Kiss and Makeup (12 page)

Shut up, Ben
.

“You went to Chicago last week?” Josh demanded. “I thought you were going to Buffalo for your sister's wedding!”

“Actually, we were both headed to Buffalo. But there was this big snowstorm and we ended up sharing a hotel room—”

Oh. God. No
.

Chloe closed her eyes. She could feel Josh's excitement mounting over this new love match.

Finally,
mercifully
, Ben shut up. “Chloe? What's the matter? Are you okay?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on her arm. The show of concern made her feel like even more of an ass.

“Actually, Chloe's been a bit under the weather, haven't you, Chloe?” Josh barged behind the counter and shoved her out of the way. “You should probably take her to the food court so you two can talk while she rehydrates with a smoothie. I'll take over on cash. Bring me back a banana-mango.”

“I'll only be five minutes,” she told Josh.

He waved her off. “Five minutes, an hour. Whatever. Take your time.”

She grabbed Ben by one big strong arm and tugged him out of the store and into the mall, whirling to face him.

I missed you.

The unbidden thought took her completely by surprise.

“Ben, what are you doing here?”

It's really good to see you. You're just as hot as I remembered.
She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to resist her shameless hormones.
Be strong, Chloe.

“I'm in the middle of a shift.”

“I know.” He nodded. “
I know
. And I'm so sorry to bother you at work, but I've run into a slight predicament, and the thing is, Chloe, I need you.”

Well, dammit.
She didn't stand a chance.

9

“
S
O
,
THIS
IS
IT
. Welcome home.”

Chloe stepped in front of Ben and through the door. “Wow.”

Sand-colored walls, dark wood flooring and pristine white crown molding combined with Ben's total lack of kitsch—or anything even remotely personal—completed the illusion that she was touring a swanky show home.

“It's like you live in a catalog.”

Something flickered in Ben's amber eyes—hurt?—but he turned to shut the door and when he faced her again, his easy smile was in full bloom.

“A nice catalog, though, right? From one of those upscale stores?”

“Definitely a nice one,” she agreed, figuring that he didn't need to know “nice” was code for bland. Besides, who was she to judge? Her apartment was serviceable and clean, but it wouldn't be scoring a magazine spread any time soon. She'd bet you could barely hear the pipes or the neighbors' TV in a place like this. “How long have you lived here?”

“A year and a half.” He threw his keys on the kitchen counter—granite, natch—and pulled his black peacoat off. He hung it in the small closet to their right, then did the same with Chloe's.

A year and a half
? She'd have been less surprised if he'd said yesterday.
Spartan
was too kind a description.

“Want a tour?” he offered, picking up her suitcase.

“Lead the way.”

“Okay, let's see. Kitchen.” He pointed to the left. In addition to the granite, Chloe saw what she expected to see in a high-class condo: galley style, open concept and lots of stainless steel. “Living room.” High ceilings, a sectional and a man-size television. “Bathroom.” Glass-encased mega shower with rainfall showerhead. “Office-slash-second-bedroom.” She wasn't even paying attention anymore. At least not until he stopped in front of the last door on the tour.

“And this, this is where the magic happens.”

“If you have a waterbed, I'm outta here.”

Ben grinned as they stepped inside and he set her suitcase on the dark hardwood floor. “Obviously, as my guest, you can pick which side of the bed you want.”

Chloe walked over to the big bed and pushed on the end of the mattress, relieved that it didn't slosh. “Why choose when you'll be sleeping on the couch?” she said sweetly.

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame, crossing his arms.

Was he actually handsomer here in Seattle, or was it her imagination?

“My house, my rules.”

“Come on now, sweetie. Don't you mean
our
house?”

“You'd really make me spend our honeymoon on the couch? Even though we've already slept together?” He shot her a sexy half smile and added, “Twice.”

Ha.
As if she could forget. In fact, she had a sneaking suspicion it was the driving force behind her decision to agree to this ridiculous scheme of his. Her brain had tried to reason with her lady parts, but they weren't having any of her logic.

“Yeah, but that was back when we were strangers. We're married now. According to all sitcoms in the history of the world, that means sex is just a distant memory for us.”

