Chapter 13
Benedikt
I take the stairs with a bottle of water and a sandwich for Sienna. Something simple because she looked ready to keel over when I sent her upstairs. No way in hell she’s got energy for anything else.
However, the second I push her bedroom door open, I realize I was wrong.
She’s standing in the middle of the room, hair damp from the shower, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’s too wired to stay still.
She’s tugging a crop top down over her stomach, sweatpants slung low on her hips, and for a beat, I just… stop.
Not because she looks like she’s trying.
She isn’t.
That’s the problem.
She looks real and unpolished. And she’s more distracting like this than she ever could be in something put together.
Her head snaps toward me, eyes bright and wide awake now. Nothing like the girl who looked ready to fall asleep standing up twenty minutes ago.
“I want to see it.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“The bakery.” She says it fast, as if she hesitates, I’ll shoot her down. “I want to see it tonight.”
I set the plate down on her dresser. “No.”
Her lips part, eyebrows pulling tight. “No?”
“You’re tired.” I nod at the sandwich. “Eat. Rest. You can see it tomorrow.”
She crosses her arms, hip cocking out.
Jesus.
Dangerous stance.
“I’m fine now.”
“You were about to pass out in my living room.”
“I showered. I’m awake.”
“That’s not the same as being fine.”
She huffs, tilting her chin up at me. That stubborn streak in her just itching for a fight.
To fight me.
And, fuck me, this woman turns me on.
“I don’t want to wait until tomorrow,” she says. “What if I hate it? What if you wasted your money? Shouldn’t I at least—”
“Sienna.” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to. Not sharp, just final. “Tomorrow.”
Her mouth presses flat. I can see the way she shifts her weight, the flicker of something like… calculation in her eyes.
And then she does it.
Her version of softening.
She steps closer, looking up at me through her lashes like she’s not aware of the effect. Like she doesn’t know I’ve been keyed up over her since the second she walked back into my life.
It’s not much. Barely anything. But it’s enough to stir heat low in my gut.
She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Or maybe she does. Maybe she thinks that if she pushes that button, she’ll get her way.
Then she looks up at me with this sharp little smirk and says, “I’ll behave.”
Just that one casual and offhanded line, and it sets every nerve in me on fire.
Behave.
The word’s innocent enough, but coming from her, it’s loaded.
There’s defiance under it, a tiny bit of challenge, and God, I want to see just how far that goes.
I clear my throat and step closer, trying not to let the heat in my chest get the better of me. “Behave,” I repeat, low and testing as if that word is foreign to me when it comes to her. “That’s… promising.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact. And that’s what makes me lose it a little inside.
I know I shouldn’t, not right now.
She’s tired. She’s still acclimating to this life she didn’t choose. But every instinct I have tells me to close the distance and see just how far I can push her.
Instead, I keep my hands to myself and set the sandwich down on the counter.
She watches me, aware I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. I see it in her eyes, the slight narrowing, like she’s reading me.
The little spark of curiosity that says, I know you’re staring at me, but I dare you to act on it.
I may have said shit. I may have pushed her. But I’m not that big of a fucking idiot.
“Can I take your silence as a yes?” she mutters in this sweet little tone that makes my cock hard. “I really want to go see it.”
I inhale slowly, trying to pull myself together. I feel like a man I shouldn’t be.
I’m a mob boss.
Dangerous.
Controlled.
And here I am, pacing the floor inside my head because a woman said one word.
“You’re pushing it,” I murmur, more to myself than her.
But she hears it.
Her smirk deepens, subtle and teasing, but not flirty, not really. She’s just her, unapologetic, stubborn, and annoyingly beautiful.
“You’re obsessed with this ‘behave’ thing.”
I want to grab her wrist, pull her close, and make her feel just how dangerous this game is she’s playing.
But I refrain.
She said if I pushed her sexually to see how much I can get her melting and begging for me, it’ll be associated with her as rape.
I haven’t forgotten that.
“You’re obsessed with testing and taunting me,” I counter back. “You’re not going to win, sweetheart. Eat, sleep, then I’ll take you to breakfast—”
“This isn’t a date, Ben,” she retorts with a wrinkle of her nose and the worst idea she’s ever heard. “I just want to see the bakery.”
“And I want to eat.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips—tiny, fleeting, but it’s there. That’s when I decide to lean into my act a little. Play the “innocent, wounded” card, just for a moment.
“You know,” I say softly, letting my tone carry more hurt than it actually does.“When you’re nice to me…you may get what you want quicker.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, just slightly, like she’s questioning if I’m serious. “Are your feelings hurt, Ben? Because I highly doubt it.”
“It’s that smile. The fake one. The real one I barely see. I think I saw it tonight when I came in here, and you wanted to see the bakery.”
Sienna shrugs. “I was excited.”
“And I want you to be…but well rested. I’m sure you’re going to want to do a million and one things while you’re there, so I want to give you ample time to do that.”
She blinks at me, skeptical, probably questioning my motives, but it’s good. It’ll keep her wondering, and that’s what I need.
Her mind on me.
All the time.