Page 51 of Operation Sunshine
Before he had a chance to collect himself, Willow was there, a steaming cup in her hand. She placed it on the table in front of him.
“Here, boss. Double shot. You look like you need it.”
Ben eyed her warily. “Thank you.” He waited for her to return to the safety of the kitchen.
She slipped into the chair Franco had only just vacated and leaned one elbow on the table, casual as anything, her lips curved in her habitual knowing way that always made him deeply uneasy. “Rough night?”
He froze with the mug halfway to his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Willow tilted her head, her smirk sharpening. “Nothing. You look as if you didn’t get much sleep, that’s all. I thought maybe it had something to do with our resident chaos gremlin.” She flicked her chin toward the kitchen where Franco was joking with Raj.
All of a sudden, the coffee tasted too strong. Ben set the mug down. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“Ofcourseyou don’t,” Willow said in a sing-song voice. “But the way you’re pretendingnotto look at him says otherwise.”
Ben inhaled sharply, heat creeping up his neck to his ears. He wanted to deny it categorically, the way he’d handled every awkward question in the past at head office, but the words didn’t come. He knew why: denial would mean last night was an error, a lapse. Something to be filed away underunprofessional incidents.
Except it wasn’t an error, not when he could still feel Franco’s laugh against his throat or recall the press of his hand against Ben’s ribs, grounding and devastating all at once. Not when the memory of Franco whispering his name still left his pulse unsteady.
Willow raised her brows, waiting.
Ben finally cleared his throat. “I’ll take this coffee to my office.” He picked up his laptop, holding it against him like a shield, his retreat already mapped in his head.
But as he rose, he caught sight of Franco through the pass, a glance that lasted a mere heartbeat, long enough to see Franco’s grin, unguarded, warm, even dangerous in its simplicity.
It was then that Ben knew.
This isn’t a one-time deal, and I can’t make it one, no matter how much easier that would be.
He shut the office door harder than intended, theclickechoing in the small space. He opened his laptop, needing the gridlines of spreadsheets, the cool order of numbers. Something that made sense, that could be mastered.
But the numbers blurred immediately, replaced by the heat of last night. The way Franco’s hands had pinned him, not roughly but with confidence, steering the pace until Ben couldn’t tell where his body ended and Franco’s began. He remembered the sounds that had poured from his own lips, needy and unguarded, sounds he didn’t recognise as being him.
Franco had been in charge. Totally. Ben, who’d spent most of his adult life planning, containing, had bottomed, swept under by Franco’s tidal pull.
And he’d loved it, every helpless, glorious second of it.
His fingers hovered over the keys, and he typed furiously:
Action Plan: Personal/Professional Boundaries
Do not sleep with staff again.
If situation repeats, address swiftly and discreetly.
Maintain authority.
Focus on operational improvements, not distractions.
He stopped. There was that word again:distractions.
What if itwasn’ta distraction? What if it was… release?
He sat back in his chair, raking both hands through his hair. He could still feel Franco’s lips on his throat, the roll of his hips, the shameless way he’d demanded everything of him, and Ben, the man who never yielded, had given him complete control.
Slowly, he typed another line.
Decide if last night was a lapse… or if you’re willing to surrender again.
