Big Ben Page 17

  His teeth grazed his bottom lip, and this time it was my turn to be riveted. “Okay, listen, don’t be weirded out.”

  I grinned. “Guaranteed way to weird me out.”

  “I have a place for you to stay. You’d basically have your own wing of a giant loft.”

  “Here in London? Whose first born do I need to slaughter first?”

  “Yes, here in London. After the mugging and attempted second mugging and that bollocks last night, I’m concerned about you.”

  “About what? I’m perfectly safe.” Even I realized how dumb that sounded as the words came out of my mouth.

  “Do you really feel safe? With Fenton Mills running around?”

  I frowned. He had a point. “I don’t live with Fenton.”

  “But you do live with Dexter. Who doesn’t seem to heed your concerns when you say you’re worried or scared.”

  I sighed. “Fair point.”

  “I don’t want you back over there until I can go with you myself to get some of your things.”

  “You sound like Telly. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “No one’s saying you do. But the way Fenton grabbed you last night proves he’s dangerous.”

  “I know. I get it. I’m not an idiot. I just want my life back.”

  “I know. In the meantime, for a few nights stay somewhere safe where you have privacy. I don’t know what the situation is with your friend Telly.”

  “The couch is comfortable.”

  “While we wait on corporate housing, you will have your own suite and your own bed.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a double-suited loft at the hotel property next door, so you would basically have your own wing. And your own key to a door.” He cleared his throat. “With me.”

  I blinked. Then when I couldn’t think of anything to immediately say, I blinked again. He couldn’t be serious. “And we’re just going to be what, roommates?”

  He nodded. “Yes. No funny business. Just for a few days. Until we get your flat sorted.”

  I wanted to fight. I didn’t need him taking control of my life. “You recognize I can take care of myself.”

  “And no one’s saying you can’t. I think you’re incredible. Jessa can’t stop talking about how amazing you are. And you single-handedly saved me from a lorry.”

  “I did save you, didn’t I?”

  He grinned. And the smile melted my insides and exploded an ovary. Hell, that smile could make every ovary in this building explode. “Just for a few days. Until we get you squared away.”

  “This feels like I’m taking advantage of your generosity.”

  “You’re not. I’m offering.”

  “You make it hard to fight you when you’ve already seen me at my lowest.”

  “And do I judge?”

  I coughed a laugh. “Only a little.”

  He spread his arms. “See? Then say yes.”

  All I wanted to do was get a decent night’s sleep and not be afraid or worried. “I don’t want to intrude on your space.”

  “My loft is one thousand square meters. You’re not intruding.”

  Wow. “Oh, okay then. Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. It’s nothing permanent, obviously, but it gives you a chance to figure out what you want to do.”

  “I don’t even know how to say thank you.”

  “Just say yes so that we can get back to work.”

  “And just when I thought I knew you, you completely change.”

  “Yep. I have to keep you guessing, don’t I?”

  Ben

  You have it bad, you twat.

  Saving Olivia from Fenton Mills had been a happy accident. It gave me just the excuse I needed to keep her safe. Without having to tell her everything. Fully disclosing everything about the Elite would only put her in more danger. So I was doing what was best for her.

  By lying.

  Sometimes lying was necessary. You’re sure about that? Yes. I was bloody sure. And I certainly wasn’t going to argue with myself about it anymore. What was done was done and I wasn’t going to apologize for it. She didn’t need to know anything about the shooting. Or the likelihood that the muggings hadn’t been random.

  She’d be scared and worry. And I couldn’t take any more of that blank terrified look she’d given me at the end of the Jack the Ripper tour. So I was going to keep the lid on the real reason her life was imploding. To protect her.

  How are you pussywhipped without the pussy?

  Christ I was a mess. My bullshit reasoning for not telling her everything notwithstanding, I wanted to be near her. Putting myself in charge of her safety accomplished that.

  It’s not like I was any good at pretending I was immune to her anyway. Now that she was in my space, it was only getting worse.

  Easy does it, she’s not yours.

  The fuck she wasn’t.

  Whatever she needed, I wanted to be there for her. So there I was at Montgomery Airfield, staring at what looked like a tiny helicopter. More like a tiny flying sardine can.

  My gut tightened. I was there because I couldn’t stay away, because she should have someone who cared about her in times like this. I was there because she was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

  I had it bad.

  For a woman you can’t have.

  I just needed to keep telling myself that. I also needed to keep telling myself that I wasn’t going to kiss her again. At least not until she asked me.

  “Uh, we’re not flying that, are we?”

  She grinned. “Yes, we are. It’s called an Ultralight.”

  I nodded at her as if any of the words she was saying made sense. “Uh-huh. Still, no.”

  “You don’t like to fly?”

  “No, I love to fly. Private plane, comfort, and all the liquor I can drink. But this… This is not that.” I shook my head. “This is a flying death trap.”

  “It’s not so bad. I happen to have my pilot’s license, so I figured we’d take off, you know, fly a little, see the countryside, and right before we land, I’ll spread Mom’s ashes.”

