Working It

13

Emmy

It was eight o’clock when I made it back to the hotel, and I was exhausted. My body was fighting this European schedule, and Fiona’s ridiculous demands kept me running. But Ben’s text said to come straight to his room and to come hungry.

When I arrived at his door, he planted a tender kiss on my lips and pulled me inside.

“I listened to the CD you made me.”

“And?”

“I loved it. Thank you.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, his expression truly grateful.

I sensed this was a new side of him, a softer, sweeter Ben, and I liked it. I didn’t know what had changed between us but he was clearly letting me into his world.

I noticed a room service cart with various platters covered with silver domes. “Breakfast in bed okay?” he asked.

“Breakfast? For dinner?” I loved the idea, but it was a little unusual.

“Since I didn’t get to take you out to breakfast like you wanted this morning.”

I didn’t realize it before, but now that I could smell the food, I was ravenous. Ben lifted the domes from the plates, and my mouth began to water. Golden waffles dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a with mixed-berry compote, fluffy omelets with goat cheese and mushrooms drizzled with truffle oil, thick cuts of ham and a green salad on the side. It was anything but a country breakfast, almost too pretty and elegant to eat, but it was perfect.

“This is lovely, thank you.”

“Dig in.”

“You didn’t have to do all this. . . .” I wanted to remind him he’d said this was just sex between us, but I didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I need you fueled up for what I want to do to you tonight.” His eyes lingered on mine.

Oh. So it wasn’t some romantic gesture. It was about sex. I helped myself to the food. I might as well enjoy the meal.

We made our plates, taking a little of everything, and then settled on the bed. Ben flipped on the TV to some French news program for background noise while we ate. It was relaxing and so ordinary. And perfect.

We chatted casually throughout the meal, and Ben asked me questions about college. He seemed genuinely interested and admitted he’d always wanted to go to college, but Fiona thought it would slow down his career. Money and exposure now, college later. Even if I could see her reasoning, it made me sad for him.

The conversation I really wanted to have—about his prescriptions—remained just out of reach. I’d already asked about them once; I didn’t want to push him. He’d tell me when he was ready. I had to believe that.

Ben cleared away the dishes then stretched out on the bed next to me. I was comfortable and full and relaxed into the fluffy white bedding. Ben lifted my bare feet into his lap and began lazily rubbing them. It felt amazing. I let my eyes slip closed, allowing the food coma to set in.

“Thank you for breakfast. It wasn’t anything like the home cooking where I’m from, but . . .” I smiled. “It was delicious. Maybe you’ll have to come to Tennessee with me sometime.”

His brow crinkled.

Ben

“I want to be upfront with you.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. God, she was so sweet, it almost made me feel bad. Almost. But I knew what I wanted and the pleasures I could show her. I wouldn’t let anything complicate that. If she was talking about taking me home to Tennessee, clearly we weren’t on the same page about what this was.

“Emmy, I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve been on my own too long; I’ve gotten too good at it.”

“That doesn’t mean that’s how it has to be.” Her voice was small and she looked down. She wanted to challenge me on this, but seemed reluctant to push me. She wanted it to be my choice. But I knew what I wanted.

Using two fingers, I lifted her chin, forcing her eyes up to mine. “I know. But it’s how I like it. Having to only worry about myself.”

Emmy waited, her eyes on mine, waiting to see what else I’d say.

If I was smart, I’d push her away right now. I’d spill my history, my twisted past, all the many ways I’d fucked up. That would send her running. But something in me wouldn’t do that. Refused. I wanted her too badly. This sweet, soft-spoken girl who was far too normal and nice for me. I wanted her. And it wasn’t just about sex, either. I couldn’t lie, being buried balls deep in her sweet body sounded fucking amazing, though that wasn’t all I wanted if I was being honest. But, unwilling to let myself fuck with both her body and her mind, I needed to remind her this was only about sex.

I pushed on, needing to kill her hope for more. “Is what we have right now so bad?” I asked, one side of my mouth lifting in a playful grin.

She merely blinked up at me, like she wanted to disagree, to tell me I was wrong, that this could work if I would only try. But she deserved better—a proper boyfriend who’d cherish her, not hide her from the world in a hotel room.

“Ben . . .” she started.

My finger over her lips silenced her. “I’m just not capable of giving you everything you need.”

She took my hand and squeezed it in hers, as if saying, “You’re wrong.”

My chest throbbed. She looked at me like I was good and whole and someone she wanted to take care of. I wouldn’t push her away, as long as she knew what she was getting and not getting. “I don’t know where I’ll be living a few months from now. There’s constant temptation in this business. Don’t complicate this, Emmy. It’s two and a half months. Let me have you.”

She hesitated.

