Chapter Four
Ben
I tell myself that the earlier kiss was the result of Summer’s adrenaline rush and nothing more.
I’m not sure I believe it, not given how quickly it escalated, how good her lush body felt in my arms, and how hard I am for her, even now, hours later.
But I have no choice but to push forward and do my job, and that means pretending the kiss never happened.
Which isn’t easy when I am in Summer’s orbit, surrounded by her soft scent and the driving need I have to do more than just kiss her.
The women are talking to each other in the small kitchen area. Despite having the television on, I just heard the story of Ivy and her last date, something I wish I could un-hear.
“You’ll never guess who I ran into at Starbucks,” Ivy says, her voice louder with each successive glass of wine.
“Who?”
“Your ex, Ryan.”
“Really? How does he look?” Summer asks.
If he is an ex, why does Summer care how this Ryan guy looks? I think with an irritable frown.
“His hair grew, and he has a beard. He looked good.”
“Too bad he sucked in bed,” Summer says, ending that sentence on a giggle that has to be the result of too much wine.
Jesus. The last vision I want is one of Summer naked and in bed with some guy named Ryan. Or any guy, for that matter, whether or not he is bad in the sack. I wish I had the luxury of drinking like the women are, but I don’t indulge while on the job.
“He did say to tell you he’d like to hear from you again.”
Despite myself, I cock my head their way, wanting to hear Summer’s reply.
She shakes her head at her friend’s suggestion. “No way. He’s way too uptight. He had to fold his clothes neatly before we ever made it to the bed. Who does that?”
“Not a guy who can’t keep his hands off you, that’s for sure.”
I curl my hands into tight fists. This conversation and the subject of Summer’s ex and how he was in bed are giving me fits.
On the one hand, jealousy eats at me that she’s been with other men, not that I’ve been celibate in the time since we were together last. And on the other hand, I am pissed at myself for caring what she was up to with other men when I am so determined to keep things between us professional.
Ivy yawns. “I wish I could stay, but I have to meet with a new client in the morning and I’m exhausted.”
“And tipsy,” Summer says. “I know I am. You’re taking an Uber home, right?”
Ivy nods. “Yep.” She takes out her phone and arranges for her ride. “Three minutes away.” She slides her shoes back onto her feet and rises.
“I appreciate you coming by. You know how much it means to me to know you care.” Summer stands and wobbles a bit, the room obviously spinning around her.
A glance at the table tells me they consumed two bottles between them.
She pulls Ivy into a hug. “Thank you.”
“I love you, Summer. You know that.”
“Love you, too.”
Ivy starts for the door, then turns back to face me. “Bye, bodyguard!”
“Get home safe,” I say, meeting her at the door so I can let her out and lock up behind her.
I turn just as Summer trips on her own feet, giggles, and rights herself. “Oops.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t deny she is cute when drunk. “Come on, princess. Bedtime.” I stride around the sofa and grab her elbow, pulling her along toward the one room I’ve been avoiding since taking this job.
Her bedroom.
The shades are drawn, a small lamp on the nightstand lighting up the room. A white ruffled bedspread with a black heart pillow in the center defines the décor, the furniture also white with black accents, a mix of soft femininity and statement pieces.
“I’m tired.”
“So let’s get you into bed.” I turn my back on her and pull the comforter down over the mattress so she can climb between the cover and the sheets. When I look back, she stands in her bra and panties.
She is intoxicated, and it isn’t appropriate, but I can’t tear my gaze away.
From her pink-painted toes, up her toned calves and thighs, to the barely there triangle covering her sweet pussy, my gaze lingers before traveling up and over her stomach and belly button with a small ring attached to her full breasts, spilling over the lacy cups of her bra.
“I’m ready,” she says, weaving as she walks over to where I stand.
God is testing me, no doubt about it.
“Get in,” I say through clenched teeth as I pat the mattress.
“Make me,” she says in a flirty, teasing voice.
I raise my eyebrows. Really? She is going to push me?
I scoop her into my arms, and while inhaling her sweet scent that makes me fucking harder than I already am, I deposit her onto the bed.
She refuses to unlink her arms from around my neck and pulls me down on top of her.
