Chapter Four
“Ben Wright, this must be fate!” the woman who haunted his erotic dreams declared. “You flat on your ass in the very same foyer of a party I’m attending.”
“You again,” Ben grumbled. “That’s what I get for trying to help. Knocked on my ass and mocked by a pseudo-brunette.”
Missy pursed her luscious lips. “It’s not polite to mention a woman’s dye job.”
He shrugged. “It’s not polite to mention a man’s flat on his ass.”
She bit back a smile, clearly enjoying his unheroic fall.
Logan stopped by his side. They were as close as brothers, having grown up together, and were now business partners at Checkin, an online service that did background checks on personal caregivers and short-term contractors. Logan looked like a younger, wiry version of Josh, if Josh had light brown hair and a beard. His eyes held a hint of amusement. “I told ya not to approach him from behind. You know he’s got hair-trigger reflexes, wired for battle.”
Ben blew out a breath. “I know. I wasn’t thinking. I pulled back at the last minute and just put my hand on his shoulder instead of grabbing him and hauling him off.”
“You would’ve been hurting if you’d grabbed him.” Logan turned to Missy. “You see the whole thing? What the hell set him off?”
Missy grimaced. “Hailey was about to go upstairs with Blake Grenier.”
Logan shook his head. “Josh has a great girlfriend. So what if Hailey’s with Blake?”
“Grass is always greener,” Ben put in.
“Or maybe he has unresolved feelings for Hailey,” Missy said in a patient tone. Like she had to explain the intricacies of male-female relationships to the men. Raised by a single mom and then his grandmother, Ben was clued in to the subtle undercurrents women put out.
Logan threw his hands up. “You can’t talk to him about it. I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to want Hailey, and he’ll take your head off for even mentioning he should just get her out of his system.”
“Why doesn’t he want to want her?” Missy asked.
Logan got quiet before saying, “You should ask him about it.” Logan took the two of them in. “It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?”
“Bah.” Ben socked Logan’s arm in a reassuring gesture. “He’ll be fine.”
“I’m going in,” Logan said, inclining his head toward the party noise.
“I’ll catch up,” Ben said.
Logan lifted a brow, a smile playing over his lips. “Is that so?”
“Get out of here.” Ben shoved his shoulder, and Logan walked off with a laugh. Ben turned to Missy, taking in her tight black dress with cleavage on full display. His mouth went dry. Her waist was small, her hips curvy, toned legs, and black high heels. He forced his gaze back to her beautiful face, his voice rough. “So here we are again.”
“I told you we’d keep running into each other. The web is too thick to escape.”
He blinked. “The web?”
She waved airily. “Your friends, my friends, all the vows of forever.”
He rolled on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, that seems to be going around.”
A butler guy appeared out of nowhere. “May I take your coat, sir?”
“Sure.” He handed it over, and the guy disappeared to wherever he came from. There were probably secret tunnels in an old palace like this.
Missy cocked her head. “You don’t buy into it?”
He did a quick rewind. Oh, yeah. The guys getting shackled. “Do you?”
“No.”
He relaxed. Now this was someone he could have some fun with. No worries about future demands of commitment. “I don’t believe in marriage.”
“The institution? Interesting. Why not?”
“I’ve never seen a good one. Have you?”
“My sister.”
“I guess there are exceptions,” he allowed.
“What about your friends?”
“Remains to be seen. Early days yet.”
Her brown eyes lit with amusement. “You’re a true pessimist, aren’t you?”
He gave her his dimpled smile, pouring on the charm. “Not at all. I just need to see it to believe it.”
“Darn. I’m a glass half empty kind of person.”
“My condolences.”
She laughed.
He leaned close, breathing in her floral scent. He loved that she smelled so girly when she talked so tough. “If fate keeps bringing us together, maybe we should stop resisting.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get back to the party.”
“Not so fast. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t feel something during our incredibly hot make-out session.”
She looked up at him, completely unfazed. “You looking to get laid?”
Yes. “Missy, I’m offended.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “No big deal. An itch you need to scratch once in a while, right?”
