Page 20 of Sugar Baby Mine

Ben lifts a brow. “Why not?”

Because I might just climb into your lap and fuck you in the car.

I look back down at my phone and click on my email and scroll for a second and find an email from the clinic for my STD testresults and huff. It just came in this morning between the other twenty junk emails I get on a daily basis. How convenient.

“I just don’t think it’d be very smart. I still haven’t been convinced you’re not a murderer.”

“I’ll let you drive my car if that makes you more comfortable,” he offers with a shrug, as if he’s fine ifI’m the onewho may potentially murder us both.

Oh.Ohhh. That sounds like— “Fine, let’s go,” I blurt, practically leaping out of the chair.

Slinging my purse over my shoulder, I stalk through the restaurant at a break-neck pace, nearly rolling my ankle in process. It’s only a testament to his height advantage that Ben’s fingers are ghosting my lower back when we make it to the lobby.

We walk out the front door and it’s dark, the streets illuminated by the orange glow of the street lamps. A chill passes over my arms and I’m reminded,again, of the loss of my cardigan. I purse my lips, pivoting to turn to Ben and look up at him. It’s weird; standing and not sitting across from him. I want him to wrap his arms around me and soothe away the goosebumps rising on my arms.

I watch him speak to the older gentleman at the valet booth before stepping back toward me.

“No jacket?” Ben asks with a frown.

“It wasn’t that cold when I left.” I scrunch my nose up when he starts to undo the button on his suit jacket to pull it off. “I lost my favorite cardigan or else I’d probably have it with me.”

He pulls the jacket around my shoulders, and I kind of want to melt into the ground. It’s warm, and his scent is so close it’s like I leaned in and took a whiff of his neck. His hands linger on the tops of my arms, the warmth of his palms pressing through the fabric as he looks down at me.

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Okay? You don’t have to, though.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I want you to have the things you need.”

God, why does he have to be like that—endearing? Charming? Considerate? I want to punch my vagina for being such a fucking traitor right now. I’m painfully reminded that I’m not wearing panties when my thighs press together. Just to torture myself, I look down at the front of the jacket, catching a glimpse of them. They’re still there, tucked in the front pocket. I’m tempted to stuff them in my purse when he turns his back to me as the valet pulls his car up.

However, I get distracted, per usual.

“Holy shit, you drive aJag?”

Chapter 6

If I had to choose a car to drool over, this would be the one. Or one of them, at least.

I spent a lot of time in my grandfather’s garage as a kid. He loved to work on cars, both as a personal hobby and in his line of work as a mechanic. A Jaguar was always his dream car. Somewhere along the way, it became mine as well. He taught me a lot about cars and motorcycles; it became our thing. I spent more time with him than I ever did with my own father. And it might sound terrible, but I’m glad he’s not around anymore to see what’s become of his family.

There’s an amused look on Ben’s face when the valet gets out and hands him the keys—I also don’t miss him slipping the man a folded hundred dollar bill as a tip.

“You hand those keys over right now.” I march up to him, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I guess you like my car, then?”

“Yes. Don’t be a dick. Gimme the keys, you said I could drive.”

He leans in close, sliding his hand beneath the jacket and around my back. I freeze as his fingers skim along my leg, knuckles running up the back of my thigh and pulling the hem ofmy dress up an inch.

“Ask me nicely.” Another inch.

My stomach does the flippy thing. The fuckingflippything.

His knuckles slide my dress higheragain,and now he’s grazing the skin just below the curve of my ass. My soul nearly jumps out of my body at the way it zips like lightning up my spine. Once again, I’m reminded that I’m not wearing panties.Very obviouslynot wearing panties as I squirm and press my legs together.

“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for anymore.

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