“Aw, man!” He reached for his wallet and pulled out the ring. “I'm not sure I want to give this to you anymore.”

Truthfully, neither did she. Chloe had spent their weekend apart replaying every X-rated moment of their nights together. Their fake relationship had affected her more deeply than she'd realized. How was she going to deal with more? But even as she thought it, she heard herself say, “Then why don't you put that away and tell me what you do want.”

Her brazen invitation lit a dangerous glint in his whiskey eyes. Chloe licked her lips, unable to speak as he shoved the ring in the pocket of his jeans and started toward her.

Ben was on the prowl, and it was sexy as hell. He reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head as he stalked closer. By the time he stood before her, so close that she could feel the heat rolling off his body, Chloe was so turned on she could barely breathe.

Oh, God. This. This was what she'd wanted from the moment she'd lifted her gaze from the cash register to find him standing there.

She raised her arms so he could tug her T-shirt up and off, and he growled his approval as she reached behind her. The purple demi-cup went slack. She tugged the bra the rest of the way off, dropping it where it fell. Their wordless striptease continued in tandem, as they slowly divested themselves of their jeans and underwear, then stood to face each other.

“Please tell me that was enough foreplay, because I'm going to explode if I don't get inside you right now.”

Chloe moaned her agreement and the next thing she knew, they were on the bed and his weight was pressing into her everywhere but where she needed him most. She rocked her hips against him.

“Jesus. Hold on. Condom,” he said, crawling over to the end table.

She was impressed at how quickly he managed the task at hand. Then he was back on top of her and she was so wet, so ready for him. They both groaned with satisfaction as he entered her, and she raised her knees to make sure he was as far in as possible.

“I thought this would never happen again,” he confessed against her neck, and he thrust inside her so deep and so slow that she couldn't form the words “same here” through the pleasure that was speeding through her veins like liquid fire. She wound her legs around his hips, urging him to go harder and faster, and he obliged.

She'd never gotten this hot this quickly. Already a familiar tingle was growing low in her belly, and she knew she was close.

“Make me come, Ben,” she pleaded, and he plunged into her so forcefully that she gasped with delight. She dug her fingernails into his back as the orgasm hit, sharp and fast. The whole world came apart and only Ben's weight pressing her into the mattress kept her together.

She'd never had a quickie before, but if that's what they were like, she definitely would be having one again. Long and drawn-out had its charms, but she'd never felt anything quite as intense as what had just happened between them.

Ben rolled off her and they both lay in the tangle of sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch their breath. With her hormones sated and no longer clouding her thoughts, Chloe realized things were starting to feel real. Terrifyingly real.

What were they even thinking? Who was going to believe their lies in such a permanent setting? This wasn't a quick breakfast with a stranger. This was dinner at his house with his bosses. People who'd known the real Ben for years and saw him on a daily basis.

“Ben, I'm not sure I can do this,” she blurted, imploring him to understand.

“Too late,” he joked. He rolled onto his stomach, his entire side pressing against hers as he lowered his beautiful face close to hers.

She didn't like the way her resolve waned in direct proportion to his nearness. The earlier desire to run had been replaced with something else. Something dangerous. The part of her that wanted to stay.

“What I mean,” she stressed, “is maybe it's not such a good idea, me staying here.”

“I thought we decided you moving in here was the best chance we had to learn enough about each other to pass as a happily married couple on Saturday.”

“We did, but—”

“I also thought we decided that this was the easiest way to make sure you have a presence in the house so that a casual observer would believe my wife has been living with me for whatever undetermined amount of time it's been since we got married.”

“I know, but—”

“I'm not Patrick, Chloe. This is you and me. Just like before. We've got each other's backs. No matter what.” The words, spoken like a vow, stole her breath.

“Besides, it's not as if any of this is real,” he reminded her.

The sting of truth pulled her out of her spiral of panic.

Chloe nodded. “You're right. Okay, I'm in.”

Ben looked at her. “You're in?”

“I'll stay.”