  “Yeah, sure. Why can’t we do that in a real plane? I’ll even take a propeller plane, but not this.”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “You don’t have to go. I can do this myself.” The way she tilted her chin up made me want to slam my lips over hers, coaxing her tongue with mine, as I reminded her that if she was doing this, I was doing this. No way in hell I was letting her do this alone.

  “Nope. We’re doing this.”

  She smiled. “Are you sure? Obviously, you really don’t have to. I appreciate you just even coming.”

  “Look, I said I’m going with you, so I’m going with you. Now, why don’t you tell me all the things you really love about flying?”

  The smile she gave me was another poleaxe to the chest, and I knew right there that woman had me by the balls. From the moment she’d been pressed up against me in that closet, to the way she moaned when we’d had to cover what we were doing. From the kissing, to the way she’d handed me my ass in that meeting and never backed down. She had me and she had no idea.

  Livy

  I didn’t mean to text him. I didn’t even want to text him if I was being honest.

  You’re not being honest.

  Okay fine, I wanted to text him. He was all the way on the other side of the loft, and I was lonely. Telly and Carmen were out on date night, and I needed a friend.

  Tread carefully. Ben Covington isn’t the kind of friend you want.

  No, he wasn’t. Men like that weren’t capable of being anyone’s friend. Men like that were capable of being every woman’s wet dream. I shouldn’t even be having wet dreams, but he starred in so many of them.

  But I wasn’t going to be that woman, so I had to put my phone away. As soon as I did though, my phone buzzed.

  Ben: What happens when Batman sees Catwoman?

  I frowned.

  Livy: I don’t know.

  B
en: The Dark Knight rises.

  I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. Sue me. It was funny.

  Livy: Oh, that’s mature.

  Ben: Well, truth. What do you call it when Batman skives off church?

  I rolled my eyes because I could almost see where this is going.

  Livy: I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?

  Ben: Christian Bale.

  I snorted a laugh then.

  Livy: Let me guess, you’ve got a million of these.

  Ben: Yup. Are we in trouble for being up so late?

  Livy: No. All good.

  There was more I wanted to say, but that was dangerous territory, and I wasn’t going to go there. I liked Ben. And as it turned out, he was a half-decent friend.

  That man is no friend. That man is dangerous.

  But Ben wasn’t the problem. I was. I needed to put him in the friend category and keep him there. No fantasizing, no nothing.

  I watched the little dots flicker back and forth for a moment, and then his reply popped onto the screen.

  Ben: What position did Bruce Wayne play on his baseball team?

  Livy: What do you know about baseball?

  Ben: Answer the question.

  I laughed even as I tapped.

  Livy: He was Batboy.

  Ben: No fair, you’ve heard that one.

  Livy: Maybe. These are kind of lame.

  More little dots.

  Ben: Oh really? How about this one? When is Joker not plotting murder?

  I frowned then, trying to think of the answer, wanting to see if I could slide one by him again. But I didn’t know the answer.

  Livy: I have no idea.

  Ben: When he’s riding his Harley.

  I frowned at that. What did a Harley Davidson bike have to— Suddenly, I snorted, finally understanding.  Harley.  God.

  Livy: Do you only know the dirty ones?

  Ben: Would you expect anything less?

  Livy: No.

  Ben: Okay, one more and you can go to bed.

  Livy: Okay. Do your worst.

  Ben: What’s Batman’s favorite part of a joke?

  Livy: I have no idea, but I suppose you’re going to tell me.

  Ben: You are in luck. I am going to tell you. It’s the punch line. Get it?

  I laughed a genuine laugh. He was sweet and funny and knew I’d been sad all day. He was doing what he could to cheer me up. God, men like him existed in the real world. Women like me barely stood a chance. But Ben wasn’t mine. If he wanted to be friends, then I was good with that. I had to be.

  Livy: Thank you for everything today. It meant a lot.

  Ben: What are friends for?

  Then that was it. I turned off my screen, ignoring that part of me that was empty and lonely and sad. This wasn’t how things were supposed to work out. I also wasn’t a fool. Ben was my friend because I was someone unattainable. It worked, our little exchanges, because as a long-term prospect, he didn’t have to deal with me. But I knew men like him. The moment I became available, he’d become emotionally unavailable. So I needed to not get my hopes up. I needed to be wary.

  He was not the balm to my broken heart. That job would have to be mine alone.

  19

  Livy

  Ben and I were friends now?

  It certainly looks that way.

  At least “friends” was the word we were using. It felt odd. Outside of Telly and a couple of work acquaintances here and there, I somehow found myself without as many friends as I’d once had.

  Surprisingly, Ben was easy to talk to, but he wasn’t the kind of friend I wanted. He was far too good-looking for me to ever be completely comfortable, and yes, I knew his distinct taste. But he’d been kind and nonjudgmental. Bossy too. And a pain in the ass. Basically, he was just like Telly except with very broad shoulders, abs I wanted to lick things off of, and from what I remembered of our kiss, had a really big... smile.

  So, our odd friendship notwithstanding, I wanted to do something nice for him.

