Model Behaviour

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He didn’t make a move to grab the jewelry box, but he did lift a hand to her face. His thumb grazed along her cheekbone, as if wiping away a smudge, and he didn’t stop there. Fingers kept trailing until he wove them through the upsweep of her hair, tugging just enough to render the strands askew. “Is the idea of you and me together that abhorrent?”

No. It wasn’t. That was the problem.

“I’m reasonably attractive. I take a shower every day. I like to think I can make you laugh even when you’d rather throw me out a window.” He licked his lips, taking his time with the movement, as if he knew she was imagining the way that tongue might feel on every inch of her skin. “You’re the last woman on earth I’d ever want to hurt, Olivia. You have to know that.”

But he already had hurt her—that was the thing. He’d hurt her the second he pulled out that napkin and tilted her world on its axis, trading in their friendship for a chance at something more.

His friend from the Beck concert had been right about her. She hated flattery, and she would have chewed up and spit Ben out if he’d tried his smooth man-about-town routine on her that night. Rich, powerful men were a dime a dozen when you had a face and a body as famous as hers, and she didn’t need the Benjamin Meyers of the world to croon in her ear about how much they wanted to fuck her.

Sex was just sex, and if experience had taught her one thing, it was that men would say anything to get it. They lied and they spewed compliments. They dangled money and they offered modeling contracts. Sometimes they followed through with their promises, sometimes they didn’t. That was the way the world worked.

But this—these five years of friendship, that feeling of comfort when Ben walked into the room, the long nights in Tokyo when only his voice would do—it was rare for her to have something so consistent in her life, and he knew it. That was what hurt the most. He knew it, and he was still willing to jeopardize everything.

“What could you possibly know about pain?” she asked, her voice strained.

“I know enough.” His grip on her neck tightened, and she could feel the pulse in his thumb throbbing against the one in her throat. “Every time I see you, I feel as though the breath has been knocked out of me, and it takes me days to fill my lungs again. Missing you is like missing a part of my soul, and I find myself searching for you even when I know you’re halfway across the world.”

“Don’t, Ben. Please.”

“I have to. The next twenty-three hours or so are mine to command, and I don’t intend to waste them. I can tell by the panicked look in your eyes that there’s a good chance I’m going to ruin everything by being so honest with you, but it’s a risk I have to take.”

“But we work so well as friends. No pressure. No obligations. Why are you determined to wreck that?”

“Because I want you,” he said simply, and dropped his hand. And that was it. Ben saw. Ben wanted. Ben would stop at nothing to get. A man didn’t get to his level of success by age thirty without a stubborn and reckless streak. And a man didn’t get to his level of charm without leaving a trail of broken hearts behind.

Her body flooded with annoyance, and she welcomed it, grateful for all the other emotions it cast aside. “You know the harder you push, the harder I’ll push back, right? I’m not one of those women who only needs a few cheap compliments before she gives in.”

“You thought those compliments were cheap?” He pulled his lips down in a mock frown. “Damn. I paid a lot for them.”

She wouldn’t laugh. She wouldn’t even crack a smile. “And just so you know, if there’s a bottle of champagne and strawberries waiting inside the bedroom, I’m turning around and going home. I don’t care what the napkin says.”

“I’m insulted you think I’d stoop to such obvious tactics as those.” He paused. “But if someone knocks at the door in about five minutes, you should probably ignore it.”

She fell into a peal of mirth, unable to hold it back any longer. It was impossible to take Ben seriously for more than a few minutes at a time—in fact, that was a large part of his appeal. “Please tell me you didn’t actually think that would work.”

“No.” His lips twitched. “In fact, I’d have been disappointed if it did. I like that you’re making me work for this.”

Of course he did. His confession down there in the cab—that the first thing he noticed about her was her lack of googly-eyes—said it all. She was the only woman in the world who hadn’t fallen in a swoon at his feet, and he couldn’t stand it.

In fact, if she threw herself at him right now—if she gave in to stupid overtures like champagne and strawberries and a fancy room—he’d probably lose interest. Bored and disillusioned, he’d realize that nothing she had to offer was any different from what scores of other women had happily handed over in the past.

She stopped in the act of searching the linen cupboard for spare sheets to make up the couch. Of course. That was it. She could protest until she ran out of oxygen and still come nowhere near the amount of hot air Ben used in a single breath. You couldn’t argue with a brick wall.

