“Fine,” I bit out.
The enormity of everything hit me. I was thousands of miles from home, my boss hated me, and I was in over my head with Ben. Tears welled in my eyes. I hated that I was about to cry in front of him. It all hit me in that moment, and there was no stopping my tears now. I was half a world away and out of my depth. A lone teardrop rolled down my cheek.
“It’s all right.” He reached a hand out for me and I took a step back, quickly wiping my cheek.
“I think I’m going to head out.” My voice sounded surprisingly composed. Thank God for that. Small miracle considering my emotional state. Damn PMS.
“It’s not true, you know.” His voice in comparison was thick, husky, and rolled over me in the most sensual way.
“What?”
“What Fiona said.” His gaze lowered, sliding over my curves.
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 is a cheap knockoff. She was right, Ben.” I hated how dejected my voice sounded, but I could do little to control it.
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 br**sts, and a smile curved over his lips. My br**sts 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 café 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.