The Promise

Chapter Twelve Healing the Breach

I paced my hotel room, phone in hand, biting my lip, freaking out, not knowing what to do.

I knew what I wanted to do.

But I didn’t know what I should do.

It was early March and I was in Chicago on a business trip.

My business done, I was in my hotel room, pre-going out to dinner by myself, but it was the dinner hour.

Benny would be working.

I’d quit phoning him in January. I did this because he’d never called back.

I tried to keep him. He just wouldn’t let me.

That was his play and I had no choice but to give it to him. I’d burned him badly. I did it because I was fucked up and had no idea how to get unfucked up. I just knew I didn’t want Benny to put up with my fucked-upped-ness, even if I couldn’t convince him he didn’t need any part of that.

I knew I’d made the right decision, but it hurt. It hurt not to have him that way, or any way, and it hurt to hurt him, but it was still right.

This time, I didn’t lose the rest of them. Theresa phoned and gabbed at me like I was still living with Benny and all was well. She never even mentioned it.

This was big-time shocking. I thought she was far more of a meddler than that, not to mention I knew from experience she could hold a mean grudge. But she didn’t breathe a word. She did say that Vinnie Senior said hi, or that he told her to tell me I needed to get back to Chicago and come by for dinner. So I knew Vinnie Senior was moving on without holding a grudge too, just doing it through Theresa.

Manny was a guy so he didn’t expend a lot of effort to keep in touch, but Sela did, thus, I knew Man wasn’t pissed at me. No way Sela would keep in touch if Manny was angry at me. Since she did, I knew that Manny gave her an engagement ring on Valentine’s Day. I also knew she said yes. And direct from Theresa, I knew she (that “she” referring to Sela, as well as Theresa) was ecstatic. It was going to be a full mass, I was going to be invited, and Theresa was planning on wearing a hat to the wedding.

This seemed weird to me, the rift cracking right back open between Benny and me and his family ignoring the breach.

But it was working. I loved having them back, so I wasn’t asking, nor was I complaining.

What I was doing was pacing, doing it knowing I shouldn’t make the call. Ben was pissed. I shouldn’t push him. I should let him stay pissed until he found a good woman, claimed her, built a home and family, and finally came to realize I did him a favor.

I turned my mind swiftly from that train of thought. Even knowing I was right, I couldn’t go there. When he found her, I’d find it in me to let him back in when he allowed it. I’d find a way to like her, even though I’d hate it. I’d find a way to take him the limited way he could give himself to me.

I’d find a way.

Which meant I should leave things be.

I knew it.

Still, I stopped pacing, bent my head, and lifted my phone. My thumb flew over the screen fast in order that my brain wouldn’t catch up and stop me.

I saw his name.

One last touch and I’d made the call.

I should disconnect.

I didn’t.

I put the phone to my ear.

I listened to it ring and closed my eyes.

I kept them closed when I heard his deep, easy voice saying the only words I’d heard him say the last five months: “Ben’s voicemail, leave a message.”

I heard the beep, opened my eyes, and starting blathering.

“Ben? Frankie. Listen, I know it’s been a while since I’ve called, but I’m in Chicago. Staying at The Belvedere. Business. But, uh…business is done for the day and I’m about to go out to dinner.” I sucked in breath and kept rambling. “I thought, maybe…well, I don’t think you would, but I still thought I’d call…see if you wanted to meet for a drink. We can talk. I don’t know, maybe work things out. I know you’re at work but after. I’ll wait. I’ll be in the bar at the hotel. If you wanna drop by, drinks are on me.”

Drinks are on me?

Oh God, I shouldn’t have made the call.

It was time to wind it up.

“That’s, well…it.” I closed my eyes and stupidly whispered, “I hope you come, Benny.”

I hit the button to disconnect and wished I’d never connected. I also wished I could erase the message. I further wished I could rewind my life back to high school and put out so at least I’d have a week or two of dating Benny.

But I couldn’t do any of that so I did what I could do.

I went to dinner alone.

Then I went to the bar at the hotel and had a drink. One drink turned into two, then three. Closing in on midnight, plenty of time after the pizzeria shut down for Ben to get to me, I left the circling men who’d either tried to come onto me or who’d drank and tried to get up the courage to come onto me—easy target, lone woman in a hotel bar, drinking.

I went up to my room and kept my phone close.

An hour slid by before I gave up.

