Milly
“It’s not much,” Ben says when the taxi drops us off in front of his place. “But it’s home.”
I stare up at the quaint stucco building with large windows and columns across the front porch. “It’s amazing,” I breathe out as I follow him up the concrete stairs.
Ben opens the front door and inside is a small hallway with a staircase leading to the other apartments. He walks straight ahead and opens another door. His flat is warm and cozy, just like the pub. I take in the whitewashed floors and the clay color of the walls. There are three large windows at the front of the apartment that overlook the street. The open concept living space extends to a kitchen area, and I assume the bedrooms are at the back of the house.
“There’s only one bathroom,” Ben mentions as he rolls my suitcases down the hallway. “I forgot to mention that.”
“That’s fine,” I say. I am not going to be picky about my accommodations.
He opens a door and pushes the luggage inside. “Here it is,” he announces. “It’s not The Dorchester or the Savoy, but I’ve been told the bed is pretty comfortable.”
“Thank you, Ben. I appreciate you helping me out,” I tell him as I brush past him into the room. I hear him inhale and wonder if he just smelled me.
“I’ll let you get settled,” he says shyly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I shuffle around the room, moving my suitcases out of the way. I feel awkward and out of place, a little aimless. It’s time to regroup. I quickly change out of my traveling clothes that I feel like I’ve been wearing forever into an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and hits me mid-thigh.
When I open the door to the bedroom, I run right into a massive wall of chest. Ben’s chest, to be precise.
“I’m so sorry,” I exclaim just as Ben reaches out to steady me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Other than a slightly bruised nose and ego, I’m fine,” I answer. Ben looks down at where he still has a hold on me and quickly lets go before stepping back. “I was just going to look for the bathroom.”
“It’s right there.” Ben points toward a door, but his eyes are on me, roaming over my body. He stops when he gets to the hem of my shirt and swallows audibly. We’re both stuck in place until I make the first move and brush past him.
I’m too slow, though, because he catches me around the waist and presses me up against the nearest wall. His mouth covers mine in a searing kiss as his hands tangle in the cotton of my T-shirt. He’s so much taller than I am, and I’m forced to stand on tiptoes just to wrap my arms around his neck. He bends slightly and places his hands around my backside, cupping my ass and lifting me without any effort. My legs wrap around his waist as he steadies me against the wall. His mouth never leaves mine, exploring it with his tongue, nipping my lips with his teeth. He’s stealing every breath that I’m desperate to take, and all I can think is more.
We break apart, but my body is still wrapped around his. He nuzzles my neck with his nose and nips at my earlobe. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “but you’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
I stare into his jade green eyes, confused. “Me? I haven’t done a thing.”
One corner of Ben’s mouth twitches upward. “You’ve done plenty. Don’t think I didn’t sense your damsel in distress vibe.”
I scoff and push away slightly, letting my legs fall. “I am not a damsel in distress!”
“Not anymore,” Ben teases me. He looks down at my T-shirt and frowns. “Is that really what you’re wearing to bed?”
“Of course it is,” I answer, confused. What’s his problem with my T-shirt?
“I don’t stand a fucking chance,” Ben mutters as he releases his hold on me and walks away. A satisfied smirk spread across my lips as I get another good look at his firm backside. I didn’t stand a chance either.
* * *
After a decent night’s sleep, I wake up refreshed and ready to take on the day. When I venture out into the apartment, Ben is sitting at a small table in the middle of the sunny kitchen. He’s dressed in a navy blue T-shirt that stretches across his broad back and a pair of gray sweatpants.
“Good morning,” he greets me with a cheerful smile. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good,” I reply. I sniff, hoping to catch a whiff of my favorite morning smell—coffee—but it’s not there.
“Tea?” Ben asks. I look down at the table and see a plain white porcelain teapot with dishes for sugar and milk next to it. I don’t really answer because Ben begins to pour milk into an empty cup before adding the tea. “Do you like sugar?”
“Yes?” I’m not entirely certain, but I do like sugar in my coffee.
“We’ll start with two sugars. You can always add more.” Ben places a cup across from him, a silent invitation for me to sit. I take my first sip and realize that Ben is watching me expectantly, waiting for my reaction. I want to like tea because it’s the very essence of being British but…it’s just not coffee. I take my first sip; it’s milky and a little sweet, but I’m resolved: tea is not for me. Out of respect to my host, I finish the entire cup, though. Ben watches me the whole time, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’ve got a French press somewhere. I’ll pick up some coffee today.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I insist. I hate the thought that I’m inconveniencing him somehow. I could learn to like tea…eventually.
“It’s no bother. You’re my guest,” he says with a wink before getting up and clearing the table of the tea tray. “Are you hungry? I don’t have much here, but I know a place that does a really lovely full English breakfast.”
“Actually,” I stammer before getting up to help him with the breakfast dishes. “Do you have Wi-Fi? I’d really like to get a jump on filing that fraud claim with my bank. The sooner I get my money back, the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Stay as long as you’d like,” he says easily. “My place is close to plenty of shops and restaurants. Kensington Gardens is pretty close too.”
“Thank you, Ben, but isn’t it weird having a stranger stay in your home?”
He grins, and I can see the hint of a dimple on either side of his mouth. I wonder why I didn’t notice them last night. “I’ve done weirder things. What’s your last name?”
“Hanson.”
“Well, Milly Hanson, I’m Benjamin Michael Waterstone.” He bows deeply and flourishes his hand out in front of him before extending it toward me. When I slip mine into his palm, that magnetic feeling is there. The same kinetic energy that I felt last night when his arm brushed against my leg or when he spent a little too long fixing my backpack or when he kissed me so thoroughly last night. He lifts our entwined hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine.
“Fuck it,” he growls, before pulling me against him and devouring my lips. One hand wraps around my waist, his fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt while he presses his other hand to my back, helping to keep me firmly in place. My hands slide up his chest and then wrap around his neck. Our kiss deepens as the space between our bodies closes, and I find myself falling slowly into the magic of this moment.
Breathlessly, Ben pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “You should wear something warmer to bed tonight,” he says softly.
“Like what?” I ask, tugging at my shirt.
“Me,” he says with a smirk.