“The problem is—” Ben’s eyes dipped to my lips, then back up to my eyes “—I don’t think I can.”
“Fine,” I said, bolder than I felt. “Then try it my way. Just be with me, no feelings. No expectations.”
I could see it in his face: Ben was at war with himself. He was going to reject me, just like he’d done at the wine festival. Of course he was—our history was too much.
I turned to go, blinking quickly, but he grabbed my arm.
“God help me,” he said roughly, then slipped a hand into my hair and crushed me to him.
The kiss was greedy and possessive. Ben held me against his chest and took his time, kissing me slowly, torturously, dragging his teeth against my lips until I gripped his biceps, needing more, stifling an uncharacteristic urge to beg. The feel of his tongue slipping inside my mouth lit something deep down, turning my bones to liquid.
I pulled back, and he made a noise of protest deep in his throat, eyes still closed.
“Ben—”
“All right, Stoner. You win. No feelings.”
When he opened his eyes, they were burning.
He wasn’t being sensible. He was breaking his rules, choosing me even though it was wrong and he might pay for it later. But I didn’t care about right or wrong—I didn’t care about anything other than the fact that I could have him. The look in his eyes lit five years’ worth of longing like dry kindle and my body went up in flames.
I seized him, kissing him with urgency, drunk on the taste and touch of Ben Laderman, and he met me with the same need, walking me backward so fast he was practically lifting me. My shoulders hit the brick wall of the restaurant and he tugged at my jacket, yanking it down my shoulders. I couldn’t unbutton his coat fast enough. I needed him now, no more waiting—the world could burn around us, for all I cared.
Ben tipped my head back, kissing me at an angle, deeper, gripping my waist and grinding against me—
“Ahh, shoot, I’m sorry—oh, stupid Ted.”
Ben jumped back from me, and cold air rushed inside my open jacket. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. Ted stood only a few feet away, frozen outside the door to the restaurant, face stricken and tomato red, staring.
“Mac sent me to look for you.” The words tumbled out. “I swear, I barely saw you kiss at all, and the picking up and the wall thing—”
“It’s okay, Ted.” My whole body was on fire. Nothing would be okay until I was touching Ben again.
“They’re all waiting for you inside,” Ted said apologetically. “The restaurant’s closing. I promise, I won’t say a word. I can make up some excuse—”
His words cut through my fogged mind. Alexis and all my friends were right inside. I couldn’t explain this to them. I clutched my jacket tighter and dared a look at Ben, who was breathing hard, pupils blown, lips full and swollen.
He kept his eyes on the ground like he didn’t trust himself to look at me. “Tomorrow,” he said roughly. The promise in his voice almost bent me at the knees.
“Tomorrow,” I said, and followed Ted back inside.
19
Just Like a Fairy Tale
“Don’t look now.” Ben’s eyes were dark as he adjusted his bow tie. We were alone for the first time all night, in the corner of the room, and I was in danger of getting distracted by the way his eyes cut to the side, giving someone his patented scathing look, 100 percent heat. He leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Slittery spotting, twelve o’clock.”
I ignored his instruction not to look and slid my eyes discreetly across the room. Sure enough, the CEO of Mendax Oil held court near the bar, surrounded by a circle of minions, laughing heartily at some story Senator Roy McBuck was telling with overly dramatic hand gestures. Slittery’s rattlesnake boots had been polished until they shone tonight, and he wore a turquoise bolo tie, every inch the gussied-up Texas oilman. I was surprised, frankly, that he’d never thought to grow a mustache for the purpose of twirling it evilly.
“He’s kissing McBuck’s ass,” Ben gritted out. “Rubbing it in our faces.”
We’d known Slittery would be here tonight, along with the who’s who of Texas politics. The Governor’s Ball, thrown each year in early December, was the political event of the season—and after years of longing for an invite, tonight was my debut. It was as magical as I’d imagined. People like the heads of the Texas ACLU and Texas Organizing Project were walking around the Governor’s Mansion in black-tie finery—just out in the open, where anyone could see! I was feeling as starstruck as a thirteen-year-old girl backstage at a K-pop concert.
Naturally, I’d decided my debut dress should make a scene because you only got one chance to make a first impression. I’d chosen a plunging, chiffony, fir-green number that allowed me to sweep through rooms like a sexy, billowing Christmas tree. The way Ben’s eyes kept drifting to me in the middle of important conversations was enough to justify the astronomical price tag, or so I would continue telling myself.
Although we’d known crossing paths with Slittery was unavoidable, Ben and I were determined to use the night to undo his damage. After all, it was December, and the legislative session didn’t start until January. We still had a few weeks to change people’s opinions before the vote. If we couldn’t sway Janus, Wayne or McBuck with money or direct outreach to their constituents, we just had to find a way to make the Green Machine bill so damn popular they couldn’t imagine voting against it. It was a much harder task than our targeted approach, but something had me feeling optimistic lately.
I glanced over and drank in the sight of Ben in his tuxedo, blue with black lapels. It was a standout in the sea of boring black tuxes, but really, its greatest function was showcasing Ben himself. Tonight, he wasHollywood Ben. His dark hair—longer than ever—curled rakishly over his forehead, but his stubble was perfectly groomed to showcase the strong angle of his jaw. And his suit was only a few shades darker than his eyes, which made it difficult to look at him and remember we were at a work event—especially after what happened at the restaurant last night. Possibly the breathless feeling I got when he smiled had something to do with my newfound optimism. Or maybe it was the whispered reminder running on loop in my brain:Ben Laderman wants me.
