Charmed by the Billionaire

by Jessica Lemmon

  Oh, this is such a bad idea.

  “Drink your wine. I’ll give you an orgasm and then you can go home.” He shrugs. “You’ll feel better.”

  Why, why does that sound so damn good?

  “Wh-what about you?” I croak.

  “What about me what?”

  “Won’t you feel frustrated? More frustrated?” I ask on a strangled whisper as I glance at his lap. Not that I’m considering this, but I am curious.

  His lips pull into a full-fledged Benji smile that never fails to weaken my knees. “Honey, giving you an orgasm would make my day.”

  Before I can wrap my mind around those words, especially the “honey,” he continues. “Who would you rather stroke you to orgasm? Some loser you found on a dating app or your best friend?”

  It’s so close to what I imagined I worry briefly that I said it out loud.

  “You can trust me. I won’t pressure you into doing anything else. You’ll enjoy yourself, guaranteed. I’m very, very good.”

  Before my stomach can sour at the idea of the plethora of practice he’s had in the past, I laugh again. “Now you’re giving me your resume for the job?”

  “It won’t be a job for either one of us. You’ll sleep better too.”

  His offer isn’t a profession of love or even lust. I’m trying to decide if I care that he doesn’t want me but is offering the very thing I’ve been dreaming of since I started working for him.

  “It’s just sex,” he states plainly, murdering any remaining hope that he might be overcome with passion during. “And it’s not even real sex. It’s fingering, which barely counts. I can go down on you if you want.”

  I make a little “meep” sound in the back of my throat. He chuckles.

  “Okay, too much. That’s fair.” He holds my hand. “We can start with kissing, see how that goes. Do you like nipple play?” he asks casually as he helps me to my feet. He watches me expectantly.

  I nod my head. “I think so.”

  His eyes flare, burnishing the browns to vivid gold. Not so impersonal for him after all. “I’m your best friend,” he repeats. “Completely safe.”

  Oh, but he isn’t safe. No, he wouldn’t hurt me, and yes, he’d likely give me the orgasm of my life, but he is not safe. I have to set my mind on not allowing this to mean anything. Or worse, not allowing this to mean everything.

  He grips my hips and tugs me so close our chests almost touch. “It won’t be weird if we don’t let it. Your body is in need and my body is happy to give yours what it needs. It’s simple.”

  “It is?” I have my doubts. When it comes to relationships, it’s never simple.

  “Yep. We’ll start with a kiss and if it’s weird, we’ll stop and pretend it never happened.”

  “You swear?” I ask hopefully. I wish he’d forget the phone call instead, but if he won’t, maybe one kiss will lead to us calling it off, and then we can embrace our agreed-upon amnesia.

  It’s as close to a time machine as I’m going to get.

  Not that I could forget kissing Benjamin Owen. No way, no how. My gaze strays to his full lips, his rounded shoulders. He fills out his pale blue dress shirt better than any man I’ve seen. His torso is slim and fit, giving him a V formation thanks to his religious gym habit. Home gym, with a trainer. God bless Vlad. He’s an artist. I make out the outline of Benji’s pectorals through the shirt and imagine his abs—which I’d love to set my mouth to. Oh my God.

  “I can’t do this.” I shove his chest. “I—”

  “Cris.” Both his hands rest on top of mine. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s me. The guy who’s known you since you were a college dropout working for my dad and I was a horny, annoying twenty-three-year-old.” His lips quirk. “Now I’m a horny, annoying thirty-three-year-old.”

  I blow out a short laugh. Remarkably, he’s setting me at ease.

  “You can trust me,” he insists.

  I trust him more than anyone. He’s been there for me even when I didn’t work for him. I fold easier than I would have thought.

  I nod. He leans in. I don’t stop him this time.

  Gently, his mouth presses mine. The touch of his lips melts me like warm chocolate. The hand I put on his chest fists, and I grab a handful of material and pull him to me, slanting my mouth and deepening our kiss. It’s every fantasy I’ve had about him come to life. And proof my imagination is blurry black-and-white compared to the crisp, bright technicolor of this moment.

