Working It (19 page)

I waited, nodding slightly, urging him to continue.

“I didn’t have the most traditional upbringing.”

That was the understatement of the year. His mom was a celebrity and they’d lived all over the world. I knew instead of going to school he’d had a private tutor that traveled with them.

“I used to stay up late at night, baby-sitting my mom while she partied. Used to force my eyelids to stay open, trying my hardest to stay awake. I was convinced something bad would happen if I fell asleep. It was a stupid childhood fear, really. But I used to find her in the morning and regret not staying up to take care of her.”

His childhood had been so different from mine. Instead of days filled with climbing trees and catching frogs, and nights spent making pillow-forts, Ben watched over his mom. It broke my heart. I now understood the intensity in his eyes was due in part to his life experiences, the wariness to open himself up for a relationship. But it had to mean something that he was sharing this with me.

Ben took a deep breath and released it slowly. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, urging him onward.

“I’d find her in the morning, sick, hungover, vomit in her hair, mascara smudged under her eyes, or worse, unconscious on the floor. Sleep was the enemy. And even now, I don’t know why that stayed with me all these years—the hectic travel schedule, time zone changes, stress from work, you name it. I guess old habits die hard, because I still can’t sleep for shit.”

I thought about the times I’d seen Ben on set, the hardened intensity in his eyes. His steely look had nothing to do with hours of practice in front of a mirror, but instead had everything to do with a sad, lonely life replete of love. How had no one made this beautiful man feel loved and cared for?

He shrugged, looking down. “I’m probably not the guy you thought I was.”

I grabbed his hands and gave them a squeeze. “No.” His eyes lifted to meet mine. “You’re better. You’re sweet and giving and insanely good at dirty texts.” And a boy that loved his momma was something I could relate to.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling belly laugh that was like music to my ears. “The crazy thing is that last night, I curled right up with you and fell asleep. I never do that. Every night I lie awake for hours. You’re like a magic cure.”

I remembered the way he’d held me against his chest, his breathing growing deep and even as he’d fallen right to sleep. It was sweet to think I was some type of cure to his insomnia.

He leaned toward me and kissed me softly. “Thank you.”

Ben

Her gaze was so sincere, so humble, so caring, I had no choice but to open up and tell her the whole sordid truth. Even if it was too much for her to handle, and she got up and fled the room, that would have been okay, too. I’d repeatedly told her this wasn’t anything more than two people enjoying each other. But the idea of her leaving sent an ache racing through my chest. I didn’t want to watch her walk away again.

I was glad she hadn’t. She’d simply grabbed my hand and squeezed.

Emmy was caring and warm. She was the make-you-soup-when-you’re-sick type. She’d bring you pain reliever and palm your forehead to see if you had a temperature. She had natural motherly instincts. Not that I would know much about that. No, I didn’t have that type of mother. I had the party-till-4 a.m.–red-carpet–jet-setting–yacht-gracing–actor-dating type of mom who barely managed to stay out of the tabloids.

Emmy’s sweet, simple lifestyle and outlook was a nice change of pace. It was shockingly normal, and I found that great. Sometimes I craved normal. Especially since my life was anything but.

I’d envied those families in the sitcoms I watched growing up—with a mom and a dad who went to jobs and came home each night, threw the ball around in the yard. I’d never known anything like that growing up. I was willing to bet Emmy had.

She’d listened to me speak without interrupting, a little line creasing her forehead. She didn’t judge me, didn’t look at me like I was some damaged asshole. Then after we’d been intimate, she’d changed into one of my T-shirts while we got ready for bed. I loved seeing her wearing one of my old shirts. She looked a fuck of a lot better in them than I did. Her soft, curvy body and chest filled out the front nicely.

Climbing into bed, Emmy turned to face me, looking up at me. The way she looked at me wasn’t like I was used to. She gazed deep into my eyes in a sort of mesmerized way while I brushed the long strands of hair back from her face. The moment meant something. I’d told her it was just physical, yet even I couldn’t deny that this felt deeper than two people sharing a blissful postsex moment. I didn’t quite understand it, but I couldn’t look away, either. Her pretty gray eyes were wide and continued watching mine. Her skin was pink and glowing, and a calm relaxation spread across her features. I liked knowing I put that look there.

