Now and Forever (13 page)

“Who?” Cole asked, anger snapping his reverie.

“Grayson Chamberlain. He’s the only one besides you who was in the building every time a transfer was made. The money was sent to a ghost account and then cleaned out.”

Cole clenched his hands into fists. “That miserable piece of ass-kissing shit. I can’t wait to kick his ass. He has no idea how pissed I am that he fucked with my life this way. I’ve never even done anything to him.”

“Just pass this to the police and let them handle it,” Matt said. “The last thing you need right now is to get arrested for battery.”

“Yeah,” Cole said reluctantly, taking the folder. He sighed deeply. “Thanks, man. I owe you. Hopefully they’ll let me come back to work after the police get this and clear up the case.”

“Sure they will, man. You’re the favorite of all the partners. They don’t want to lose you.”

“None of them believed in me. I need the job for now, but I don’t know how I feel about working for a place like that long-term.”

Matt tipped his head to the side, considering. “Look, in their defense, Chamberlain did a bang-up job of making you look guilty. You know that fucker was some MIT computer genius before he went to law school, right?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah. He could be making a hell of a lot more money than he makes as an attorney.”

Cole put his face in his hands, exhaling deeply. “I hope this nightmare is about over.”

“Give this file to the police and it will be,” Matt said. “But tell them to figure out how to find it for themselves. You didn’t get this from me, okay?”

Cole nodded and Matt got up from the table. “I have to get back to work, man,” Matt said. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for what you did,” Cole said, reaching out to shake his friend’s hand.

“Hey, no problem. I even got some ass out of it.”

Cole smiled. “Sara in accounting?”

“Yeah, her favorite number’s 69.”

Cole waved at Matt as he left. He eyed Emma, who was working behind the counter, and felt a twinge of desire for her. They’d had quick morning sex before coming into the bakery today, but he needed more. He needed to spend a long night in bed exploring her body; doing her slow and easy and then hard and fast. The longer they were together, the more he wanted her.

Maybe if this new information led to his charges being dismissed, he’d be able to focus on convincing her to marry him. He tucked the file under his arm and carried it to the kitchen to leave with his coat. He didn’t want to get her hopes up by telling her about it yet. Or maybe he didn’t want to get his own hopes up.

***

Layla’s light, nonchalant greeting on the other end of the phone got under Ben’s skin in an instant.

“You sound downright chipper, Cupcake,” he said wryly.

“And why not? I just had a great workout, and I’m going out for a late dinner with Em.”

“So the shit that’s going on with us isn’t bothering you at all,” Ben said. He was pacing outside the academy’s training gym.

“Of course it is. But what can I do? You’re there and I’m here.”

“You could call.” Anger seeped into Ben’s tone. “Text. Something. I fucking hate it when you freeze me out.”

“If I call, we’ll just fight.”

“Do you still love me or not?” He hated the desperation in his tone, but he had to know. That was what was really bothering him. Disagreements, they could overcome, even big ones. But if she didn’t love him anymore, there was no hope.

“Yes, I love you.”

He stopped walking, his shoulders sagging forward with relief.

“Do you miss me?” he asked.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I miss the you that wasn’t a hair-dragging caveman.”

“Now I know you’re full of shit ‘cause you love when I pull your hair.”

“Why is everything a joke to you?”

Ben kicked a rock across the sidewalk. “Everything’s not a joke. What do you want me to say, Layla? We need to move past this. We’ve got a wedding to plan.”

“You mean
I
need to move past it. Because you sure as hell don’t plan to change your mind, do you?”

“No, I’m still the asshole who wants to love you and take care of you forever.”

“Ben—”

“I want you to have what my mom never did, okay?” he said, agitated at having to admit it. “I want our kids to have what me and Bree never did.”

“I already have that,” she said softly. “I have a man who loves me and . . . used to make me feel like I could do anything.”

Ben’s muscles tightened with tension as he took in a deep breath of cold winter air. “I’m no good at this, Layla. Maybe I’m too controlling and set in my ways to be good for anyone.”

