Page 92 of The Billionaire's Assistant

“I have something for you. I’m not sure—”

“Ben, whatever you have for me, I’m going to love it.”

“Okay. Here it is.” He pushed the bag across the kitchen island to me.

I opened it and pulled out a scarf. It was made with the same basketweave stitch he’d shown me before and with the same super-soft yarn, but this scarf was navy and gray, perfectly straight on the edges, and he’d added tassels. “I love this! I can’t wait until it’s cold enough to wear it.”

“It doesn’t exactly match your wardrobe.”

“You made this, Ben. It’s beautiful and I have every intention of wearing it. It will look perfect with my Burberry coat.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Of course it will.”

I studied him for a moment. “What? You’ll need a winter coat as well, but I’m still deciding what color I’d like to get you.”

He sighed. “Nothing I say will stop you, will it?”

“No, Ben, I have more money than I can spend. You know I’m going to keep buying you things.”

“As long as you keep cooking for me.”

“I’ll do that too.”

* * *

BEN

Miles served the scallops over linguini with a white wine cream sauce, and they were the most delicious things I’d ever tasted. “How did you get them cooked so perfectly?”

“Practice.”

“You’ve made scallops a lot?”

He grinned. “I’ve made them a lot today.”

“You don’t mean you bought—”

“Dozens. I was going to get this right.”

“Miles, tell me you didn’t waste all the others?”

He shook his head. “Worth and Carter served as my tasters.”

“So I guess they are well fed.”

“Not as well as you’ll be by the end of the night.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s see how good dessert is before you get too cocky.”

Dessert—the kind that involved actual food—was an assortment of tiny pastries from Miles’s favorite bakery—quickly becoming my favorite as well. I insisted we eat on the balcony since there was finally a crisp breeze in the air.

We cuddled on the balcony couch, feeding each other and simply enjoying the night before moving onto the second part of dessert, where we devoured each other.

We began with light kisses that grew hungrier, then Miles gripped my thigh and encouraged me to straddle him. “I want you to ride me, Benjamin.”

“Fuck, yes.” I didn’t even try to protest that we were outside. We were too high up for many people to see, and all I really cared about was having Miles inside me.

He pointed to the side table. “There’s lube. In the drawer.”

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