  He returns my kiss with vigor, opening wide and touching my tongue with his. A bolt of lightning streaks through my body and ignites between my legs. He wraps both arms around my back and smashes my breasts against his torso. Then he’s diving in with renewed vigor, the scrape of his five o’clock shadow rasping my jaw.

  It’s incredible. It’s amazing. It’s…

  I whimper and my hips roll forward, my belly bumping into a telltale hard ridge. He grunts and then pulls his amazing mouth away.

  I’m dazed. Uncertain.

  He draws his chin back and smiles down at me. “Damn. You’re a firecracker.”

  Then his smile blooms into one of his infectious grins.

  Chapter Seven

  Cris

  “I’ve never had a panic attack before but I’m fairly certain if I did it would feel like this.” I tap my breastbone with my fingers and nod to back up my own theory.

  Vivian is grinning like crazy. Maybe she is crazy. She’d have to be considering what I’d shared with her was not good news. Meanwhile, she looks like she’s ready to burst with excitement. I decide she is definitely crazy when the words, “You kissed Benji!” fly out of her mouth.

  It’s Sunday afternoon and I should be at home, cleaning and doing laundry and preparing a few meals for the week. Instead I called Vivian and told her I had to see her in person. So here I am. We’re sitting on opposite sides of a beautiful sofa in Nate’s—and well, now Viv’s too—gorgeous home. The living room is posh yet comfortable. Take-charge, confident Vivian is sitting, legs crossed, her hands folded in her lap. I feel better about my predicament being next to her. If I’m lucky, maybe some of her confidence will spread to me. I have to go to work tomorrow, after all. After a sleepless night last night I realized I couldn’t face Benji until I unpacked what happened.

  “Technically he kissed me. But I kissed him back,” I say. “And then he really kissed me. Like, with his whole body.”

  She giggles. I’ve never heard her giggle. I grouse at her. “You’re losing your edge.”

  “I’m a woman in love. Sue me.” She gives me a contemplative scowl that turns into a self-effacing smile. “Wait, don’t. I’ve had enough legal issues for a lifetime.”

  I shake my head when she grins wider than before.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t leap into his arms and have sex with him right there on the floor!” she shouts as Nate steps into the living room with our drinks.

  I give him a wan smile. “Sorry you have to hear this.”

  “You’re secret’s safe with me.” He hands me a glass garnished with a sprig of rosemary and a lime wedge.

  “Nate’s not a gossip.” She beams up at him. He bends and gives her a soft kiss. God, they’re sweet.

  I take a drink of the clear liquid as Vivian does the same. “This is delicious.”

  “It’s one of my favorites. He’s been creative lately,” she says.

  “I’m a man in love.” His smile is easy. He’s the happiest I’ve seen him. He deserves it. He’s such a great person. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to do some work.”

  Viv blows him a kiss, and he walks his big body past the glass partition separating the living room from the staircase and walks up.

  “So then what happened?” She folds her leg beneath her on the couch and settles in for story time. “Tell me about your first Benji-assisted orgasm.”

  I send an uneasy glance over my shoulder even though I watched Nate walk upstairs wi
th my own two eyes. Then I face my friend. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because! Since I first met you and Benji, I’ve sensed sparks. And what I want to know, in as much detail as you’re comfortable with, of course, is what sort of sparks you threw. Was it sizzles and pops like oil in a pan, or a raging, unstoppable forest fire?”

  “It was… It was…” I want to lie, but I’m awful at it, so I tell her the truth and save myself the trouble. “I left after the kiss. Nothing else happened.”

  It was not the answer she wanted to hear, but to be fair, it wasn’t the one I wanted to give her. My shoulders sag. I’m both disappointed for her and in myself.

  She sighs, her mouth screwing to one side. “Bummer.” Then she takes a gulp of her drink and sets the glass aside. “I thought the whole reason you were dating was to celebrate your life—the one you finally have since your last baby bro left the house.”