I put on my nightie, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, slid into bed, and turned out the lights.

I rolled to my side and settled in.

When I felt the single tear hit the side of the bridge of my nose and slide down, falling off and salting my lip, I touched my tongue to it. Then I reached out, hugged the unused pillow to me, and closed my eyes. It took a while, a long while, longer than normal, but I guessed you eventually got used to your heart perpetually breaking.

So eventually I found sleep.

***

I jolted awake when I heard a loud knock on the door.

I lifted up to a forearm in the dark, blinked away residual sleep, and the knocking stopped.

I listened.

Nothing.

Did I dream it?

The answer came when the knocking resumed—three firm, loud pounds.

I twisted, switched on the bedside lamp, and threw off the covers. I got to my feet and moved quickly to the door.

I looked out the peephole and stopped breathing.

Ben, head bent, and from what I could tell, both hands up. He was leaning into them, resting on the door.

This killed me. The man could be hot just leaning.

As I watched, he pulled back, then I jumped back when three more pounds came at the door.

Without thinking, not knowing what time it was, not considering the fact I was wearing nothing but a lilac nightie that was made of near-sheer, stretchy material in the body, had cups made of delicate, rosy-pink lace, the same lace skimming the just-over-the-booty hem, I unlatched the door and threw it open.

Ben’s head jerked when I did and I remembered to breathe, only to suck in more and stop doing it again.

We stared at each other.

It was me who pulled it together first, and this was only enough to say, “Benny.”

That unlocked his frame and he pushed in, through me, forcing me back two steps. I took two more when he grabbed the door, threw it closed, and flipped the security latch closed.

Oh God, I wasn’t sure how to take that.

On a new kind of rocky ground with Benny, tentatively I greeted, “Hey.”

His eyes narrowed in a scary way when he asked, “Seriously?”

I pressed my lips together.

I unpressed them when his entire face went scary, this being when his eyes did a slow scan of me in my nightie.

“How did you know my room number?”

His eyes cut back to mine. “Brett Rizzoli is night shift maintenance. I called him. He got it for me.”

I was surprised Brett Rizzoli had a job, seeing as he spent his high school years, and a number after them, on a mission of scoring the best weed in order to smoke it.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Late,” Ben answered.

“Ben—”

He cut me off with, “Serious as fuck, Frankie…cookies?”

I snapped my mouth shut because I knew what he was talking about and my what-I’d-hoped-would-be-thoughtful gesture didn’t seem so thoughtful anymore. It seemed stupid, even callous.

“You’re pissed,” I noted inanely.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You didn’t come back to me,” he clipped.

I clenched my teeth.

“Waited, Francesca. You didn’t fuckin’ come back to me. Then you send me fuckin’ cookies?”

I felt my heart hammering in my chest as I stared at Benny.

Pissed off, small drops of wet in his hair, which told me it was raining or snowing, more wet on his leather jacket, tall, built…beautiful.

Benny.

Taking in all that was him, feeling his angry vibe filling the air and pressing into me, there was no thought. There was nothing.

There was only action.

And that action was me rushing the four feet that separated us and throwing myself in Benny’s arms.

The next action was to drive my fingers into his hair, tilt his head down, then me going up on my toes so I could slam his mouth on mine.

And the next was me touching my tongue to his lips.

The next actions were all Benny’s.

I was up, legs around his hips, his hands at my ass and his tongue in my mouth. He was walking and turning. Then we were down, Ben sitting on the end of the bed, me straddling him.

We did all this kissing, tongues sparring, heads shifting one way and then back, both of us drinking deep, hard, wet, desperate.

His hands went up my nightie and straight down into my panties.

God, they felt good there.

I whimpered into his mouth but didn’t break the connection as I moved my hands to his jacket and shoved it down his shoulders.

I lost his touch when he tore off his jacket. I vaguely heard it land on the floor with a soft flunf, and this was vague because most of my attention was centered on his hands back in my panties.

As much as I liked having them back, I wanted more.

I pulled his tee up at the back, breaking the kiss to demand, “Shirt off, baby.”

I no sooner had the words out when Ben’s hands went to the hem of the tee. He tore it up and it was gone.

I saw bare chest and shoulders, and it was an amazing chest and shoulders, then I saw nothing as Benny shoved his fingers into my hair, tilted my head down, and took my mouth with his.

