“Have you seen who I am yet, Birdie?”

  My old nickname on his lips is a gentle reminder of our history, and I can’t help but sidle up closer.

  “I like you touching me.”

  I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows slowly.

  “You might change your mind once you understand what I’ve done by coming here tonight.”

  His desolate tone is enough to break my chest wide open. Why is he talking like this? Why does he sound so hopeless now that we’re back in each other’s arms?

  “But I want to be here with you.”

  He reaches up to trace a finger down the side of my face, then lower along my jaw and chin before he lifts it gently to my lips. I kiss it before I think better of it, and his dark eyes flare with need.

  “I understood the implications, and I still came here tonight to hunt you down.”

  I shake my head, confused.

  “You’ll see soon. It’s already too late for us to go back to the way it was before. I didn’t have to come in here to get you. I should have waited in the car and asked Anthony to bring you out through the back entrance.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Impatience.”

  He says the word like he’s in pain.

  My smile fades as he bends down. “When Trey told me you were here at the club with Leanna…I lost my good sense. I raced here and came inside to get you, and the second we touched, the vultures started swarming. If you look up, you’ll see them. Your name and photo will be in the press by tomorrow morning. There’s nothing I can do to stop it now.”

  I’m too entranced by his touch, his scent, his proximity to understand the consequences of what he’s saying.

  “So what happens? I mean…what will they say?”

  I can’t, for the life of me, draw my attention away from his mouth as he speaks.

  “They’ll speculate about what we are and they’ll embellish it however much they want to better garner clicks and magazine sales. They’ll say I dragged an innocent blonde girl to a dark corner of the club and had my wicked way with her. Starting with a kiss.”

  My eyebrows draw together. “But you haven’t kissed me yet.”

  A smile spreads slowly, deviously across his lips as his attention shifts to my mouth. Slowly, excruciatingly, he leans down so his lips almost touch mine. My hand slides up to cradle the side of his neck, and I feel his rigid muscles tense as a soft moan escapes me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he whispers before pulling back.

  I sway toward him like I’m being pulled by a magnetic force. How can he stand the hunger building between us? How can he stave it off when I’m so close to begging him here in front of everyone, all his warnings and consequences be damned?

  “They’ll say I couldn’t keep my hands off you,” he says, dragging his hand up higher, just beneath the hem of my shirt. The loose crop top makes it all too easy for him. My stomach quivers as his palm covers it, and I know he feels it. My reaction to his touch is so overt and obvious.

  “Haven’t you been listening? Someone could be taking a photo of us right now. School your features better if you don’t want them to see.”

  “See what?” I ask, sounding dazed.

  “All those feelings, Little Bird.”

  My gaze meets his, and it’s a rush to see everything I’m feeling mirrored back to me.

  We’re both careening off track, missing steps. There was supposed to be a nice reunion in a cafe. We were going to catch up on life. I was going to ask him what it’s like to be a father, what he loves the most about his son. I don’t know what he’s been doing since we left each other. I don’t know what he wants from me.

  “Ben.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed as he bends down, enveloping me. My cheek presses against his chest. My fingers dig into his shirt and I hold on like I’m about to tip back off a ledge.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head. No. More. Harder. He shouldn’t be apologizing. I want this too. Maybe more than he does. I rise up onto my toes and press a kiss to his cheek.

  He inhales sharply and peels back from me, taking my hand and leading me out. I ask where we’re going and barely hear his response over the noise.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Raelynn

  Leaving the club isn’t easy. We can’t just march through the crowd and out the front door. Ben coordinates with security before we say our goodbyes to everyone. I barely have a second to hug Leanna before we’re led through the back of the VIP section and down a long hallway that leads to a side door. Even though we’re surrounded on all sides by security, once we’re outside, camera flashes still seep through, blinding me as Ben’s hand grips my waist, keeping me close to him as I lower my head and block my face as much as possible. A bright flash to my left makes me flinch. It’s jarring and disorienting, and my fight-or-flight reflex wants me to run. My heart pounds as I’m directed, redirected, and shuffled along.

  Ben lifts me up into a car, the door slams, and silence ensues.

  But outside, the world is chaos.

  Paparazzi swarm the front of the SUV, snapping photos and trying to get Ben to answer their lightning round of questions.

  “Who is she?”

  “Ben! Are you dating?”

  “What does your ex think about your girlfriend?”

  “Ben!”

  “What’s her name?”

  Security pushes them back, allowing him to get to his driver’s door and fling it open. He slides in and slams it closed, starting the engine in one fell swoop.

  I hear him curse under his breath. I know he feels bad about all of this. I want to assure him that everything is okay and I don’t mind, but truthfully, words confound me. I must be in shock. My hands sit perfectly still on my lap as I watch two photographers shove each other while trying to get closer to my window so they can snap more pictures of me.

  Of me.

  There are video cameras recording too, and I make eye contact with a guy filming. He shouts, “Smile!” and I blink slowly…dazed.

  Through it all, Ben is calm and collected. He reaches over and takes my hand, pulling it onto his lap as he starts to drive us away from the club, moving slowly through the horde.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding pained, but I stay silent.

