"It must be nice to be eating real food again," I commented, across the dimly-lit table.
He looked very sharp, of course, and it was hard to reconcile this version of Ben with the guy who'd tried to sing Pink Floyd on the sofa. Not a single hair was out of place.
Smiling, he took a sip of his drink. "Nicer than I realized. You don't know what you've got until it's gone."
"So I've heard." I glanced around, feeling like everyone was staring at me.
"Not this coming weekend, but the one after," he said, with a secretive smile, "I'm taking you out of town. I already cleared it with Daniel and Maddy. When we come back, we'll officially announce our engagement."
He said all of this very matter-of-factly, leaving no room for protests. Not that I would have, but I wasn't used to being told what I was going to do.
"Where?" That seemed like the next logical question.
The corners of his mouth quirked up farther. "That would be telling. Same weather as here. Bring a swimsuit."
Fine, I could play that game. "So we should probably talk about the wedding, huh?"
The food arrived, and he seemed more than a little taken aback that I wasn't demanding answers about the trip.
"I've got some portfolios," he said. "A few wedding planners that come highly recommended. You can pick your favorite, or just close your eyes and throw a dart. From there, they can pretty much handle everything, and they'll just come to you with a few choices while they handle all the logistics."
"Wow," I said. "So this is how the other half lives."
He poked at his risotto. "I don't think hiring a wedding planner is particularly glitterati."
"Well of course, you wouldn't." I smiled at him, but he just gave me an irritated look.
I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance we'd end up killing each other on our romantic little getaway.
"I'm so going to enjoy arguing about the logistics of our wedding with you," I said, swirling my wine.
"Oh, darling." He leaned back in his chair, smiling indulgently. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."
***
He had a private plane.
Of course he had a private plane. What were we, commoners?
The urge to roll my eyes at everything was extreme, but I managed to suppress it. And yeah, it was pretty convenient that I didn't have to take off my shoes or shuffle in a line of whining kids with my luggage that had a perpetually broken wheel. I mean - it was nice. It was impossible to keep any level of detachment or cynicism when I walked up the pristine steps, into the beautiful, spacious cabin, and sank into the plush leather seat.
I glanced at Ben as he sat down beside me. He'd never known any other life. This was his reality. Had he even set foot on a commercial airline?
"It's too bad we couldn't take the big plane," he sighed, leaning back in his seat. "But we're flying into a matchbox airport, basically. We'll just have to make due."
I looked around me, taking in the ridiculously plush surroundings. "You're...kidding, right?"
He glanced at me sideways, a grin tugging at his mouth. "A little bit."
I laughed, drawing my knees up to my chest. The seat was practically big enough for me to curl up like a cat and nap in the sun. "I've never even flown first class before."
Ben made a dismissive gesture. "Not worth the money. Once you fly private jet, you never go back."
"Oh, my God." I turned to look at him, unable to hide my smile, even though I sort of wanted to smack him. "Do you have any idea how you sound?"
Leaning back in his chair, he gestured for the attendant. "People are going to hate me no matter what, so I might as well deserve it." His eyes sparkled. "Mimosa?"
"What the hell." I sat up and accepted a flute from the silent attendant, thanking her, to which she only nodded politely. "I don't understand why you won't just tell me where we're going."
"More fun this way." His eyes darted to mine, as he sipped his drink. "Besides, I like the little wrinkle in your forehead when you're trying to figure something out."
This seemed like dangerous territory, but the warmth of the champagne spread in my stomach and I forgot exactly why. I probably should have eaten breakfast before we left.
"I'm sure I won't be able to guess," I said, trying to gently deflect. "I mean, you were content to take the small plane, which means it can't be very far. If we were taking an overnight trip, I'm assuming you wouldn't settle for any less than a flying Ritz Carlton."
"The lady knows me." Ben grinned. "You're correct about that part - it's a short flight."
"So we're staying in the northeast." I frowned at my empty champagne flute. When did that happen? "That narrows it down, but not by much."
