discarded on the floor should have. Part of me liked seeing that he was still just a guy—a messy, toilet-seat-left- up-and-everything guy.
I couldn’t explain to him, let alone myself, what I was doing here, other than simply giving in to the pull to be near him. He was gorgeous and funny and made me feel all kinds of alive. Okay, I suppose that was reason enough. I glanced in the mirror as I washed my hands. This man dated supermodels. The girl in the mirror was no supermodel. I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could compare with the women he was exposed to. Straight brown hair, big bluish-gray eyes, a funny mouth that often curled into a smile for no reason at all. I was typically described as cute. Not that I’d ever minded that before. But being around models all the time made me wish I was six feet tall with legs up to my armpits and looks best described as exotic. Sadly, that wasn’t in the cards. I finger- combed my loose brown waves. The girl staring back at me was a mess of nerves. What was the real reason that Ben asked me up here? I wondered if Fiona ever felt this insecure. Not likely with her thousand-dollar Louboutins, designer clothes, and the male attention she garnered with a simple smile. I gave up and tucked my unruly locks behind my ears.
Ben was sexy, rich, and probably had girls dropping their panties left and right. Yes, I was sure he got more ass than a toilet seat, yada yada yada. Three girls—as if.
I lifted the hand towel from the counter and stopped cold. Two bottles of prescription medications were sitting underneath. Three more pill bottles sat on the glass shelf under the vanity. I wondered what they were for. He didn’t seem sick, but he had more pills than a pharmacy. Seriously, was he sick or dying? That could be the only probable reason for all these bottles. Otherwise, he had a major problem. Gunnar’s words rang in my head. Something about Ben being a mess without a pile of pills. It couldn’t be true. Ben didn’t seem that way at all. My hand shook as I lifted the bottle from the counter. The name of the medication was something foreign to me. No chance of pronouncing that.
Ben knocked on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Fine!” I called. My heart jumped into my throat, like he was going to somehow know I had snooped. It wasn’t
“There she is. Thought I was going to have to send in a search party.” Ben had removed his dress shirt and was now in black slacks and a white V-neck T-shirt that sharply contrasted his tanned skin.
“Nope. I’m here.” I smiled, tension falling from my shoulders.
Ben watched me with guarded eyes, and I wondered if he knew that I’d seen his pill collection. Then again, he could have been watching for my reaction, because when I saw what was on his bed, my breath caught in my throat.
He chuckled softly. “That excited, huh?”
I stumbled to a halt. His bed held an array of sex toys—whips, cuffs, dildos, vibrators, weird little rubbery things I had no name for, and a large box sat discarded nearby. “W-what’s all this?”
Ben chuckled at my innocent response. “Gunnar goes through my fan mail and only gives me what he thinks might be interesting. This came from a sex-toy company. They want me to be a spokesmodel.”
“Oh.” My pulse accelerated. “And are you going to?”
“Not planning on it, no. The girl I’m with wouldn’t need any toys, so I wouldn’t make a very good advocate for their products.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come sit. I just thought it’d be fun to look.”
“Right.” I joined him on the bed, arranging myself politely next to him. There sure were a lot of kinky toys.
“And if you wanted anything . . .” He trailed off, leaving the second half of the sentence unspoken but seductive all the same. Was he asking if I wanted any sex toys? I fought to keep my breathing under control, but I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, my chest rising and falling with shallow pants.
“Ben . . . I know things got heated between us the other night . . . but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m not that girl. I’ve never had a one-night stand. I’m more of a committed relationship, one- boyfriend-at-a-time type.” Thankful my voice sounded calm, I pulled in a breath and met his eyes. “This isn’t going to work for me. I’m sorry.”
He watched me with an amused expression. He leaned down to whisper near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “When I want something, I can be very persuasive.”
“What do you want?” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice. It was breathless and much too high.
He rubbed his lips against my jaw, our mouths so close that I could feel the strain in his jaw as he fought the urge to kiss me. “I want to fuck, Emmy.”
“Who?” Heat flooded my cheeks, and I struggled to maintain deep, even breaths.
“You.” Ben’s dark eyes roamed over me, and his fingertips caressed my jaw. “Stop playing games with me. I want you. You’re not like other girls.”
I knew he could see my pulse flutter violently against my neck. I was achy and distracted and completely thrown off center. I’d told him no, convinced him that this couldn’t happen, yet it was all I could think about. All I wanted. I wanted to feel his big, warm hands on my body, feel him press those full, sensuous lips to my skin. I wanted his thick length to invade my body while he whispered filthy things in my ear.
I still hadn’t answered him, and he was waiting. Still watching me. I knew I was frustrating him, and I didn’t mean to. I was leaving us both unsatisfied, but I couldn’t let myself take that leap, could I? Could this really be just sex? Maybe I’d be stupid to deny myself this. It wasn’t every day a girl got to spend a few months living and working in Paris and having a fling with a supermodel. I almost giggled at my predicament. Almost. But Ben’s hungry gaze was still locked on me.
“I want to be clear.” His voice dropped lower. “My past is complicated, my future is uncertain—I travel all the time, I move every few months. But we have this. Here. Now. Don’t deny me, baby.”
Part of me couldn’t even believe I was questioning this. There were people with real problems in the world. Disease. World hunger. And my biggest dilemma was whether or not to give in to exquisite supermodel Ben Shaw. I should’ve slapped myself for worrying about this so much. Just once I wanted to do what I wanted, to listen to my body, to act on my hidden desires rather than be the good, responsible girl my parents raised. I wanted hot, sweaty sex. No strings attached. I wanted to let this man have his way with me, dominate my body, show me all the ways he could pleasure me.
Everything about this man oozed sex appeal. His strong jaw, the curve of his mouth, the set of his posture, his possessive eyes. His smile had disappeared and he was watching me intently.
Ben dropped his hand from my jawline and pulled in a sharp breath. “Any of these interest you?” His hand swept across the bed, indicating the array of oversized toys.
I chuckled nervously. “A lady never tells.”
“And a gentleman never asks, but I’m neither, so spill it, darling.”
“Hmm.” He thoughtfully looked over the toy I’d indicated. “We’ll have to work up to this then.” He placed the largest one next to my hip—a long, flesh-colored member, thick as all get-out.
“Ha, aren’t you funny.” I shifted uncomfortably on the bed. The damn thing was nudging my hip. “Nooo, I don’t need all that.”
“I wasn’t talking about the toy, sweetheart.” His stare cut straight into mine. He picked up a little silver vibrator, holding it in his large, masculine palm. “You can borrow this one. It won’t do me any good.” His voice had dropped even lower and sent a rush of desire through me.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had the upgraded model down in my room. My heart kicked up a notch, stuttering inside my chest. My resolve to keep things professional vanished. The alcohol had left me gloriously relaxed. And slightly turned on.
Ben turned on the toy, running it along my knee. The gentle buzz against the bare skin made my entire leg tingle. I swallowed roughly. I clamped my knees together, my breathing shallow and much too fast. The gentle
