Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Whit
I ’d be honored to kiss you.
It wouldn’t be a burden, I can tell you that.
Oh, honey, did I know what he was talking about.
I would have kissed Ben Holder the night I met him if he hadn’t been such a wreck. I say that with all the possible compassion my heart can summon, because more than anything, that night, he’d needed a hug. I hadn’t given him that, either.
And now, every time I saw him, it was like he was a giant magnet and I was steel, feeling drawn and pulled and urged toward him regardless of what lay between us.
Let’s be honest about that—a lot lay between us.
First, I was one of the most famous people in the US, maybe the world.
Second, I wasn’t great at focusing on anything other than my career. And by wasn’t great , I meant I never had done much of anything but think about me and my career—not since I was a teen, and even then, my focus had been on music. I’d certainly never factored in another person.
Third, he had no idea what he wanted—Army, or not?
My heart of hearts told me he’d end up staying—patently incompatible with my lifestyle.
And we couldn’t forget the whole contracted to be my fake boyfriend thing, though a not-small part of me whispered several hundred times a day, “What if he was your actual boyfriend?”
That part of me was what had me telling Amanda to hold off on the lip. “Just wait. I need to go talk to Ben. Can you do it last, right before we leave?”
She eyed me, a knowing look passing between us. I had very few secrets from Amanda, and this wasn’t one. She’d figured out I had more than a casual, business interest in Ben, and she’d declared in no uncertain terms that she was all for it. No way could I have avoided her knowing about the contract, both because she was practically the person I was closest with in this life, and also because she was incredibly observant. “It’ll make you human,” she’d said.
“Sure, no problem. Are you dressing first?” she said, her side-eye at my sweat pants speaking for her.
“Of course.”
I left the bathroom and moved to the bedroom where I pulled on the dress, the satin lining cool against my skin. Damon had swung by an hour ago and done my hair in long, romantic waves, my typical style for events and anything other than a casual concert.
“Good?” I asked, back in the bathroom where Amanda was organizing her supplies.
Her expression told me everything. “He’s a goner. ”
With that, I made my way to Ben’s door. It was cracked, so I spoke softly. “Ben?”
“I’m just shaving. Almost ready—come in,” came his voice from the bathroom.
I smoothed down the dark green velvet of my dress. The sweetheart neck with off-shoulder cap sleeves was more than a little flattering, and the dress showed off every curve and dip of this body I worked so hard for. It was going on my list of favorites, for sure.
I pushed through the door and took a minute to appreciate how tidy Ben’s room was. He hadn’t spread out everywhere, maybe out of habit, maybe just because he knew we were leaving in the morning. He had a book on his nightstand, a charging cord, and his bag sat with the lid resting open against the wall on a bag stand.
I walked into the bright lights of the bathroom, prepared to tell him I was ready to get the kiss over with so we could appease the press and move on from this idiocy, and then, I saw him.
More like, I was stunned by the visual brilliance of him in front of me.
He leaned over the counter toward the mirror, his head canted to one side, slowly pulling a razor down the angle of his jaw.
“Hey,” he said without moving his lips, though his eyes flitted to me, then quickly back to finish the job.
The thing was, he was so casual. He was so comfortable with me there in his bathroom while he shaved his face, but I was literally vibrating out of my high heels feeling like I’d walked into a steam room, because this guy was standing there in his slacks, belt undone again like it was usually the last thing he did up, and shirtless.
Yep. Just topless .
Just miles of golden skin my fingers ached to touch more than I’d ever wanted to strum a guitar. More than I’d wanted to press my fingers against the strings and frets of the Gibson I’d seen in a store in downtown Nashville when, at just sixteen, I knew my mother wouldn’t allow it.
He flipped on the tap and rinsed the razor, wiped his face on a towel, then his hands. I worked on keeping myself in place, clenching my toes in the base of my heels instead of letting the magnetic pull of him draw me in and attach me to his back. My cheek itched to rest on the expanse between his shoulder blades, my hands begging to run along his sides and wrap around front.
He turned to me.
“You’re stunning,” he said.
Cue the mildly hysterical giggle that escaped.