“That's just... Okay, then. Great.” His smile was boyish. He leaned off the side of the bed for a moment, and then flopped down beside her. When he raised his hand, his grandmother's wedding ring glinted between his thumb and index finger.

With only a tremor of trepidation, Chloe took the ring from him. Ben was right. He wasn't Patrick. And she wasn't the scared twenty-two-year-old who'd fled down the aisle and across the country.

As she slid the ring back onto her finger, she made a vow to herself. She was going to stick this out until Saturday, no matter what. Ben needed her help, and she wasn't going to run out on him.

10

B
EN
FINISHED
BUTTONING
the cuffs of his white dress shirt and grabbed the gray suit jacket off the hanger. It was the same suit he'd been wearing on the plane when he'd met Chloe, but by the time that had occurred to him, he was already half-dressed. Besides, changing his pants would have felt too much like an acknowledgment that his clothing choice this morning might not have been completely random.

Ben glanced at his watch. He needed to hurry if he was going to make it to the office for seven. He had a lot of work to catch up on since he'd sacrificed most of yesterday to hunting Chloe down. His beeline for the door was interrupted by a beautiful woman sporting bed-head, perfectly applied makeup and a ratty blue Vote for Nixon T-shirt. Obviously meant for a stout, 1972 Republican, it hit her just past midthigh.

“You want breakfast?” she asked, shaking a box of cereal toward him. “I think, after years of tinkering, I have finally found an ambrosia-like ratio of honey to nut.”

He smiled at the quip. “I'd love to, Chloe. I would. But part of the reason I'm so good at my job is that I get there by seven every morning.”

“Just stay for ten minutes? I was kind of hoping we could talk about this dinner on Saturday. There's a ton of stuff that goes into hosting the perfect business dinner, and besides being good at your job, you've got none of them. Trust me when I tell you, I've learned from the master. And my mother has passed those tips and tricks on to me, because I had no say in the matter.”

For the first time since he'd set his sights on this promotion a year and a half ago, he wanted to stay home and plan a dinner party. The fact that he was even considering it shook him, and gave his words an edge. “I don't really have ten minutes to spare for this right now.”

Chloe set the box on the counter. “Oh. Okay.” He could read the hurt in her expressive eyes as she poured milk into her bowl.

Ben managed a smile, an attempt to numb the sting. “I'll see you later, though.” He grabbed his coat from the hall closet and jammed his socked feet into the square-toed dress shoes he'd left by the door.

“Way later. I'm closing tonight. Josh's band has a gig so I told him I'd cover his shift. I should be back around eleven.”

He glanced over as Chloe appeared, her shoulder resting against the doorway to the kitchen, one bare foot curled over the other as she ate her cereal standing up.

“Have a good day,” she said.

Ben's chest constricted a little at the wifely sentiment, but he couldn't say why.

He stepped toward her and she stopped chewing, her spoon frozen in her hand. He was too close. He knew it, but he couldn't bring himself to move. She smelled warm and sensual, but with an edge. Like vanilla laced with bourbon.

Ben swallowed, reaching behind her to grab his keys off the counter. It was all he could do not to brush a soft kiss to her flushed cheek. Her lips.

He wanted to tug off that hideous T-shirt and see what she was—or wasn't—wearing underneath. Push her up against the granite countertop or the stainless-steel fridge. Touch her everywhere.

Masochist
, he chided himself, taking a big step away from temptation. “See you tonight, Chloe.” He didn't look back as he pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

I
T
WAS
AFTER
nine when Ben pulled his truck into the condo's underground parking that night. He'd caught up on all his work and even used his supper break to squeeze in a quick workout. Despite the productive day, he still had a few things to finish up, and he grabbed his tablet as he sat down on the couch. But he couldn't concentrate. He was acutely aware of how empty the condo felt tonight.

Stupid, since until yesterday he'd lived here alone for a year and a half and never realized how quiet it was before. He could only attribute the weird sensation to the fact that Chloe had left reminders of herself everywhere. A pair of heels tipped over at the door, a dirty mug in the sink. Her notebook and a makeup magazine on the coffee table. The duvet from his bed jammed in the corner of the couch, like the empty husk of a cocoon after the butterfly had flown away.