Finding myself in the miraculous position of being wrapped around a shirtless Ben who was kissing me, I didn’t waste the opportunity. I rolled my hips into his hard crotch, running my hand down his chest, down his abs, liking what it encountered a whole lot, but I had a premier destination in mind. I twisted my hand, flattened it, and rubbed it hard over his jeans.

“Fuck,” he groaned in my mouth.

“Now,” I whispered into his.

His brows shot up over dark, heated eyes. “Now?”

I pressed my hand deep. “Now, baby.”

He said not another word. He shifted slightly to the side and I went for his belt. He had his wallet open while I undid the buttons on his jeans. I caught a glimpse of the fact that Benny Bianchi didn’t carry a condom with him, he carried a string of three, but I didn’t let that penetrate. I had a mission, and that mission was pressing my hand into his boxers and finally getting what I’d been craving for far too long.

It wasn’t difficult to find. It was big. It was hard. And it was all mine.

I pulled his cock free of his jeans and found it was also beautiful.

I stroked.

Ben growled.

His noise made my hips jerk and my eyes went to his.

“Hurry,” I begged.

“Gotta unlatch, baby,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to, but I unlatched.

Ben had the condom out already (thank God) and rolled it on while I watched, squirming in his lap.

He barely had it to the base before I shoved his hand away and grabbed on. I used the fingers of my other hand to shift my undies aside, then took the tip of his cock and rocked my hips against it, sliding it against me.

Ben’s hands came to my hips, fingers digging in, and he rumbled, “Fuckin’ hell, baby.”

I looked into his eyes. “I want it, Benny.”

He looked into my eyes. “Then take it, Frankie.”

I rammed down, filling myself with Benny.

Oh God.

Perfect.

When I took him, Ben’s hands dragged up, fingers digging deep into my flesh, pulling my nightie up my back.

But he didn’t take it off. This was because I was riding him and doing it fast, hard, driving down, grinding, and I had to hold on to stay steady. He shoved one hand up through my nightgown, cupped the back of my head, and pulled it down so he could have my mouth.

I gave it to him, letting Benny take my mouth in a brutal, devouring kiss while I took his cock.

I felt his other hand slide around, in, and down, then his thumb was at my clit.

He put on pressure and rolled.

Benny inside me, Benny all around me. Almost eight years without any goodness but what I could give myself, now finally having it and it being Benny. The instant his thumb rolled, my head shot back and I cried out, sharp and hard, as my orgasm powered through me.

Still coming, Ben pulled me off him, flipped me to my back, ripped my panties down my legs, hauled me up the bed, covered me, and drilled back inside.

“Yes,” I breathed, still climaxing.

Ben thrust, his hips tilted to the side, his hand gliding over my ass, down the back of my thigh to lift one knee high.

“Yes,” I repeated on a gasp, opening my eyes to see him up on a forearm, pounding in, staring down at me.

“Crazy-beautiful,” he whispered.

Oh God.

Benny.

I had one arm trapped under his body, so I curled the forearm around his lower back and held him as best as I could while I lifted my other hand and trailed it down the new, unfamiliar, but awesomely fabulous ridges and flats of his chest and abs.

I lifted my hips so he could get more, I could get more, and he thrust in, started grinding, and bit out, “Fuck yeah, Frankie.”

“What do you need?” I whispered.

“Got it,” he grunted.

God.

My Benny.

I wrapped the leg he had mostly pinned to the bed with his weight around his thigh and moved my hips in tandem with his, letting my fingers drift over the definition of his abs, looking into his eyes, feeling the glory of Benny Bianchi repeatedly filling me.

He yanked up my leg, powered so deep, it felt like he touched my womb. My neck arched and I breathed, “That’s it, baby, fuck me.”

At that, he threw my leg around his back, his hand gliding up the front of my thigh, my side, in, it rubbed hard over the material covering my breast, the drag over my tightened nipple forcing a moan to glide out of my throat. Then his hand moved down and his thumb was again at my clit.

My head righted and I moaned, “That’s it, Benny.”

“It fuckin’ is. Get there, Frankie,” he growled.

Our hips moved, Ben pressed and rolled, then pressed deeper and rolled harder as his hips rammed into mine and my breath caught.

“Benny.”

“Close, cara, get there,” he groaned.

Too late.

I was there. Digging my fingers into his back, clutching him with my legs, my other hand shooting up to curl around the side of his neck and hold tight, my back arched off the bed and it again shot through me.