  “I do. I am,” I defend.

  “Then why wouldn’t you do the one thing you wanted to do most?” she asks gently.

  “I panicked.”

  “The virgin thing,” she guesses incorrectly.

  “The best-friend thing. The boss thing. Benji is very intertwined in my life.”

  “He’s also not seeing anyone at the moment, which is as rare as a snowman sighting in the desert.” She takes a breath before offering a soft smile. “I’m not trying to pressure you, Cris. I’m encouraging the outcome I thought you wanted.” She props her elbow on the back of the sofa and rests her cheek on her fist. “It’s obvious he’s totally into you.”

  At this news, I blink. “Pardon?”

  She reaches for her drink again. “Benji. He’s into you.”

  “No, no. He’s offering to help me out of a bind. Trust me, if you heard his sterile explanation of how I was a woman in need and he was capable of fulfilling that need, you would not say he was into me.”

  “Oh yes, I would. No man offers to give a woman an orgasm out of the goodness of his heart. Usually it’s so they can talk you into more sexy things.” She shimmies her shoulders.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Benji is… I mean, he’s probably not lying. He knows what he’s doing. He’s had plenty of practice,” I mumble against the rim of my glass. “He did offer to go down on me instead if I preferred.” I pluck the neckline of my shirt and use it to fan my face. I’m suddenly hot. Vivian has a way of watching me like she’s KGB and I’m under a very, very bright lamp.

  “He did not.”

  “He did. I think he was joking. Why are you whispering?”

  “Cristin—what’s your middle name?”

  “Joy.”

  “Aw, that’s pretty.” She smiles.

  “Thanks.”

  Her smile erases and she explodes, “Cristin Joy Gilbert! You and Benji circle each other like there’s an impenetrable forcefield between you. Now you’ve broken past the barrier and learned you have some serious untapped sexual chemistry.” She softens her voice. “This is your chance to explore it. Sounds like he’s willing to take your relationship to the next level.”

  “Not the next level,” I correct. “He said after, we could go back to life like nothing happened. Tomorrow when I show up at his house for work, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Pretend he didn’t offer to…you know. And I’ll act as if he didn’t kiss me.”

  “Mm-hm.” Her mouth is a firm line of disagreement. “And how well do you think that will work after last night?”

  “I am positive it will work,” I fib. “As in one hundred percent positive,” I further fib. “Benji will be as relieved as I am for not taking him up on his offer to put his hands in my—”

  The clearing of a throat draws my attention over the back of the couch where Nate has reentered the room. He gives me a pleading, earnest expression. “I implore you, Cris. Do not finish that sentence. Refill?”

  Vivian dissolves into laughter.

  I smile up at him. I’ve always liked Nate, but now I like him even more. I drain my glass and hand him the empty.

  * * *

  Other than the first time I met him, I can’t remember being truly uncomfortable around Benji. Well, aside from Saturday night. This morning isn’t looking so hot, either.

  As usual, I arrive at seven thirty, park in his circle driveway, and grab the bag holding my laptop, planner, and other office necessities from my front seat. In my other hand are my keys and a travel mug of coffee. My keys, I always have. My travel mug, I always have but never fill at home. I make coffee at Benji’s. Today, I filled it at home. I didn’t want to risk lingering at the coffee pot until I was sure he was either downstairs working out, or entrenched in an important phone call.

  Which means I’m already overthinking. Which means I probably should have called in sick. I thought about it. I did. But then I worried he might show up at my house and offer to nurse me back to health, and when he found I didn’t need to be nursed back to health might offer to do other things to me—which, as previously discussed, we are not doing.

  I’m still team Bad Idea on the Cris-Benji pairing while Vivian, up until and through drink number two on Sunday, remained team Just Do It Already. Nate remained neutral. Or as Viv said, in denial.

  I clear my throat, linger by the car, roll my shoulders, and stare at the front door.