“Baby, you’re on my mind constantly. There’s no one else. Come on . . . let me have you how I want you. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Emmy

Let me have you. Ben’s words rang in my head while his soulful eyes remained locked on mine. Could I do that? Could I hand him the keys to my body and not my heart? I realized with shocking clarity that this was who he was—how he grew up. He had watched his mom with a constant parade of men, and that was the norm. Moving all the time, relying only on himself. He learned to meet his physical needs with whomever was there with him, never getting too attached, knowing he’d eventually move on.

In contrast, my parents were high school sweethearts. I was pretty sure they’d been intimate only with each other—yet I knew they regretted nothing. They were still deeply in love after all these years.

The resolute look in his eyes, his belief that he was better off alone, broke my heart.

I tried not to read too much into it. He said it was two and half more months—just sex. But every time he said or did something sweet, like this breakfast, or opening up to me, or insisting I spend the night in his bed, my heart got confused. I knew it was stupid, wishful thinking, but maybe we could be more. Maybe I could change his mind about commitment. It was probably stupid, but my brain latched on anyway. Didn’t every girl want the fairytale romance with Prince Charming? Maybe this was my chance. I couldn’t give up on him.

“Thank you for dinner,” I murmured, determined to relax and enjoy myself, despite his disappointing attitude on relationships.

“Anytime, beautiful.”

Each time he called me beautiful my heart skipped a beat. He made me feel all squirmy, like I was fifteen again, trying to attract the cute guy’s attention. Luckily, I seemed to have somehow captured his complete attention and adoration. His thumbs stroked my instep and his eyes stayed locked on mine.

“Does this feel good?” he asked, pressing his knuckles firmly into the bottom of my foot.

Good wasn’t a strong enough word. After walking all day in unsupportive flats that pinched my feet, this was heaven. “I fucking love it. Actually I flove it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Inventing new words, Miss Clarke?”

I smiled and nodded shyly.

“I’ll call Webster’s,” he said. “Have it added to the dictionary.”

His playfulness should have lightened the tone, but I could tell something more was on his mind. He continued rubbing my feet for several minutes in silence before laying them gingerly at the end of the bed to join me, leaning against the headboard. He didn’t meet my eyes, just continued staring straight ahead.

“I take meds for anxiety and insomnia, and a couple different prescription sleep aids. I’ve had trouble sleeping since I was a kid. And the anxiety meds help with that. I don’t like taking the sleep aids. They make me feel like a zombie.”

I waited, nodding slightly, urging him to continue.

“I didn’t have the most traditional upbringing.”

That was the understatement of the year. His mom was a celebrity and they’d lived all over the world. I knew instead of going to school he’d had a private tutor that traveled with them.

“I used to stay up late at night, baby-sitting my mom while she partied. Used to force my eyelids to stay open, trying my hardest to stay awake. I was convinced something bad would happen if I fell asleep. It was a stupid childhood fear, really. But I used to find her in the morning and regret not staying up to take care of her.”

His childhood had been so different from mine. Instead of days filled with climbing trees and catching frogs, and nights spent making pillow-forts, Ben watched over his mom. It broke my heart. I now understood the intensity in his eyes was due in part to his life experiences, the wariness to open himself up for a relationship. But it had to mean something that he was sharing this with me.

Ben took a deep breath and released it slowly. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, urging him onward.

“I’d find her in the morning, sick, hungover, vomit in her hair, mascara smudged under her eyes, or worse, unconscious on the floor. Sleep was the enemy. And even now, I don’t know why that stayed with me all these years—the hectic travel schedule, time zone changes, stress from work, you name it. I guess old habits die hard, because I still can’t sleep for shit.”

I thought about the times I’d seen Ben on set, the hardened intensity in his eyes. His steely look had nothing to do with hours of practice in front of a mirror, but instead had everything to do with a sad, lonely life replete of love. How had no one made this beautiful man feel loved and cared for?

He shrugged, looking down. “I’m probably not the guy you thought I was.”

I grabbed his hands and gave them a squeeze. “No.” His eyes lifted to meet mine. “You’re better. You’re sweet and giving and insanely good at dirty texts.” And a boy that loved his momma was something I could relate to.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling belly laugh that was like music to my ears. “The crazy thing is that last night, I curled right up with you and fell asleep. I never do that. Every night I lie awake for hours. You’re like a magic cure.”

I remembered the way he’d held me against his chest, his breathing growing deep and even as he’d fallen right to sleep. It was sweet to think I was some type of cure to his insomnia.

He leaned toward me and kissed me softly. “Thank you.”

Ben

Her gaze was so sincere, so humble, so caring, I had no choice but to open up and tell her the whole sordid truth. Even if it was too much for her to handle, and she got up and fled the room, that would have been okay, too. I’d repeatedly told her this wasn’t anything more than two people enjoying each other. But the idea of her leaving sent an ache racing through my chest. I didn’t want to watch her walk away again.

I was glad she hadn’t. She’d simply grabbed my hand and squeezed.