I felt Ben thrust deep through it, his thumb moving from my clit to clamp around the back of my thigh. I just had it together enough to open my eyes when he started bucking, his breaths coming rhythmic and harsh. When I did, I saw his head dipped down and felt his hand gripping my thigh tight, the harsh breaths turning into the hard grunts of his release.

His bucking slowed, gentled, until he slid in, released my thigh, lifted his head, caught my eyes, and lowered his body to mine.

“Well, uh…how’s that for healing the breach?”

That came from me. Right out of my mouth. I heard it and I couldn’t believe it.

Benny couldn’t either. I knew this when he blinked. Then he stared.

Then his head went back and he burst out laughing.

It was at this inopportune moment that all that I’d just done hit me in the way of the sane, rational person I wanted always to be (but rarely was) rather than the insane, crazy slut I’d just acted like, which seemed to happen a lot around Benny.

I knew Ben felt the tightness that came into my body because his head snapped back down, and when his eyes caught mine, there was zero humor in them.

“Oh no, cara, fuck no,” he growled. “You are not pullin’ away from me now and not just ’cause I got you pinned to the bed with my dick still hard inside you.”

“I threw myself at you again,” I whispered, sounding horrified, and my voice started rising when I finished, “This time literally.”

“Yeah, you did, thank fuck.”

It was me who blinked that time before I asked, “You’re not mad?”

His head jerked, his eyes narrowed, and his voice was disbelieving. “Babe, been wantin’ to be right here” —he ground his hips into mine and my legs tensed around him when he did— “for a long fuckin’ time. I’m here” —he pressed in between my legs again— “and I like it. Why the fuck would I be mad?”

I didn’t want to bring it up, but I couldn’t get around the fact that I had to bring it up, and the only way I could think in that moment to communicate it was to say softly, “Cookies.”

I knew Ben didn’t want me to bring it up either when the dark, scary look passed over his face.

“That was a fucked-up play, Frankie,” he said quietly.

He said it quietly.

He didn’t get mean. He didn’t get pissed. He didn’t get sarcastic.

He pointed it out and did it quietly.

God, my Benny.

“I didn’t want to lose you,” I told him.

“Well, just sayin’, the way not to do that was the play you made fifteen minutes ago. Though, for future reference, I got your ass to tap in my bed, in my kitchen you can make all the cookies you want.”

Even though I knew I was on rocky ground, I couldn’t help it. At his words, automatically, I screwed my eyes up and glared at him. “My ass to tap?”

The dark, scary look left and the light of humor came back when he said, “Yeah. You’re there for me to eat and fuck whenever I want, I’m not gonna be pissed you’re makin’ me cookies.”

My stomach dipped at the thought of Benny going down on me (much less fucking me again).

However, that was not what I shared.

“I can now officially report that women do not like it when men talk like that, Ben.”

He moved his face close and whispered, “Then why, when I said it, did your pussy clench tight around my dick?”

I was pretty sure it did that, and I was pretty sure because, along with the belly dip, I felt other more pleasant sensations elsewhere.

As much as I enjoyed bantering with Benny, enjoyed it even more in our current position—Benny heavy and warm on me after having sex with him for the first time, sex that included two orgasms—this was not the time to banter.

This was the time to freak out.

And being me, I commenced in doing that.

“Ben, I’m not sure what we just did was smart.”

His expression turned guarded and he asked, “Why?”

“Well, I’m pretty certain you didn’t miss this, considering the drama I perpetrated in your bathroom five months ago with you in attendance, but I’m kind of fucked up.”

“No, babe, I didn’t miss it,” he replied immediately but did it softly. “But you missed something. Something really fuckin’ important.”

I was fucked up so I had a strong idea that I missed a lot of things that were really fucking important.

At that moment, however, I needed to know which one he was referring to.

“What’d I miss?” I asked.

“The part about how I don’t want easy.”

My stomach clutched, my limbs clenched around him, and I stared up into his eyes.

“You walked away from me, shut me out and walked out of my house, and that was not cool,” he said quietly. “But I’m sensin’ you needed to do that, and my sense is right because you did it, knowin’ you’d fuck me and knowin’ you’d fuck you doin’ it.”

I pressed my lips together, partly because there was no response to that, but mostly because he told me I’d fucked him, not in the good way, and I hated that I’d hurt him.

