“Smoldering!” the photographer called out, continuing to click away.
If he only knew . . . my panties were about to ignite. Honest to God, I was a fire hazard. Ben needed to stop looking at me like that. His eyes wandered the length of my body, and I lost any interest I had in keeping us apart. My body wanted this too bad. Craved it. Like a junkie needing a fix.
I became aware of Fiona beside me, her posture stiff and foreboding. She knew Ben was watching me. “Don’t drool, darling,” she warned, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I snapped my mouth closed. Oops. I guess I had been staring open mouthed at him, and my breathing was much too fast. I was thankful she couldn’t possibly know the thoughts racing through my mind, the blood pumping south, making my lady parts throb.
“He’s doing great,” I commented instead. Even my voice betrayed me, sounding husky.
Fiona’s thin lips curled into a practiced smile. “Ben’s very good at what he does. Don’t let him fool you, though; he’s a complicated man. With a very complicated past. I’ve been with him since he was eighteen. Trust me when I say girls come and go. He needs to focus on his career, not get hand-fed by some southern housewife type. I know what’s best for him.”
I nodded. Her warning was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? She couldn’t really think that Ben was interested in me, could she? But Fiona obviously knew him well, working alongside him for the past four years.
The photographer captured his final shot and Ben’s gaze reluctantly dropped from mine and landed on Fiona. I fled to the makeup area, needing to find something to do with my shaking hands.
9
Emmy
Gunnar and I had rescheduled our outing and spent the day silently roaming the massive Notre Dame Cathedral. Afterward, we headed to a little sidewalk café to grab some wine and appetizers.
I listened to him complain about the latest guy he was seeing while nibbling on still-warm, crusty bread slathered with generous amounts of butter.
We were on our second glass of wine and I still wasn’t sure how to pump him for information about Ben. I didn’t want to give away anything—didn’t want him to know I’d begun seeing him on the down-low.
“What’s on your mind?” He grinned at me. “You look like the cat who caught the mouse, honey. Spill it.”
Okay. So much for being inconspicuous. Was I that obvious? “It’s nothing. I just . . . I’ve begun sort of seeing someone. It’s still really new.”
“Oh, that wonderfully fun, exciting new stage. New sex! Cheers!” He lifted his wineglass to mine. “Who’s the lucky guy? A local? They’re not circumcised here, you know.”
I nearly spit my wine. I knew that circumcisions weren’t common in European men, but geez. Was this really our lunchtime conversation? “He’s been . . . uh . . . never mind.” I smiled politely. I was
not
telling him that Ben was circumcised.
Lord
.
Gunnar chuckled. “He’s been cut . . . hmm, so he’s not a local.” He leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes widening. “Holy shit, it’s not one of our boys, is it?”
Heaven knew I couldn’t tell a lie to save my life. “No comment.”
“Ha! He’s a Status model, isn’t he?”
Shit. This wasn’t good. There were only a few models traveling with us in Paris. “Maybe.”
Gunnar grinned. “Emmy. Stop being cute. I know it’s Ben.”
“How?” I blurted.
He laughed easily, tipping his head back. “One, you just admitted it. Two, he’s straight, unfortunately for me. And three, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
Damn.
Was I that obvious? “Don’t say anything, Gunnar. This is still new, and I don’t know where it’s heading.” Disaster City, that’s where.
He took another thoughtful sip of his wine. “I don’t like it, Emmy.” He frowned.
“It’s all in good fun, Gunnar. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” My dreams of pumping him for information vanished. Gunnar was not in support of this, and I wasn’t even sure why.
He reached across the table and took my hand. “You’re a sweet, wholesome girl and he’s got more issues than
Vogue,
honey.”
My stomach turned, the wine I’d consumed churning. How could this possibly end well? Maybe Gunnar was right. I needed to be careful, keep my wits about me. Of course, all I wanted to do was crawl right back into Ben’s bed.
Crap.
• • •
Four: the number of days since I’d seen Ben.
Seven: the number of times I’d allowed myself to read our thread of naughty texts.
One: the number of times I’d made myself come while moaning his name. That would be a dangerous habit to get into. I couldn’t have him running circles through my head all day and owning all my orgasms. I needed something within my control.
