Your Tempting Love (The Bennett Family) Read online

  Your Tempting Love

  Christopher & Victoria ~ The Bennett Family, Book 5

  Layla Hagen

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  ***

  Your Tempting Love

  Copyright © 2017 Layla Hagen

  Your Tempting Love

  Copyright ©2017 Layla Hagen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Christopher

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  I almost step on a tennis ball while crossing the lobby of my office building. Picking up the neon green orb, I look around until I locate the owner: a small girl, maybe four or five years old. She's sitting on the couch in the waiting area with a serious problem on her hands: her toys have spilled out of her backpack, and she's desperately trying to shove them back in.

  Bennett Enterprises is large enough that we added an on-site daycare a while back, but this is the first time I've stepped on a toy. Instead of heading up to my office, I stride in her direction, returning the ball.

  "You lost this."

  The girl snaps her head up, her blue eyes wide and thankful as if I just saved the day.

  "Thank you." She grabs it from me with both hands, squeezing it to her chest like it's her most prized possession before shoving it in the backpack. She's in a frenzy, hopping down from the couch to collect the toys from the floor, pushing her dark brown hair away from her face.

  "What's your name?" I ask her.

  "Chloe."

  "I'm Christopher."

  "Wow! Both our names begin with C."

  Sitting on my haunches until I'm almost level with her, I lean in, whispering conspiratorially, "That's because we're cool."

  An ear-to-ear grin lights up her small face, and she seems to momentarily forget about her troubles. Then she directs her focus on the reception desk. Ah, she must be here with a visitor. That explains why she's in the waiting area. Visitors must check in at the reception desk first, so they're directed to the correct floor. Currently, there's some commotion going on at the desk, so it looks like little Chloe still has some waiting to do.

  "This is yours?" I ask, picking up a small Rubik’s Cube that slipped just under the couch. Chloe nods, holding the backpack open so I can drop it inside. Color me impressed. I'm the Chief Operations Officer of Bennett Enterprises and a shareholder. Throw any issue my way, and I can fix it. A Rubik’s Cube? I'm stumped.

  "Chloe,” a female voice says behind me, “we can—"

  Several mishaps occur at the same time. At the sound of the woman's voice, I abruptly rise to my feet, turn around, and boom. Straight-on collision. Stepping back, I realize the woman is carrying a cup… and spilled all its contents on my shirt. On the plus side, the beverage was lukewarm, not hot. But my shirt looks as if I crawled across a muddy street.

  "I'm so sorry. It was hot chocolate. It'll wash out," she says, demanding my attention.

  Damn.

  She's tall, with brown waves falling over her shoulder, green eyes piercing me. Her full lips could tempt even a saint into sinning, and I'm no saint. Meeting a beautiful woman is hands-down the best way to start a day, even if it comes with hot chocolate on my shirt.

  "I'll pay for your dry cleaning." Her shoulders turn rigid as she assesses the damage to my shirt.

  "Don't worry about it," I reply, because by the looks of it, she has enough to worry about already. When Chloe tugs at her hand, I put two and two together. Chloe is here with her, which means she must be her daughter. Instantly I check her hand for a ring because I'm not that kind of sinner. There’s no ring.

  "His name starts with C," Chloe tells her. "Like mine."

  "Oh! You're Christopher Bennett, aren't you?" If possible, her shoulders tense even more. That’s not the usual reaction I cause in women.

  "Yes."

  "I'm Victoria Hensley. We have a meeting in ten minutes."

  This day just got a hell of a lot better. She's the interior decorator my sisters Pippa and Alice recommended to decorate my new apartment. They insisted she's very talented, and after I witnessed the great job she did at Alice’s restaurant and Pippa’s house, I was sold.

  "Pippa told me there's an on-site daycare, and I can leave my sister there during our meeting," Victoria continues.

  Ah, now I remember. Pippa told me Victoria is looking after her younger siblings after they lost their parents in a boating accident last year. I can tell Victoria wants to shake my hand, but Chloe stubbornly holds on to her right hand.

  "Sure," I counter. "Go settle Chloe in. I'll be waiting upstairs in my office."

  "Do you think the other kids will like my toys?" Chloe asks Victoria.

  Victoria smiles down at her sister, and I'll be damned if it's not the sweetest smile I've ever seen. "Of course they will."

  Apparently, Victoria's smile only affects me, because Chloe puffs her cheeks, not convinced.

  "You've got so many toys," I say, patting her backpack, "I'm sure they'll find something they like. It’s really nice of you to want to share toys. When I was your age, anyone touching my stuff was an enemy. You're cool."

  Her puffy cheeks give way to a grin again. Mission accomplished.

  Victoria frees her hand from Chloe's grip, and as I shake it, she inspects the damage to my shirt. I bet she's calculating the odds of gaining me as her client after this mishap.

  I'll have to turn on the charm to full power in my office, just to put her mind at ease, of course.