But he was right. I did it knowing I was doing it. To him and to me.

“And, Frankie,” he went on, “you did that and you did other shit since, but you do not want to be my friend. You have not been phonin’ me and makin’ me cookies because you want me in your life like that. You’ve been phonin’ me and making me cookies because you want me in your life like this.”

He emphasized his last words by, again, pressing his hips into mine, as well as momentarily giving me more of his body weight.

“I do. I told you that,” I reminded him. “I also told you I’m not right for you.”

“Babe, how about you let me decide what’s right for me,” Benny stated.

At that, I blinked again.

Ben kept talking.

“Seein’ as you’re fucked up, I suppose you can take what just happened between us, what you just gave me, what you just threw at me, literally, and twist it or deny it or bury it so that you can walk away from it, even though it was unbelievably fuckin’ hot and proves not only that we both want this, we’re really fuckin’ good at it.”

He could say that again.

“I’m just gonna tell you now,” he continued. “I let you have that play five months ago because I was hopin’ you’d get your head straight and come back to me. I’m takin’ this” —he again gave me more of his weight before he took it away— “as you comin’ back to me. Now, what you gotta get is that I will not allow you to walk away from me again.”

My breath started to come faster as I lay under him and stared up into his eyes.

Ben kept going.

“I’ll make that clear. When I say I won’t allow that to happen, I’m not talkin’ about me not lettin’ go again. Right now, Francesca, you gotta decide. Are we gonna work this out and see where this can go? Or is this a fucked-up play you instigated with zero control and you have every intention of carryin’ on with that, jackin’ me around, you’re cognizant of doin’ that or not, but you got no intention of puttin’ in the work to sort yourself out, sort us out, and give us a shot?”

Pure Benny, not beating around the bush or wasting any time.

My chest was working hard at allowing me to breathe as my heart beat fast in my chest. Both of these, coupled with the fear coursing through my system, didn’t allow me to reply.

When I didn’t, Benny’s hand found mine. He laced our fingers and pulled our hands up to press them against the side of his chest, saying softly, “Baby, simple yes or no. With what we just shared, you meant to share it with me or not, did you come back to me?”

“Yes.”

It was one word, one syllable, it sounded strangled and just as terrified as I felt.

Terrified for me and terrified of what I might eventually do to Benny.

That one word was selfish. It wasn’t right.

But it was true.

At my word, clearly not knowing all my thoughts, Ben closed his eyes as relief swept through his features, then he dropped his forehead to mine.

I closed mine too.

God, I hoped I hadn’t just fucked up huge.

I opened my eyes when he lifted a breath away and, again, looked at me.

“How long you in Chicago?”

“I have more meetings tomorrow with docs, introducing them to me, as well as a new member of my team who’s three years older than me—a guy who has been in the pharmaceutical business for ten years when I’ve been in it for five months. So tomorrow, I’ll also be furthering my endeavors to convince him I know what I’m doing and he has to respect that ’cause I’m his boss. I leave the day after.”

“The day after is a Friday.”

“Yeah.”

“So you don’t leave on Friday. You leave on Sunday. Tomorrow mornin’, you pack your shit, and when I go home, I’ll take it with me. You’re done with your meetings and convincing this asshole he’s gotta respect you, you come to me.”

I go to him.

That didn’t make me feel terrified.

That made me feel warm and safe and happy.

But that made me feel terrified.

“You with me?” Ben prompted when I didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, Benny,” I whispered.

“While you’re here, we’ll talk, we’ll fuck, we’ll sort things out and make a plan. And, heads up, Frankie, we’ll be fuckin’ a lot ’cause I only had you once, but we clearly already got that down. And my guess is, we fuck enough, shit will sort itself out.”

“That would be your guess,” I mumbled, and he grinned.

“One good thing about the five-month lag, baby. You’re fully recovered so I didn’t have to hold back and could ride you hard. Better, you could ride me and do it really hard.”

Another belly dip, which, in turn, made me glare at him.

Unfortunately, Ben kept speaking.

“Personal best, gettin’ a woman to come that fast…twice.”

“Um…I’ll just point out the first time was due to my activities.”

The grin came back.

“Bullshit, baby. You were workin’ hard to find it, but you didn’t get it until you got my thumb.”

That was true.

And annoying.

I shut my mouth and kept glaring.