Emmy was caring and warm. She was the make-you-soup-when-you’re-sick type. She’d bring you pain reliever and palm your forehead to see if you had a temperature. She had natural motherly instincts. Not that I would know much about that. No, I didn’t have that type of mother. I had the party-till-4 a.m.–red-carpet–jet-setting–yacht-gracing–actor-dating type of mom who barely managed to stay out of the tabloids.

Emmy’s sweet, simple lifestyle and outlook was a nice change of pace. It was shockingly normal, and I found that great. Sometimes I craved normal. Especially since my life was anything but.

I’d envied those families in the sitcoms I watched growing up—with a mom and a dad who went to jobs and came home each night, threw the ball around in the yard. I’d never known anything like that growing up. I was willing to bet Emmy had.

She’d listened to me speak without interrupting, a little line creasing her forehead. She didn’t judge me, didn’t look at me like I was some damaged asshole. Then after we’d been intimate, she’d changed into one of my T-shirts while we got ready for bed. I loved seeing her wearing one of my old shirts. She looked a fuck of a lot better in them than I did. Her soft, curvy body and chest filled out the front nicely.

Climbing into bed, Emmy turned to face me, looking up at me. The way she looked at me wasn’t like I was used to. She gazed deep into my eyes in a sort of mesmerized way while I brushed the long strands of hair back from her face. The moment meant something. I’d told her it was just physical, yet even I couldn’t deny that this felt deeper than two people sharing a blissful postsex moment. I didn’t quite understand it, but I couldn’t look away, either. Her pretty gray eyes were wide and continued watching mine. Her skin was pink and glowing, and a calm relaxation spread across her features. I liked knowing I put that look there.

I just liked being around her—even without the sex. It was a strange realization. I didn’t have girlfriends. Shit, I rarely hung out with friends, period. My travel schedule didn’t allow it. I had fellow models I hung out with and girls I fucked. But Emmy was more than that; I didn’t know how or even what that meant; she just was.

Everything about her was special and beautiful. I didn’t know what was happening between us, but this was definitely some type of moment. The way her eyes saw everything—looked straight into me—was too much. I pulled her down to my chest, feeling her heart thumping wildly against mine.

“Rest, baby.” I just wanted to hold her. Normally I wanted girls gone as soon as I came. But not Emmy. She could stick around. She was warm and soft, and she smelled nice. And she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter, a quality I definitely appreciated. This was nice. Just the beating of our two hearts and her soft breathing. It provided the perfect backdrop to fall asleep to. Something I never thought I’d say. But this girl seemed to be a cure to my insomnia.

Emmy

I woke in the night, too warm, with a heavy weight pressing against me. Ben’s arm was flung over my middle, locking me in place beside him. I tore the covers off my legs, separating myself from the death grip Ben had me in. I rolled away from him, the cool sheets feeling like heaven against my overheated skin.

Waking slightly, Ben whispered my name and I could tell something was bothering him. The distressed tone of his voice was like a knife to my heart. He bore some great burden and I was the key to freeing him. I moved closer, and forgetting all about how warm I had been, held him tight, running my hands up and down his back to soothe him back to sleep. If he needed me, I was there.

He breathed my name once more before dozing off again. I wanted him to feel safe and comforted. To not have to take those pills again.

His story about his mother ripped at my heart. Ben was like no one I’d ever met. I could feel something pulling us together in my very soul. We were the same: This man who wanted more had desperately tried to win his mother’s love and approval. I wanted more—better—for myself, too. I wanted to make my parents proud. I wasn’t trying to win their approval, but wanted to show them all their hard work was for a reason, that I could make something of myself. We were each driven by that basic need to please our parents. I guess it was true what they said—you never really escaped your childhood. The desire to soothe his fears was an overwhelming urge. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.

After last night, I was eager to get to the hotel to see Ben. It felt like we were moving in the right direction. He’d opened up to me and I could see us spending passionate nights together in his bed becoming a regular thing. Something that would be just fine with me.

Once inside my room, I shucked off my shoes and tossed my purse on the chair then retrieved my phone to call Ben. Glancing at the clock, I realized he should be back from his shoot.

He answered on the third ring, sounding breathless. “Hello?”

“Hi sexy. It’s me.”

“Uh . . . hi.” His tone was short and slightly frustrated.

“Is now a bad time?”

“One sec.” I heard him say something to someone in the background and a female voice answered. The voice had a British accent.

My stomach knotted. “Where are you?”

“My room. Can I call you back in a few?”

“Sure.” I put the phone down with shaky hands. He said he’d call me back later, but he was in his room with Fiona and something about that didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t trust Fiona, didn’t know if I trusted the two of them alone together.

I made my way to his room, some unknown force propelling me forward. I knocked on the door, my heart pounding, and my expression determined.

A few moments later, Ben answered, his face flushed, his pulse thrumming in his neck.

“Emmy . . .”

He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt but his hair was damp, like he’d just come from the shower. Had he showered with Fiona? My stomach cramped violently at the thought.

Ben’s hand moved to the doorframe, blocking me from entering. “I’m discussing something with Fiona. Now’s not a good time.” His voice was low and his posture tense. I’d definitely interrupted something.