  ***

  Victoria

  Way to make a first impression, Victoria! After dropping off Chloe, I chastise myself all the way to Christopher’s office, looking forward to proving myself to him. His sisters might have recommended me, but that doesn't mean he'll go with me if I don't convince him.

  The moment I step inside his office, some of the tension bleeds from my shoulders, as Christopher offers me a friendly smile. I inspect his eyes to check whether the smile is perfunctory, but the warmth in them tells me he is genuine. Christopher Bennett is a damn fine sight to behold. Handsome face with a perfectly groomed three-day beard, broad shoulders, solid six feet of muscles—he's the type of man who can dominate a room with his presence without even trying.

  When I stop in front of his desk, I can't help ogling his shirt. What a mess I made of it. He catches me inspecting the stains, and his smile deepens. He points to the chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat."

  I do just that, crossing my legs and brainstorming for the best way to start with a clean slate.

  "Everything worked out with Chloe?" Christopher asks.

  "Yeah."

  "How many siblings do you have? Pippa must have told me, but I forgot."

  Usually, I don't go into details about my personal life with clients, but Christopher's interest seems genuine.

  "Three. Chloe, Lucas, who is nine, and Sienna. She's seventeen."

  Christopher nods thoughtfully. "That sounds like a full house."

  "It is." I can't help smiling. "It gets crazy sometimes."

  "I know what you mean."

  "True. Your sister Pippa said you are nine siblings. That must’ve been something while growing
up."

  "Yeah. To be honest, I think my parents might know what you mean more than I do. I was causing all that craziness. At least part of it."

  His easygoing nature surprises me. I've worked with men in powerful positions before, and most were cold, even stuck-up. But Christopher doesn't take himself too seriously, even if he has a corner office with a brilliant view of San Francisco.

  We're interrupted by a knock on the door, and his assistant steps inside. "Christopher, your next appointment is here early."

  Shoot.

  "Half an hour early?" he asks skeptically. His mouth sets in a thin line, his eyes losing some of their spark. Ah, I bet he’s a shark in business meetings.

  His assistant shrugs. "I can tell them to wait."

  "No one likes to wait. We'll wrap up here quickly," he tells her, spurring me into a panic. Nodding, his assistant leaves the room again.

  "Sorry for cutting this short, but those are partners with whom we're renegotiating some contracts. Nothing's worse in a negotiation than a partner pissed off he had to wait, even if it's their fault they arrived early."

  "I understand."

  "I'll be honest, Victoria. I saw the pictures with your portfolio, and Alice and Pippa spoke highly of you. I've seen what you did for them, and I think you can make any place look like home. I'm great at my job and have a number of other talents.” A smile tugs at his lips. “But decorating is pig latin to me."

  And there he goes with that self-deprecating humor again, mixed in with an unexpected dose of cockiness. But something in the way he delivered the line about “a number of other talents” makes me want to know more instead of having me roll my eyes.

  "What are you looking for?" I ask.

  "Thing is, I have no idea." He leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers on top of his head.

  "I can work with that," I assure him.

  "You can? You're magic, then."

  "Close to it. I've been in this business for eight years. I've worked with people who had a wide array of tastes. Why don't you show me the plan for your apartment, and I can run some ideas by you right away?"

  "No time right now. Besides, I don't want to hurry this. I receive the keys to my apartment in six weeks, so we have time."

  "Then e-mail me the plan and any pictures you might have, and I'll pitch you a few ideas in a reply. You have my contact information."

  "I do."

  We rise from our chairs in unison, and as he walks me to the door, I say, "Let me pay for the dry cleaning of your shirt. I'm really uncomfortable."

  "Would you be more comfortable if I got rid of my shirt?" His voice is laced with boyish playfulness and the hint of a dare. I open my mouth, fully intending to blatantly ignore his question, but other words slip out instead.

  "Do you often offer to strip for women you just met?"

  Hell no! I can give good banter when it's required, but he's a potential client. Banter has no business here. His dark brown eyes widen. Clearly, he wasn't expecting this.

  "Do you often spill hot chocolate on men you just met?"

  "Touché."

  "For your own peace of mind, I keep spare shirts in my office. I just didn't have time to change into it because you arrived early. And so is the next meeting, but I'll change the second you leave. Unless you want to watch?" He winks, and my mind spins.

  "Send me that floor plan," I say, proud of keeping it professional.

  "Will do." Wiggling his eyebrows, he adds, "While changing my shirt. Multi-tasking is one of my talents."

  "I never asked what those talents were."

  "One of my many faults is that I volunteer too much information. But you never know when it might come in handy."

  Shaking my head, I can't hold back a grin. "Pippa said you used to be a big troublemaker as a kid."

  "That’s still true. The only difference from then is now I’m trouble with a capital T."

  Chapter Two

  Victoria

  "Good night, Victoria," Chloe says, hugging her teddy bear, her wavy brown hair splayed on her pillow, her eyes heavy with sleep.

  I kiss her forehead lightly before whispering, "Good night."

  "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

  "Sure thing, sweetie."