Benny’s grin turned to a smile.

The smile faded as his gaze roamed my face and finally came back to my eyes.

When his caught mine, he whispered, “Leave it to my Frankie. When she does somethin’, even when she doesn’t intend to do it, she goes big.”

He sounded like he liked that.

Then again, we were where we were after what we’d just done so that wasn’t a surprise.

Still, I liked that he liked that about me. I also liked that he let me off the hook so easily. Of course, the sex was great and an awesome motivator to get a man to let you off the hook. But I’d fucked up huge, and still, he opened it up for me and gave me another shot without making me work for it at all.

Then again, back in the bathroom, he told me if I came back, he wouldn’t make me work for it.

And he was true to his promise.

I still was not certain what the hell I was doing. Worse, I was worried that eventually I wouldn’t do right by Benny.

But I just couldn’t seem to stop myself.

“It’s late, Ben,” I reminded him quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied, slid down, kissed my shoulder, and rolled to the side. He allowed himself an eye sweep of my body before they came back to my face. “Like the nightie, Frankie.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Ben grasped a hip, rolling me to my side, and he pulled the covers over me. Only then did he exit the bed.

I watched him from the back adjusting his jeans on the way to the bathroom. More aptly, I watched the muscles of his back move as he made his way to the bathroom.

Mere minutes later, I watched him, wearing nothing but white boxers, sauntering back to the bed.

The light went out before he slid in beside me. The instant he was in, he pulled me in his arms.

I closed my eyes and did it hard.

I’d missed this. I’d spent months, every night, every single one, wondering what the hell was the matter with me that I ran away from it. Wanting it back. Wanting it forever.

Now, having really had all of Benny, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to give it up.

Even if I made it so that Benny wanted to give up on me.

“I’m scared as shit,” I said into his throat, pressing my face there.

“Know that, Frankie.”

“I don’t know how to get over it.”

“Know that too.”

“I don’t wanna fuck you over again.”

“So don’t.”

“It’s not that easy,” I whispered.

His hands moved over my back, and he dipped his chin so when he said, “I know that too, honey,” it was in my hair. “I also know we are not gonna beat whatever is fuckin’ you up tonight. Wrestled with whether or not to come here for hours, couldn’t beat back the urge, and now I’m glad I didn’t. But it’s three o’clock in the morning. You got work tomorrow. So now, you sleep. Tomorrow, we’ll set about figuring out how to beat it.”

I took in a rough breath and let it out, saying, “Okay, Benny.”

“Now go to sleep.”

“Okay, honey.”

I snuggled closer, pressing my hands to his chest and turning my head to press my cheek against his collarbone.

His arms around me got tight.

I closed my eyes, and apparently the miracle of Benny (not to mention two orgasms) was enough to quiet all the shit in my head clamoring to be heard that I was scared to face. My body relaxed and I started to drift to sleep.

I stopped when Ben’s arms gave me a squeeze and he murmured, “Fuckin’ thrilled you healed the breach, baby.”

So Benny to give me that, straight-up honest.

“I hope you stay that way,” I murmured back.

“Eyes on the prize, Frankie,” he whispered.

The prize.

Having Benny.

The best prize there was.

“Right, Ben,” I whispered back. “Eyes on the prize.”

He shifted me closer, tangled a heavy leg in mine, and slid a hand up to play with the ends of my hair.

I settled in, took a deep breath, let his fingers moving in my hair relax me, and it didn’t take long before I found sleep.

***

The alarm on my phone sounded, and directly after, Ben sounded.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rolling and taking me with him. I felt him reach and he must have grabbed my phone and touched a thumb to it to turn off the alarm because it stopped.

I was blinking but saw the light of my phone and knew Benny must have been looking at it too when he muttered, “Christ, is it six already?”

With probably four hours of sleep, my first thoughts should have been about how I was going to get through an important day of meetings and communing with one of my reps, who’d made it clear the day before he wasn’t all that hot about working under me.

But those were not my thoughts.

My thoughts were how good it felt to wake up to Benny in nothing but boxers, me with no panties, after two orgasms, and making the whacked decision to come back to him.

I came back into the room mentally when I heard the phone clatter back on the nightstand, then I was on my back, Ben mostly on me because he rolled us into that position.

“You gotta get up?” he asked.

“It takes me an hour and a half to get ready and I have an eight o’clock breakfast meeting with my rep,” I answered.

