Working It by Kendall Ryan

against his ribs. He was warm and whole, and my body responded with a tiny shudder at the contact. It had been far too long since I’d been with someone. My body was merely confused—responding to the simple contact from a man. Okay, a hot man. A hot man who brought me to orgasm with only his hand in a matter of minutes. A man I had fantasized about . . .
    He punched the button for the top floor and grinned slightly as the elevator carried us higher.
    Ben slid the key into the card reader and pushed open the door. I entered the darkened room, noticing it smelled like him: crisp soap and the musk of spicy cologne. He flicked on the light, illuminating a large room with a king-sized bed, a desk, and a chair in front of a large picture window. His room was bigger than mine.
    “Nice view,” I said, walking toward the window. Gauzy white curtains framed the picturesque twinkling lights below.
    I heard the rattle of glass and looked back to watch him carry two glasses and a few little bottles over to the bed. Dumping everything onto the nightstand, he surveyed our options. “We can go super-sophisticated tonight and I can offer you an exclusive mix of cheap vodka and Perrier. Flat, of course.”
    “And warm?” I giggled, noting the lack of ice.
    He tossed a sexy smile over one shoulder. “I’m classy like that.”
    “I’m in.”
    He chuckled again and I decided I liked hearing him laugh. I needed to hear more of that sound.
    I crossed the room, slipped off my heels, and sat on the edge of the bed. Ben sat next to me and handed me a glass. He filled it with vodka and then topped it with the no-longer-sparkling water.
    Raising his glass, his eyes met mine. “To vodka. My second favorite V-word.”
    My smile faltered. I wondered if our flirty-playful banter was permitted only through text messaging since we’d yet to actually flirt in person. Was this allowed?
    I took a sip and grimaced at the bitter concoction burning a path down my throat. “Mmm, vodka and water.”
    Ben shrugged, taking a much more poised sip of his own. “At least it’s low-cal.”
    That made me sad. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated his flawless physique, but I wanted to give this boy a cheeseburger, stat. Maybe a big cupcake and a sugary daiquiri, too. But I supposed vodka would do the trick. And Lord knew my waistline could use a break. My daily chocolate croissants and café au laits with frothy whole milk had started to add up. I looked up and saw Ben surveying me, his playful smile lifting on one side, just for me. This man watched me with definite interest, and in an instant the shitty, insecure feelings inside me vanished.
    He took another sip, continuing to appraise me over the rim of his glass. It was times like this, when he turned all thoughtful and quiet, that I’d kill to know what was running through his mind. Especially where I was concerned.
    “What’s your angle?” he asked, finally.
    “I’m sorry?” My what?
    “I’m just confused about what you want—your motivations. Everyone’s got an angle with me, Emmy. I’ve seen and heard it all—bossy photographers trying to manipulate me into showing more skin, girls who just want to say they’ve fucked a model. Forgive me if I sound like a dick, but people usually hang around for my looks, money, fame, connections, or the VIP events I can take them to.”
    “I’m not interested in those things.”
    “I know. Which is why I’m confused.” He swirled the liquor in his glass, taking another sip.
    Working alongside Fiona for all these many years had messed with his head. Just like the executives tonight, everyone wanted a piece of him—a piece of this godlike man.
    “You’re sweet to me . . . so giving . . . it’s unexpected . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking lost.
    “Ben, when I see you on set and you’re tired or hungry or have low blood sugar—my momma raised me better than that. I can’t let a man go hungry.”
    “So you’re a bit