I clear my throat and step closer, trying not to let the heat in my chest get the better of me. “Behave,” I repeat, low and testing as if that word is foreign to me when it comes to her. “That’s… promising.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact. And that’s what makes me lose it a little inside.
I know I shouldn’t, not right now.
She’s tired. She’s still acclimating to this life she didn’t choose. But every instinct I have tells me to close the distance and see just how far I can push her.
Instead, I keep my hands to myself and set the sandwich down on the counter.
She watches me, aware I’m thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking. I see it in her eyes, the slight narrowing, like she’s reading me.
The little spark of curiosity that says, I know you’re staring at me, but I dare you to act on it.
I may have said shit. I may have pushed her. But I’m not that big of a fucking idiot.
“Can I take your silence as a yes?” she mutters in this sweet little tone that makes my cock hard. “Ireallywant to go see it.”
I inhale slowly, trying to pull myself together. I feel like a man I shouldn’t be.
I’m a mob boss.
Dangerous.
Controlled.
And here I am, pacing the floor inside my head because a woman said one word.
“You’re pushing it,” I murmur, more to myself than her.
But she hears it.
Her smirk deepens, subtle and teasing, but not flirty, not really. She’s just her, unapologetic, stubborn, and annoyingly beautiful.
“You’re obsessed with this ‘behave’ thing.”
I want to grab her wrist, pull her close, and make her feel just how dangerous this game is she’s playing.
But I refrain.
She said if Ipushedher sexually to see how much I can get her melting and begging for me, it’ll be associated with her as rape.
I haven’t forgotten that.
“You’re obsessed with testing and taunting me,” I counter back. “You’re not going to win, sweetheart. Eat, sleep, then I’ll take you to breakfast?—”
“This isn’t a date, Ben,” she retorts with a wrinkle of her nose and the worst idea she’s ever heard. “I just want to see the bakery.”
“And I want to eat.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips—tiny, fleeting, but it’s there. That’s when I decide to lean into my act a little. Play the “innocent, wounded” card, just for a moment.
“You know,” I say softly, letting my tone carry more hurt than it actually does.“When you’re nice to me…you may get what you want quicker.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, just slightly, like she’s questioning if I’m serious. “Are your feelings hurt, Ben? Because I highly doubt it.”
“It’s that smile. The fake one. The real one I barely see. I think I saw it tonight when I came in here, and you wanted to see the bakery.”
Sienna shrugs. “I was excited.”