  I’d gone online and scheduled the grocery store to deliver the groceries an hour earlier than I normally would have left work. And then I went to the loft to start prepping. Ghanaian food took a long time to prepare, but my mother always said that because it took so long you could tell that love was cooked into it.

  What was funny was that in my mother’s language of Ga, there was no real word for love. It was sort of an emphatic version of the word like. Even though I was keeping it simple on the cooking, it still took a while.

  I made my perennial favorite, jollof rice, which included a tomato-based stew with a fragrant rice cooked together. Then I cut up a few ripe plantains and fried them lightly. Ben had some fancy air fryer thing, but my first few attempts came out wrong so I did it the old-fashioned way, seasoning them with ginger, garlic, onions, and cayenne pepper and tossing them together with just a hint water to get them to coat before doing a light fry on the stove.

  His housekeeper would hate me for the speckles of grease everywhere, but it was worth it. For the meat dish, I kept it simple. Just chicken, seasoned the way my mother would have with enough spice to clear out your sinuses and make you weep at every bland piece of food you’d ever eaten in your life.

  When Ben walked through the door, he blinked and frowned. “Christ, what smells so good?”

  I had just started to plate dinner and wiped my hands on my apron. I turned with a smile, “Hey. I made dinner.”

  Nose in the air, sniffing, he made a beeline for the kitchen. “Oh my God, why has the house never smelled like this before?”

  “Probably because you don’t know how to make Ghanaian food.”

  “You cooked?” His eyes went wide.

  I nodded. “Yes, I cooked.”

  “You know how?”

  Why did he look so damn confused? “Yes, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I mean, I can make basic things but nothing complicated. Besides, there are chefs on staff for that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You have the best chefs around, but there’s a certain satisfaction in cooking for other people.”

  “You’ve been here for days. Why haven’t you cooked before?”

  “Well honestly, I didn’t want to mess up your kitchen. And we have a complicated relationship.”

  His gaze dipped to my lips, and I licked them automatically. I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he nodded. “Yeah. Complicated is a word for it.”

  “Anyway, now that we’re friends, I wanted to say thank you for looking out for me.”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Liv. You were in trouble, so I helped.”

  “Well, my mother taught me that when someone does something nice for you, you do something nice in return. So dinner. Go on. Wash up and we’ll eat.”

  I carried the plates into the dining room where I’d lit some candles and set the table. As he returned from the bathroom, he whistled low. “Seriously? This is gorgeous. Where did you get all of this stuff?”

  “You have the most amazing place settings. Some of that stuff is worth thousands of dollars.”

  He shrugged. “I rarely eat here.”

  I could only shake my head. “Yeah, I noticed. Why is that?”

  “When I’m having dinner, it’s usually served up in the East’s penthouse. So I just go up there.”

  “And if you have a date?”

  He coughed on a laugh. “Oh, I don’t bring dates here.”

  My brows lifted. “What? Why not?”

  He shook his head. “I like my space. I don’t need anyone poking around or snooping or thinking she’s going to stay.”

  “Wow, okay. So then why isn’t this place at all decorated or anything?”

  His shrug was dismissive. “I’m never here.”

  “So you have this beautiful loft with views of Soho. I can see the London Eye from here. And you don’t spend any time in it?”

  He shrugged. “I can see the London Eye from East’s place to
o.”

  I set the plates down and then went back into the kitchen for the wine. The sweet stuff for me; he got the adult wine.

  I took off my apron and deposited it on the back of a chair. I’d kept things somewhat casual, but still, I wanted him to enjoy himself, the food, and the company.

  You’re hoping he kisses you again.

  No. That was not what I was looking for.

  When he sat, his gaze lifted to mine. The icy-blue depths of his eyes warmed to a more cerulean color, or maybe that was the effect of the candlelight. Either way, his voice was soft when he spoke. “This is perfect. Thank you. Is it odd I’ve never had a woman cook for me before?”

  My brows lifted. “What?”

  “No. Not in an intimate setting like this.”

  My face flamed at the word intimate. “This is nothing. Just a thank you.”

  “This is not nothing. When you cook for someone, it shows you care. I knew you’d come around to caring about me eventually.”

  I rolled my eyes even as I laughed. “Forever arrogant I see.” I held my breath when he took his first bite. Some people didn’t like spicy food, so I was worried. What kind of food did billionaires eat anyway? I had no idea.

  His first moan made me break out into a grin.

  And then he sat back and nodded and did this kind of shimmy in his seat. Ah, a happy food dance. I watched, grinning as he tucked in, too preoccupied with his reaction to my cooking to eat myself.

  Five bites in, he stopped and glanced over at me. “You’re not eating.”

  “Well, I’m enjoying watching you eat.”

  He narrowed his gaze as he lifted another forkful to his mouth. “Did you poison me? I have to say it’s too delicious for me to care.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t dare ruin good jollof.”

  “Is that what I’m eating?”

  I nodded. “The rice is a standard across West Africa, and everyone has their own version. You’ll find the Ghanaians and the Nigerians are in a constant battle for who makes the best jollof rice. The Senegalese, who claim the origin of the dish, aren’t even in that fight.”