Glancing behind him, I spotted Fiona sitting on his bed, her heels kicked off and her purse spilled open beside her.

I’d always figured Fiona was emotionally indestructible, yet here she was, eyes red and swollen with tears freely streaming down her cheeks. She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand. Ben cleared his throat and my eyes swung back to him. The mood was tense and it was clear I was intruding.

“I’ll call you in a bit,” he said, speaking in hushed tones as he watched me with sorrowful eyes.

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. Ben closed the door, leaving me standing alone in the hall.

Holy. Shit.

Ben

Fiona had thrown me for a fucking loop. Showing up to my door, crying like I’d never seen her do. I’d listened and held her while she cried and told me all about her failed attempts to have a baby. I’d never taken Fiona for the motherly type. But at thirty-eight, she was apparently desperate to have a baby, with or without a man in her life. It was admirable of her—her desire to be a parent. Of course there was little I could do to help other than hold her and try to quiet her sobs. But then when she’d dumped the contents of her purse out onto my bed, revealing the syringe filled with fertility drugs she wanted me to inject her with, I quickly learned why she’d come to me.

She said she didn’t want anyone to know in case it didn’t work. And she was too scared to give herself the shot.

Just as she was walking me through the instructions, a knock at the door had startled us both.

I couldn’t tell Emmy about this. I respected Fiona’s desires to keep it private. Hopefully she would get pregnant with her next scheduled artificial insemination, and no one would ever need to know about her struggles.

Fiona’s puckered mouth told me she wasn’t naïve—she was all too aware of Emmy’s evening visit to my room.

“You’re getting too close to my assistant,” she said after a full minute of silence.

“Emmy?” I played dumb.

“Yes, Emerson. And don’t act surprised. I can see there’s something between you two.” I stayed quiet, unpacking the syringe and alcohol wipes on the bed beside us.

“Ben, I’m serious. I don’t like it. When I told you not to shag my assistant, I meant it.”

“Relax, Fiona. You can’t be tensed up for what I’m about to do.”

She pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Okay, but you realize if there’s something going on, I could fire her and send her home.” My jaw tensed, but I didn’t tell her that if she fired Emmy, I’d just move her into my room and have her remain here with me.

“You wouldn’t do that. You want me to continue helping you, don’t you?” I uncapped the syringe and Fiona nodded meekly. We both knew I had the upper hand here.

She walked me through the instructions the nurse had given her, how to swab a spot near her belly button with an alcohol wipe then pinch the skin before swiftly jabbing in the needle.

After I administered Fiona’s shot and sent her on her way, I made myself a stiff drink.

Now with one vodka tonic under my belt, I sent Emmy a text message and waited for her response. I was considering pouring another drink when my phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Emmy: Are you still with her?

I could tell she was pissed. She didn’t even want to say Fiona’s name. I guess I couldn’t blame her. I sensed they had some strange female jealousy thing happening and it wasn’t something I wanted to encourage.

Me: No, she’s gone. Have you eaten?

Emmy: Not hungry

Me: Come back up. Let me make you a drink

It took her several minutes to reply.

Emmy: Okay

Her response was less than enthusiastic but she was coming. A few minutes later, just as I’d returned from filling the ice bucket, she knocked softly at my door. I pulled it open and tugged her inside, kissing her gently on the mouth.

Emmy was tense at first, but as my hands curled around her waist and slid down to cup her ass, I felt her relax against me. God, her ass felt amazing in my hands. I knew I owed her some type of explanation, but damn if my body didn’t jump to attention when she was near. There’d be time for talking later. I wanted her. I deepened the kiss, hauling her even closer, until her chest was pressed flat against me, and her tongue softly flickered against mine. She was perfect. “I need to be inside you, baby.”

Emmy let out a whimper and my dick jumped. I loved her soft, feminine sounds. Backing her across the room while my tongue flirted with hers, I gave Emmy a playful shove onto the bed. She laid back, a little grin tugging up her lips.

Her eyes danced on mine while her smile grew even wider. I loved seeing her honest reactions to me. The flush of her skin, the way she bit into her bottom lip. She was beautiful, natural. And something inside me loved that. Maybe it was this overly critical, overly judgmental business I was in, but I admired her simplicity. Maybe it was her country upbringing—hell, maybe it was just her. But whatever it was, Emmy Clarke was quickly becoming a habit.

As I stood in front of her, her eyes wandered from mine, down my chest, and rested on the erection tenting my slacks. She bit her lip again.

“Come here.” I extended a hand toward her, and she accepted, placed her small palm against mine, and crawled across the bed toward me.

Emmy knelt in front of me, those large blue-gray eyes watching my movements as I freed my belt buckle.

She licked her lips as I unbuttoned my pants and then slowly tugged down my zipper. Leaning up on her knees, Emmy’s hands reached forward to help. I clasped her hands in mine, placing them firmly by her sides. “Behave.”