“Maybe you are,” she agreed, her voice unsteady.

“Maybe just being madly in love with someone isn’t enough.”

“I wish it was, Ben.”

“I have to go. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Okay.”

There were unshed tears in her voice, but he hung up anyway. He’d be here another five days, but she was right. What was the point in fighting over the phone? He wasn’t going to charm his way out of this one. Before Layla, he’d been sure he’d never get married. And this was why. He was pure shit at things he wasn’t in control of. And Layla Carson wasn’t willing to be controlled by anyone.

***

After absently cracking her hundredth egg of the morning against a big glass bowl, Emma pulled the shell back and looked at it for a second. Why was she doing this again? Were killer hours, constant fatigue and an unsteady, generally pathetic paycheck her dream?

She sighed. This bakery
was
her dream, and that was part of the deal. A deep love for cooking and baking had taken root when she went to school in Paris. Here, she got to try new recipes and break out her favorite authentic French ones. This place being her dream probably made her certifiable.

She’d enjoyed it a little more when Cole was earning six figures. Without his income to back her up if she needed it, Emma was under pressure to at least break even with the bakery now.

A base of regular customers was slowly growing. Yesterday she’d run out of seating during the lunch rush. There were signs of encouragement, but her pregnant belly was a reminder that she’d soon have a lot more to consider. How could she work these crazy hours when she and Cole had a baby? How would they pay for high-priced Chicago childcare?

And an even bigger question had started gnawing at her: Was there any point to busting her ass at this place, taking so much time away from her child, to make almost nothing?

Cole had driven her to work this morning, and he leaned against the large island, watching her work.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“I have dozens more muffins and cookies to bake, and I have to start the soup I’m making for lunch,” Emma said. “If you could mix up muffin batter, that would help.”

Cole pushed off of the island. “Sure. Let me wash up.”

“All the way to your elbows,” Emma said.

“I swear your hands are cleaner than a surgeon’s when you cook.”

“You know how Type A I am about it.”

Cole grinned at her. “Speaking of that, you know I’m shit at cracking eggs, so you’ll have to do that.”

“I can do that. There’s an apron in my pantry you can wear.”

“Hmm. You want me to wear an apron?”

“Why not? You’ll have batter splattered all over your clothes if you don’t. And I happen to find a man in apron very sexy.”

“Say no more. As long as it’s not pink and ruffled or anything.”

Emma laughed at the visual. “No.” She looked at the defined lines of his back and wide shoulders as he scrubbed his hands over the stainless sink. “It’s really nice having you here.”

“It’s nice being here.” Cole turned to look at her. “You want me to work for you every day? You know, until my . . . legal problems get resolved.”

“I’d love that. But you know my cash flow issues. Can I pay you in blow jobs?”

“Absolutely, baby. That’s better than money any day.”

“You’ve got a good head for business. Maybe you can help me figure out what I need to do to get this place profitable, or whether this is a pipe dream I need to give up.”

Cole lowered his brows and approached her, drying his hands. “You’re doing great with this place, Em. No business flourishes overnight. There’s no way you’re giving this place up.”

“I could probably teach art classes or find some other job that would at least pay.”

“No. One way or another, we’ll make it. I know it’s hard right now, and me not working isn’t helping. But I’ve got faith in you. We’re sticking this out.”

Emma edged close enough to him to feel the warmth of his body next to hers. “Okay.”

What kind of woman turned down the proposal of a blond sex god who was also sweet and supportive? She wished she had a ring on her finger right now so he knew that she had faith in him, too. If he proposed again, she didn’t think she’d be able to say no.

***

Italian night wasn’t the same without Ben. They always shared an order of lasagna and an order of fettuccine alfredo. She’d had to pick just one since she was eating alone. When she arrived to pick it up, the guy who always filled Layla’s carryout order at Murano’s had asked her if he got the order right over the phone because it was different than usual. And she’d bitten his head off and had to apologize.