"You won't get it out of me," he said. "I promise you that. I'm very stubborn."
I snickered. "No. I hadn't noticed."
For a moment, our eyes locked, and his smile almost made me forget what we were really doing.
What were we really doing? How was I supposed to behave, on a romantic getaway with a man I was not actually romantically involved with?
I tore my eyes away from his face, determined to be the first person to break the contact. I was afraid of what would happen if one of us didn't, and I didn't quite trust him to do it.
"I know this is a little bit strange," said Ben, softly. His tone had taken on a serious undercurrent, something I seldom heard from him. "And I'm sorry for that. If there was an easier way to do it..." He hesitated. "But anyway, I thought you'd enjoy this trip. Even if it's...awkward."
I stared at the wall in front of me. "Why does it have to be awkward?"
"It doesn't," he said, quickly. "But I know things could get...you know. If the lines blur. It's understandable."
My heartbeat was quickening, and I didn't exactly know why.
He cleared this throat. "I mean you're - well. You know what you are. You're trying to be an actress, for God's sake."
I blinked, trying to follow his train of thought. "So?"
"So, you know what you look like." He was staring at the floor. "You're about to make a career out of being irresistible."
Laughing in disbelief, I sat up straighter. "There's a little more to acting than sex appeal, Ben."
"Maybe so." He glanced at me briefly, then back at the floor, barely hiding a smile. "But when I look at you, I'm not thinking about how much I'd like to give you an Oscar."
There was a buzzing in my head, growing ever louder with each passing moment. How was I supposed to pretend like his words weren't affecting me?
"What do you think about?" I asked, my voice a little husky. Damn it. I didn't mean to sound so alluring.
Or maybe I did.
"Oh, no." He laughed, gesturing for another drink. "Your honor, I refuse to answer that question, on the basis that it might incriminate me."
Shit. I was completely out of my depth. Flirting was one thing - although I was fairly out of practice, these days - but flirting with a guy I was already going to marry, for completely practical reasons? And one who I absolutely, categorically could not stand as a human being?
Hell, what could possibly go wrong?
"That's disappointing," I murmured, smiling down at my lap. Another mimosa appeared in front of me, and I let my eyes linger on Ben's hand as he set it down, his fingers long and nimble and -
Damn it.
"Trust me, it's for the best," he said. "You'd either kill me, or..." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not sure. But either way, I'm pretty positive it wouldn't be appropriate for the venue."
"You just had to take the small plane, didn't you?" I leaned my head back, glancing sidelong at him. His eyes widened slightly.
"Remember that conversation we had about boundaries?" he asked me, softly.
"No," I said, smiling.
This was totally harmless, right? What could possibly go wrong? We were only about to spend a week together, probably in a romantic bed and breakfast in the mountains somewhere, probably with just one bed,
because otherwise how would that look?
"Just to be clear," said Ben, after a moment's silence. "Are we talking about killing me, or...some other option?"
"Let's just see where the night takes us," I said, archly, loving the look on his face.
He slumped a little in his seat. "You've really got to stop this," he said. "A man can only take so much."
"Oh, I'm sure you can take a whole lot." I grinned. "Mr. Perfect Billionaire who's always in control."
"Nobody's perfect," he said. "For instance, I've got a snaggletooth."
He bared his teeth in a smile and pointed, to demonstrate. I had to laugh. One of his canines was slightly askew, now that he'd invited my scrutiny - just enough to prove that he hadn't been genetically created in a lab. "Yeah, wow, it must be very tough for you. I bet all the supermodels can barely look at you, Elephant Man."
He actually looked a little bit taken aback, like he'd shared something he didn't tell most people. I almost felt bad as he cleared his throat, frowning slightly.
"I just mean, it's not a big deal," I explained. "I never noticed it. People are always like that, with their so-called 'flaws.' Nobody can see them but you."