But you could tear it down.

She closed the linen cupboard without extracting so much as a pillow and settled her back against the door. It wasn’t an aggressive stance, but if Ben had been paying attention, he would have noticed the shift. She was all liquid sensuality over here, the pose one she’d perfected years ago.

“You know, I think it’s been a whole forty-five minutes since you dropped your phone in my drink,” she said, her voice neutral. No need to give everything away all at once. “Aren’t you curious about what’s going on in Singapore right now? What if your secretary is frantically emailing you about an international emergency?”

He turned to her with a lifted finger, wagging it playfully. “Nice try. You can’t make me slip up that easily. She knows to call the hotel if there’s anything catastrophic.”

“Cheater. That renders number two null and void.”

“Untrue. The napkin doesn’t say anything about landlines. Cell phone only. I checked the fine print.”

“Then I’m adding a caveat. A lady’s prerogative.” No way was he derailing her with logic. Logic was for business meetings and contract negotiations. Not a mad-dash effort to preserve the most important relationship in her life.

“I would never deny a lady her prerogative,” Ben said.

That was Livvie’s cue. She moved to the side wall, where a vintage rotary phone sat in all its gold-leaf glory. Leaning over so that the short skirt of her black dress rode high, she yanked on the phone cord connecting them to the rest of the world.

“There.” She straightened and whipped the phone cord in a circle, bandying it like a feather boa. Lowering her voice, she added, “Now we’re all alone up here. Just two people enjoying a private evening together.”

“Yes, we are. It’s nice, isn’t it?” He looked around the room, seemingly satisfied with its painstaking elegance. “Since you nixed the idea of champagne and strawberries, do you want to play checkers?”

Was he missing the part where she was standing here with an enticing pout to her lips? This pout was worth a fortune. This pout was all she had. “Since when does the Montluxe have checkers?”

“It’s what I packed in your satchel. Checkers and a toothbrush. I hope you don’t mind. It has an oscillating head.”

She gave a strangled laugh and let the phone cord slide through her fingers. For a man intent on having sex with her, he was making it incredibly difficult to get to first base.

“What? I thought we might get bored. And oscillating head sounded too good to pass up.”

“If you wanted oscillating head, you could have just asked.” Without waiting for her comment to fully register, she drew close—close enough that he had to take a wide step back, his calves hitting the edge of the couch. The heat emanating off his body was a force of its own, raw with power and sex, and she had to swallow to remind herself that she was in charge here. She was seducing him, forcing him out on this high wire to see how he liked it.

It was dizzying and exhilarating up here, yes, but one misstep meant the loss of everything. Ben was too good a businessman—too aware of the value of calculated risks—not to recognize the folly of pushing forward.

“Checkers is a poor substitute for the other kinds of games we could play,” she cooed, infusing her tone with a throaty purr that would have done a phone-sex operator proud. She ran one hand up the inside of his tie, holding him firmly in place. From there, it would take one push of her hand on his chest to send him sprawling onto the cushions. One hitch of her skirt to straddle him. They were essentially two seconds and a leg lift away from full-on fornication. “I’m starting to think you might be onto something here.”

“Strip checkers, you mean?” he asked, amusement and desire deepening his voice. He had yet to do more than mold his body against hers, letting her lean in, but she could tell he wanted to do more. There was a tense strength to the way his muscles unfolded along hers, as if he could unleash his full potential at any moment. “Checkers role play? No—I’ve got it. You want to paint my body and make it the board.”

“No, Ben. I want us to fuck.”

“Wait—what?” An adorably perplexed frown moved across his face, and the tense strength of him snapped. She didn’t give him a chance to use it to push her away, taking advantage of his momentary imbalance to brush her lips against his instead.

It was a slight touch, more of an exchange of breath than a true kiss, but it was all she needed to convince her that every boundary she’d put up against this man was a necessary one. His lips were impossibly soft and easy to fall into, and she found herself straining for more. Her thighs knocked against his as she used him for balance, sparks of sensation springing to life as her bare legs scraped the fabric of his slacks.

Although he had yet to do much more than stand there in a state of stupefaction, she lifted a hand to the nape of his neck, allowing her fingers to curl through his hair. A tiny tug had his mouth angled to let her in, and she wedged her leg firmly between his. At those extra touches—her insistence in their embrace—he finally emitted a groan and began moving his lips in return.