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‘I checked one of the celebrity gossip sites tonight.’
He shook his head slowly, looking both incredulous and disgusted—although at the gossip sites or her for checking them, Olivia didn’t know.
‘So why did you?’ she demanded.
‘Why do you care?’
‘Because of the photos. They’re already wondering if we’re legit...’
He folded his arms across his chest, muscles rippling impressively. He looked very bare and sleek and warm, and Olivia ached to touch him. Her hand flexed instinctively and she tried to take a step backwards, but some corner of her brain—or perhaps a different part of her body—must have been in revolt because she took a step forward instead, straight into Ben’s chest.
His hands came up to grip her shoulders, and for a heart-stopping second she thought he’d push her away from him. Again.
And maybe he thought it too, for he held her still there for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch on and on and yet last no time at all, for suddenly, so suddenly, he hauled her against him and he was kissing her the way he had earlier that night.
No, better, because there was no one watching, no need to restrain that wildness she’d known was in him, the crazy, uncontrollable and very real need whose answer she felt in herself.
His mouth devoured hers, his hands roving over her body, tugging at her robe, before she had a chance to so much as take a breath.
His hands came down to cup her bottom as he took a step backwards into the room and shut the door with one foot. Olivia was barely aware of his movements; her mind was a rushing torrent of sensations, from his tongue exploring her mouth to the hand that slid from her bottom to the sash of her dressing gown, undoing it with one swift tug before he slipped his hand under her cami top and cupped her bare breast. Olivia swayed where she stood.
And then, just like in her fantasy, Ben was backing her hard against the door, her spine hitting the handle with a painful bump that she barely registered. He pulled at her clothes, his movements abrupt, his breathing ragged, and desire raged through Olivia hard and hot and fast. Her breath hitched as Ben slid one hand into her pyjama pants and then yanked them down.
Good Lord. She bucked under his hand, her breath coming out in a rush as she sagged against the door, helpless under the onslaught of his knowing fingers.
He slid a finger inside her and Olivia let out a little moan. She could feel the hard press of his arousal against her, and she knew if she didn’t stop this now she wouldn’t possess the will power to. And she needed to, because she knew where this was going, fast, and she wasn’t ready to go there yet.
Weakly but resolutely, she pushed against his chest. ‘Ben.’
He stopped instantly, as if she’d flicked a switch, withdrawing his hand and stepping back. His face was flushed, his eyes dazed, and he shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Sorry.’ He looked down at her as if wondering how she’d got there. ‘Sorry,’ he said again.
Olivia adjusted her pyjamas and tied her robe. Her body buzzed with the aftershocks of his touch, and ached with unfulfilled longing. She cleared her throat.
‘It’s not that I don’t want...’ she began, and bit her lip. How much to say? To admit?
‘You don’t need to explain,’ Ben said tersely. ‘I was...out of control.’
His admission just added to the ache of unfulfilled longing. ‘I kind of liked that,’ she confessed shakily. ‘But I’m not sure...’
‘I know.’ To her surprise he offered a wry smile. ‘But I guess now we’re even. You kissed me and now I kissed you.’
She smiled back. ‘That was a little more than a kiss.’
His knowing gaze dropped to her chest, where her nipples were still peaked and pressed against her thin cami. ‘Just a bit.’
Blushing, Olivia fiddled with the sash of her robe. ‘Okay. Well.’
Ben raked a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
Olivia blinked at him. ‘What?’
‘I skipped dinner. I thought there would be more than rabbit food at that party.’
‘There’s never food at celebrity events. No one eats.’
‘Well, I do. And I’m hungry.’
‘Okay...’
‘If you let me use the kitchen of your suite, I can make us a couple of omelettes.’
‘My kitchen? I don’t think I have any food...’
‘Have you looked in the fridge?’
‘No.’
‘There’s food. I left it in there.’ Which reminded her that it had really been his suite, and he was now sleeping in this tiny closet of a bedroom, and really, Ben Chatsfield, despite the glower and the temper and the occasional insult, was a nice guy. Plus he was offering to make her food after he’d kissed her senseless and she’d pushed him away.