“So that’s a yeah.”

“That’s a yeah,” I confirmed, sounding as disappointed as I felt.

I felt a whole lot less disappointed when Ben shifted to bury his face in my neck, where he said, “Right, you get ready. I’m gonna snooze.”

I rounded him with my arms and offered, “You can snooze all you want. I’ll do the checkout thing, arrange a wakeup call so you have plenty of time to get up and on your way, and I’ll put out the ‘do not disturb’ sign so they don’t bother you in the meantime.”

He pulled his face out of my neck to look into my eyes through the dark and say, “That’s a plan.”

I grinned at him, also through the dark.

Then I said, “I gotta hit it, honey.”

I reached up to touch my mouth to his but left it at that because I knew I wouldn’t be getting up at all if I went for more. But as I began to pull from his arms, they tightened around me.

I looked back toward his face.

“Gotta say this,” he muttered, and I felt my stomach tighten because he didn’t sound like he wanted to say whatever it was he had to say. “I laid it out last night,” he went on. “But need to make it clear, will only make it clear this once, ’cause by tonight, I’ll know and it’ll be done.”

My stomach didn’t loosen as I asked, “What’ll be done?”

He gathered me closer when he answered, “You burned me once, baby. I didn’t like it. Not at all. If it wasn’t you doin’ it, there would be no second chance. Since it’s you, I’m givin’ you a second chance. You don’t show tonight, it’ll be done. And we’re talking done, cara. I will not answer the phone. I will not come callin’ when you’re in town for business. You come to Man’s wedding, you won’t exist for me. That kind of done. You don’t show at my place tonight, you commit to that future ’cause there’s no goin’ back.”

I was deep breathing in order to hold back the panic and, focused on that, I didn’t respond.

So Benny prompted, “You understand that, baby?”

“I understand,” I forced out.

“All right,” he murmured, sliding a hand up into my hair, cupping the back of head, and pulling me to him.

His kiss was not a lip touch. It was harder, closed mouthed, and a whole lot nicer.

But he was Benny and all the awesomeness that entailed. He knew I had responsibilities.

So he broke the kiss but touched his lips to mine once more before he whispered, “Now haul your ass outta this bed. I got sleep to catch up on.”

“Okay, Ben.”

He gave me a squeeze. I gave him one back, then I hauled my ass out of the bed.

Since starting my job, I’d been traveling a lot, seeing as my territory was half the continental United States, so I had a system. When I got to my hotel room, I always unpacked. Made myself at home. Made sure everything was where I needed it to be when I might need it because I was working with reps and doctors, and schedules could get fucked. I didn’t want to be digging through my suitcase to find my three-tiered jewelry bag in order to locate the right earrings when I should be out the door to make a meeting.

This had the added benefit of enabling me to get ready relatively quietly (nothing I could do about the hair dryer), behind closed doors in the bathroom, only coming out to sort through the closet in the light of dawn to pick one of my business outfits and shoes.

When I did, I saw Ben on his side in the bed, one hand shoved under the pillow, one arm thrown wide, covers down to his lat, hair a mess, locks having fallen over his forehead.

I did not think in the shower. I did not process what I’d done or what I was doing. I didn’t begin the Herculean task of trying to understand my panic or what I did to Ben five months ago.

I got ready.

But staring at him in the bed, my mind jumbled, turning, twisting, so much rushing through it at once it was like when you picked up a book and put your thumb tight to the edge of the pages and let loose, the entire book flying across your vision in seconds. But through that, you had to find one line. You had to.

Your life depended on it.

I got to the end of the book, turned to the closet, and grabbed my dress and shoes. I took them to the bathroom, put them on, accessorized, re-sprayed my hair, and spritzed with perfume.

Done with that, as quietly as I could, I packed up the bathroom. Going out to grab my suitcase, I carried it in the bathroom and went back out to grab my clothes. I took those in. I packed. And not using the rollers because it would be noisy, I carried it back out and set it by the door.

I walked to the bed, again taking in all that was Benny Bianchi lying in it, and nabbed my phone. I walked back to the closet to get my blazer. I grabbed it, shrugged it on, pulled my hair out of the collar, then got my light trench from where I’d thrown it on a chair, my purse, the keycard, and my computer bag. I walked to the door, put out the “do not disturb” sign, and walked down the hall toward the elevators in order to go to the registration desk to check out.

