where he is, and he deserves the rewards.
I’m so damned proud.
On impulse, I lean in and hug him.
With half a second’s hesitation, he draws me against him.
I might’ve initiated, but now it’s his strong body surrounding me. His heartbeat is a slow, steady rhythm against mine. The light stubble coming in along his jaw tickles my cheek.
I shut my eyes and breathe him in. “What did your mom say when you told her about the award?”
Ben stiffens against me, his shoulders tightening beneath my arms. “I haven’t.”
He pulls back the next second before rising to head for the kitchen.
Startled, I watch him go and turn over the brusque response.
He returns a moment later with the tequila bottle and pours another glass for each of us before he sits again. “I’ve been trying to reach her for three days, but she’s gone AWOL.”
His voice isn’t as crisp as it was before, and a ripple of worry runs through my stomach.
“What do you think happened?”
I know every line of his hard jaw, his firm lips that default to serious but curve in a heartbeat, the strong nose and dark brows. His eyes range from the color of good whisky to the color of earth.
Right now, they’re dark with emotion.
“I’m trying not to think,” he says.
My heart aches.
His mom was a soap star in LA who got her break when Ben and his brother were little. Ben’s dad was in and out of their lives, but when Ben’s dad finally took all his things and most of the family’s money and left when we were in college, it broke Ben’s mom. He was left picking up the pieces.
“We’ll find her,” I say.
Ben leans in, grabbing a piece of my hair and twisting it around his fingers. “I don't know what the fuck I'd do without you.”
I do. Ben would still be Ben, and I’d be the one left adrift.
The thought comes from nowhere.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, an excuse to pull away from the careless touch that has heat stirring between my thighs.
But he goes on before I can come up with a response.
“Nice dress. Is it cold in here?”
It takes me a second to realize his gaze has fallen to my chest. My nipples are sticking through the fabric.
“You flew home and showed up at my apartment so you could criticize my boobs?”
“I’ve been cooped up with a bunch of dudes for a week. There was no criticism.” The laughter in his voice doesn’t make it better. “I can return the favor.”
He’s lifting his T-shirt before I can protest.
“Why do men think the response to being caught checking out yours is showing you theirs? Keep it for your dating profile. I’m saving myself for Henry Cavill and…” My traitorous gaze locks on the grooves of his abs. “You’ve been working out.”
He tosses his head back and laughs, a warm sound that vibrates along my nerve endings. “I’m offended you just noticed. I was named the fourth sexiest bachelor in Manhattan this year. The associates at work made sure to bring me a print copy of the magazine.”
Let’s be clear—a ripped body does not make a perfect boyfriend, but it’s natural to stare a little longer.
When a man is already intelligent, protective, funny, confident and a little infuriating and he also possesses those hard planes and grooves... it’s downright unfair.
“I didn’t think you were coming tonight,” I say at last. “I was going to meet someone. A Wall Street guy I met at a charity event. Rena and Kendall were practically getting us a hotel room.”
Ben’s gaze sharpens as I reach for my glass. “I don’t want some loser touching you.”
I arch a brow. “This isn’t a veto you get with your partners. I’m not an investment.”
“No. You’re my best friend.”
Because Ben would never see me as someone he’d pursue romantically. I’ve experienced the truth of that firsthand.
I drain the glass in a single drink, two hundred dollars of tequila burning down my throat.
“D? You good?”
I blink to see his handsome face drawn in concern—for me, for my state of mind.
I set the glass on the table and force my attention back to the screen. “Yeah. We should play.”
We do, falling into familiar rhythms, the challenge and thrill of experiencing life-or-death in a safe way burning off some of the frustration in my bloodstream from the week. By the time we finish, it’s after two.
“Good job, partner,” I offer as I stand, stretching to alleviate my cramped muscles.
He follows my actions,