I just liked being around her—even without the sex. It was a strange realization. I didn’t have girlfriends. Shit, I rarely hung out with
friends,
period. My travel schedule didn’t allow it. I had fellow models I hung out with and girls I fucked. But Emmy was more than that; I didn’t know how or even what that meant; she just was.

Everything about her was special and beautiful. I didn’t know what was happening between us, but this was definitely some type of moment. The way her eyes saw everything—looked straight into me—was too much. I pulled her down to my chest, feeling her heart thumping wildly against mine.

“Rest, baby.” I just wanted to hold her. Normally I wanted girls gone as soon as I came. But not Emmy. She could stick around. She was warm and soft, and she smelled nice. And she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with mindless chatter, a quality I definitely appreciated. This was nice. Just the beating of our two hearts and her soft breathing. It provided the perfect backdrop to fall asleep to. Something I never thought I’d say. But this girl seemed to be a cure to my insomnia.

Emmy

I woke in the night, too warm, with a heavy weight pressing against me. Ben’s arm was flung over my middle, locking me in place beside him. I tore the covers off my legs, separating myself from the death grip Ben had me in. I rolled away from him, the cool sheets feeling like heaven against my overheated skin.

Waking slightly, Ben whispered my name and I could tell something was bothering him. The distressed tone of his voice was like a knife to my heart. He bore some great burden and I was the key to freeing him. I moved closer, and forgetting all about how warm I had been, held him tight, running my hands up and down his back to soothe him back to sleep. If he needed me, I was there.

He breathed my name once more before dozing off again. I wanted him to feel safe and comforted. To not have to take those pills again.

His story about his mother ripped at my heart. Ben was like no one I’d ever met. I could feel something pulling us together in my very soul. We were the same: This man who wanted more had desperately tried to win his mother’s love and approval. I wanted more—better—for myself, too. I wanted to make my parents proud. I wasn’t trying to win their approval, but wanted to show them all their hard work was for a reason, that I could make something of myself. We were each driven by that basic need to please our parents. I guess it was true what they said—you never really escaped your childhood. The desire to soothe his fears was an overwhelming urge. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.

• • •

After last night, I was eager to get to the hotel to see Ben. It felt like we were moving in the right direction. He’d opened up to me and I could see us spending passionate nights together in his bed becoming a regular thing. Something that would be just fine with me.

Once inside my room, I shucked off my shoes and tossed my purse on the chair then retrieved my phone to call Ben. Glancing at the clock, I realized he should be back from his shoot.

He answered on the third ring, sounding breathless. “Hello?”

“Hi sexy. It’s me.”

“Uh . . . hi.” His tone was short and slightly frustrated.

“Is now a bad time?”

“One sec.” I heard him say something to someone in the background and a female voice answered. The voice had a British accent.

My stomach knotted. “Where are you?”

“My room. Can I call you back in a few?”

“Sure.” I put the phone down with shaky hands. He said he’d call me back later, but he was in his room with Fiona and something about that didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t trust Fiona, didn’t know if I trusted the two of them alone together.

I made my way to his room, some unknown force propelling me forward. I knocked on the door, my heart pounding, and my expression determined.

A few moments later, Ben answered, his face flushed, his pulse thrumming in his neck.

“Emmy . . .”

He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt but his hair was damp, like he’d just come from the shower. Had he showered with Fiona? My stomach cramped violently at the thought.

Ben’s hand moved to the doorframe, blocking me from entering. “I’m discussing something with Fiona. Now’s not a good time.” His voice was low and his posture tense. I’d definitely interrupted something.

Glancing behind him, I spotted Fiona sitting on his bed, her heels kicked off and her purse spilled open beside her.

I’d always figured Fiona was emotionally indestructible, yet here she was, eyes red and swollen with tears freely streaming down her cheeks. She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand. Ben cleared his throat and my eyes swung back to him. The mood was tense and it was clear I was intruding.