In other words, when that book flipped in front of me, I’d found my line.

***

I went to Ben’s name on my phone and hit the button to connect.

I put the phone to my ear and waited. It rang several times, and I knew it did this because Ben’s jeans were in the bathroom. It also went to voicemail.

Too far away to hear.

I should have thought to put his phone on the nightstand.

I didn’t think of that so I disconnected, searched for the hotel on Safari, found it, and connected.

“The Belvedere, how can we help you today?”

“Can you ring me up to room four thirteen?”

“Of course. One moment.”

I heard nothing. Then I heard clicks. Finally I heard rings.

“’Lo?” Ben’s drowsy voice said.

“It’s your friendly wake-up call,” I stated chirpily. “Time to get your ass out of bed and out of that room or I’ll have to pay for an extra day.”

“Baby.” Now his voice was drowsy and amused.

I liked the drowsy and amused so I went for more.

“Of course, I wouldn’t be paying for it, my company would, but momma don’t play that way with her employers.”

I only had amused—rumbling deep amused—when he asked, “Momma don’t play that way?”

“Yep,” I answered.

“Baby, there are a lotta things you are, but street is not one of them.”

“I can totally do street.”

“You could, if your dad was not Italian but African American. That not bein’ the case, you cannot.”

“Are we gonna squabble about whether I can do street or not?” I asked.

“No, seein’ as I gotta get my ass outta this bed before your company has to pay the extra day you won’t be usin’ this room so we don’t have time since that’ll take a year.”

“Right then, to finish that particular discussion, I can so do street.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, but it still rumbled with amusement.

“Okay, I gotta get to a meeting.”

“Cara.”

At his sudden change in tone, I stopped dead, standing in the hallway of a medical office building.

“What?” I whispered.

“Bag packed, by the door.”

My heart tripped, but my mouth spewed attitude. “Well, I’m not trustin’ you to pack for me. You’d totally fuck it up.”

“There is no way to fuck up packing, Frankie. You toss the shit in, close the case. It zips, you’ve succeeded.”

“Ben, just the idea of tossing my stuff in a suitcase without folding or strategizing placement gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Then it’s good you packed.”

“I know.”

“No, Francesca.” His voice was deep and not easy, but low and heavy with meaning. “It’s good you packed.”

My voice was not easy, but quiet and also heavy with meaning when I replied, “I know.”

He was silent a second, maybe letting that sink in, before he asked, “You got a guesstimate when you’re gonna be at my place?”

“With the way my day is planned, maybe I should come to the restaurant, get the keys, go to your place, and see you when you’re off.”

This I had thought about in the last several hours since leaving Benny. These were not good thoughts, primarily because everyone likely knew I’d bailed on him, and although his family seemed to be playing Switzerland with that, others might not. And when it came to the pizzeria, those others could be there.

They were also not good thoughts because Benny worked late and I wanted to see him, but I also needed sleep.

Maybe I’d nap while he was at the restaurant.

“Uh…honey, you came back to me. I’m not workin’ tonight,” Benny said, cutting into my thoughts.

“You’re callin’ in Vinnie Senior?” I asked, not certain how I felt about that either because it would mean there would be little delay in the Bianchis knowing I was back.

“No. Manny can cover the kitchen for a day or two. He does it sometimes when I got a day off and he doesn’t fuck up my kitchen when he does it. Long haul, though, Man doesn’t have it in him. It’s gotta be Pop.”

I found that interesting.

I didn’t have the time to find out why that was interesting.

I only had the time to say, “All right.”

“I’ll give Man a call, get to the restaurant, make sure everything’s sorted for him. So, again, when am I gonna see you?”

“Around six.”

“Right. Then see you around six.”

Suddenly, I felt extremely happy and couldn’t keep it out of the “Yeah” I gave to him.

“Yeah.” He gave it back to me.

I drew in a steadying breath.

“Later, Benny.”

“Later, Frankie.”

I disconnected and looked down the hall to where Trey, my rep, was standing, head bent to his phone, thumb moving over it, expression set to annoyed.

And I thought, Fuck him. I was good at my job, even if the learning curve meant that for four months, my downtime was spent with my nose in patient information leaflets, company brochures, past sales reports, and team evaluations.

He was going to have to suck it up.

I was there to stay.

Or, at least for the next minute.

The one after that, we’d see.