Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Then so be it.
“Ahhh. The Ben East answer a difficult question with a difficult question technique,” I say, teasing him. This easy playfulness between us is what I’ve missed most. Second most—he really does look incredible naked.
A smile curls around his mouth, and I want to lean forward and press my lips against his “You know all my secrets.”
“I don’t. But I want to.”
His eyes narrow, and he holds my gaze.
“That’s why I gave up Boston,” I say on a whisper. “I don’t want to be just someone else in New York who needed your help. Someone else who employed you for your contacts. I didn’t want to be someone who used you.”
Silence winds between us, but instead of squirm, I let it shift and move. I need Ben to really hear what I’m saying to him.
“You gave up on Boston because you didn’t want me to be involved?”
“I gave up on Boston because I want to be someone you can trust. I don’t think that would be possible if I was someone you had to help or use your network for someone whose problems you solved. You don’t want messiness, or to mix business and personal stuff, but I think what you’re saying is that we need the playing field to be equal.”
“We do?” he asks, his tone shocked.
Doubt starts to gush in from all sides, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve been imagining everything between Ben and me. Maybe what we had together is no big deal to him. But that idea fills me with panic because I know that it’s a big deal to me. A really big deal.
“Maybe we don’t,” I say with a sigh. Maybe I made a mistake coming here tonight, but then I remind myself that I want him to know how I feel, even if he doesn’t feel the same way. “I’m into you,” I say.
I expect him to make a joke or tease me, but he just keeps staring at me like I’ve turned him to stone.
“I’ve gotten to know you, and I want more,” I continue. “More of you. More of being with you. I thought there was no chance at all that staying in your apartment for a week would lead to me falling in love with you…but…here we are.” I swallow. It’s the first time I’ve told him how I feel, but it’s also the first time I’ve said the L word to any man outside my family. It’s the first time I’ve admitted, even to myself, that I love Ben East. As soon as I say the words, it’s like they slot into gaps in my heart I didn’t know I had. Gaps I’ve always had and have been waiting to fill. It feels good. I feel complete.
I love him.
It’s as simple as that.
Then I focus on him. He’s still not saying anything.
My face begins to burn with heat and my entire body clenches with fear. Not because I’m in love with him, but because I don’t know how he feels. I didn’t come here to share a bottle of wine and talk about the good times.
Maybe I need to be clearer with him.
“I’m in love with you,” I say in case he missed it.
His eyes flicker, like he’s rebooting, and he goes to say something else but stops himself.
“What were you going to say?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he replies and it’s like a sucker punch to my gut.
Nothing? I told him I’m in love with him and he wasn’t going to say anything?
He was definitely going to say something. Maybe it was something he didn’t think I’d want to hear. But I need to hear what he’s thinking, even if it will break me.
“You’re a liar, liar, pants on fire,” I reply.
He lets out a half laugh. “When you told me that you weren’t going to go through with the Boston deal, I was going to say that I’d miss you.” His words are like a ribbon of hope that lift my spirits.
“You’d miss me?” I ask.
“Because there would be no reason to see each other,” he clarifies.
“Right,” I say. “Unless we wanted to.”
He pulls his eyebrows together like he’s concentrating, turning thoughts over and over in his mind. “I think maybe I fell in love with you, too, during our week together.” He says it almost like he’s talking to himself. As if he’s in an empty room.
It’s so quiet, but so very loud. And it’s the only thing I ever want to hear for as long as I live.
My heart stops beating.
I’m dead.
“What?” I ask, wondering if I’ve misheard him because he’s being so nonchalant.
“I know it’s a stupid thing to even think, let alone say, but it’s true,” he says.
My heart starts to beat again, and I’m about to reply with I don’t know what, when he adds, “It was a stealth attack—Middle of the night, secret-ops mission.”