Page 115 of Rebellious Hearts

That is why, he continued, not looking at the camera anymore,I’m proud to announce that I’ll personally be investing in the rejuvenation of Harborview. This project is not just about business. It’s about community, about making a difference in the lives of those who need it most, and I can think of no greater honor than to be a part of that.

Thank you.

The press rushed closer with their microphones and recorders, asking one question after the next, but Ben held up his hands, telling them he didn’t have any more comments, and he walked away.

One of the PR reps I recognized from the company held up his hands and tried to calm the press, but Ben was gone.

A part of me wanted to jump and go to him. I wanted to ask him if he’d really meant it.

But if he had meant it, if it was about me and not just business, where was he? Why hadn’t he come to me and told me himself?

No.

I was just hearing what I wanted to hear. I was just hoping beyond hope that he would be there for me when the truth was he’d told me that he didn’t want to be involved. To start wishing, to start hoping for something different was just a waste of time.

Happy endings were real and some people did get them, but that wasn’t the case for me.

And that was fine.

I’d done everything I’d achieved in my life without help. I could do this without help, too.

I switched off the television and closed the curtains. It had gotten dark, and it was time for supper.

Despite barely having eaten all day, I wasn’t hungry.

I grabbed a handful of crackers from the pantry and chewed on them on the way to my bedroom, switching off lights and locking up as I went.

Finally, I was in my pajamas, and I crawled between my sheets.

I closed my eyes, exhausted, and fell asleep almost immediately.

And immediately, I saw Ben.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He lifted his hand and brushed the back of his fingers down my cheek before he opened his hand. When he brushed my hair back, hooking it behind my ear, I leaned into his touch, and his large hand cupped my cheek, his fingers in my hair.

“I missed you.”

He didn’t say anything, only looked at me with those eyes that slowly turned from honey to molasses. He stepped closer to me—so his body was so close to mine a sigh could press us together—and he leaned his forehead against mine.

He still didn’t speak.

I drank in his warmth. I felt like I’d been away from him for an eternity, freezing cold, barely holding up, and now that he was here again, his warmth bled into me, defrosting me.

The heat that radiated from him washed through my body and pooled between my legs, and I had a sudden ache for him deep at my core, a need for him to take me, claim me, make me his.

As if he knew what I was thinking, his fingers slid down my waist and over the curve of my hips, then back up, pulling my shirt up as his hands glided over my stomach.

His eyes didn’t leave mine as he lifted my shirt over my head, then dropped it on the ground.

I stood in front of him, bared to him, and he studied me, his gaze roaming from my face, over my chest, to my waist, then back up again.

He took one of my nipples in his mouth and ran his tongue over the tip.

I gasped, arching my back, pushing myself against him.

He cupped the other breast, kneading it.

His touch made me gasp, and I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of him, the hardness of his body against mine, his rough hands, the heat coming off him.