Your Endless Love (The Bennett Family 9)

“You’re always lickable.”

“Alex, Alex! No need to charm the pants off me. I’m naked.”

The thought that she’s been taking off her clothes while talking to me drives me insane.

“I’ve been thinking... we should talk in the mornings too. I bet that will make your days much better. I tend to bring good luck, you know. Especially if I throw in some dirty talk.”

Her voice all chirpy and unaffected, while my dick is straining in my pants.

“Ah, you’re doing this on humanitarian grounds again? Sacrificing yourself, are you?”

“Of course. All in the name of bringing you good luck. Do you want a sample of the dirty talk?”

“Are you sure you want to go down that road?” I ask.

“Uhh... that sounded scary. Not. Yes, yes... I do want to. I want to discover what’s at the end of that road.”

I don’t miss a beat. “Happy ending. For both of us.”

“Right....”

“Woman, are you doubting me?”

“Well, we’ve been talking every night, and so far, I got zilch in the dirty talk department. You’ll forgive me for thinking you might not have any game on the phone?”

“I’ll do better than forgiving you. I’ll prove to you I’ve got game.”

I laugh out loud at the silly sound she makes. This woman is everything, I swear. No matter how shitty the day goes, talking to her turns everything around. I’m so deep into this, I can barely believe it. What if this is all just some good fun for her? I push that thought away. She wants me to meet her family. Surely that’s a sign that she’s at least half as deep into this as I am.

Chapter Twenty-One

Summer

The next day starts with an unpleasant surprise. When I walk into the gallery, Diana points to a blonde at the far end of the room, inspecting a Monet.

“She’s the reporter who called yesterday. Wants to talk to you,” Diana whispers to me. My insides clench as Preston’s list of protocols flashes in my mind. Steeling myself, I walk right over to her. I’ve got this. I’m not afraid of a reporter. I just have a deep dislike of them. They’ve been bugging my family forever. They started when Bennett Enterprises rose to fame, and even now they’re digging for dirt every chance they have.

“Everyone’s favorite,” I say, stopping right next to her. Extending my hand, I add, “Summer Bennett. My colleague said you wish to speak with me.”

She flashes me a botoxed smile, shaking my hand. “Tara Delaware. Nice to meet you. Sorry for barging in like this....”

I wave my hand as if dismissing her worry. “Nonsense. My colleague said you asked about St. Anne’s yesterday. I’ve been hoping to get some publicity for the orphanage for a long time. You want to come up to my office? I can tell you more about what we do there.”

The corners of her duck lips tug downward. Golden rules where reporters are concerned: throw them off their game. Overwhelm them with topics they don’t care about, drown them with meaningless details.

“I’ve seen that Alex Westbrook donated there recently—” she begins.

“Ah, yes. That slipped out, I’m afraid. He wishes to remain anonymous. Pity, I’m sure his name would have brought more donations. So, what are you thinking about? Featured article?”

“Not sure the big bosses think it would have enough appeal for a featured article.”

I can read through the lines. Of course, no one gives a damn about group homes or donations. She’s fishing for a juicier story.

“How long have you known Alex Westbrook?” she asks.

I fake having to think about it, run a hand through my hair and frown, even though I know the exact date and time when I met him. “No idea, a few weeks, maybe? Saying I know him is pushing it, though. He donated, I donated. That’s about it.”

Tara doesn’t believe me. Her mocking expression sends chills up my veins. I want to toss her out the gallery, tell her never to step inside it again, but I know the one way to ensure reporters harass you is to antagonize them. Boring them to tears is the best solution.