He was speechless. Had he really just met the perfect woman? Casual sex, fun and flirty banter, no commitment. She was ringing every bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!
She continued in her practical wonderful way. “I normally would say bring it on, but we know too many of the same people. It would be so awkward to keep running into each other.”
Damn. It was all sounding so good until the “but.”
“Awkward,” he echoed.
“Yeah.”
He took her hand. “What if it wasn’t awkward?” He could be very smooth and, if she would just keep on being practical, they could have a lot of fun.
She pulled her hand from his. “You seem harmless, but…”
I’ll see your but and raise my but! “Well, I am harmless, but I feel a little dirty now.”
“I didn’t realize you were so delicate. Forget I said anything.”
“I can’t forget it.”
“Whatever.”
He wanted her bad. No way around it. “How about…” He trailed off as her phone rang and she pulled it from her tiny purse.
He waited while she spoke in a smooth professional tone, then hung up, and smiled. “Work stuff?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m only working mornings at my regular job. I’m an admin at a construction company, and this is their slow season. Anyway, I just wanted to pick up some extra cash for the holidays. Now I can. I start the day after Thanksgiving.”
He read between the lines. “Things are tight? How much do you need?” Checkin was doing so well they were looking for investors to take it to the next level. He could easily help her out.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly, her expression tight. “Just for a little gift spending.”
In that instant he knew everything was not “fine.” His natural impulse to help a woman in need made him consider offering her a job instead of a handout. He sensed she’d respond better to that, and they could use an admin at Checkin. Theirs would be out until after the New Year. Patty’s daughter just had her first baby and she’d gone up to Vermont to be with her. The filing had been piling up, and he and Logan hadn’t done any of the data entry for weeks now.
He clamped his mouth shut. If Missy worked for him, with this intense attraction, it would be like shooting himself in the foot. Why put temptation in front of him every day for weeks that he absolutely could not act on? It would hurt Checkin’s chances with investors if it looked like he had a pattern of acting inappropriately with women he employed. Not that he ever had, but his reputation already had a blemish on it through no fault of his own.
Six months ago, Ben had helped out a college friend by hiring his cousin Ashley to work sales and marketing for Checkin. It didn’t work out. After three months with zero results, Ben let her go. Then she accused him of sexual harassment. He’d been sick over it. That was not him, and if his mother had been alive to hear about it, he would’ve died of shame. He’d been raised to treat women with respect and he did. He was a total professional. He’d never even been alone with her. Half the time she worked from home and probably hadn’t even been working. Logan had loyally stood by him. Eventually, Ben was cleared of all charges, but the damage was done. His reputation was sullied even to have been accused and, if he was really honest, it changed him too. He was a lot more mistrustful of women in general.
The harassment charge was his dark secret, though word had leaked out through some business channels, which was the whole reason Logan was taking the lead for the investor meetings in January.
He gave Missy a small smile. “Good luck with your new job. What’ll you be doing?”
Missy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Uh, just a temp job.”
“What kind of temp job?” he asked, curious why she was blushing.
She cleared her throat before mumbling, “Customer service.”
“Get in here!” Claire exclaimed, appearing in the foyer. “Jake and I have a big announcement.”
“Coming!” Missy called, sounding immensely relieved. Odd.
He followed her through the house toward the sound of a crowd. “Think she’s pregnant?” he asked Missy under his breath.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Missy said.
They reached the back of the house, where a large conservatory was filled with people. Claire stood on a chair, and Jake whistled loudly, bringing a hush to the room. Claire looked down at him. “Thanks, honey.” She stretched her arms wide and beamed. “Jake and I bought a house in Connecticut with land for horses—”
“And dogs!” Jake put in.
“Yes!” Claire said on a laugh. “And dogs. And hopefully kids soon, though I’m not pregnant—”
“Yet!” Jake held up a finger. “Though we’re practicing every chance we get.”
“Jake!”
He grinned, looking up at her adoringly. “What?”
Claire shook her head at him, smiling. “It’s only a half hour away from Clover Park, and I cannot wait to have everyone over. We move in January.”