“Likewise,” I returned, my eyes mapping the chest in front of me.
It was art. Art , I tell you. Sculpted in a way that seemed like a joke, the muscles stacked like piles of stone under a liquid-smooth sheet, with everything defined in a way I hadn’t expected from someone whose life didn’t depend on other people’s opinions.
His answering smile seemed pleased. He moved in my direction, his cut chest coming within inches of me. My hands balled into fists.
“You seem… agitated.”
“Me?” My voice came out a little high, a little short.
“Yes.” His voice thrummed low and smooth, and when I glanced at his face, he seemed more than a little happy at my discombobulation.
“When will you be ready?” I asked, not entirely sure what words were coming out, what to do with myself.
He stepped closer, placing his body mere inches from mine, and the fresh, clean scent of him filled my senses, along with the warmth emanating from that body.
Oh. Hi.
“In a minute. But I was thinking we should practice before we go.”
He took a big breath, then gently put a hand on my waist. He searched my face, and before I could think twice, or wuss out, or let my head explode, I nodded.
The descent of his head seemed achingly slow—literally like my lips were aching to connect with his, but he was moving in a way that gave me every opportunity to stop, to move, to tell him this wasn’t what I wanted.
His other hand came to my cheek, and then, we were kissing. My hands found his waist, then slid around and up his back as I stepped fully into his space. His lips were soft, his taste minty and warm, his hold on me gentle. He broke the kiss and pulled back just enough to look at me, but I urged him back down, one of my hands pulling that smooth jaw to me.
He kissed a little like I thought he would, a lot like a surprise. Something dominant and certain that I’d seen in the way he carried himself, in the way he interacted with others, but I’d never felt with me.
Or had I?
Every time he spoke to me, talked with me, he was straightforward. This kiss, the press of his body against mine, the pull of his hands on my back, in my hair, was nothing short of honest.
I let my hands glide against the skin of his back, sliding down along his spine and around to the taut muscles of his belly, if that’s even what it was called when formed like this. He stepped closer, practically overtaking me, holding me to him with a strength that surprised me .
I pulled back, wobbled a bit, but he steadied me with one hand still at the back of my head and the other locked around my lower back. We breathed together, looking back at each other. He was absolutely breathtaking with kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, his eyes glittering back at me.
I cleared my throat, my nerves returning, if they’d ever left. “So… that’s done.”
He pressed his lips together like he was trying to resist, but then released me before he started laughing. His smile was practically paralyzing, so vibrant and beautiful.
“All right. Done.” He raised an eyebrow at me, as if trying to decipher my mood.
I was still too addled from the kiss, my heart galloping, my skin flushed.
Stepping back out of his grip, I let my eyes skate over his gorgeous torso one more time, and I tripped over a towel on the floor. He grabbed my arm before I hit the wall, and I got my feet under me. Then, he ducked down and forced me to look him in the eye, where I found pure amusement in the twist of his lips.
“So, I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.” My voice had that husky quality to it, one more piece of evidence for him that his kiss had literally and metaphorically knocked me off balance.
“I’ll just be a minute.”
I left the bathroom, moved out of his bedroom without a backward glance, and sat lightly on the edge of the dark gray couch of the living room.
That was…
That was…
My mind was a loop. His lips, his hands, his scent, his taste. Again .
His lips, his hands, his scent, his taste.
Again.
I had to knock this off before he came out and saw me, still downright unearthed by the cataclysmic event that had been Ben Holder kissing me. Particularly since, if he followed Nikki’s orders, we’d revisit that delicious happening in the next few hours. He’d be fully clothed, which felt like a loss on a couple of levels, but was for the best.
No one else gets to see that Ben is my own personal Abercrombie and Fitch model . Because yeah , he had the whole thing going on.
But it wasn’t just the physical. He was working his way in, right past the arm’s-length approach I took with pretty much everyone. He’d been compelling to me the first time we met. Now, he was unavoidable.
I stood and smoothed the tangles out of my hair, refusing to savor the fact that his hands had put them there. I took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and went to find Amanda so she could do my lips.