Fiona packed the gifts back in the bag and asked the restaurant if a concierge could have them delivered to the hotel. It was amazing to see she was actually capable of making her own arrangements.
After dinner, coffee was poured but there was no dessert. What was a birthday party without cake? Ben looked bored to tears. I needed to rescue him. I leaned in closer. “No cake on your birthday? That’s practically a crime.”
He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to have cake.”
“Allowed?” I wasn’t gluten free, all organic, diary free, or vegan. I liked food. I often ate too much of it. Sue me. “We need cake.” I pushed my chair back from the table and grabbed my handbag. “Thank you for dinner,” I said to Fiona. Then I grabbed Ben’s hand. “Come on.”
His eyes widened and darted up to mine, and after a second of hesitation he rose to his feet. “Fiona.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek.
She smiled, fake as all get out. “Off so soon?”
He shrugged. “Yes, if that’s okay with you all.” He directed the question to the table.
Everyone nodded and smiled, no one willing to disagree with him.
Genius.
Fiona couldn’t say anything. Everyone else had already agreed. I could’ve kissed him. But I would save that for later.
Once we were safely outside the restaurant, Ben gripped my hand, lacing his fingers between mine, his mouth twitching in a smile. “Phew. Thank you for rescuing me.”
I beamed up at him, feeling like an utter genius, and squeezed his hand.
We ventured to the bar/restaurant inside the lobby of our hotel, slid into a secluded booth, and ordered two glasses of fizzy champagne.
When the server came back, I ordered the biggest slice of chocolate cake they had.
“Really?” Ben grinned at me. “Sure you can handle all that, sweetheart?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Bring it on.”
When the server delivered the cake, it was with a little Parisian smirk. It was towering off the plate.
“I didn’t expect it to be so large,” I commented.
Ben’s eyebrows raised suggestively. He handed me a spoon. “Ladies first.”
I was about to argue that it was his birthday and he should do the honors, but his stern expression left no room for discussion. I accepted the proffered spoon and dug into the dense cake. My favorite bite, the little triangle piece right from the tip. Ben’s eyes followed my movements, watching as my mouth closed around the spoon.
“Mmm,” I moaned, dropping my head back. His eyes widened and he visibly swallowed.
Ben dug in, joining me in chocolate bliss. “I haven’t had cake in . . . years.” He took a bite and his eyes slipped closed as he chewed. “Holy shit.”
I laughed. These calories were sooo worth it. So was watching Ben’s expression. He clearly enjoyed himself. Ben leaned back against the booth, crossing his arms and observing me. I took another bite, licking the chocolate frosting from my spoon. As my tongue darted out, his breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling systematically. I liked that I was having an effect on him. Lord knows he affected me. My entire body hummed in arousal when he was near. And forget it when he swept that deep hazel gaze fringed with dark lashes over my curves. I mentally parted my knees, ready and waiting.
“Hope it’s been a good birthday.” I lifted my champagne glass and clinked it against his.
“It is now.”
I smiled at the compliment, glad I’d had the courage to save him. “I got you something, well, made you something.”
“You made me something? What is it?”
“It’s nothing big; I just felt dumb giving it to you at the restaurant.”
He leaned back in his seat, studying me. “I like that you waited.” Ben’s gaze followed my movement as I reached into my purse to retrieve the gift.
I handed him a flat package wrapped in brown paper, suddenly feeling like an idiot. This isn’t sixth grade, Emmy.
Ben looked down at the gift, his eyes wide and filled with disbelief. “You made this for me?”
I nodded sheepishly.
“I’ve never gotten a homemade gift.” He held it with reverence as if it were something priceless and important, rather than a CD—a playlist I’d burned just for him.
“It’s nothing. Open it.” Homemade gifts and cards were pretty much the norm in my family. Growing up, we didn’t have much extra money and we tended to get creative.
Ben tore away the paper and smiled when he saw the silver disk with my messy writing scrawled in black marker: Birthday Boy. I picked out a bunch of sexy jams, songs I was hoping he hadn’t heard before from the eclectic mix of music on my laptop.
“Thank you, this is awesome. The best gift I got all night.” His smile was genuine for the first time tonight, reaching his eyes and crinkling the corners.
My heart pounded in a strange rhythm, knowing he was watching me. These simple acts—the cake, the homemade gift—I don’t know why, but he acted as if these gestures meant more to him than the thousand-dollar dinner and extravagant gifts he had just received.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured. Why my voice had gone all husky and low, I didn’t know.
“Let’s get out of here.” His tone left little room for argument. But wasn’t this what I wanted? I wanted to feel desired and sexy, to lose myself in this man.
The glass of fizzy champagne had gone straight to my head, and I clutched Ben’s arms as we made our way to the elevator. He was unusually quiet and intense, and I wondered what was going on inside his head.