Her eyes widened at my warning, but she obeyed. She was naturally feisty yet so submissive in the bedroom. It was a big fucking turn-on. I pushed my jeans and boxers down my legs and then gripped my length. Her pulse fluttered erratically in her neck and her eyes zeroed in on my cock. I lazily stroked my length, slowly drawing my hand from base to tip. The desire in her eyes made me rock fucking hard.

I cupped Emmy’s cheek. “Come here, pretty girl.”

Looking up at me with complete lust, Emmy leaned forward and opened her mouth.

Fuckkk.

The warm caress of her tongue was fucking bliss. Emmy opened wider, her eyes still locked on mine as I pushed forward, filling her. When the head of my cock hit the back of her throat, she gagged slightly and I retreated, reluctantly dragging myself out. Still covered in her saliva, Emmy stroked me, her little hands massaging and caressing me. It felt amazing. It didn’t want to stop her but she still had far too many clothes on. I wanted to see her beautiful tits, to kiss her all over, to make her come, to fuck her senseless.

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, I lifted and she obediently raised her arms above her head, allowing me to remove it. She wore a lavender lace bra I hadn’t seen before. I liked that there were so many things to discover still. It was a pretty, frilly thing, but I wanted it the fuck off her body. Reaching behind her to free the clasp, the bra dropped down her arms and I removed it slowly while leaning down to kiss her full mouth. I didn’t think I could ever get tired of kissing her mouth. The little breathy sounds she made, the way her hands restlessly tugged me, trying to get closer. She was so sexual and sweet at the same time. It was heaven.

Emmy

Several weeks passed and Ben and I continued seeing each other regularly. I knew I was being delusional, I knew we weren’t dating. You didn’t date a man like Ben Shaw. He couldn’t be tamed. He was like Clooney. But we’d been having regular sex, enjoying meals together, and talking; he shared things with me, as I did with him. I had no idea what all that added up to. The question was, did it matter? A man like Ben had the potential to destroy me. I knew from that first time he’d been inside me, moving above me, his stubble scraping against my neck, his warm breath on my shoulder. We were closer than I’d been with anyone. My body was addicted, my heart was engaged, but my head knew this would probably end badly.

I had a weakness where he was concerned. I couldn’t stay away. His relationship with Fiona still worried me. We’d never spoken about that teary moment in his hotel room. Ben didn’t offer up the information about what Fiona was doing there that night, and I never asked.

Whatever their history, I wasn’t sure, but he was her golden boy and I was her country-bumpkin assistant. She freaked if he overlooked taking his vitamins. She’d no doubt think me touching him tainted him in some way.

Ben had casting calls and fittings during the day, which was fine, because Fiona kept me running. He sent me unexpected sweet texts while I was at work to let me know he was thinking of me. In one he grumbled about an outfit a designer had put him in. After some prodding, he’d sent me a funny picture. The outfit looked like a lampshade. But he still looked hot. My lampshade hottie.

Paris Fashion Week was coming up and I knew Ben was going to walk in several designers’ shows. I was excited to see him on the catwalk, with all eyes glued to him and knowing he was mine. I felt like Cinderella who’d somehow captured Prince Charming’s attention.

I glanced down at my watch; I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and see him. It was ridiculous how attached I had become to him.

Ben waved an airline ticket at me. “Milan tomorrow. Wanna come?”

Fiona hadn’t mentioned anything about Milan, which I took to mean I wasn’t invited. “I can’t just go to Milan with you. I have to work.”

He crossed the hotel room, his warm hand coming around me to cup my backside. “Oh, I’ll put you to work.” His hand caressed my bottom, pulling me closer so he could plant a soft kiss on my lips.

Pulling back before I got lost in his kisses, I placed a hand on his chest. “Fiona won’t just let me go with you guys for the fun of it.”

“She’s not coming. It’s just me. And you, if you’ll join me. It’s only one night.”

I looked at him skeptically. She wasn’t coming?

“She has doctor appointments. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Fiona,” he said.

The fact that he was willing to discuss me with Fiona was a big deal. He planted a soft kiss against my forehead before stepping away and pulling his phone from his pocket. He dialed and resumed packing a small brown leather bag that sat open on his bed.

“Hey. It’s me,” he said into the phone. “Fine, and you?” He continued shoving items into the bag while I paced the room. Fiona was going to freak. “I’d like Emmy to join me in Milan. Can you do without her for a night?”

He paused, listening, while I held my breath.

“Thank you, that’d be great.”

He ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. “Go pack, babe.”

I stood there, dumbfounded. “She said yes?”

He flashed me a gorgeous smile. “She’s calling the airline now to get you a ticket.”

Fiona was calling to arrange my ticket? Had I entered an alternate universe? Clearly Ben had powers of persuasion with her. Something about the blind way she obeyed him didn’t sit well with me, but I nodded and ventured to my room.