"I guess," he said. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? Either way, I act like the guy with the snaggletooth. People might not see it, but they see the self-consciousness. I've gotten better at hiding it, but that doesn't mean it's gone."
It took all of my strength not to laugh out loud. The idea that someone like Ben, who could have made his fortune in underwear modeling if he hadn't been born a billionaire, was insecure about one tooth - it was pretty hilarious.
But to him, it was real.
"Why don't you get it fixed?" I suggested, gently. "Not that you need to, just...maybe you'd feel better."
He made a face. "You should already know the answer to that. I hate dentists. Orthodontists. Whatever. If they want to fuck with my teeth for a living, I don't want to know them. Unless, of course, I'm in pain, then we can make a deal."
"Fair enough." I crossed my legs. "Well, I like it."
He raised his eyebrows slightly. "Yeah?" he said, softly, looking like he actually believed me.
"Yeah," I said. "It's got character."
Rolling his eyes, he took the last sip of his drink. "Oh, sure. Okay. Thanks a lot for that."
"I'm serious," I insisted, surprised to find that I was. Now that he'd pointed it out, it was part of the whole package that was Ben - and if I was being honest, probably my favorite part. He was just too damn perfect otherwise, but with the snaggletooth he looked...cute. Approachable. I just couldn't figure out a way to say that, without offending him.
Suddenly, I realized that was why so many of his smiles were lopsided. He was trying to cover that tooth. Like he actually thought that it mattered to people.
"If you just displayed your tattoos all the time, you know, nobody would be looking at your face," I suggested, half-jokingly.
"And you claim to be so vanilla," he said, reaching down to unfasten his cuffs. "Little Miss Tattoo Fetish. Here." He started rolling up his sleeves. "You can look, but don't touch. Like a museum."
"No flash photography?" I grinned. This was the closest I'd seen them, and I found myself trying to focus on the individual elements of the design. "Are there stories, or is it just art?"
"Yes, and yes," he said. "But the stories don't matter anymore."
I wondered about that. Slowly, just because he'd told me not to, I reached out and traced a little spiral design with my fingertip. "What's this?"
"It's a Triskelion," he said. "It's an ancient symbol. Has a lot of meanings." His eyes met mine. "You're not very good at following rules, are you?"
"It's like a Wet Paint sign," I confessed. "Somebody says don't, I just want to do it more."
Ben smiled, closing his eyes and letting his head rest on the back of the seat. "You and I could have so much fun together. I love a good battle of wills."
I didn't know what to say to that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jenna
The sign said, WELCOME TO THE FINGER LAKES WINE COUNTRY.
Upstate New York. Of course. Maddy had spoken very highly of the wine that came from these regions, but I'd never been. It was breathtakingly beautiful, dappled sunlight glowing on the water, with a lovely little cabin all to ourselves.
The gravel crunched beneath my feet as I walked up to the rustic front door. I wanted to admire the place, but I only had eyes for the man standing on the porch. In his three-piece suit, still minus the jacket, with those sleeves rolled up so enticingly to show off the wildness he hid from the world, he looked like a wet dream.
Any willpower I had left was fading fast.
Inside, there was a beautifully appointed kitchen with a variety of wine bottles already laid out on the counter. Ben went to them immediately, selecting one from the middle and examining the label. "What do you think, a nice Syrah? Or is it too early for proper drinking?"
"It's never too early to drink in wine country," I said, hunting for stemware. Once I found it, and satisfied myself that it wasn't dusty, I set out the glasses for him, and he poured.
I should've eaten something - a small snack, at least, and there was definitely a basket of crackers or something in the corner, but I was standing very close to Ben and suddenly I didn't want to go anywhere.
"It's good, isn't it?" He swirled his glass. "I don't know that much about wine, but I think it's good."
"Well, it's an acquired taste," I said. "Luckily, I've acquired a taste for much worse. So this is quite nice."
