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"How did I bruise his manhood? Because I didn't fall on my knees in front of him?"
His smile turned into a teasing grin and he winked. "No, you fell on your knees in front of me."
Jewell gasped and dropped her mouth open in feigned shock, pressing her hand to her chest. "Benjamin Prescott Roth, shame on you."
She tapped the back of her fingers against his chest, but he caught her hand before she could pull away, wrapping his fingers around hers. With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward him. She looked down at his hand and forced her breath to be slow and metered as he stroked her knuckles with his thumb. With his other hand, he touched her chin, urging her to look up. His touch was cool, which only confirmed for Jewell how flushed her face had to be.
A deep 'v' dug into his brow as his gaze studied her, his eyes shifting over her features. Jewell swallowed and curled her lips inward between her teeth. Immediately his eyes slid down, focusing on her mouth, and her heartbeat jumped.
"Something occurred to me when Travis brought up Burke and his assumptions," he finally said, ending the silent study.
"What?" she asked, the act of speaking almost painful.
He took a small step closer to her, but not enough for their bodies to touch other than where his hand held hers. "I want to punch Kevin Burke for what he said to you." Jewell shook her head, but he laid his palm along her jaw, stopping her. "He made assumptions. But, I realize I may have done the same thing."
Jewell tipped her head within his touch. "I don't understand."
"I assumed you wouldn't mind if I kissed you." He had dropped his voice low so it carried only between them, and Jewell mentally noted not for the first time that she was impressed with his understanding of tone and volume even when he didn't know his own sound. "I had no right."
Jewell stared at him, her mouth open because she couldn't find anything to say in response. The thumb that rested against her chin shifted to touch her lower lip, skimming back and forth. She let her eyes close, and summoned up enough courage to purse her lips and press them against the tip. The hand holding hers tightened slightly, and she opened her eyes again.
"What do you think you should have done?" she asked.
Benjamin drew his hands from her, and she immediately felt the loss. "I should have asked." He moved in closer to her, leaving little space for signing just as he had before kissing her against the desk. "Whatever your answer, I will honor it. Jewell, I want to kiss you again. May I?"
She smiled and nodded slowly, drawing in a breath before his lips pressed to hers. In comparison to the first kiss they'd shared, this one was sedated, but the effect was the same. Jewell's stomach fluttered and tingling danced over her skin. She raised her arms and combed her fingers into his hair, holding his head as he kissed her slow and deep. Each movement of his lips across hers was meticulous and studied, and when his tongue slid along hers, filling her mouth, she couldn't help the small purr in the back of her throat.
He moved his hands from her face to her back, pulling her closer. The long, slow kiss eased into shorter kisses until finally, he drew back enough to look into her eyes.
"I understand now why office romances aren't recommended," he said with a chuckle. Jewell tipped her head and pulled her brows, saying with her expression that he should explain. He kissed her again, a small peck on her lips, before answering. "How am I supposed to focus on your hands when all I can think of are your lips?"
"I'll just have to kick you under the table when I think your attention is wandering."
Benjamin groaned and stepped back, giving her space to breathe and find her balance again. "Then I have a feeling I'm going to have perpetually bruised shins."
Jewell drew in a deep breath, letting the tension ease from her body. She'd let people like Kevin Burke tie her up in knots long enough. Her life was hers. With a smile she hoped affected him as much as his half-grin affected her, she moved past him to the printer situated near their doors for easy access by both of them. The report had finished printing in triplicate, and with a couple of quick staples, they'd be ready for the meeting.
He stood in his spot as she walked past him again, his hands pushed into his pockets. She felt his gaze on her as she picked up her stapler, tapped the papers, and fastened them. Just having him watch her made her skin tingle and her breath catch enough that she had to take another deep breath before turning and handing a copy of the report to him.
"In case you want to take a look at it before the meeting, to make sure I've got everything right." She smirked, unable to control herself. "I wouldn't want you to be surprised by my report."
He returned the smirk, and she knew her gentle jab wasn't lost on him. "I'm sure everything is fine, Ms. Kincaid," he said with an arch of his eyebrow, jabbing right back. "Your work has been impeccable, even if I haven't liked the results."
"Is there anything you need before the meeting?"
He focused on her lips, and she warmed. His shins might be bruised, but she'd have a perpetual fever if he kept looking at her that way. "Just one thing." Jewell arched her eyebrow. His gaze angled to the door leading out to April, then back to her. "Have dinner with me. Friday night."
Jewell grinned. "Do you want to try Bertucci's dinner menu?"
He chuckled and took a step closer, enough that she had to hitch up her chin to hold his gaze but still with space between them. "As appealing as that sounds, I was thinking of something a little different. Come to my home. I'll cook."
* * *
Benjamin came through the garage door into his kitchen with a heavy step and a tired yawn. He dropped his keys on the counter and worked the knot out of his tie without conscious thought needed for the actions. Nothing in the refrigerator looked appetizing or sufficient to really satisfy his thirst. Settling for a can of soda, Benjamin popped the top and took a long drink.
He looked around the kitchen, his eyes following the natural flow into the connected dining room. Everything was meticulously clean and tastefully decorated. The scent of lemon cleaner hung in the air, indicating the cleaning service had been there that day. Cream-colored carpets and imported tile covered the floors. Copper pots hung from a rack in the ceiling. The canisters and appliances on his countertops each had their specific place.
This townhouse was too big. What did he need with four bedrooms, five bathrooms, and a half dozen other rooms designated by name for some special purpose. The Den. The Library. The Sitting Room. The Media Room. What did he need with a media room? On nights like this, when not another soul occupied the huge house with him, his silence seemed too quiet. On nights like this, the silence was something beyond the lack of noise. It was the lack of life.