  I feel incredibly naive. I knew of Ben’s fame. On campus, I was bombarded by it on all sides all the time, and yet, I had somehow compartmentalized that part of his life as if it would never touch me.

  A phone rings and I jump out of my skin. Ben sighs and squeezes my hand before letting it go so he can answer the call through the car’s speaker.

  I listen halfheartedly as he speaks with a man who must be on his security team.

  “Head straight home,” the man says. “I’m not sure if you were planning to take your friend somewhere else, but not tonight. We didn’t coordinate this well. Had I known you wanted to go out after the game, I could have pulled in more guys. That was reckless to say the least.”

  “Right. I apologize. It was a last-minute change. We’ll head back to the house.”

  They shift into discussing routes that mean nothing to me. I stare out the window, blinking the remnants of the flashes out of my vision. After they hang up, Ben peers over at me. I can feel him studying my profile, but I’m too busy looking out onto the road, worried about something I can’t quite name.

  “Raelynn,” he says, trying to get my attention. “There are a few cars tailing us. Likely paparazzi just wanting to get more photos. My security suggested we head back to my house since it’s secure. No one will make it past the guard house at the front of the neighborhood. If I take you back to your place, I worry about them bothering you.”

  Can they just do that?

  Follow us like that?

  Surely that’s illegal. Surely we have some kind of recourse.

  I want to pester him with a thousand questions, but I swallow them down and simply nod so he can turn his attention back to driving. I don’t miss the fact that he constantly checks his rearview mirror or that he drives in the slow lane on the highway, careful at every turn. We’re quiet on the drive, and the anxiety in the air is draining, especially once the initial burst of adrenaline starts to wear off. My limbs feel heavy and weak, and by the time we pull up to his neighborhood, my eyelids are fighting against gravity.

  I perk up some when Ben waves to the man stationed in a guard house, and once we drive through the gate and the heavy iron bars close behind us, I see Ben visibly relax. We start to wind through quiet neighborhood streets that look like wide Parisian boulevards. Trees dot the median, placed strategically along a well-manicured running trail. The houses we pass are more like mini resorts sitting on obscenely large lots, and they only get bigger as we continue driving through yet another restrictive gate.

  I appreciate how secure it all is. I might have thought it was a little pretentious had I not been with Ben at the club a little while ago. Now, I understand the need.

  We eventually pull up to a third and final gate that opens to a private circle drive outside a sprawling two-story stone mansion. Ben’s home. It looks like it was plucked from the French countryside. Symmetrical wings span off to the left and right. Cast stone surrounds a large doorway flanked by ornate bronze lanterns. Despite the sheer size, there’s a tangible charm to it. The pale blue shutters that frame each window and the antique wooden front door are so inviting my mood lifts just a little.

  Ben parks near the front door and leaves the car running as he gets out to meet me on the passenger side. The security guard from the other day—the older man with the shaved head and the gun on his hip—greets us at the front door.

  Despite the hour, he’s still dressed in a sharp black suit.

  He nods in greeting at me before directing his attention to Ben. “I’ll have Nikko take the car around, and we’ll do a perimeter sweep just to confirm all is well.”

  Ben thanks him then drops his hand to my lower back, guiding me inside and through the grand foyer. Yet again, I’m swept into a world I never thought I’d inhabit—first the private box at the game, then the VIP section of the club, now Ben’s lavish home. In the center of the marble floor, there’s a circular antique table with a large vase overflowing with flowers. We curve around it and Ben leads me forward into the shallow light of the hallway. We pass dark rooms, and I lament the fact that the dim light doesn’t stretch into them. I can only imagine what each one holds. We walk by a small gallery wall filled with black and white photographs, and as Ben guides me along, I catch a quick peek at two: an old photograph of a couple on their wedding day, and a headshot of a man wearing a military uniform. Ben’s grandfather, I assume—they look so much alike.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks me.

  I shake my head.

  “Thirsty?”

  “No.”

  We turn another corner and head down another hallway, and the main suite, Ben’s room, unfolds before us. It’s stunning to say the least, a room that should exist solely on vacations, not in real life. Just like out in the hall, the light is dim in here. Two bedside lamps cast a shallow glow over the four-poster bed, topped with crisp white linens that have been thoughtfully turned down. On one side of the room, huge double doors lead out toward a balcony, though Ben walks over and tugs the drapes closed so I can’t see where it leads.

  There’s an antique dresser and beautiful modern art on the walls, an intimate seating area with cognac brown leather chairs.

  It’s all so well designed and not the least bit what I expected to find. What should a bachelor’s bedroom consist of anyway? Neon beer signs? Naked pillows? An old Playboy?

  I walk farther inside, toward the balcony doors.

  I glance back at Ben, who’s still hovering near the threshold. “This is so nice.”

  He nods. “I had help when we built the house. I didn’t pick out much, but I like how it all came together.”

  “Where do the doors lead?”

  “Out to a private courtyard. When it’s quiet you can hear the fountain out there.”

  A laugh tumbles out of me before I can help it.