He ran a frustrated hand across his hair. He
really
needed to get a handle on Hotel Burke's website and familiarize himself with the analytics before he met with his team the next morning. But the siren song of YouTube kept tempting him, trying to make him do the thing he'd been trying not to do for days.

She'd hate it.

He knew she'd hate it.

But he was dying to check out her makeup channel. And she wasn't home yet. She never had to know, he reasoned. The argument was convincing enough that he swiped back to his home screen and opened the YouTube app.

He typed “makeup” and “Chloe” into the search field and with one tap of his finger, his screen was filled with thumbnails of her, dozens of them, spanning several different hair colors and so many combinations of makeup that Ben's mind was blown.

Pink-lipped Chloe, red-lipped Chloe, Chloe with eyeliner, Chloe with no eyeliner, Chloe looking sweet, Chloe looking sultry, Chloe looking tough—he couldn't even fathom that the mess of brushes and bottles and powders littering the bathroom counter right now could be responsible for all of them.

He scrolled through the page. Most of the videos had thumbnails with the same background—probably her bedroom at home, but he found himself clicking on the poorly-lit one at the very top of the page. The most recent one.

The video loaded, and there she was. She might as well have been a different person with her hair a uniform brown. Now that he'd met the real Chloe, the smart, strong woman who lived life on her own terms, he had a hard time remembering he'd known her before her hair was black and red.

“Hi, guys, Chloe here. I'm on the road this week, and as you can see my accommodations are not the most glamorous, but that's no reason not to look like a million bucks!”

Ben was mesmerized by the process as Chloe transformed herself into the stormy-eyed goddess who'd done all kinds of naughty things with him on the quiltless bed behind her left shoulder.

But the video wasn't compelling just because her sex appeal was off the Richter scale, or because he had intimate knowledge of the black satin bra he remembered was hiding under that T-shirt. Chloe was actually a really good teacher. Despite her tendency toward sarcasm and privacy in real life, onscreen her demeanor was very open and relaxed. She was a dynamic speaker, not plagued by the “ums” and “likes” that peppered most people's diction when asked to wing it on camera. And even with the shitty lighting in the Value Inn, it was clear that she loved what she was doing.

There was true passion behind her words and the way she applied her makeup. He'd been more right on the plane than he'd realized. Chloe
was
an artist.

He clicked around a bit, watched more snippets of her videos. He couldn't find a single one, though, where she didn't start with all her foundation and one eye already done. He realized he'd never seen her without any makeup on.

Sometimes she did investigative-type videos, showing the advertising claims of the product and how they didn't work as shown, before giving some tips on how to achieve the product's promise through alternate means. Even though she basically called out his entire profession in them, these videos were his favorites—especially the one about something called “lip plumpers” because she was particularly scathing in it. After a while, though, the strategic part of his brain took over, and he became obsessed with the metrics.

She'd been making videos for about eight months, yet her subscriber list was much lower than he'd have suspected. Especially considering that at least a third of her thirty-two videos showed a dramatic upswing of comments and views over the last week. He couldn't be sure, but judging by the comments, it seemed as if talking to Kenley Burke had paid major dividends. Imagine if she told even a few friends about the site. And if each of them told a few friends...

Even without the word of mouth, some of Chloe's special-event tutorials—like Halloween and New Year's Eve—were fast approaching ten thousand hits. Those were the kinds of numbers that would push her revenue into higher brackets.

But what amazed him the most was her total lack of self-promotion. She had no social media accounts linked to her channel, no website. Her entire reach was organic—makeup-wearers of all ages, from all over the world, stumbling across Chloe's videos by sheer luck and then sharing them with their friends.

But by not linking to the products she was using, she was leaving thousands of dollars' worth of affiliate money on the table. She needed to up the quality of her videos, too. Nothing some decent lighting and a new laptop wouldn't fix.

With only a bare minimum of work, Chloe could turn her hobby into an empire. He was sure of it.