When we arrived at the airline ticket counter Ben’s cheerful mood disappeared. The agent told him my ticket had been booked in coach, back of the plane, middle seat. With him sitting in first class, we wouldn’t be sitting together. It looked like Fiona had exacted her revenge.

Ben began conversing with the woman in French while I stood uselessly beside him. His jaw tensed while she clicked away at her keyboard.

I tugged on his arm. “It’s okay if we’re not together. It’s a quick flight.”

“I’m seeing if I can get you a seat in first class with me, and if not, I’m getting moved to coach.”

“Ben, no, that’s silly. I’m fine in coach.” It was Fiona’s way of pointing out my place.

He and the agent exchanged a few more tense words and then he pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card.

“You don’t have to do this; first class is expensive.”

“I want to, baby. Let me do this.” His hand found mine and he laced our fingers together.

I nodded, seeing that he wasn’t going to be deterred. It did feel nice to be looked after like this, though. And I’d never sat in first class before.

Soon we were seated in the wide, leather seats of the plane’s first tow, sipping champagne from crystal stemware. First class blew my expectations out of the water. Instead of having a cramped, smelly seat with someone bumping my arm and stealing my armrest, Ben and I lounged and chatted, sipped champagne, and nibbled on salted almonds. Before I knew it, we were deplaning and en route to our hotel.

“There’s someone I want to introduce you to,” Ben said, kicking off his shoes.

I’d envisioned a romantic candlelit dinner in the heart of Milan, but I nodded. “Okay.”

“Angelo and Rosa own a winery just outside the city. I haven’t seen them in years. We’ll have a tour and dinner, if that sounds okay to you.”

“Yes. Of course. I just need to shower.”

He nodded. “Will an hour work? I’ll call ahead.”

“An hour’s fine.” I’d have to hustle; I needed to shave, too.

Fifty-seven minutes later, I emerged from the marble bathroom showered and made up, dressed in a black pencil skirt, strappy heels, and a silver beaded tank top. Ben was lounging across the bed, reading a novel he’d picked up at the airport. I grabbed my little diamond-studded earrings left to me by my grandmother and stood in front of the bureau mirror to put them in. Ben rose from the bed, coming up behind me to sweep my hair over one shoulder, and planted soft kisses against the back of my neck.

“Mmm, that feels nice.” I dropped my head to rest against his shoulder and his arms came around me.

“You look beautiful.”

Our reflections staring back at me were a study in contrasts. Ben was a foot taller than me and strikingly handsome. The plain brunette I saw with him wasn’t beautiful to me, but I was glad he thought so.

Ben slipped on his loafers. His two-minute getting-ready ritual left him looking amazing, as usual. He was dressed in dark chinos and a polo shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looked casual yet still gorgeous.

We hailed a cab and were en route to the countryside, holding hands in the backseat. Homes and buildings dotted the rolling hills, which soon turned into an expanse of leafy green trees unlike any we had back home.

“So how do you know Angelo and Rosa?” I asked.

“Rosa is a friend of my mom’s from a long time ago. They used to model together during Milan Fashion Week. And now she runs a winery with her brother. I usually try to visit when I’m in town.”

I turned to face him. “She’s not the one you . . . lost your virginity to, is she?”

Ben laughed loudly, catching the attention of our cab driver in the mirror. “No.”

I wasn’t sure what was so funny about that, but when we arrived thirty minutes later and Rosa greeted us in the driveway, I understood. She was roughly fifty years old and time had not been kind to her. She was a large woman. She’d probably been quite attractive in her youth, but her face was now lined with deep wrinkles from working in the sun.

She pulled me into her arms while speaking in Italian to Ben. He laughed and conversed with her, though you could tell the language didn’t come as naturally to him as French. He struggled for words and nodded along. I worried that I’d be left out tonight if she and her brother spoke only Italian. Extra wine for me then. Rosa held me at arm’s length, surveying me from head to toe.

“So nice to see Ben with a real woman,” she said at last, her English heavily accented.

I wasn’t sure if I should take offense or thank her for the compliment. I chose the second. Ben’s arm looping around my waist sealed the deal. He was proud to introduce me to people he considered family friends.

“Emmy’s as real as they come.” He pressed a soft kiss to my temple.

Angelo came strolling out of the house, a straw hat atop his head, and joined us, hugging and kissing both Ben and me.

His English wasn’t quite as clear as Rosa’s, but at least I wouldn’t struggle tonight.

“Everything set up?” Ben asked, nodding toward a barn in the distance. I wondered what he had planned.

“Yes, please, go, enjoy,” Angelo said. “And we’ll see you for dinner in an hour or so.”

After greeting us, they shuffled back into the winery to attend to their customers. It was a beautiful day and there were several cars in the parking lot. Ben said we’d have dinner with them later, once the winery tours were done for the day. He took my hand and led me toward an old barn on the edge of the property.