  Ben glances at me curiously, and I shrug, helpless. “I’m just imagining you living here and then visiting that trailer of mine back in Texas.”

  I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. It’s hard to even compare the two. You can’t!

  “A home’s a home, right?” Ben says earnestly. “I seem to remember being really happy in that trailer.”

  His words are tinged with suggestion, and slowly, I drop my hands and face him. He’s watching me with furrowed brows, memories swimming in his warm gaze.

  I know he’s imagining us together on that tiny bed, and he’s right—it didn’t really matter where we were. His car. That trailer. The counter at Dale’s. We didn’t mind one bit.

  I wrap my arm around my stomach, grabbing hold of my waist.

  Ben watches me, his gaze gentle on my body. He hasn’t moved from the door. Something’s stopping him.

  I tilt my head in invitation, trying to coax the words out of him.

  He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, a flash of frustration crossing his features.

  “I didn’t expect that outside of the club. It’s not always like that. Word must have gotten out since most of the team was there.”

  I stay quiet, sensing that he’s not done.

  “That was reckless. Meeting you there, like that. Since having Caleb, I don’t…shit, even before Caleb…” He shakes his head and pivots, his tone sharper as he continues, “This life isn’t easy, and there are downsides. Anyone I keep close will suffer consequences from being with me. Things I have no control over. Driving you here…seeing those guys tailing us…”

  His hands fist at his sides, finishing his thought for him, and my heart breaks.

  It occurs to me that my shock and surprise and silence have worn on him. He’s worried about what I’m thinking, and honestly, I don’t have a good answer for that. What happened just now wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination and I’m not sure what this all means for me and my life, but right now, I just want to add it to the pile of problems we already have, problems for the light of day. Because now that I’m here, looking at Ben in this quiet room away from the chaos, it almost feels like nothing else matters.

  Nothing could convince me to walk away from him in this moment.

  The power he wields…

  If he only knew.

  I start to walk toward him, keeping my eyes on him until we’re close enough that I can rest my hands on his broad chest. It’s been so long since we’ve been alone like this, and I can’t resist any longer. I wanted to kiss him in the club and I didn’t. I wanted to kiss him on so many lonely nights and I couldn’t. So I press up onto my toes and press my lips gently to his. My courage doesn’t last long. I pull back, my eyes fluttering open just in time for him to lean down and kiss me again. His arms circle my waist, hauling me up against him so swiftly I nearly lose my breath.

  He kisses me slowly, intimately, with feeling. He takes my bottom lip in his teeth, and impatience grows as our mouths collide and flames blaze. He’s so tall, so overpowering I feel overwhelmed at times, but he lets me take the lead for a moment as my hands trail up his arms and neck, tangling in his hair. I tilt my head and kiss him deeper. His tongue touches mine, and a shudder racks through me. Then his arms tighten around my waist and he picks me up, walking us toward his bed. He sits down on the edge and I slide down onto his lap, straddling his hips. My jean shorts ride up with the help of his fingers. He slides his palms back and around, gripping underneath the denim, using his hands to tug me up so I can rock against his hardness.

  His moan feeds me and I kiss him harder, tasting and taking and still wanting.

  He grips my hips and guides me back and forth on his lap, slowly rocking forward and backward, driving us both insane. His hands squeeze my backside and he inhales sharply. Then he draws back suddenly, dragging in a heavy breath, steeling himself as his brown eyes open and his gaze meets mine.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again, standing and setting me delicately back on my feet.

  I must look like a gaping fish.

  “I thought we were…”

  He rubs the back of his neck, and there’s an unfamiliar touch of color on his cheekbones. “It’s been a long night for you, Birdie.”

  I want to argue, but then he reaches up to smooth the tension between my brows, dragging his finger down my cheek, and my eyelids blink long and heavy. The desire coursing through me doesn’t have the staying power compared to how exhausted I feel. The anxiety of the day takes its toll as Ben stands there, appreciating me.

  “I could sleep where I stand, but I feel grimy from that club.”

  “Let me draw you a bath,” he suggests with tender care.

  “It’s okay. I’ll just take a quick shower. I worry I’ll fall asleep if I take a bath.”

  He nods and leads me into the bathroom off the main suite. It’s decadent and peaceful, cool white marble floors paired with warm oak vanities. The shower could fit three or four people. Same with the bath. Ben adjusts the hot water for me in the shower then walks back over to his side of the sink so he can bend down and open the cabinet to reach for a small bag.

  When he walks back over and hands it to me, I realize it’s a bag of toiletries meant for a woman, and despite knowing the kind of man Ben is, I still wonder why he’d keep something like this around. Is there a rotation of women needing to wash their face at his house?

  I don’t ask this aloud, but Ben still throws me a bone.

  “My housekeeper, Nina, thinks of everything. I think she hopes…”

  He clears his throat.

  I look up to see him frowning at the bag in my hand.

  “She wants someone to have to use it,” he finishes, sounding annoyed. “She pesters me about being alone.”

  “And I’m the first?”

  He looks over, and his brown eyes seem just as alluring as the first time I met him. “There hasn’t been anyone since I left Texas.”