Page 42 of Sugar Baby Mine

“One.” I glance up at him ruefully. “Also, background check, remember?”

I tug on a petal between my fingers until the silky softness of it separates from the rest of the flower, and I throw it at him. “Right. How could I forget? You’re heading right into stalker status now, though.”

“The background check wasn’t enough?” His lips tip up in a smirk, and he catches the loose petal between his fingers before he tucks it in the pocket of his jacket.

“Apparently I like red flags.”

His lip twitches. “And just how many red flags do I have?”

Squinting, I push the vase to the side so I have an unobstructed view and reach out to brush my fingers over the green of the silk tie he chose for the day. “I’m still tallying them up.”

Ben’s hand circles my wrist in a tight grip, and my pulse flutters beneath the press of his fingers. He pulls my hand up to his mouth and brushes his lips against the back of my hand in a soft kiss.

“I have to get back to work,” he says, though he doesn’t release me.

I lean over the counter, turning my hand in his grip to brush my fingers over the smooth, short hairs of his beard, drifting down his neck till I can circle my fingers around the knot of the tie at the base. He lets me tug him forward by the fabric as I pull up to my tiptoes and press my mouth to his.

It’s a slow, sensual movement of our lips that grows like a crescendo, just like the rhythm of my pulse. I get lost in his touch, the scent of his cologne, the taste of cinnamon that’salways on his breath, and I wantmore. He licks at the seam of my lips, tongue hot and silky as I open for him. His hand tightens around my wrist and he gives a tug like he wants to pull me closer, haul me over the counter, lay me out, and devour me.

I have to resist the urge to climb up onto the counter all on my own and take it.

We push and pull, the press of his mouth insistent as he licks into my mouth and my tongue slides against his own. I gulp in a breath for my starving lungs when we separate for a moment before pulling him back to me, because his is the only air I want to breathe. Nipping on Ben’s bottom lip earns me a low sound from his throat. He drops my wrist like it’s a hot brand, breath blowing over my lips as he pulls back just a bit.

“Little bird, I have to go before I really show you all my colors and carry you out of here like a caveman.”

Crazy thing, but I wouldn’t mind nearly as much as I should.

My boss probably would, though.

I uncurl my fingers from his tie, smoothing my hand down the front to get rid of the wrinkles. I lean in and give him one last kiss before pulling away and dropping back onto my heels. “Kidnapping is another pretty shade of red, isn’t it?”

His gaze sharpens, a finger coming to tip my chin up to him. “Is it really kidnapping if you want me to do it?”

“Presumptuous of you.” I lick my lip, and his eyes dart down to watch my tongue run over the swollen curve where I can still taste him. The ache in my chest is back and I want to curl into myself, to carve it out of my blood and flesh until it’s gone. “We both need to get back to work.”

Ben lets his touch linger before he gives me a tight tip of his head, his hand falling from my chin. I feel like I can breathe again when he looks down to the watch on his wrist.

“Text me when you’re leaving work. And when you get home.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He gives me a look that nearly brings me to my knees for him, a shudder rolling down my spine. But I can’t take it back, can’t change the words now.

There’s a look that flashes over his face, jaw tightening, before he turns and strides toward the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Angela comes through the back doorway just as the chime of the bell over the door rings and Ben lets the door close with a softwhooshbehind him.

“Oh,” she says, pausing as she looks at the vase on the counter with a frown and then up to the door. “Did he not want the flowers?”

“He bought them for me.”

She gives me a bewildered look, and I feel the heat of blush on my cheeks as I duck my head and pull the vase toward me between my hands.

“He’s the guy,” I hedge. “From this weekend.”

Angela’s eyes go wide, and her spine straightens as she looks toward the door again like she’s ready to walk outside to try and catch a glimpse of him. She pulls her glasses off the bridge of her nose and waves them around.

“Any man that buys their lady flowers is a good one, I just know it. He’s a keeper.” She points the ends of the wire frames at me, and I crack a smile.

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