Quickness implied embarrassment, and embarrassment implied I had done something incorrect.
I was not embarrassed.
I was, however, aware that Ben had seen enough of the screen to understand the subject matter.
The silence became unpleasant.
Ben looked at the closed laptop, the notebook, then back at me as his mouth twitched.
“Please don’t,” I said.
That was a mistake.
His expression brightened with immediate and devastating interest. “Tobias.”
“No.”
“Were you watching porn?”
“I was conducting research.”
He pressed his lips together as though physically holding back laughter, which made me consider throwing the notebook at him.
“Sure,” he said. “Of course. Research.”
“It is research.”
“I’m not judging.”
“You are.”
“I am enjoying,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
I leaned back in my chair and removed my glasses, partly because the bridge of my nose had begun to ache and partly because not looking directly at Ben seemed preferable.
His grin widened, making me dislike him intensely.
Then he came farther into the study and dropped into the chair opposite my desk with the easy entitlement of a man who had helped clean up several of my crime scenes.
“Okay,” he said, folding his hands. “What kind of research?”
“Sexual.”
“Yes, that part I picked up when I saw two men in positions I sincerely hope you did not think were instructional.”
I looked at him sharply. “They are not instructional?”
Ben stared at me, then his face did something complicated. “Wow,” he mouthed. “We’re starting from there.”
“I have never cared enough to investigate the subject thoroughly.”
“Somehow, I’m not that surprised,” he answered.
“The material is not persuasive.”
He blinked. “Persuasive?”
“It does not look like something worth trying.”