Missy and her friends cheered the loudest.
“Oh, that’s so nice,” Missy said in a breathy choked voice. “A family and home.” She rushed forward, where her friends had gathered around Claire, the women exclaiming excitedly to finally have Claire living nearby. She normally travelled all over the world to her movie locations. Sounded like she and Jake were putting down roots, settling down.
Ben couldn’t imagine that life for himself. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone close, with his mom’s long battle with cancer, and never wanted to feel that kind of pain again. Missy seemed really choked up about the family and home thing. She’d said she didn’t believe in long-term. Now he wasn’t so sure if he believed her.
~ ~ ~
The homeless shelter in South Norfolk, a forty-minute drive from Clover Park, was new for Missy yet familiar at the same time. Cinder-block walls, cheap vinyl flooring, the long communal tables in the dining room, the smell of disinfectant in the air. None of it said “home” to her, but it had been her salvation as a teen living on the streets, running low on cash and food.
She’d met other teen girls who’d turned to prostitution to survive, but she couldn’t stomach the idea. She’d run away at fifteen to escape her new “uncle,” a man who believed living in the same house made her fair game. Her aunt hadn’t protected her, probably because she resented being her guardian after Missy’s parents died. Missy had made her peace with it. Her early life—orphaned at ten, running away at fifteen, bouncing through shelters and then foster homes, married young to an abusive husband, all of that hell—had only made her stronger. She knew beyond a doubt she could take care of herself, knew she was a survivor. And she gave back so other people in similar difficult circumstances would know they could survive too.
Normally she volunteered at church on Thanksgiving for the handful of people who showed up there for a hot meal, but this year the church had decided to bring the hot meals to the few people who needed them. She went straight to the kitchen for her three to seven p.m. shift. The place was already abuzz with activity. She quickly located the sign-in and was greeted warmly by a woman in her fifties wearing a canary yellow track suit, her dark hair neatly tucked into a hairnet.
“Hi, I’m Missy Higgins, reporting for the three to seven shift.”
“Nice to meet you, Missy. I’m Leah. Did you book your volunteer appointment ahead of time? We’re all booked up for the day.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” She picked up a clipboard with the sign-in sheet and located Missy’s name, checking it off. “You can tuck your things in the closet.” She gestured toward the back of the kitchen. “Grab an apron and hairnet. We start serving at five.” Leah looked around the busy space. “We’ll put you on potato duty.”
“You got it.”
Missy quickly stored her coat. She’d skipped the purse, preferring only the basics in her back jeans pocket. Not that everyone at the shelter was a thief, but desperate people sometimes did desperate things. She didn’t judge anyone for where they were at. Survival was an instinct and one she’d felt on a primal level as a teen.
She reported for potato duty a few minutes later, apron and hairnet in place. A young couple were already at work peeling the potatoes and setting them in large metal bowls. “Hi, I’m Missy, your potato-duty helper.”
“I’m Hannah,” the woman with purple hair in two low pigtails said. “This is Jackson. Could you wash and dry some more potatoes for us? We’re on a roll here with the peeling. Sacks of potatoes are along the far wall.”
“Yup.” She hauled a large sack of potatoes to the prep sink, set down some paper towels, and grabbed a scrub brush. Soon she got into a rhythm, the sound of the running water and the repetition of scrub and rinse putting her into a nearly Zen state. So when a masculine voice said, “I’ll dry,” she nearly jumped out of her skin.
He laughed. “Sleeping on your feet?”
Her heart still pounding, she turned and met Ben’s mischievous blue eyes. Maybe fate really was putting him in her path. He was here of all places, smelling like fresh soap and warm spice, looking more gorgeous in a hairnet than any man had a right to. His lips curved into a dimpled smile that made her knees weak.
“You do remember me, don’t you?” Ben asked in a teasing voice. “I didn’t dye my hair like some people.”
“What’re you doing here?” she asked softly.
“I always come here on Thanksgiving.” He grabbed some paper towels and began efficiently drying potatoes and putting them in a large plastic bowl. “It was a tradition with my mom.”