The barn appeared to be several hundred years old. It was dimly lit and cool inside. Ben brought me to the back, where we walked down several steps to a rustic wine cellar. Stone floors and shelving units stacked with wine bottles lined the walls. There was a small round table set up in the center of the room with two bar stools, and the soft glow of white Christmas lights strung from the ceiling made the room romantic and alluring. On top of the table were a bottle of chilled white wine resting in a marble ice bucket along with a platter of assorted cheeses and sliced meats. It was a lovely, romantic gesture.

I glanced back at Ben. “Did you arrange this?”

He nodded, silently watching me. “Sort of a private tasting. I thought this might be more relaxing than joining one of their tours.”

Very thoughtful of him. He pulled out a stool and motioned for me to sit. Once we were both seated, Ben uncorked the bottle and poured us each a glass of wine.

“Cheers.” He clinked his glass to mine, his dark eyes still watching me.

“Cheers,” I murmured, bringing the glass to my lips. It reminded me of our first date, sharing a bottle of wine and some polite conversation. Of course, now we were much more well acquainted. And I felt slightly more comfortable around him, though he still sent my pulse spiraling out of control.

We sipped our wine and nibbled on delicious cheeses while Ben told me some of the vineyard’s history. It had been in the family for sixty years and run by the various relatives during that time. I liked that family values seemed to be alive and well in Italy. Big family dinners and running businesses together were the norm. It reminded me of the South in some ways. Soon the bottle was empty and Ben rose from his seat to select another from the hundreds surrounding us in the room.

I ventured over to where he was closely inspecting a bottle. “I’m guessing you’d like this rosato.” The word rolled from his tongue with his Italian pronunciation. “It’ll be fruity and light.”

“And it’s pink,” I added, brilliantly.

“Yes it is.” He smiled at me sweetly. “My favorite color.”

I raised a brow. “Pink is your favorite color?”

His hand pressed between my thighs, stroking delicately. “Pink is definitely my favorite color.” He smiled devilishly.

Whoa.

Setting the bottle down on the shelf, Ben leaned in closer, bringing his hand to the nape of my neck to pull my lips to his. He kissed along my mouth, jaw, and cheeks. Feeling lightheaded from the wine and the rush of blood pounding in my ears, I clutched his bicep. It was warm and solid under my palm.

He placed sweet, tender kisses all over my lips and neck. He took his time seducing me. It was impossible not to fall under his spell. He lingered at my neck, trailing kisses down the column of my throat, stopping at my chest. I felt his teeth graze my collarbone, and darts of pleasure shot down to my breasts, where I desperately wanted to feel his mouth. I squirmed against him, still clutching his biceps, brushing my breasts against his chest. “Ben . . . we can’t here. . . .” I breathed against his mouth.

“Are you only brave enough to tease me through text?” He trailed a finger along my jawline. “Where’s your courage, sexy girl?”

I wasn’t sexy or courageous. But Ben made me feel like maybe I could be. I glanced around at our surroundings. At least it seemed semiprivate. And if our hosts were busy with customers . . .

He dragged his fingertips down my spine, his knuckles brushing past each vertebra, lighting my skin on fire while he nipped at my lips. He was so unrushed, so sexy and in control, while I felt like I was burning up.

I gripped him through his pants and found him already rock hard. When my hand wrapped around him we each let out a simultaneous groan. Ben roughly pulled my tank top down, revealing my black lacy bra, and pressed a kiss to the center of my chest. My heart thumped steadily as I looked down and watched. His full lips traveled across my breastbone, pressing delicious kisses. He dragged down the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts to his mouth. His warm tongue circled one nipple while his eyes lifted to watch my response. His tongue flicked back and forth over the sensitive peak and I let out a soft groan. Ben responded by sucking my breast into his mouth, kissing and licking me greedily.

“You taste so fucking good, baby.” His hand caressed one breast while his tongue stroked the other. I was lost to the sensations, my panties growing damp and my knees already trembling. My fingers wound their way into his hair, holding him in place as he worshipped my breasts.

His cell phone rang, interrupting our bliss. He groaned a frustrated growl and pulled it from his pocket. “Fuck. One second, baby. It’s Fiona. Probably just wanting to check in.”

He answered the call, leaving me standing in front of him with my breasts damp and exposed. Ben watched me while he spoke, placing one hand on my waist, his thumb lightly stroking my hip. He asked about her visit to the doctor, and even though I knew he was just being polite, it frustrated me. The conversation dragged on—something about Paris Fashion Week—then Ben’s brow crinkled in concentration. He pulled the phone away from his ear and mouthed, just a few more minutes. . . .

I tried not to pout. I knew it wasn’t attractive, but I hated that Fiona had called him, interrupting our private time together. A sudden idea took hold of me.

Fueled by three glasses of wine and a healthy dose of lust, I dropped to my knees in front of him. His body went as tight as a wire. Ben’s eyes widened as I reached for his zipper and tugged it down. I couldn’t help the smile curling on my mouth. I liked that he brought out my daring side. Not only were we in a public place where someone could discover us at any time, but he was on the phone with my boss. His hand caressed my hair and he looked down at me with a wicked grin.

