Chapter 5

Don’t let Ben drink too much, she said.

What? Was I supposed to hide his bottle of whiskey? Empty its contents into the toilet and replace it with water? Take the glass away from him?

I didn’t do any of that, though, which is why Ben is now all red in the face, hunched over the dining table and looking like he’s ready to keel over.

Yup. I can safely say he’s had too much to drink.

Sorry, Gemma.

“What are you staring at?” he asks as he pours himself another glass of whiskey, his voice slurred.

“Nothing,” I say as I go over to the fridge to get a glass of water.

“Is that payback for yesterday?”

I go still. I’d hoped he would never bring up what happened yesterday. Aren’t drunks supposed to have a bad memory? Then again, come to think of it, it’s usually the sober who don’t remember things they’ve said and done while drunk. Drunks remember everything, even the things that happened during their childhood.

“I’m sorry I don’t look as good.”

I blush. Is he saying I looked good yesterday when I was naked in the tub? How much did he see?

I glance at him. What does he mean he doesn’t look as good? True, he’s not as hot as he usually is. But he’s still hot.

I shake my head as I pour myself a glass of water. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Are you sure you’re a baker?” he asks.

“A pastry chef,” I correct, taking a sip from my glass.

“You don’t look like one.”

I frown. Is that an insult?

“You look like someone I’ve seen in a magazine before.”

At once, my mind races. Have I ever been featured in a magazine before? No. I don’t think so. He’s probably confusing me with someone else. I wonder what magazine he’s referring to.

“Nope, not me,” I tell him.

“Some chick in a bikini.”

I almost spit out the water in my mouth. Definitely not me.

“I like your hair,” he adds.

What? My blond hair that can’t decide if it’s straight or curly and never behaves the way I want it to?

“And your lips, and your…”

“All right. That’s enough.” I set my glass down and go over to Ben, taking his still half-filled glass away. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

As much as I’d like to hear more, compliments from a drunk are just babble.

“I have?” He arches an eyebrow at me.

“Yes.”

I bring the bottle and glass to the kitchen, putting the cap back on the bottle and then throwing the contents of the glass into the sink.

“Hey,” Ben complains. “That’s expensive stuff.”

“Well, it’s stuff that will kill you if you drink too much, and you’ve clearly had more than enough. What do you think your daughter will say when she sees you?”

For a moment, he’s silent. Then he laughs.

I’m confused. What’s so funny?

“You sound just like Gemma,” he says.

Oh, I do?

I place my hands on my hips. “Nope. Actually, it’s the voice of your conscience.”

“You look like her, too.”

“And you look like you’re about to pass out.” I approach him, grabbing his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed so Lily doesn’t have to stumble over you in the morning.”

“Your bed or mine?”

I freeze. Seriously?

“Very funny.” I place his arm around my neck and my arm around his waist. “You know, it would be nice if you had a little more of this sense of humor when you’re sober.” I start walking, groaning under his weight. “And maybe if you talked a little more.”

“Are you saying you don’t like me?” Ben asks.

“I’m saying you could be less serious when you’re sober.”

“And when I’m drunk?”

“Well, you could be less drunk. And maybe less heavy.”

He laughs, and just like that, he gets even heavier, causing me to lose my balance so that both of us to stumble in the hall.

“Ouch!” I exclaim as my head hits the floor.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he tries to get up, only to land on top of me, my breasts crushed beneath his chest.

“You better not be doing this on purpose,” I mutter.

“What?”

He manages to lift his head, and as he looks down at me, his blue eyes gazing into my brown ones, I become more aware of our situation.

And our positions.

He’s right on top of me, one of his legs between mine, his knee mere inches from my sex that is starting to get damp. His face is also just an inch away, his mouth so close to mine that I can smell the alcohol on his breath and feel its warmth.

I know he’s the one who’s drunk, but I’m pretty sure at this moment I’m the one who is more dazed. My face is certainly redder.

Shit.

In the next instant, the gap is closed and his mouth is descending on mine. In a flash, warmth turns to heat that swirls through my veins and causes my skin to prickle. My breasts and my sex begin to swell. I taste the bitterness of the alcohol, but I don’t care. I lift my head to kiss him and arch up against him.

Some of the most perfect desserts are combinations of sugar and alcohol. And right now, Ben is one of them.

Suddenly, though, he pulls away, his head dropping beside mine as his body collapses. And before I can even fathom what is going on, I hear a single word escape his lips.

A name.

“Cathy.”

He says no more and moves no more.

“Ben?”

I hear a snore in response.

Great. Just great.

I push him off me just enough so I can crawl out from under him. I sit against a wall and sigh.

Cathy, huh? That must be the name of his wife. And I’m pretty sure that’s who the kiss was for.

Even so, I can’t help but feel excited. My heart is still pounding, my cheeks are still flushed, and my knees are still weak from the brief, unexpected contact. I know it was only our lips that touched, but I can feel my whole body buzzing, burning.

How can I be so worked up over a kiss that wasn’t meant for me, a kiss I never should have allowed Ben to give me?

I beat my head against the wall and shake my head. “Oh, Michelle, you are so stupid.”