She bobbed her head and went back to work, having a weird out-of-body experience, staring down at herself and Ben volunteering together on Thanksgiving Day. He had depth, love for his family, caring for others less fortunate. He wasn’t just a gorgeous flirt. He was the total package. All of these thoughts floated through her mind before she returned to reality, suddenly hyperaware of him. His tall, muscular build made her feel safe not wary like she sometimes was with men. His gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up, jeans that molded to his frame, the way he moved—all of it said he was comfortable in his own skin. He seemed tough enough to handle her, not needing the sweetness and light men seemed to prefer in a woman. And he was so, so sexy. She rapidly dismissed every reason why she couldn’t have him and then just as quickly reversed it. He was making her nuts.
“No joke about this fate business?” he asked.
She forced a laugh even as the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention. It did feel like fate, and she didn’t even believe in fate. She secretly laughed at people who believed in such a ridiculous thing. A magical force bringing people together? Ha! Yet it felt right. Every instinct in her body pointed toward him.
“You okay?” he asked.
Her natural defensiveness melted at the real concern in his voice. “I’m good, thanks. Is your mom here too?”
He stared at the potatoes. “No. She, uh, passed.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful reminder.”
He met her eyes, his voice gruff with emotion. “It’s okay. It was a while ago. She died of brain cancer after a ten-year battle.” He cleared his throat. “I was fifteen.”
A jolt went through her. She’d been fifteen when her life took a turn for the worse too, running away from home. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.”
He nodded. “She was a social worker, true heart of gold. Anyway, she always volunteered here, so I do too. In a way, it’s like she’s here with me.”
Her eyes got hot. She was not a crier, but he’d shared from the heart, and that touched her deeply. Throat tight, she turned off the water, facing him while she reached deep down for a rare sharing of confidences. “I get that. I go to church because it reminds me of my parents. They died when I was ten in a car accident. I was at a friend’s house.”
His expression softened, his voice sympathetic. “Sorry to hear it.” He paused before saying quietly, “I know that pain never really goes away. You just learn to live with it.”
Her chest ached in this rare moment of connection with someone who really understood the deep pain of loss. She had the strangest impulse to hug him, lifting her hands as she leaned a little closer and then pulling back, dropping her hands.
He squinted at her. “Were you about to hug me?”
Her cheeks burned furiously, mortified to be caught in an awkward hug impulse. “No.”
“I don’t mind. Here, I’ll start.” He opened his arms to her.
She hesitated only a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist, giving him a small squeeze. His arms wrapped around her back in a warm hug that made her feel surrounded by pure radiant love. She didn’t question it, only soaked it in.
“We could use some more potatoes down here!” Jackson called.
Missy jerked away from Ben.
“Shut up, Jackson,” Hannah said. “They were having a moment.”
“Sorry to hold up the line,” Ben called, passing a couple of bowls of potatoes down to them.
Missy stood there, frozen. She’d shared too much, exposed herself.
Ben waved a hand in front of her face. “Stop your daydreaming and get back to work, Missy.” He grinned. “It sounds like I’m calling you lowercase missy, but you are Missy. Melissa, right?”
She gave herself a mental shake. “Yes, Benjamin.”
“It’s Benward.”
She stared at him.
He grinned. “Kidding. It’s Benjamin.”
She turned the water back on and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. If she kept talking, she feared she’d blurt her entire life story right here in the middle of a busy kitchen full of strangers. He’d shared, so she shared. No more. She didn’t want to dwell on the past. She only ever shared like that with her sister, the most nonjudgmental loving person Missy had ever met.
“Wanna switch?” Ben asked. “I wash, you dry.”
“No, I’m good.”
“There’s ten more sacks of potatoes plus more in the back.”
“Check in with me in an hour.”
A few minutes passed in silence before Ben said, “Cranberry-sauce duty is a lot more fun. Just some stirring and it smells so good.”
She kept scrubbing potatoes and passing them over. “Then what’re you doing over here on potato duty?”
“Why do you think I’m over here on potato duty?”