“I’ll call you in a bit,” he said, speaking in hushed tones as he watched me with sorrowful eyes.

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. Ben closed the door, leaving me standing alone in the hall.

Holy. Shit.

Ben

Fiona had thrown me for a fucking loop. Showing up to my door, crying like I’d never seen her do. I’d listened and held her while she cried and told me all about her failed attempts to have a baby. I’d never taken Fiona for the motherly type. But at thirty-eight, she was apparently desperate to have a baby, with or without a man in her life. It was admirable of her—her desire to be a parent. Of course there was little I could do to help other than hold her and try to quiet her sobs. But then when she’d dumped the contents of her purse out onto my bed, revealing the syringe filled with fertility drugs she wanted me to inject her with, I quickly learned why she’d come to me.

She said she didn’t want anyone to know in case it didn’t work. And she was too scared to give herself the shot.

Just as she was walking me through the instructions, a knock at the door had startled us both.

I couldn’t tell Emmy about this. I respected Fiona’s desires to keep it private. Hopefully she would get pregnant with her next scheduled artificial insemination, and no one would ever need to know about her struggles.

Fiona’s puckered mouth told me she wasn’t naïve—she was all too aware of Emmy’s evening visit to my room.

“You’re getting too close to my assistant,” she said after a full minute of silence.

“Emmy?” I played dumb.

“Yes, Emerson. And don’t act surprised. I can see there’s something between you two.” I stayed quiet, unpacking the syringe and alcohol wipes on the bed beside us.

“Ben, I’m serious. I don’t like it. When I told you not to shag my assistant, I meant it.”

“Relax, Fiona. You can’t be tensed up for what I’m about to do.”

She pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Okay, but you realize if there’s something going on, I could fire her and send her home.” My jaw tensed, but I didn’t tell her that if she fired Emmy, I’d just move her into my room and have her remain here with me.

“You wouldn’t do that. You want me to continue helping you, don’t you?” I uncapped the syringe and Fiona nodded meekly. We both knew I had the upper hand here.

She walked me through the instructions the nurse had given her, how to swab a spot near her belly button with an alcohol wipe then pinch the skin before swiftly jabbing in the needle.

After I administered Fiona’s shot and sent her on her way, I made myself a stiff drink.

Now with one vodka tonic under my belt, I sent Emmy a text message and waited for her response. I was considering pouring another drink when my phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Emmy: Are you still with her?

I could tell she was pissed. She didn’t even want to say Fiona’s name. I guess I couldn’t blame her. I sensed they had some strange female jealousy thing happening and it wasn’t something I wanted to encourage.

Me: No, she’s gone. Have you eaten?

Emmy: Not hungry

Me: Come back up. Let me make you a drink

It took her several minutes to reply.

Emmy: Okay

Her response was less than enthusiastic but she was coming. A few minutes later, just as I’d returned from filling the ice bucket, she knocked softly at my door. I pulled it open and tugged her inside, kissing her gently on the mouth.

Emmy was tense at first, but as my hands curled around her waist and slid down to cup her ass, I felt her relax against me. God, her ass felt amazing in my hands. I knew I owed her some type of explanation, but damn if my body didn’t jump to attention when she was near. There’d be time for talking later. I wanted her. I deepened the kiss, hauling her even closer, until her chest was pressed flat against me, and her tongue softly flickered against mine. She was perfect. “I need to be inside you, baby.”

Emmy let out a whimper and my dick jumped. I loved her soft, feminine sounds. Backing her across the room while my tongue flirted with hers, I gave Emmy a playful shove onto the bed. She laid back, a little grin tugging up her lips.

Her eyes danced on mine while her smile grew even wider. I loved seeing her honest reactions to me. The flush of her skin, the way she bit into her bottom lip. She was beautiful, natural. And something inside me loved that. Maybe it was this overly critical, overly judgmental business I was in, but I admired her simplicity. Maybe it was her country upbringing—hell, maybe it was just her. But whatever it was, Emmy Clarke was quickly becoming a habit.