Chapter Six
Cris
Crap. I knew that wouldn’t work.
I turn slowly to face him. He’s close. Too close. Regret surfs on the crashing waves in my stomach. “I should go.”
He shakes his head. “You’re not leaving until we talk about your date.”
The date. He wants to talk about my date? Maybe he didn’t hear what I told Vivian. Maybe there was a blip in the universe, and the words I thought were overheard instead frittered off and vanished into the atmosphere.
Then he tacks on, “And whatever you said about your pants.”
Double crap.
This is Viv’s fault. She called to say she felt betrayed because I’ve been giving Benji the lowdown on my dating life rather than talking to her. In my defense there wasn’t much to tell. She then accused me of using the postmortems following my dates as an excuse to date Benji. I laughed and explained those were his idea, and then possibly protested a wee bit too much.
To throw her off my trail, I recapped my date with Rick Backer, who might be the penny-pinchingest man I’ve ever been in the presence of, and I’m including my maternal grandfather who died a millionaire and left his money to my uncle—my mom’s brother—but lived eighty-eight years as a miser.
Vivian then mentioned I’d better step up my frequency of dates since I needed to cash in my V-card (the V is for virginity), and that’s when I blurted out I’d love an orgasm. She suggested Benji. I laughed again and acted as if it was a ludicrous suggestion. She is engaged to Benji’s brother. I don’t want how I feel about Benji getting back to Nate.
“Have a seat.” Benji tips his head toward the bar where our abandoned wineglasses sit. I shake my head. “Cris.”
“Benji.” I guess I can be thankful I didn’t mention the V-card thing or else I’d have a lot more explaining to do. Although judging by the look on his face, I already have plenty of explaining to do as it is.
Viv loves to tease me about him. I’ve done a good job pretending I don’t find my boss attractive since I met her, but she doesn’t believe me. I’m a horrible liar. On the phone, she suggested I solve my orgasm issue by approaching him, and I deflected. But my joking might’ve gone too far by the time I committed to the character of seductress, and wouldn’t it figure that Benji was standing right behind me when I spun my R-rated fairy tale.
The key to problem-solving is to start from the square you’re in, which means I can’t deny what he heard. He’s too smart for that. Even if he was as dumb as a brick, I’m transparent. Any claim he misheard me would be an obvious lie. My remaining option, which he is thwarting, is to flee.
“Can we do this later? The wine went to my head tonight.” I pin a smile into place and try option C: reason.
“You didn’t have a drink at dinner because Rick is a teetotaler.” Benji’s eyelids lower into a deliberate blink. He points to the full glass of white wine sitting next to his red on the counter. “And you haven’t touched your glass yet.”
“Benji, please,” I whine. Begging is all I have left. I put my hands in prayer pose. “Please can we forget this happened?”
His full, delicious mouth tips up at one corner. “How’m I supposed to do that?”
“Easy, you shake your head like this.” I demonstrate, shaking my curls and closing my eyes for effect. I smile brightly. “Voila! All gone!”
He takes my hand and leads me past the sofa and to the counter, then spins to face me. He’s not as close as before, which is good. I really needed to take a breath not steeped in Benji. He drops my hand.
“You can’t say…” He pauses, and I pray he’s not going to recap. “What you said while looking like you do and expect me not to think about it.”
I blink at him, stunned. “You…thought about it?”
“I’m still thinking about it.” He adjusts his fly rather deliberately and my eyes follow the movement. I don’t mean to look but here I am, looking. I’m not saying there’s a flagpole down there, but there is a bit more, um, lift where there wasn’t before.
“Oh my God.” Did I do that? I don’t know whether to cry or throw a party.
“You understand my dilemma,” he rumbles. His voice is raw and sexy. My nipples tighten and press against the silky fabric of my bra.
Triple crap.
“Cris, I am capable of giving you an orgasm.”
Whimper.
“Uh, that’s okay. I’m okay. It’s okay.” Next tactic: denial.