  Placing the book I was reading to her on the nightstand, I turn off the light and slide in beside her. Chloe nestles her small body against mine. Keeping my gaze trained on the moon visible through the window, I listen as her breathing pattern becomes increasingly calmer. Mom used to read to her sometimes before bed, and now I do. It's our way of keeping Mom's memory alive.

  Once I'm one hundred percent sure Chloe is asleep, I silently leave. Lucas’s and Sienna's rooms are on the other side of the hall, and they are blissfully quiet. I tiptoe down the corridor on my way to the staircase, but the boards creak beneath my feet anyway. Damn. The floors at our old house used to creak too, but those were of the cute "parent-approaching-alert" variety, whereas these are of the "earthquake-alert" variety.

  The death of my parents brought many changes. One of them was that two months after burying them, we had to let go of the only place where we could still feel their presence: the old house. Our new home is smaller and farther away from the children’s school than I wanted, but we live in San Francisco, and housing is exorbitant. This was the best we could afford. We're still learning to call this our home. All our furniture and most of the decorations are from the old house, but it takes more than that to make a place home. We'll get there eventually though.

  With a sigh, I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts away. Thinking about my parents always brings on a wave of sadness, and I don't want to let in the pain tonight. I have so much to be thankful for—most of all, that the kids weren't on the boat with my parents the night of the accident. Losing them all… I shudder at the thought.

  Social services almost took the kids away. They stepped in after my parents died to make sure I’m a fit guardian. In the beginning, I thought it was because Lucas and Chloe were adopted, but then I found out social services often assist when parents of minors pass away. The problem is they were not convinced that I’m a fit guardian. I fought tooth and nail so we'd all stay together, but social services is keeping a close eye on our case, checking in with us monthly.

  Stepping inside the living room, I smile widely at the sight of the gigantic hat sitting on the coffee table, still waiting to be “glittered up.” Chloe’s preschool is organizing a costumed picnic in October. Though it’s only September, I started working on her costume to make sure it'll be ready in time. Chloe is going as the Mad Hatter, the glittery version. Kneeling beside the coffee table in front of the couch, I eye my phone, my palm itching to check my e-mails again, but I decide to ignore the urge and finish the hat.

  Tonight I'm all tied up, waiting for Christopher Bennett to reply. I received a message from him with the plan for his apartment after leaving his office, and I sent him the pitch two hours later. I haven't heard from him since, which is normal. It can take days for a potential client to get back to me, but my stomach is in knots. I really need to sign him on as a client to replace the one who unexpectedly ditched me last week. And if I'm honest, Christopher Bennett intrigues me. From the sweet way he talked to Chloe to the borderline shameless way in which he joked with me, everything about him is refreshing and fun. I have a feeling it'd be a blast to work for him.

  Because I'm not a hypocrite, I also can't deny that the man is a sight to behold: broad shoulders, strong build, eyes I could lose myself in—which is out of the question, of course. Taking a break from glittering up the hat, I can't resist the temptation of scrolling through my e-mails for the hundredth time. To my surprise, there’s one from Christopher in my inbox.

  I like your ideas and definitely want to work together. When are you available for a call to talk about the next steps?

  I type the response back so fast I nearly break a nail.

  I'm available now if you want to talk. Seeing
his number below his signature in the message, I add, I can call you, or you can call me.

  I type my number, even though he has my business card. As I press Send, I do a small happy dance around my living room, shaking my hips to the memory of a catchy tune I heard while driving this morning. My phone beeps with an incoming call seconds later. I recognize his number and immediately answer.

  "Thank you for getting back to me so quickly, Mr. Bennett."

  "I think we can drop the formalities, Victoria."

  The way he says my name, in a low baritone… damn. I can practically hear the smile in his voice, and my mind immediately conjures up the way his almost-sinful lips curl up to form a smile, revealing dimples at both corners of his mouth. Jeez, I can't believe I memorized that. In my defense, it's a great smile, and those dimples would turn even the strongest woman to mush.

  "Thank you for calling me back so quickly, Christopher."

  "That's more like it. So, what are the next steps?"

  "First of all, I fell in love with your apartment already. I'd love to be able to turn it into a home for you." His apartment, a huge condo at the top of a high-rise, would be a dream to decorate. Since Christopher bought it while still in construction, he had some structural changes made, turning it from a five- to a two-bedroom apartment. This has resulted in delightful and spacious rooms.

  "Thanks. Before going into more detail, I have one question. Why did you leave the company you worked at?"

  Oh, damn. I was hoping this wouldn't come up. I have an answer ready, of course, but I prefer to avoid the topic. I worked at that company for eight years, putting in long hours and a lot of dedication. When my parents died, things changed. My siblings became my priority. My boss, a woman I had respected almost to the point of worship, decided I wasn't a “good fit” for the company anymore, and fired me. Losing my job was one of the reasons social services didn't think I was a fit guardian. At twenty-nine, I started my own business, which has been exciting and nerve-racking.