I slid his pants and boxers down to his knees. He wasn’t fully hard, but as my hand curled around him, stroking him slowly, I felt him thicken and lengthen in my grip. I watched his face as I worked. Pleasure overtook his features, his eyes growing dark with desire.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said roughly into the phone. “Sorry, what did you say?”

I wanted to claim him, to own him.

Would he tell me to stop . . . or would he get off the phone with Fiona? I wasn’t sure which was more likely, but I grinned at myself for thinking up this little experiment. I needed to see who he would choose. If she was more important to him, he’d stop me to continue his conversation. I prayed he made an excuse and let her go.

Now fully hard and long, I stroked him faster and felt his knees tremble. My mouth closed around him and a sigh broke from his lips. I wrapped both my hands around his thick length and suckled the warm flesh of his tip, using my tongue to lavish him in broad strokes before pulling him all the way to the back of my throat. I heard him saying something into the phone, but all my attention was on him. I worshipped his cock, thoroughly enjoying myself. A strangled squeak escaped the back of his throat as he fought for control.

When both of his hands cupped my jawline, I knew he’d ended the call, and I was flooded with emotion as Ben surged forward, filling my mouth. I lifted my eyes to watch him. He pushed his hips forward, invading my open mouth, and retreated, dragging himself in and out of my mouth slowly but deeply. The expression on his face was raw pleasure. His eyelids were heavy, his breathing accelerated. Soft groans escaped his parted lips each time he thrust forward and bumped the back of my throat.

“Fuck baby, that’s pretty.” Ben’s warm hands swept the hair back from my face as his eyes followed my movements. “I love seeing you with my cock buried in your mouth.”

I realized I’d never done this start to finish for him, and suddenly I wanted to make him come. I opened my mouth wider to accommodate him, still gripping his length in my hands.

“Emmy, fuck, fuck . . .” His breathing increased and a soft rumble in his chest told me he was getting close.

“Baby . . . I’m gonna . . . baby . . . fuck . . .”

Cupping the back of my head with one hand, he pressed forward as he came, sending hot jets of semen sliding down the back of my throat with minimal effort on my part. He knew what he was doing; that was for sure.

Ben reached down for me, pulling me up to my feet, and kissed my forehead before tucking himself back inside his pants. “That was . . . wow.” He smiled sweetly.

I basked at his compliment, happy and proud to have brought him pleasure. “It was okay?”

“I’m about ready to get down on one knee.” He chuckled.

There was little time to ponder what his comment meant because almost as quickly as he’d hauled me to my feet, his mouth was traveling down my throat and his hands moved to the edge of my skirt. I hadn’t realized just how wet the process of pleasuring him had gotten me, but there was no denying it. I was soaking. His large index finger invaded me, and I let out a whimper. I gripped his shoulders, kissing him greedily as he steadily brought me closer and closer.

Voices just outside the wine cellar broke our kiss as we both looked toward the door. Shit! I struggled to arrange my skirt and cover myself, but Ben’s hands stopped mine. Was he crazy? Angelo and Rosa were apparently leading their tour group through the barn.

“Let me finish, sweet girl.” His mouth crashed against mine and his fingers continued their sweet assault, sending me spiraling closer to the edge. I didn’t know if it was the sense of danger, the possibility of being discovered, or Ben’s dominance over my body, but I came apart completely, shamelessly rocking my hips against his hand to ride out the sensation. Ben kissed me to quiet the moans tumbling from my lips.

The voices trailed off, and somehow we weren’t discovered.

Afterward, we made our way inside the house and Ben showed me to the guest bath where I washed up and made myself presentable.

As we entered the large dining room with a rustic plank-wood table, the smells of garlic and tomatoes and roasting meat greeted us. Angelo uncorked a bottle of red wine and Rosa arranged several large serving platters in the center of the table.

“Grazie!” she greeted us warmly, stuffing each of us into a chair.

I didn’t realize it before, but now that I could smell the food, I was ravenous.

Ben’s eyes lingered on mine throughout the meal, probably because I couldn’t help the moans each time I tasted a new dish.

I can’t say the conversation exactly flowed, because well, it didn’t. Neither Angelo nor Rosa spoke great English. But the food was delicious. Some of the best things I’d ever tasted—roasted meats, fresh ravioli stuffed with ricotta cheese and sweet basil, all paired with scrumptious local wines. Our hosts were warm and welcoming and it was a lovely meal.

At the end of dinner, Ben called for our car and our hosts walked us to the door. Rosa pulled me in for a hug, thanking me and telling me that Ben was a good man and needed a good girl.

It was clear she was a motherly figure to Ben, and I felt honored that he’d thought to introduce me.

“Thanks for coming,” Ben said once we got in the car.

I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder.

The drive back to Milan was dark and I was sleepy. I snuggled against him, full and happy. I hoped nothing would change.