A shiver went down her spine. Her? He’d chosen the worst chore in the place because of her?
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
“You’re dense.”
She glared at him. “I am not.”
“Duh.”
“Oh, that’s real mature.” She went back to scrubbing.
“Missy Higgins,” he said in a mock offended voice, “I am not leaving here today until you admit it’s fate that brought us together. It’s happened too much to be coincidental.” His voice took on a deep robotic tone. “Resistance is futile.”
She shook her head, focused on her chore. “You seriously believe in fate?”
“Not until you.”
Shiver upon shiver, goose bumps on top of goose bumps. She risked a look at him, and he gazed back steadily with no hint of dimpled amusement. Her breath caught. She swore and went back to work. He chuckled in a deep rumble by her side.
Harmless flirt, harmless flirt, she repeated to herself in a mantra, though she was beginning to believe Ben was much more dangerous to her carefully structured safe life than that.
They fell into an easy rhythm, working another hour on potatoes before switching over to assembling stuffing ingredients in large pans. Ben kept up the conversation, asking about her job and telling her about his and Logan’s company Checkin, a background-check service for employers. How she wished her current employer had used their service before hiring Matt last spring; then Missy would’ve known he was married. For sure she’d suggest they use it going forward. They often had to add a crew of short-term contractors for big jobs.
The dinner hour arrived, and she and Ben worked side by side at the hot-food station, serving up food to the long line of people. They talked little, but she was tuned in to him. He made eye contact with every single person he served, speaking in a warm friendly voice, even to some of the surly old men, and he joked around with the kids. Her heart just about burst. His mom must’ve set a tremendous example for him. Or maybe he inherited her compassionate nature. Either way, she knew how rare that was in people, and it made her admire him even more.
Dinner finished serving at seven, which was also when her shift ended.
“You up for cleanup?” Ben asked, heading back to the kitchen with her. “I’ll wash this time. You dry.”
“Sure,” she said, even though she was tired from being on her feet. If Ben had more to give, then she could too.
She joined him at a sink full of soaking pots and large pans. “Wow, that’s a lot of scrubbing.”
“I’ve got the muscle power.” He grabbed a scrub pad and got to work. “Many hands make light work,” he said with a wink. “My mom used to say that.”
Missy grabbed a dish towel. “You must’ve inherited her heart-of-gold gene, with all your selfless volunteering.”
“Actually, I’m adopted, but thanks.”
She couldn’t breathe for a moment. The similarities in their paths were too glaring to ignore.
“You’re volunteering too,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He handed her a pot.
She took it and somehow fumbled it, the pot hitting the floor with a clatter. They both went to pick it up at the same time. Down on one knee, mirror images of each other, their gazes locked.
Ben handed the pot to her. “You must be getting tired,” he said gently.
“I was adopted too,” she whispered. “As a baby. It was my adoptive parents who died.”
His eyes widened. “Me too, all of it.” He rubbed his exposed forearm covered in goose bumps.
She bit her lip.
He reached for her elbow and guided her up with him. “What’re the odds?” he asked, shaking his head.
“I know,” she managed, a slight tremor in her voice. It was both freaky and comforting at the same time. He knew what it was like to live with the knowledge your mother gave you up. He knew what it meant to have a good adoptive family and then lose them. Their similar histories seriously made her believe in the mystical, a force greater than herself at play here. He just might be the only person on the planet who really got her.
Several minutes passed in silence while they worked, except for the din of other volunteers’ conversations as dishes were scraped and piled into dishwashers or set in sinks to soak.
She studied his profile, his short light brown hair emphasizing his masculine features, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, lightly stubbled jaw. He turned, giving her a warm look that said fate. She heard it just like he’d said it out loud, and it was really starting to freak her out.
Maybe they weren’t all that similar. Maybe his dad was there for him the whole time and he hadn’t felt alone like she had as a kid.
“Is your dad still around?” she asked.
He handed her a pot. “He split when I was two, so it was just me and Mom for a real long time. But Joe Campbell was an honorary dad. Mom set me up with the Police Athletic League on his baseball team. She knew Joe was a good man with a lot of sons. She wanted me to have that male influence.”