Ben's heart rate picked up. He was having that moment again. The electric rush that came when his brain churned with ideas. He could help her transform Makeup by Chloe into something even bigger and better than it was now.

The sound of her key in the door startled him and he panicked. He hit the button to switch off his screen and shoved the tablet on the coffee table, exchanging it for the makeup magazine she'd left there. He settled into the couch and aimed for nonchalance.

* * *

C
HLOE
PUSHED
HER
way into the condo, kicking off her blister-producing high heels as she shut the door and locked it. God, it was good to be home. She headed straight for the fridge, dropping her purse on the counter and yanking a tub of Phish Food from the freezer.

“Ben?” she called, opening the cutlery drawer.

“In here,” came the reply, and she snagged two spoons before bumping the drawer shut with her hip and heading into the living room.

Ben was sprawled comfortably on the couch, his bare feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the coffee table. He was wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweats. And to top off the cuteness that was Ben, he wasn't watching TV. He was reading.

She raised her eyebrows as she took in exactly
what
he was reading, and he blushed when he closed the worn magazine and tossed it onto the table beside his tablet. “So, how'd it go today?”

“Well,” Chloe began, dropping onto the cushion beside him. Her shoulder pressed against his upper arm.

“Work itself was okay.” She mimicked his relaxed, feet-on-coffee-table position and pulled the top off the frozen nectar of the dairy gods. She gave him a spoon and Ben dug in before she'd dropped the lid on the cushion beside her.

“What do you call your penis?” she asked, and Ben's other hand flew to his mouth, ostensibly to keep his behemoth spoonful of ice cream from falling off his tongue.

Chloe dug a chocolate fish from the pint with her spoon and let it melt on her tongue. “Have you given it a name? You know, something you call it when you're with a special lady? Like Excalibur or Big Ben?”

She couldn't help that her eyes darted covertly to his crotch. If she remembered correctly—and she did—either of those names were appropriate. Oh, geez! Chloe hunched her shoulders, hoping her nipples wouldn't betray her gutter mind.

Clearing her throat, she pressed on. “Or are you into more generic innuendo? Like, ‘Hey, baby. I've got a package for you'?”

Ben's face was scrunched up with disgust, which she found kind of endearing. “I'm trying to eat here,” he protested. “Why are you talking about dicks?”

Chloe dragged her spoon delicately along the top of the ice cream until she had a perfect curl. “Because the creepy delivery guy who dropped off our new Valentine's Day signage asked if I wanted to go in the back room—”

“Jesus, did he try anything? Are you okay?”

Chloe was taken aback by Ben's sudden intensity. “I'm fine. That's why I'm trying to tell you the funny story of what happened to me today.”

He stared at her for a long moment before his muscles relaxed.

“What's going on with you?”

Ben shook his head. “Nothing.”

She gave him a hard look to let him know she wasn't buying it.

“It's nothing. Finish your story. He wanted you to go into the back room...” he prodded.

“Because he wanted me to play with his
trouser snake
.”

Ben froze. “He did not say that.”

“I swear on Ben and Jerry's lives.”

They stared at one another for a moment in shared horror before bursting into laughter.

“So if you have some cutesy name for your lower anatomy, I need to know now. Because I discovered something important about myself tonight—I can't live with a man who says things like that.”

“I don't. But for the record, after that speech, I wouldn't tell you even if I did.”

Chloe smiled. “For fear of constant and merciless mocking? Or because you don't want me to leave?” she asked, putting her spoon in her mouth upside-down, applying the ice cream directly to her tongue.

Ben sobered and glanced over at her. The smile slipped from her lips as awareness hummed between them. Her nipples tingled as she slipped the spoon from her mouth and forced herself to swallow. “Okay, seriously though,” she said, barging through the moment in the interest of self-preservation. He'd been kind of a jerk to her at breakfast. She was not going to fall right into bed with him. “What's your penis's name? Because I feel like that's something a wife would know. What if your boss asks?”

Ben took her cue, dispelling the remainder of the tension with a grin. “I like your moxie, Masterson. You're taking this seriously, preparing for every eventuality.”

“A good hostess always has a bevy of conversation topics at her disposal.”