“That’s why you looked familiar,” Kels said. “I read an article about you a couple of years ago. Didn’t you build the initial streaming platform yourself?”
Ben nodded. “As clunky as it was, I did. Luckily, I was able to bring on some engineers much better than I to perfect it, and they did such a great job that we were able to transition into creating our own content.” He chuckled. “I’m much better with contracts and ideas than the nitty-gritty of actual programming.”
Kels turned to Tanner. “He’s being modest. He actually revolutionized the delivery system. That’s why Hunt Inc. got so many users. Instead of the menus being so clunky, he streamlined it and made it very user-friendly—”
“We know it’s user-friendly,” Cora drawled. “That’s why we all use it.”
Stef bit back a smile as she studied Ben’s face, and she had the feeling that he was blushing. She squeezed his hand, opened her mouth to change the subject, but Kels kept talking.
“But how did you come up with that algorithm to suggest recommended content? It’s a freaking stroke of genius.”
“Um,” Ben said.
Kels kept going. “No, really. You’ve got to tell me how you came up with the idea for the source code. It’s so much better than—”
Tanner covered her mouth with his hand. “Nice to have you here, Ben.”
Kels’s eyes narrowed.
“Why don’t we let the poor man off the hot seat?”
“Yes, please,” Ben muttered.
“Seriously,” Cora said. “My brain is bleeding.”
Kate, nice as always, tried to turn the conversation to something else. “Tell me about work, Kels. Did you finish your project?”
Kels, the smartest one of them, was thankfully as excited enough about her latest project—something about improving the delivery system for one of RoboTech’s newest drone systems—to get off the topic of Ben’s algorithm she was lusting over.
Unfortunately, her project and subsequent explanation was just as dry.
Which meant that Heidi and Cora listened for about three seconds before pouncing on Stef.
“You owe me details,” Heidi said. “You’ve been avoiding telling me how you met Ben all week.”
She felt Ben look down at her, but she didn’t glance up.
She had been avoiding telling the story.
Not because she was embarrassed, but because having a How We Met story felt like they had a relationship, and then having a relationship—or the possibility of one—had her heart clenching and worry creeping in and—
Ben squeezed her hand.
“I met her outside of Bobby’s. We saw a movie and hit it off, and I’ve been trying to tempt her into spending as much time with me as possible.”
Cora grinned.
Heidi studied him closely. “Why do I feel like there’s more to the story?”
Because there was.
But she wasn’t going to share her breakdown three months before, nor the fact that she’d drunk messaged him on Tinder, nor that they’d only been seeing each other for a week.
It felt longer, and she supposed it was in a way.
In the past, when she had gone on a date with someone, she’d seen them once a week, maybe a couple times a month. Then they parted ways or moved up to twice a week.
She and Ben were on date . . . seven? Maybe eight or nine if she counted the full day on Saturday and Sunday as separate from the evenings.
Yes, she was grasping at straws.
Yes, it made her feel better to think that their time together was equivalent to two months of dating.
“Whatcha thinking?” Ben murmured.
She blinked, realized that Heidi had gotten pulled into conversation with Kate, Cora with Tammy, and Ben was staring down at her quizzically.
And his eyes were so pretty that she found herself blurting, “I was adding up our dates.”
He lifted a brow.
“We’ve had two months’ worth, in case you were wondering.”
His lips quirked. “Yeah?”
She nodded, grinning at her own silliness. “Yeah.”
He lifted her hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it. “Well, that sounds like a good start.”
The server came with their food then, but the words were pinging around her brain. Simple words, but they unlocked something inside her. Because it was a start, and even if it would have an end, if she spent all her time being focused on it, then she was missing out on the now.
Missing out on the good times they were having.
Not that she was doing it every moment, but she was spending enough time worrying about it to pull her away from Ben, from her friends, from the fun and loveliness of now.
She dropped her hand to his thigh, leaned up to kiss his cheek.
He turned his head, eyes blazing.
“A good start,” she agreed.
Those knuckles found her throat, brushing lightly over her skin. “Eat, honey. Put those Hoovering skills to work.”
Her heart kicked against her ribs, love blossomed somewhere deep inside her.
But she didn’t panic.
Instead, she embraced the feeling . . . and got down to eating her fajitas.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ben
Stef smelled like heaven as she leaned against him, riding the elevator all the way to the top of the Hunt Inc. building.
The reason he hadn’t been worried about how long dinner would take.
He’d just wanted to bring her here.
To show her this.
The elevator doors opened into a dim hallway, and she slowed, lifting an eyebrow. “Um, so you don’t have a creepy serial killer basement, but you have a creepy, dark hallway instead?”
He tugged a lock of her hair. “Just a short one.”
“That’s what she said.”
He burst out laughing, shook his head, and stepped ahead of her to push open the door at the end of it.
“Oh,” she murmured.
And he knew the feeling. It was the same one that he’d had when he’d first come up here after he’d bought the building.
Now it had been spruced up.
A safety railing added, several couches on one side, a table between them. Even an outdoor heater.
But the suave furnishings weren’t what he wanted to show her.
Instead, it was the view.
“Wow,” she said, when he’d taken her hand and coaxed her out. She still wore his jacket, hadn’t taken it off since he’d settled it on her shoulders. “This is amazing.”
He brought her to the railing, to the view that had taken his breath from the first moment he’d seen it. The lights of San Francisco glowed in the distance, some twinkling and bright, others more muted by the curls of fog coming in from the ocean. The Golden Gate was to the north, the lights of the East Bay visible on the other side of the inlet of water.
“I grew up there,” he said softly.
Stef turned from where she’d been looking at the Golden Gate and curled into his side. “Across the Bay?”