She tucks her cheek against mine and sighs. “You smell good,” she says, turning and pressing a kiss against my cheek.
She smells better, and my dick is hard as a rock because of it. I try to lift myself up, but she holds on tight.
“It’s no wonder no other guys lived up to you,” she murmurs.
Aww, fuck. She is going to kill me.
I want nothing more than to rip those tiny panties off her and sink into her wet heat.
Short of that, I’d settle for curling myself around her and breathing her in all night long.
She threatens my sanity and my common sense.
I have the scars from the last time I tangled with her and got burned.
I saw the result when my father went back for one more chance and paid the price.
All solid reasons for me to get the hell out of her bed.
“Come on, princess. Let me up.” I push harder and lever myself away from her, breaking her hold on me at last.
No sooner have I turned back than she curls into herself and falls asleep. Ignoring the catch in my chest at the sight of her so vulnerable, I pull the blanket up and over her body, covering her and tucking her in for the night.
Then I shut off the lamp and head back to the couch for a cold, lonely night’s sleep.
* * *
Summer
I awake to a dull throb inside my head, and it hurts to open my eyes. My mouth tastes like cotton, and I groan. Too much wine. My bladder feels full, and I push off the covers and realize I’m wearing my bra and panties. I never sleep in my underwear.
And then I remember Ben walking me into my room and demanding I get into bed.
Make me, I said, taunting him. Teasing him.
So he grabbed me and put me into bed, and I pulled him down on top of me.
“Oh God.” I groan and put my head in my hands.
Well, it could have been worse. I could have stripped completely. It is the only bright side I can find to what was a completely embarrassing incident.
I change into an oversized sleep shirt and head for the bathroom, where I wash up and brush my teeth. I pull my hair into a messy bun and gather my courage around me before heading into the other room to face Ben.
He stands in the kitchen facing the counter, putting frozen waffles into the toaster oven. A pair of athletic pants rides low on his lean hips. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and even his back is muscular, tapering into his waistband.
He must sense me because he turns. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” I feel a heated blush rise to my cheeks. “Listen, about last night—”
He waves, dismissing my words. “Don’t worry about it. Want some waffles?”
“Sure.” I glance at the table, surprised to find orange juice already poured for us both. “Thank you.”
“I figured you’d wake up hurting. This was the best I could do. I’m not much of a cook. Not even eggs.”
“Waffles will be fine. I eat them all the time,” I say, touched by his desire to take care of me in some small way.
When the timer goes off, he serves us both waffles. Maple syrup is on the table, and I realize I’m starving. I cut into the waffles, and we eat in silence until we are both finished.
He pushes his plate aside, props his elbows on the table, and meets my gaze. “You were right the other night. It’s time we talked.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“I should have taken your calls back then, but I was angry, and you were the best candidate to take that anger out on.”
I blow out a long breath. “I don’t blame you, really. You lost your job. But things between us were … intense before they blew up, and when you didn’t take my calls or reply to my texts, that hurt.”
Although we were together a short period of time, it meant something to me. Given how we didn’t have much contact with the outside world during the show, and I managed to see him often, my time with Ben was a whirlwind of intensity.
He wraps his hand around the glass in front of him.
“I know. And I regret how I handled it and wish things had ended differently. But that time in my life taught me not to mix business with pleasure. I need to focus on my job, and that means however difficult it is for us to keep our hands to ourselves now, we have to do it.”
His words close any hope I might have been holding out for us to try again.
I don’t like it, because I was truthful last night when I said that no man since has lived up to him.
And not just sexually. But I appreciate that he spoke to me about things, and I respect both Ben and his work enough to stick to the boundaries he’s put in place.
Even if it does cause a bit of disappointment.
“Don’t worry. I won’t throw myself at you again,” I say, raising my hand in a solemn promise.
A sad smile lifts his lips. “If things were different…” He shakes his head. “But they aren’t. I’m going to keep you safe, and when this is over, you’ll be going out into the world as a huge star. You won’t have time to think about me except as someone you once knew before you were famous.”
I shake my head, rise, and gather our plates, taking them to the sink to clean, unable and unwilling to face him, because he is wrong. I will think about him as more than someone I once knew. He is the one who got away.
* * *
Ben