But even lukewarm lasagna eaten alone would be better than her only other option for this evening. Brian Winston had asked her to attend a dinner party he was hosting for the senior staff at his new company. Since she wasn’t interested in socializing or going to his home, she’d told him she already had plans.

Prince scarfed the half breadstick she passed him and waited patiently for more.

“Do you miss him, too?” she asked, pulling the tin foil covering from the lasagna. He tipped his head to the side and gave her puppy dog eyes.

“Well, what can I do?” she asked, tearing another breadstick in half. “I’m not a doormat, Prince. And it’s such bullshit for a man to think women have to stay at home once they have children. If they want to, that’s cool, but they don’t
have
to.”

She held out another half breadstick and he took it, his tail swishing happily.

“I thought he was my perfect man because he’s the only guy I’ve met who’s more forceful and self-assured than me. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe opposites really do attract.”

With a sigh, she tossed the unused plastic fork from Murano’s on to her coffee table. She didn’t want to have Italian night alone.

The sound of a key twisting in the door handle to her apartment made Layla spring to her feet. Her landlord wouldn’t come in without calling first. Ben was the only one she’d given a key to, but he wasn’t due back for four more days.

But he was the one who pushed the door open and walked in. His dark blue gaze was ominous and fixed right on her. God, he looked good. He was clean shaven, wearing jeans and a dark brown canvas work coat.

She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t force any words out. He was closing the distance between them, and the closer he got, the more purposeful the look on his face grew. She knew he’d never hurt her, but the intensity of his expression made her knees turn to jelly. He looked like he was ready for a fight.

Her heart was hammering by the time he stopped in front of her. He held her eyes for a second before reaching into her hair and wrapping his fingers around a thick section, pulling it down to tip her face up to his.

Words. She searched for them, wanting to say something sharp, but she couldn’t remember a single one right now. Her lips parted and she licked them nervously. Ben’s mouth was on hers in an instant, tasting and tempting and devouring her all at once. The kiss didn’t build as she was used to; it started out hard and desperate.

From the taste of coffee and mints to the smell of wood on his coat, this was a heavy dose of her man. The one she’d missed every day he’d been gone. Layla wavered, her body melting in a mixture of surprise and overpowering arousal. Ben shrugged his coat off and let it slide to the floor. He wrapped his arms around her back, steadying her and molding her body against his.

She reached around his neck, winding her fingers into the back of his short hair. Their bodies were in tune; he bent slightly to pick her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She clung to the hard, solid strength of his body as he walked a few feet to the wall.

When he pressed her to the wall, Layla broke free of his mouth, breathless. Ben pulled urgently at her clothes, and she cooperated, kicking and pulling to free herself of her pants.

“You already belong to me,” he said in a ragged voice. “Married or not, you’re already mine, sweetheart.”

She moaned her incoherent agreement. Right now she would agree to anything he said. His hot breath on her neck and his hard cock rubbing against her panties made her lightheaded with desire.

He drew her arms over her head and restrained both her wrists with one of his large hands. When he flexed his hips into her, she moaned again. The way he knew just how and where to touch her was excruciatingly good.

“You fucking love this, don’t you?” he said against her neck. “You love being at my mercy. You love being mine. Don’t you?”

His words were like a drug. Her body fed on the sound of them, getting wetter and hotter with each one despite her mind’s objection. But thought could wait for later. For now, this was all she wanted.

Ben relaxed his grip on her wrists and pulled his hips back slightly. “Say it,” he ordered.

“Yes!” she cried. “I love being yours, Ben. I love you . . . so much it scares me.”

He groaned against her ear, the sensation electrifying every nerve ending in her body. He jerked her panties down in a quick motion and had his pants undone in the next second. Before they fell to the floor, he was inside her, and Layla cried out loudly with surprise and satisfaction.

“Yes, Ben!” She was frantic with need for him. Sensation took over, and she wasn’t aware of anything but the sharp, blissful build inside her. The more frenzied her moaning grew, the harder he pumped his hips against her. Soon she was sinking her nails into his shoulder, coming and begging him not to stop.