  The door is outfitted with a code, but Benji rarely locks it as his neighborhood is gated and luxe. Just driving past the rows of manicured lawns feels like entering a different town altogether. Where the sidewalks in front of my house are cracked with grass growing between the splits, there isn’t a weed that would dare grow outside of its sanctioned zone in this part of Clear Ridge.

  I would be overwhelmed by his house if I hadn’t been to the Owen house multiple times while I worked for William or visited Lainey whenever I was invited to family affairs. I’ve been around them often enough that their regal lifestyle seems almost commonplace.

  Not that I had time to be intimidated. I had way too much on my mind back then. Was Dennis passing algebra? Did the school nurse remember to give Timothy his antibiotic? Did Manuel forge my signature on his report card, or did he just not show it to me yet?

  All of those issues were rattling around in my head in addition to appointment after appointment I had to keep track of. Work hours, conference calls, sports games, pickups, drop-offs… It wasn’t any wonder I ended up leaving college. School is expensive, and there wasn’t a lot of time left in the day to dedicate to studying in between grocery shopping, cooking, and helping Dennis with his algebra homework.

  It also wasn’t any wonder how I ended up a thirty-year-old virgin. I was busy. Too busy to date, and when I did date, there wasn’t much room for intimacy. Once Manuel was off to college, I still had Dennis and Timothy to look after. And trust me, Dennis was a handful in his teen years. He’s twenty-one now and still a handful, but he’s not a big drinker, and enjoys the company of his girlfriend, Amara, who he’s dated for six months. She’s a good girl and has agreed to keep him out of trouble. God bless her.

  I’m not completely inexperienced, though. I took matters into my own hands as needed. I’m not denying I’m a sexual creature with “needs,” as Benji called them. But involving someone else was a layer I didn’t have the luxury to explore back then. Basically, I put off my sexual needs until they morphed into a beast that grew bigger and scarier than it should’ve been.

  As I consider Benji’s front door, I wonder if fear is the reason I turned him down. I certainly felt something akin to fear the other night. It was a small miracle he let me leave.

  Even though the kiss was a success, judging by the tent in his pants and the dampness in my own, I insisted on going home. He didn’t argue, and even stranger, changed his tune. I’m guessing one of the reasons he let me go was because he’d kissed his life assistant coach-slash-best friend and realized we were about to make a big mistake. I also think that sucks, which is at odds with the amount of relief I feel
.

  Do you think I need therapy?

  One more shoulder roll, and I walk inside, steeling myself for seeing him. He’s not in the living room/kitchen area, no surprise there. Occasionally he’s refilling his coffee, but more often he’s in his office.

  The house’s layout is absolutely perfect. If I had a billion dollars lying around—and didn’t have three boys living with me up until fairly recently—it’s one I would have chosen for myself. The living room is wide and open, outfitted with comfortable black leather furniture save for a deep red, tufted chair serving as a focal point. There are two paintings in the room, both abstract, with splashes of red and burnished gold crisscrossing the canvas. Painting was his birth mother’s hobby. I’ll never forget his fond smile when he told me they were amateur, but beautiful. The frames are handmade. By Benji. He sanded them until they were smooth, lovingly etched a design into the wood, and stained them.

  My heart grew three sizes that day. I was twenty-two and not yet in love with him, or so I like to tell myself. The day I felt his sadness as he remembered his beautiful mother and admired her paintings, I’m pretty sure I toppled over Love Cliff like a heartsick lemming. But again, I had no time to react to it or entertain it. I was busy. And that was more than a convenient excuse. It was also the truth.

  The attached kitchen runs the length of the living room. A countertop with barstools offers space to address the person on the other side of it like a bartender, like I did last year when Nate screwed up with Vivian and was moping at Benji’s house. I’m not sure Nate appreciated my help at the time, but he’s since apologized for being a buffoon. His word. I laughed and he smiled. You’ve seen him. How do you not adore a lovable teddy bear like Nate? Anyway, where was I?