I felt squirmy when he looked at me like that—all dark and hungry. My tears dried and a new wave of emotions hit me. The way his eyes wandered made me remember his kiss, his warm tongue gliding against mine, one hand buried in my hair to pull me closer, his dirty texts last night. It was all too much.
“The dress
Ben shook his head. “Trust me.”
I wanted to assure him he was wrong, but I suddenly found that under his hot, intense stare, with his lean body so close to mine, I’d forgotten the finer points of my argument. Hell, I’d forgotten my damn name. His eyes slid lower, caressing my breasts, and a smile curved over his lips. My breasts had never felt so full and achy, so ready to be touched, licked, and kissed.
Lazily making his eyes return to mine, Ben said, “Let me walk you back. I’m done with Fiona’s shit show, anyway.”
I nodded and allowed Ben to guide me back to the table. We said our good-byes, and Fiona shot me a dark, icy stare. I kept my eyes downcast, knowing she was fuming. Awesome. I’d have that to deal with tomorrow.
Once we reached the hotel elevator, Ben hesitated. The way his eyes traveled over me . . . I just knew he didn’t see an unfashionable dress or an unpolished assistant. He saw me—a girl from Tennessee who wore her heart on her sleeve. I felt fully present with him. Not because I was relaxed—that wasn’t it—I was hyperaware of every sensation, overanalyzing every emotion when he was near. When he looked at me, it felt like he’d always known me. And he accepted me just how I was.
His hand at my wrist stopped me from pressing the button for my floor. “Come to my room. Have a drink with me.” His brilliant eyes sparked playfully on mine. He placed his big warm hand against the small of my back and suddenly I felt normal. His touch grounded me more than it should. “Emmy?”
I wouldn’t argue with him. Not now. “After the night I had—yes please.” I knew I was probably asking for trouble getting alone with him again, but I felt powerless to say no.
He took my hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm so it rested against his ribs. He was warm and whole, and my body responded with a tiny shudder at the contact. It had been far too long since I’d been with someone. My body was merely confused—responding to the simple contact from a man. Okay, a hot man. A hot man who brought me to orgasm with only his hand in a matter of minutes. A man I had fantasized about . . .
He punched the button for the top floor and grinned slightly as the elevator carried us higher.
Ben slid the key into the card reader and pushed open the door. I entered the darkened room, noticing it smelled like him: crisp soap and the musk of spicy cologne. He flicked on the light, illuminating a large room with a king-sized bed, a desk, and a chair in front of a large picture window. His room was bigger than mine.
“Nice view,” I said, walking toward the window. Gauzy white curtains framed the picturesque twinkling lights below.
I heard the rattle of glass and looked back to watch him carry two glasses and a few little bottles over to the bed. Dumping everything onto the nightstand, he surveyed our options. “We can go super-sophisticated tonight and I can offer you an exclusive mix of cheap vodka and Perrier. Flat, of course.”
“And warm?” I giggled, noting the lack of ice.
He tossed a sexy smile over one shoulder. “I’m classy like that.”
“I’m in.”
He chuckled again and I decided I liked hearing him laugh. I needed to hear more of that sound.
I crossed the room, slipped off my heels, and sat on the edge of the bed. Ben sat next to me and handed me a glass. He filled it with vodka and then topped it with the no-longer-sparkling water.
Raising his glass, his eyes met mine. “To vodka. My second favorite V-word.”
My smile faltered. I wondered if our flirty-playful banter was permitted only through text messaging since we’d yet to actually flirt in person. Was this allowed?
I took a sip and grimaced at the bitter concoction burning a path down my throat. “Mmm, vodka and water.”
Ben shrugged, taking a much more poised sip of his own. “At least it’s low-cal.”
That made me sad. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated his flawless physique, but I wanted to give this boy a cheeseburger, stat. Maybe a big cupcake and a sugary daiquiri, too. But I supposed vodka would do the trick. And Lord knew my waistline could use a break. My daily chocolate croissants and cafe au laits with frothy whole milk had started to add up. I looked up and saw Ben surveying me, his playful smile lifting on one side, just for me. This man watched me with definite interest, and in an instant the shitty, insecure feelings inside me vanished.
He took another sip, continuing to appraise me over the rim of his glass. It was times like this, when he turned all thoughtful and quiet, that I’d kill to know what was running through his mind. Especially where I was concerned.
“What’s your angle?” he asked, finally.
“I’m sorry?” My what?
“I’m just confused about what you want—your motivations. Everyone’s got an angle with me, Emmy. I’ve seen and heard it all—bossy photographers trying to manipulate me into showing more skin, girls who just want to say they’ve fucked a model. Forgive me if I sound like a dick, but people usually hang around for my looks, money, fame, connections, or the VIP events I can take them to.”
“I’m not interested in those things.”
“I know. Which is why I’m confused.” He swirled the liquor in his glass, taking another sip.
Working alongside Fiona for all these many years had messed with his head. Just like the executives tonight, everyone wanted a piece of him—a piece of this godlike man.
“You’re sweet to me . . . so giving . . . it’s unexpected . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking lost.
“Ben, when I see you on set and you’re tired or hungry or have low blood sugar—my momma raised me better than that. I can’t let a man go hungry.”
“So you’re a bit of a food peddler.” He smirked.
“I suppose that’s an inherited gene.” I returned his uneasy smile.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I tend to be skeptical about girls wanting to hang around me. You’ll tell me if there’s something you want? Autographed photos for your friends, maybe? Tell me what you want from me, Emmy.”
I blushed irrationally. I knew he couldn’t read my thoughts, or see the dirty video of me and him replaying inside my head. “Well, I don’t have an angle.” I didn’t know how to answer him, and I certainly couldn’t admit my feelings, so I did the only thing I could. I picked up the book sitting on his pillow. “
Ben seemed to go with it, however, a smug smile tugging at his mouth. “I can read. Let’s calm down,” he said dryly, plucking the book from my hands.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but honestly, you have to know models aren’t usually known for their intelligence.” Regret instantly followed my little rant.
Ben’s jaw twitched. “Fair. Annoying. But fair. Nothing’s worse than showing up for a shoot, only to have a photographer speak to me like a small child.”
“They do that?”
“You wouldn’t believe how often. Half of them are just arrogant and rude, and the other half act like they want to get in my pants.”
I giggled. “Asshats.”
“Precisely. Can I top you off?”
My sick little sex-deprived mind thought we were jumping into the dirty talk—until I realized he was opening another minibottle of vodka and was awaiting my response. “Oh, sure. Can I just hit the little girl’s room first?”
“I only have a boy’s room, but it’s all yours.”
I strolled to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. A line of men’s upscale grooming products littered the marble countertop, and a fancy electronic toothbrush sat cradled in its charger. If all that wasn’t enough to tell me that this man was different from the boys back home, the pair of black Armani Exchange boxer briefs that lay
