Chapter Four #3
Once we are inside and the door is locked, I turn to him. “What the hell is your problem? That was beyond rude behavior!”
Ben places the basket down on the floor. “He was a pushy, annoying asshole,” he mutters, but his face flushes a deep red, telling me he isn’t all that thrilled with his own actions, either.
I raise my eyebrows, recalling the way he watched me during my interaction with Greg, the obvious scowl and the rolling of his eyes, things he probably wasn’t even conscious of doing.
Realization dawns at why he reacted so strongly. “Ben Hollander, you were jealous. Greg asked me out, and it bothered you!”
“He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and that bugged me.”
I fold my arms and step into his private space. “I. Don’t. Believe. You.” I poke him in the chest. “Admit it. You were jealous.”
“It’s not jealousy. It’s that everywhere we go, guys are looking, leering, hitting on you, and you’re damned oblivious!”
“No, they aren’t! Name one place.”
“Starbucks. The guy practically has your order ready the second you walk in the door.”
“Kevin?”
“You know his name?”
I roll my eyes at his absurdity. “Of course I do. I practically live there, which is why he memorized my order and probably everyone else’s who is a repeat customer.”
“The gym.”
“Jason is my trainer!”
“How about the man who scans your ID card when you walk in and asks if you’ll be his date for Thursday night Bingo?”
“Mel is old enough to be my grandfather.” I choke back a laugh.
“Okay, then, the guy who makes your protein shake and has an eye on your boobs the entire time?” he asks, voice rising.
“Mac flirts with everyone!”
“You know all their names!”
I blink at the serious tone in his voice, unable to believe that he notices whether guys take an interest in me. That it bothers him is at odds with the man who dictated the terms of our relationship as bodyguard and client or just friends.
I tamp down the unwanted spark of hope that flares to life inside me at the prospect of his caring leading to something more between us.
Sexually I desire him, but on an emotional level, I want a relationship with him, too.
We have time together, and why not explore the different facets of a romantic connection between us?
He claims to need distance, but I am beginning to wonder if he is merely fooling himself about what he truly wants.
I run my tongue over my lips, very aware that he follows the movement with his darkened blue eyes.
“Why do you care who I talk to? Who flirts with me? Who I tease back? You said we needed to keep our distance,” I remind him.
“I do. I need distance. I just fucking … can’t.” And then his mouth is on mine, hard and demanding.
His hands come to my hips, and he picks me up.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and he steps back, pushing me against the wall, his lips never leaving mine.
His tongue thrusts past the barrier, gliding over mine, tangling and teasing.
And his hands slip beneath my shirt, gliding up, up until his big hand cups my breast.
I groan at the unexpected touch, moan at the swipe of his rough fingertips beneath the cup of my bra, over my nipple.
He breaks the kiss, and his lips come down on my neck, pulling the skin into his mouth, nipping at my flesh.
“God, Ben.” I grind my hips against his hard cock, need spiking through me.
“I want you. I go to sleep wanting you. I wake up wanting you.”
A thrill races through me. This is what I’ve been waiting for. The admission that he desires me as much as I do him. His ultimate capitulation.
“But I can’t trust myself to keep you safe if I’m distracted by sleeping with you.”
My sex pulses at the thought of him thrusting inside me. “Aren’t you distracted now? By all this building, unfulfilled desire?”
To my disappointment, he slides me down his body, the hard ridge of his erection gliding against my cotton clothes. I register the touch and soften with need, my panties growing even damper.
“Do you really think you can’t do your job if we’re sleeping together?” I ask.
“It’s not just that.” He steps back. Runs a shaking hand through his hair.
“Surely, you don’t think I’m going to tell someone and get you fired again.” I study his serious expression, trying to figure out what is holding him back.
“Of course not. It’s deeper than that. It’s my past, what I’ve seen with my—”
Before he can explain further, a familiar ring sounds from where my computer sits open on the table by the couch. The FaceTime ringtone indicates I’m getting a call, and the only people who contact me this way are my parents, whom I haven’t spoken with in almost a week.
My gaze darts from Ben’s tortured expression to the computer.
“Go. Take the call.”
“But—”
“Go,” he insists, walking into the kitchen and getting lost staring into the refrigerator before taking out a can of soda.
I shake my head. “This isn’t finished,” I say, heading to take the face-to-face call with my parents. After which, I intend to pin Ben down on why he is pulling away after admitting he doesn’t want to let me go.