She swallowed hard. They were spookily similar. She kept asking questions, needing to know if they’d actually lived parallel lives. “Then, later, your grandmother took you in?” She figured it must’ve went down that way because he was close with her. Missy had made the mistake of immediately sending a letter to her biological mom, asking her to take her in after her adoptive parents died. She had her mom’s address from the birthday cards she’d sent. Missy never heard back. Her parents hadn’t made a will, so the court appointed her adoptive mom’s sister to take her in, who made it clear she was doing Missy a big favor, all while bitterly lamenting how little money social services provided for her care. The small proceeds from her parents’ estate were squandered by her aunt before Missy ever saw a cent. She pushed that dark memory away, realizing Ben was talking.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I missed that last part. Did you say your grandmother moved into your place, or did you have to move to hers?”
“The first. But my family always felt bigger than that with the Campbells and all the other strays like me that hung around their house. I was one of the younger boys—Ty, Alex, me, and Logan. Parker was our age too, but he came along later.”
“So you were happy?” she asked.
He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I take happiness where I can find it.”
“That’s smart.”
“What about you?”
She shrugged, not willing to share any more of her tumultuous early life. “Like you, I take happiness where I can find it.”
He went back to scrubbing a pot. She went back to drying.
A few minutes later, he handed her the next pot to dry. “What’re you doing after this?”
“Why?”
He leaned close, giving her a sexy smile. “Because I’d like to do whatever you’re doing.”
Heat surged through her, her pulse skyrocketing. “I was planning on a hot bath with a glass of wine.”
He winked. “It’s smart to conserve water.” He went back to work, whistling to himself.
She didn’t know what to say. She wanted him, no question, but something held her back. She felt like she was on a high wire with no idea how she got there, unsure if it made more sense to retreat or rush forward and risk the fall. But then he made it easy for her.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. That mischievous look was back in his eyes, dimpled smile on full display. “How about tomorrow we jet off to Vegas for a long weekend. What happens in Vegas—”
She cooled. “I hate Vegas.”
“How can you hate a playground?”
“Because it’s my biological mother’s playground. She’s a dancer, and I use the term loosely.”
He glanced at her, a light of surprise in his eyes, but no judgment. “Okay, so no Vegas.” He washed a tray, rinsed, and handed it to her.
“Anyway, I don’t have money for frivolous trips.”
“I would’ve covered you.”
She clenched her jaw. “I pay my own way.” Paying her own way meant she was in charge of her life, taking care of herself. No man would ever hold the purse strings again no matter how enticing the offer.
He blew out a breath, but refrained from commenting. Smart man. She supposed, being raised by his mom and grandmother, he knew how to avoid land mines of conversation. She liked that. She didn’t have the patience to bring a guy up to speed on woman speak.
They resumed working in silence. The tension was thick in the air—do-or-die moment fast approaching. If she turned him down now, after all they’d shared, he wasn’t ever coming back. On the other hand, if they went somewhere together, well, what was the worst that could happen? Something heavy, deep, a relationship. But he’d said he didn’t believe in long-term commitment. In fact, hadn’t he said he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? In which case, he would expect something casual and light. That might work.
But then what about after the casual and light with all their mutual friends?
She watched him. His big, bulky-with-muscle, masculine self competently tackling a domestic chore. He was exceptional.
Maybe just for tonight. One night.
When they finished all the dishes, Ben dried his hands and turned to her, plucking his hairnet off and then hers. “This hair,” he said, staring at her hair, “such a shame. All that gorgeous red. You hardly ever see a natural redhead.”
She rolled her eyes, took off her apron, and made her way over to the laundry basket near the back door, tossing it in.
Ben followed her, wadding up his apron and throwing it in like a basketball. “Will you ever go back to red?”
She sighed. “I look like my biological mother with red hair. That’s why I hate it. Every once in a while, I let it go natural, but then I can’t stand it. I also got her big lips, but I’m stuck with those.”