He chuckled. "Well, my taste can't really be trusted either. I'm adaptable." He took another sip. "Eager to please, you might say."
"Oh, sure, that's you all over." I rolled my eyes. He was obviously driving at something, but I wasn't going to let him get there too easily.
"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," he said, resting his hand on the counter. It was the one with the big silver watch on it, and the tattoo that I'd so recently fondled. "I wouldn't rush to judgment so quickly, until you have all the facts."
"Okay, fine," I said. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to present all sorts of facts over the weekend."
He was trying to hide a smile, a little secretive grin, but he wasn't quite succeeding.
"What?" I demanded, sidling up to him. The air still sparked with the flirtation between us, and I was reluctant to let it go. The alcohol made me just clumsy enough that I went too far, and bumped my hip against his.
It was an accident...right?
"Nothing," he insisted, his smile only growing. If he noticed my little slip-up, he didn't react - at least, not outwardly. But I was pretty sure I felt the tension in the room grow thicker. "I'm not gonna say it."
"Come on," I wheedled, stopping just short of fluttering my eyelashes at him. But I was shameless enough to purposefully reach past him for the bottle of wine, turning sideways so that we faced each other. I knew this dress was doing all kinds of favors for my cleavage, and it just seemed wasted if I didn't show it off a little.
And yeah, he noticed. His eyes flickered down a little bit, just like any human being would when confronted with a faceful of boobs. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips slightly, and he took a deep breath before his eyes returned to my face.
The smile came back.
"Nah," he said. "Not unless you tell me something."
I cleared my throat. For some reason, it was suddenly hard to remember words. "Okay," I said, grasping the corkscrew in my fist. "Go ahead, I'm an open book."
He turned slightly, his hip leaning against the counter, so we were face to face, just inches apart. "Then why is your face the same color as your lipstick?" he asked, showing off that ridiculously adorable snaggletooth. Warmth pooled in my belly. "A lovely shade, by the way."
My throat was very dry. "Matches the blood of my enemies," I quipped. "Wine makes me flush. That's all. Don't flatter yourself."
It w
asn't exactly a lie, but that certainly wasn't why I was blushing. Oh well. He didn't need to know.
Judging by the look on his face, he already did.
Smug prick.
"Okay," He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking me up and down. I managed to suppress my little shiver - just barely. But the weight of his gaze really felt like a caress, as ridiculous as that sounded. "I know I said I wouldn't bring it up again, unless you wanted to talk. But I gotta ask..."
Instantly, my heart started racing. I was so not ready to discuss this again. Not with him. Especially not after the out-of-control fantasies I'd been having lately.
"...have you thought about it since?" he finished, his eyes glinting slightly.
He didn't have to say anything else, and he knew it. We both understood.
My fist tightened around the...wine...opener...thingy.
Holy shit, he makes you stupid.
"Yes," I said, my voice coming out just barely above a whisper.
Ben's eyes widened, softened, and then his smile grew a little bit. "Yes?" he repeated. "A one-word answer? That's all I get?"
I nodded.
"Fine." He shrugged. "Your turn."
"You know what I wanted to ask you." I took a deep breath, trying to calm my heartbeat. "I wanted to know what you were thinking. What made you smile."
"I was just thinking," he said, slowly, his eyes dragging across my body again. "If we were really a couple, and you touched my tattoos after I specifically told you not to, I'd have to give you one hell of a spanking."
I almost dropped the thingy.
With a sudden movement, I turned back to the counter, grabbing the wine and trying to stab the...fucking...whatever it was called into the cork. I couldn't deal with this. I absolutely could not -
"Ow," I hissed, when the sharpest part of the implement slipped and scraped down the side of the bottle, catching my hand in the process.
Ben intervened. "Here," he said, grasping both items and smoothly removing them from my grip.
Corkscrew. Right.
Screw.
Damn it, I was losing my mind. My pulse was thudding so loudly in my head, it was a wonder I could still hear anything else.
I Married a Master Page 20