I crawled into bed, flipping off the lamp and resting my phone on the pillow beside me, just in case. I hadn’t heard from him, but I hadn’t reached out to him, either. I knew the past few days he’d been busy meeting with casting directors and designers for the upcoming Paris Fashion Week. He had been cast in a slew of shows, according to Fiona. I should’ve felt proud of him, excited for the agency I worked for, but instead I just felt lonely. I wanted the man, not the model.
There was nothing quite so lonely as crawling into bed alone four thousand miles from home. My legs were restless under the sheets, my limbs aching with the need to do something. A good mattress workout would do the trick.
Ben beneath me.
Come on top, cowgirl.
I remembered the way he lifted me by the hips, moving me over him, positioning himself at my entrance . . . controlling both our pleasure.
A hot shiver ripped through my body, making me crave him more. I was so wrapped up in him, my emotions twisted and raw, my body hot with desire, that I briefly considered just quitting—flying back to New York and looking for a regular job. One without supermodels and bitchy British cougars. I was a wreck.
I kicked the covers off my restless legs, suddenly too warm. Several days without hearing from Ben, especially now that we’d been intimate, seemed like a lifetime. At least Fiona and I were getting along okay. Thankfully, she didn’t suspect that I’d hooked up with her prized possession. Otherwise, shit would hit the fan. Hard. I’d kept things professional with her this week and tried my best not to let her cryptic comments cut into me. But during the quiet times, and especially at night, I couldn’t help my mind from drifting to thoughts of Ben. I wondered what he was doing. If he was sleeping okay. What all those pill bottles were for. I know I should just let it go, but something inside me couldn’t.
I needed some girl talk. I grabbed my phone and checked the time before dialing Ellie.
We caught up briefly while she got ready for work. Mostly she complained about the new roommate drinking all her soy milk. I took a deep breath and decided to tell her about things heating up with Ben.
“I will spazz if you tell me you’ve slept with him,” she said.
I chuckled. “Initiate spazzing.”
“WHAT?!” She screamed into the phone, making me laugh harder. “Holy shit, Emmy. Details, stat.”
“Well he’s amazing. Honestly. The best ever. Amazing kisser, sweet and tender, yet takes control in the bedroom.”
“Wowza. Big dick, too?”
“Ellie!” I laughed again.
“What? Inquiring minds want to know. What’s that boy workin’ with? A teeny peeny or hung like a hippo?”
“Um . . . hippo.” I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. God, I missed Ellie. I was seriously overdue for some girl time.
“So what’s the problem?”
I took a deep breath. “It’s just . . . he’s repeatedly told me he doesn’t want a relationship. I think I’m in over my head.”
“Babe. His dong rivals a Subway foot long. Enjoy it. What the fuck is there to think about?”
I let out a sigh. She made it sound so easy. “He’s hard not to fall for, Ellie. He’s gorgeous, smart, funny, considerate, amazing in bed. . . .” The list went on.
Oh, and apparently he had more issues than Vogue—according to Gunnar.”
“Ah. I see. Well listen, baby girl. There’s no reason you can’t be the one in control. This isn’t about love, or being tied down. Do you think any man on the planet would think twice about engaging in some no-strings-sex with a supermodel? Of course not. Any man would go for it. Hit it and quit it. Think like a man, Emmy. Think with your dick.”
I laughed again at her choice of words. Fuck buddies with Ben Shaw, I could do that.
After Ellie’s pep talk, I felt a little more encouraged and in control about my relationship with Ben.
“I’ve gotta get to work,” she reminded me.
“’Kay. And I’ve got to get some sleep. Talk soon.”
“Mwah!” Ellie said, ending the call.
I curled up on my side, hugging the pillow beside me, and was just about asleep when my phone chimed beside me. My hands scrambled for it in the dark. Just that little chime made me think of Ben, which in turn made me horny. I was like a trained Pavlov dog for that sound.
Ben: It’s my birthday . . . in four minutes
I glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. I hadn’t known it was his birthday tomorrow, today, whatever. I smiled at the image of him lying in bed alone, several floors up, feeling alone and just needing someone to know it was his birthday. I liked that I was the person he reached out to. I waited until the clock changed to midnight then texted him back.