Ben stared at her mouth. “Missy, that mouth. Swear to God it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She put her fingers to her lips. “But—”
“Trust me.” He leaned down to her ear to whisper, “That mouth has starred in some very erotic dreams of mine.”
She scowled, not at all appeased. “See? I have porn-star lips.”
He traced the dip in her upper lip with his index finger before pressing on her plump lower lip. “You have luscious sweet lips I want to feast on.”
Her lips parted on a soft exhale. He smiled but made no move to kiss her. Instead, he dropped his hand, his gaze moving from her lips to her hair. “Do you still see your Vegas mom?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why does she get to decide how you wear your hair?”
“Why do you get to decide?” she returned.
His eyes danced with amusement. “You’re a prickly one.” He went to the closet and pulled out his black leather jacket, pulling it on. “I’ll call you cactus from here on out.”
She found her black wool coat and shoved her hands in the sleeves, irritated by the nickname, probably because it hit a little close to home. Her defenses sprang right up when someone pushed her. “Let me guess, you normally call your women sweetie or honey bunny.”
He laughed out loud. “Honey bunny, that’s a good one. No, I call them by their name. Maybe throw in a—” he dropped his voice, low and husky “—sexy thing if it’s warranted.”
Her cheeks heated, her neck too, and so many more southerly parts. “We should say goodbye to Leah.”
“Sure, she’s an honorary aunt. She was close with my mom.”
She swallowed hard, his openness about his loss bringing a visceral deep empathy. She bumped his shoulder in a small gesture of affection, drawing a smile from him that reached his eyes, warm and tender. She wobbled for a moment, not used to warm and tender, before she walked over to where Leah was busy wiping down the counter. Ben followed close behind.
“We’re heading out,” Missy said. “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”
Leah put the sponge down and gave Missy a warm smile. “You too, sweetheart. Thanks so much for your help.” She turned to Ben. “There’s my Super Ben. Your mom was looking down on you from heaven today.”
“Super Ben to the rescue,” he murmured. “I felt her.”
Leah nodded, her eyes shiny, before giving him a hug. She pulled away and said to Missy, “This guy is a keeper. Good people.”
“Aww, thanks,” Ben said. “High praise from my aunt always gives me a boost with the ladies.”
“Oh, you!” Leah said, cackling and shaking her head.
“Bye,” Ben said, kissing Leah on the cheek. He took Missy’s hand, surprising her, his larger hand enveloping hers in a firm clasp as he guided her through the kitchen and out to the dining room. She wasn’t much of a hand holder, wasn’t used to affectionate gestures at all, really. A hug here and there. Sex, yes. Hand holding, no. Before she could decide how she felt about it, they were on the front sidewalk and he let go.
“Welp…” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, not sure how to finish that sentence. Goodbye? Come over? It’s been real?
Ben closed the distance between them, instantly spiking her temperature despite the chilly November night. He pushed her hair back over her ear before gazing directly into her eyes, his voice gentle. “Tell me what you want.”
“Nothing,” she whispered. She never dared want anything. She got what she needed and that was enough.
His big hand cradled her jaw, tipping her face up to his. “What can I offer you is a better question.”
That was a better question. Something she could handle. She licked her lips and he watched the movement. “If you’re offering what I think you’re offering…”
His thumb stroked her cheek. “I am.”
She swallowed, her stomach fluttering, on that high wire again, terrified of falling. “One night.”
“One night,” he agreed. “And no spending the night.”
It was everything she’d hoped for—clear-cut boundaries, passion with no hard feelings after. A little voice in her head warned it couldn’t possibly be that easy, but she was done denying herself. “Deal.”
He dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers. “How about we start tonight?” He kissed her for real then, his mouth hungry and hot, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against his hard body and intoxicating heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pressing closer, needing more of him, not caring about anything but the raw animal instinct that drove her. Sex, that was all it was. Yes, yes, yes.
He pulled away so suddenly she lost her balance. He steadied her, then took her hand in his, this time entwining his fingers with hers as they walked to the parking lot. She decided she liked holding hands with Ben. She liked it a lot.
She couldn’t wait to find out what else she liked with him.