She kissed Ben on both cheeks and I clenched my fists so tightly my nails cut into my palms. Ouch. Breathe, Emmy, I reminded myself.
The bald man introduced himself as Gentry Smith. He was the photographer for the photo shoot.
Once we’d ordered drinks, Fiona stood from the table, one hand resting on her little swollen belly. “Will you excuse me a moment? I need to visit the loo. This baby makes me wee more.” She chuckled.
Whore.
I had no patience for her or this pregnancy. If that made me a terrible person, so be it. I was trying my damnedest to be polite and well mannered around her. I couldn’t also be expected to control my thoughts. And in my mind, I’d clawed her eyes out before the appetizer even arrived.
We dined on grilled swordfish, tiger prawns, and scallop mousse, which I didn’t think I’d like until Ben urged me to try a bite from his fork. I found it surprisingly good. But my favorite dish of the night was the garlic and Parmesan risotto. It was creamy and salty and I ate every bite on my plate.
I did my best to ignore Fiona, which was relatively easy. I focused on the delicious food as Gentry talked endlessly about all the models he’d shot over the years. It was poor taste, really, to brag as much as he did, but none of us minded because I sensed that Ben and Fiona were just as glad for the distraction as I was. He only talked briefly of their photo shoot on the beach, and I’d asked a few basic questions about his start and end times, like any good assistant would, before the topic was changed to cover the rest of Gentry’s impressive list of accomplishments.
For being pregnant, Fiona didn’t seem to have much of an appetite. She merely pushed the food around her plate, playing with it more than eating. For dessert, though, she requested pink grapefruit salad, and though I’d wanted the cheesecake I kept my trap shut and nodded along, ordering the same.
Ben leaned toward me. “Are you sure that’s all you want?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I answered.
He frowned, the crease in between his brows deepening as he studied me. He knew me too well.
Ben’s left hand remained on my knee throughout the meal, his thumb softly caressing my skin. A few times I caught Fiona’s gaze slipping back and forth between me and Ben and I wondered if she was pondering what he saw in me. I couldn’t say I really felt bad for her; it was more like a subtle awareness permeating the air, reminding us all that he’d picked me and not her.
His hand crept higher on my thigh, his fingertips pressing into my flesh. Lifting my chin to look into his eyes, I saw a man in need. His intense hazel gaze was locked on mine and a shiver zipped up my spine. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me. Only that he seemed to need something. I fought to quiet the anxieties plaguing my mind.
He’d completely tuned out Gentry’s rambling. His gaze was glued to my thighs where the sundress had hitched up when I’d sat down, and his fingertips traced little circles along the tender skin. His eyes were dark and hungry, almost primal in his craving for me. I pushed my knees together, trying to stop the little darts of pleasure racing up from his touch and making my panties feel constrictive over my sensitized flesh.
He’d been so attentive, so loving that I was starting to feel guilty making him wait so long. We’d already been intimate, already breached that boundary—many, many times in fact. But now because of the whole Fiona pregnancy fiasco, I’d sworn off sex with him. It probably wasn’t fair for him. Or for me. Maybe I would change that tonight.
After dinner Ben led me inside our darkened hotel room, pressing my back against the door and taking my face in his hands. I tried to decipher the meaning in his haunted gaze but suddenly his mouth was crashing against mine, his lips firm and demanding. I parted my lips and his warm tongue sought entrance, sucking at mine greedily. His mouth moved down my throat, licking and stroking the skin with his tongue. Pressing his hips to mine, I felt the evidence of his arousal and I brought my hands up to his chest, my nails lightly raking over his firm pecs and abs. Moving his mouth from my skin, Ben captured my wrists and pinned them above my head. “Don’t touch me if you’re not going to finish the job, sweetheart.”
Holding my hands against the door, Ben pushed his erection into my belly and a raw whimper escaped my throat. His eyes were filled with desire, and when he pressed into me I felt the rigid lines of his body, smelled the crisp sent of his cologne, and heat pooled between my legs.
“Fuck,” he cursed loudly, dropping my wrists and turning away from me. He stormed across the room, both hands raking through his hair, and slammed the bathroom door behind him.
Whoa.
What had I done to set him off tonight?
Crossing the room on shaky legs, I paused at the sofa to remove my strappy sandals and then padded barefoot across the marble floor. I knocked tentatively at the bathroom door. “Ben?”
Silence.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Just fucking dandy,” he answered, his voice tight.
Sheesh. I didn’t know what started his temper tantrum but I was near certain I hadn’t done anything wrong. “Ben, please talk to me.” I tried the door handle and found it unlocked. Pushing the door open slowly, I found him leaning over the sink, his hands gripping the marble countertop, his head dropped forward.
My stomach twisted nervously. My mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. . . . Was he racked with guilt over something else he needed to confess about him and Fiona? Heaven help me because I knew I couldn’t take it. And I was eighteen hours from home.
I wanted to ease his anxieties, to tell him whatever it was we’d get through it, but I couldn’t form the words. Instead I waited, twisting the bracelet on my wrist. Finally he turned.
“I can’t do this.”
My stomach dropped. God, why had I thought it was a good idea to eat scallop mousse? It was threatening to make an appearance.
He stepped closer, towering over me in my bare feet. “I can’t share this room with you, sleep in the same bed, and be expected not to touch you. I love you, Emmy. You’re mine. All of you. Your heart, mind, and body. And I’m yours.”
“W-what are you saying?” I stammered.
“I just can’t take it anymore,” he said, releasing a heavy sigh filled with pent-up frustration.
“You don’t want me?” I asked.
He laughed. The bastard actually laughed, a rich throaty chuckle that tumbled from his perfect mouth. “I’ve had the biggest case of blue balls since we got back together. I’m about to make the fucking Guinness Book of World Records. I’ll have to see a doctor to make sure this won’t cause permanent damage in case you want kids someday.”
My heart swelled. He’d never discussed wanting children, and I suddenly found his little tantrum incredibly cute.
His hand unconsciously went to the bulge in his pants and he winced as he adjusted himself.
My eyes followed his movement. Oh. Heavens, that thing took my breath away. Had he escaped to the bathroom to deal with that on his own? Was that what this was about?
Everything struck me at once. Ben wanted me. He loved me. He needed this—to be intimate with me, for me to accept him and all his baggage. And I was denying him.
Bringing my hand toward him, I lightly rubbed his manhood through the thin material of his dress pants. His eyes flicked to mine and a low growl rumbled through his chest.
“You need me to kiss it and make it better?” I whispered.