Page 36 of His Temptation
“You’re … back …” Benny smiles as he walks into the room. “Are … you … okay?”
I smile at him, then drop my bag and walk farther into our apartment. “I’m fine. Just exhausted from the trip. How was your weekend? Did you behave and follow my rules?”
I listen to him tell me about his weekend, although Angela and the private bodyguard already texted me to let me know. He listened to what I’d asked of him and stayed in the area. Plus, I texted him enough times for him to know I was serious.
We have a great relationship, so I wasn’t too worried about him lying to me. I have no idea how other parents do it. Is twelve too early to leave a kid alone for a weekend? Probably. Although he wasn’t entirely without some supervision. Still, I’m sure some people would roll their eyes and scoff at the mere idea of it.
But those people don’t realize how nice it must be to have family and friends around them to help. Or at the very least, to have money to spare for babysitters.
Despite how absolutely exhausted I am, Benny convinces me to have a game night. Not being able to afford cable for so long—something I just splurged on a week ago—I stocked up on board games.
There is no shortage of games in this place. We’ve kept ourselves entertained for hours, playing games together. He gets so into them that, sometimes, he even drops his stutter. It’s like he gets into such a carefree, relaxed state that the stutter disappears. I relish those moments when we feel like a normal family with no reminders of our circumstances.
“By the way, I signed a lease on a place in Greenwich the other day. Since our lease on this place is up this month, we are moving in two weeks,” I tell him as he sits to play a game of Monopoly.
His eyes light with excitement. I’m glad he’s happy because the idea of moving in two weeks is stressing me out. Luckily, we don’t own very much, so it won’t take long.
The next morning, I must have applied three rounds of deodorant when getting ready because of my nerves. I have no idea how to go in and face Lincoln today.
There are so many unanswered questions. Was it a one time kiss? Does he want to do it again? Does he want to do more? Does he want to date? Is he going to fire me? That last question had me applying the third round of deodorant.
Then the day somehow goes by without a spare second for me to even think about it. There are monthly budgets due, meeting notes to type out, schedules to readjust, and proposals to go over before making sure they get entered into the correct company template.
Even if I wanted to freak out and overanalyze, I wouldn’t have the time. But that doesn’t mean in the midst of it all, I haven’t noticed him strolling in and out of his office in his perfectly fitted suit. It doesn’t mean I haven’t had to pull my brain away from the thought of that kiss over and over again.
At one point, when I brought him his lunch, he was on the phone, but there was an unmistakable surge between us that only intensified when his eyes slowly caressed me, trailing down my body. He didn’t rush it, nor did he hide it. The temperature of the room skyrocketed, and I made a point of getting out of there immediately.
I hate that I have this reaction to just a look of appreciation from him. It’s like my brain knows he’s no good, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
Then the end of the day hits, and people start to file out. I’ve been tense all day, and I really just want to go home and relax, but I doubt he’s going to leave on time tonight.
It’s not until most people are gone that he buzzes me into his office. This is the first time today we are actually going to be alone in his office without either of us running around with a million things to do. My nerves kick into high gear. I wonder if he’s going to bring the kiss up.
I walk on shaky legs into his office. Our eyes meet across the room. He’s leaning back in his chair, his tie ditched and sleeves rolled up. His arms are crossed, and he’s looking at me intently.
“Close the door, Kylie,” he demands.
I follow his command, then walk farther into the office. “Yes, sir?”
He stands up and meets me halfway between his desk and the door. With every step he takes, my body starts to tremble more. I’m not sure whether it’s from nerves or excitement.
He’d better not kiss me. No, screw that. He’d BETTER kiss me. No, don’t be like that. You’re not like the other women who get swept away by his looks and money.
When he stops only inches from me, his thumb reaches up and runs along my jaw. My body breaks out into shivers.
“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been trying to convince myself why touching you is stupid? I know it is, and yet”—his thumb runs along my bottom lip—“all I can think about is kissing you again. Of getting a taste of that sweet pussy.”
With his thumb on my lip, my jaw falls open. His words are crass, demeaning even, but my body responds by making my panties uncomfortably wet.
“You’re right. It is a bad idea,” I whisper, looking up at him through my lashes. “I don’t even like you.”
A slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’m aware.”
But that doesn’t faze him. He leans his head down slowly, his eyes intent and determined. He leaves me no room to breathe or even think as his lips barely brush against mine. Panic sets in, as I’m reminded of just how different our pasts are.
“I’m a virgin,” I whisper against his lips.
His body freezes, his lips still touching mine, before he pulls away a fraction of an inch. “You’re … a virgin?”
