"Brilliant," I cut him off, my jaw grinding. "Pin it all on me again. God forbid you own ghosting me because you forgot how to be a decent human."
Ben snorts, clearly amused. "I think we both forfeited the right to use the word decent."
Wow. That ass.
I glare, my face flat. "You know what? There's nothing left to talk about. It meant nothing."
The second it's out I sense I pushed him too far, because Ben freezes mid-chew, and his head tilts, eyes cutting into me with that simmering fire.
"Really?" His brow cocks, his eyes dangerous now. "Nothing?"
"Yeah. Nothing," I snap, trying to sound steady. Believable. "An echo from years ago. A fling. A huge mistake."
"Mmm," he hums, licking his lips deliberately. "Funny. Didn't sound like a mistake when you were moaning my name, begging me to get inside you."
My eyes flash even though my stomach goes into full retreat.
For a beat, I freeze on him, before I manage to stutter, "You're delusional... I didn't..."
His head cants like a wolf cornering prey. "You soaked my sheets, Emma. Through your clothes. You don't fake that."
My mouth drops.
What did he say?
What did he just say?!The muscle above my brow twitches, annoyingly insistent, ready to throw a punch.
"Jesus Christ, Ben," I hiss then. "How can you say something like that? Don't you have any fucking filter?"
"Since when do I need one with you?" He looks at me genuinely irritated, like I'm the one who broke some unspoken treaty. Then he exhales a sharp breath. "And it's true. Hope you'll like the fact I kept them. Every night."
My mouth still hasn't closed and I guess it won't.
"What? You kept them?"
His smirk returns, but it seems self-loathing. "Yeah. Romance villains apparently go apeshit when the girl makes them lose their mind."
Apeshit. Okay. Don't think it. Stop.
But I do think of him in that bed, god knows doing what, and my thighs open on instinct.
His eyes drop, following my movement and drift deeper inside my skirt, lingering there. He even slightly tilts his head as if to get a better view.
I tell my legs to close, to fight back, but they stay spread, like my body knows who it really belongs to, even when my mind screams otherwise.
"Ready for round two?" Richard's voice cuts across thecourt.
Barely hear it. But yeah, I'm ready for round two—just not the kind that involves rackets.
Ben's gaze hasn't moved from between my thighs and I'm starting to feel every inch of it.
His mouth curves and he shifts, scraping the metal chair on tile until he's right next to my chest.
I manage to snap my knees together the second I see Richard approaching—his brows cinched together, his pace quickening.
Then I look back at Ben, his eyes on me, waiting for something, and my chest rises, shallow, betraying me.
"Last chance, Emma," he says, voice so low it's only for me. "Say it was nothing and I'll walk away. You disappear back into your boring marriage, I get on with mine. Or—"