Me: Happy Birthday
Ben: Thanks, beautiful. You should come to my birthday dinner tomorrow night.
I replied that I would be there, and Ben provided the name of the restaurant. I hadn’t known there was a birthday dinner for him. Surely Fiona had planned it. Normally, she made me handle everything—from sending her clothes out to be laundered, to booking her monthly bikini waxes. My only conclusion was that she’d wanted to keep this from me. Tomorrow night should be interesting.
10
Emmy
I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror while the bathtub filled. Lazy heat vapors drifted toward the ceiling as I inspected myself in the mirror. My thighs jiggled when I walked, my breasts, while still high, would sag with their weight as I aged. It was just gravity. I pressed my hands into my fleshy hips, willing them to shrink. I’d never been so aware of my body in my entire life. It turned out getting naked with a supermodel would do that to you. I remembered Ben’s hoarse whisper, the desire in his voice when he said I was soft. But maybe I was only remembering it the way I wanted to. Maybe he’d prefer I had a six-pack, or a tiny, firm little butt.
Once the tub was filled, I stepped into the steaming hot water and sank down, submerging myself in the fragrant bubbles. I lathered every part of my body, exfoliated every inch, and shaved every bit of hair until I was bare. I shampooed and conditioned my hair, and made sure all of me was scrubbed clean. As much as I’d told myself that I couldn’t be with Ben again, I didn’t trust my body not to betray me.
I emerged pruned and boneless. But I felt wonderful. After wrapping myself in the fluffy robe from the wardrobe, I worked the calluses from my heel and, trimmed, filed and painted my fingernails and toenails. I plucked stray eyebrows in the magnifying mirror in the full sunlight pouring through my window where I could see every speck of everything. After every pore was extracted and spotless, I expertly applied my makeup and styled my hair. I slathered lotion on my skin, mixing in several droplets of baby oil. I was soft and glowing when I was done. I knew I couldn’t compete with the women Ben attracted, but my self-confidence had tripled in the last hour. I needed this. I wanted to feel sexy tonight. Powerful and in control. Ellie would be proud.
I slipped into my black skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a gauzy cream top that fell off one shoulder. I added a few chunky necklaces and fluffed my hair one last time. Ready as I’d ever be.
The dinner was being held at a swanky restaurant on the river. I found it strange that Fiona had booked the reservation for Ben’s birthday herself. I hoped she wasn’t going to shit a brick at the sight of me. I arrived a few minutes after eight and learned our party was still having drinks at the bar.
I took a moment to gather myself and scope out my surroundings. Deep beats of house music played in the background; glittering dim lighting from crystal chandeliers and beautiful people mingling at the high-top tables completed the ambience. I was glad I’d taken the time to make myself presentable.
Fiona’s shrill wave of accented laughter caught my attention. She, Ben, and a few others I didn’t recognize were at the far end of the bar. Ben looked scrumptious in tailored dark gray trousers and a button-down shirt rolled to his elbows, showing off those thick, sexy forearms coursing with veins. His shirt was open at the collar and memories of inhaling the skin at his neck danced through my mind. Fiona spotted me across the bar and her mouth pulled into a tight line. Ben’s smile fell at Fiona’s sudden change in mood and his gaze lifted to meet mine.
“Hi,” I mumbled weakly, suddenly regretting my decision to come.
Ben pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me, and all fears I had fell away. He wanted me here. Fiona could shove it.
“You came,” he whispered against my hair, breathing me in.
“Happy birthday.” I smiled up at him as he released me.
Ben grinned. One little tug of his mouth and my heart was beating like a drum. I could tell he’d already had a few drinks. His normally penetrating stare was relaxed and happy. And he was holding a glass of amber-colored liquor. The strong stuff.
“Hi, Fiona.” I gave her a cordial smile. I knew she wasn’t my biggest fan, but we could at least try to be civil about things.
“Emerson.” She tipped her head and turned her focus back to Ben.
I sensed the mood shift in the little group when I arrived, like they’d been in the middle of a story. But a strange hushed silence fell over the group as their eyes moved back and forth between me and Ben. I hated being the center of attention. I hated feeling scrutinized.
Stepping away, I murmured, “I’m going to grab a drink.”