The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(95)

My phone ringing in my hand took me out of those thoughts, and the name of my Chicago rep on my screen put me into less reflective ones and more annoyed ones.

But I made the big bucks; I had to take the shit along with it.

So I didn’t have time to think about how much I was falling in love with the process of falling in love with Benny Bianchi. I didn’t think about what it might mean that the Executive Vice President of our company was walking around ticked.

I took the call.

* * * * *

“Hey, baby.”

“Things got crazy, traffic primarily, not to mention a rental car agent who was way too freaking chatty to a woman who needed to catch a plane, and now the marshal on my flight is eyeing me like he’s gonna tackle me and force me to put my phone in flight mode. So it sucks, but I got on this plane by the seat of my pants and I gotta say ‘hey’ and ‘later.’ I’ll call you when I land,” I said to Benny after his greeting.

Over the past three weeks, this had become our gig. He worked when I was not working. I worked when he was. This meant brief snatches of conversation when I had time at work and phone calls on weekends, if we were lucky.

But Ben knew my travel schedule because he demanded to know it.

Of course, thus ensued me explaining to him that if he had email, I could easily email my schedule to him rather than reciting it over the phone while he wrote it down. He replied that he didn’t get to hear my voice through an email so he’d take the cramp in his hand so he could listen to me talk.

I quit giving him shit after that.

Now Benny expected me to phone when I boarded before takeoff and phone again when I landed. He didn’t mind me phoning again when I got home or to my hotel, but he didn’t have the schedule memorized to that point or his phone on him so he could take my call, even if he was making a pie. Which he always did when he knew I was hitting a flight and when he knew when the wheels would hit land.

I loved this.

I loved it because I loved connecting with Benny any way I could. I loved it because Benny wanted it. I loved it because when he demanded it, I knew he was demanding it because I’d opened the floodgates to him doing something like that when I told him I was glad he gave a shit that I was safe. I loved it that he had been holding it back to spring on me when we were more solid, and doing that with a mind to the woman he knew me to be.

Last, I loved the fact that I was falling in love from (mostly) afar with Benny Bianchi.

I was doing it so fast, from my previous experience after Ben took me home from the hospital, I knew if it wasn’t from afar, it would happen a lot quicker.

Maybe instantly.

“You’ve spotted the marshal?” Ben asked, taking me from my thoughts.

“Yep. He’s hot.” I felt unhappy vibes from Ben over the phone, which made me smile but they also made me say, “You’re hotter, obviously.”

“A save, but not a good one.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

“Call me when you get home,” he ordered.

“You got it, capo.”

“And call me before you leave in the morning.”

“You’re on my speed dial.”

“And bring that nightie, the purple one with the pink at the tits. I’m feeling nostalgic.”

That order caused a lovely ripple and me to hiss into my phone, “Ben, don’t turn me on when I’m fifteen minutes away from thirty thousand feet.”

He didn’t miss a beat as he replied, “First chance we got, vacation, plane ride, mile-high club.”

God!

Benny.

“Are you listening to me?” I snapped.

His voice was nothing but sweet when he whispered, “Get home safe, Frankie.”

I huffed out a breath, not enjoying his increasingly utilized tactic of quelling my attitude by bringing out all the awesomeness of Benny. Even so, I had not yet figured out recourse other than to have my attitude quelled.

Falling in love with Benny was knocking me off my game.

Whatever.

“I will, honey,” I told him. “And I’ll call.”

“Right. Later, cara.”

“Later, Benny.”

He disconnected.

I eyed the hot guy, who perhaps only in my fertile imagination was the air marshal, and put my phone into flight mode.

* * * * *

I parked my Z in the space off the alley at the back of Benny’s place.

I grabbed my big suitcase out of the back, dropped it to its rollers, extended the handle, and barely cleared the back of my car before Ben was there.

Then I was pressed against the side of my car, Ben pressed into me, one hand at my ass, one hand curved around my side at my breast, thumb stroking this close to ground zero, tongue in my mouth.

When he lifted his head (and after my eyes fluttered open), he said, “Welcome home, Frankie.”

I pressed deeper into him and smiled.

Ben smiled back, let me go, grabbed the handle of my case in one hand, my hand in his other, and he dragged us both up and into his house.

Ben left my bag in the kitchen and kept dragging me up to his bedroom.

But not before I saw it.

Right there, out in the open, for anyone to see.

A white sheet of paper, on the top in bold script, Francesca, and on the bottom in slashed scribbles, dates and times.