Authors: Chantilly White
It was Sally's neighbor from New Year's Eve. The Princess.
Great.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Allison navigated the tables without looking up from her
phone, sacrificing her usual flair for making an entrance in the interest of
closing out her business for the day. She hated running behind.
"I'm so sorry I'm late—"
double-damned
Orange County traffic
"—just
give me one moment."
Depositing her coat, scarf and handbag on the chair next to
the one she dropped herself into, and finishing up a strongly-worded text to
the baker bitch, Allison tossed the phone into her bag, turned emphatically
off
. She didn't want even a silent vibration
interrupting what promised to be a pleasant lunch with a handsome man.
"Whew!" she said, giving her hair a quick fluff.
"There."
Turning on her most brilliant smile, she finally looked up.
And found herself skewered by a pair of the most intensely-green eyes she'd
ever seen. Her breath stopped mid-inhale. The only thought in her head was,
"Well, damn it, I'm not ready for you," even as her heart sighed,
"
There
you are," as though the
man sitting across from her was the critical missing piece in the puzzle of her
life.
Which was just ridiculous. There was nothing missing from
her life. Nothing. But. . .
Oh, boy.
The man had half-risen out of his seat, as though he'd
intended to pull her chair out for her but hadn't gotten the chance. Wow, he
was huge. Had she read that in his profile? She dated a lot of tall
men—she preferred them, since she was so tall herself—and it was
hard to gauge his full height behind the table, but he might be one of the
tallest she'd been out with in a while. Every inch of him radiated a dangerous
sort of sophistication. He wasn't Wall Street by any stretch, but he could
probably chew up a suit or three for breakfast, then play a round of golf with
the fourth.
A little snap of sexual heat sizzled across her pulse
points. She resisted licking her lips.
He sat again, those incredible eyes narrowed and glued to
hers. There was something familiar about him, something. . . She couldn't put
her finger on it. It was probably just his Cupid's Cavalry membership photo
tripping her up, but his expression was definitely off. He didn't look remotely
happy to see her. Men were
always
happy
to see her.
How odd.
Mesmerized, she stared and stared, as though she were
looking down a tunnel, unable to tear her gaze from his. Bells rang and
fireworks exploded, just like the women in her family had always claimed. The
rest of the restaurant and its patrons faded into soundless white mist at the periphery
of her vision. For several long, hard beats of her heart, they were the only
two in existence.
"Miss. . . Kelly?" the man said, and she shivered.
His voice echoed down the silent tunnel, rough and deep. The rumble slid inside
her bloodstream like molten lava, igniting tiny flames atop every nerve ending
it touched.
Crap-crap-crap.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, Allison nodded, her field of
vision widening slowly to take in the rest of him. And oh, what a vision. A
weathered face of granite-hewn features carved by a master sculptor, a strong
neck, and militarily-erect posture. Deep-set, boldly green eyes, and even
deeper grooves alongside his wide, unsmiling mouth. Surely those grooves meant
dimples, if he'd only smile. A hard, square chin, those lips. . . And a body
designed for the spectacle of the Colosseum.
"Miss Kelly?"
Oh, my.
"A-Allison, please," she stammered, willing her
voice to work. "And you're Benjamin."
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Ben," he
said, the firm line of his mouth kicking up at the corner in a slight smile.
"Ben Turner."
Wow.
His deep voice slid along her skin like a caress. Rapid-fire
images of a lifetime spent with this man flashed behind her eyes—a baby
in his arms and another hanging off his shoulders. Teaching a toddler to ride a
bike, high school graduations. Insanely passionate lovemaking. An entire
history. It made her dizzy and breathless, even as her mind shouted at her to
stop the insanity.
Overheated, she grabbed the glass of water at her place
setting and sipped when she wanted to gulp it straight down and grab his, as
well.
Cupid's Cavalry hadn't done his membership photo justice,
and she must have skated right over his stats. The man was enormous, all broad
shoulders and bulging biceps outlined beneath his close-fitting black sweater.
His chiseled features and deeply tanned skin spoke of many hours spent
outdoors. Was he in construction? Her mind had blanked. His name floated alone
in the emptied space between her ears, the only concrete bit of information she
could grasp.
No, military! He was ex-military. And he liked to swim. That
explained the shoulders.
Sharp cheekbones jutted high and smooth, paler than the
upper half of his face, though they looked slightly sunburned. His hair was
gorgeous. Silky and full, perfectly cut, it waved back from his face like a
glossy pelt of many colors—chocolate, russet, bronze, gold, deep red. An
urge to run her fingers through it swept across her skin, making her fingers
tingle.
"H-how do you do?" she managed.
What the hell was wrong with her? She was the seductress,
the man-magnet, the woman who snagged her selections from a never-ending parade
of available men. They flocked to her. She graced them with her
presence—or not—on her whim. Yet here she was, stammering like a school
girl, dangerously close to a blush, her wits scattered about her like a deck of
cards flung into the air.
He's just a man, Allison!
Just a man, perhaps, but her sixth sense—the famous
Kelly women's Soul Mate Detector—was tapping a furious tattoo against the
wall of her shaky denial. His eyes. . .
This could not be happening now. She wasn't ready for him.
For forever. Why hadn't his profile photo issued her a warning?
Testing herself, Allison held her hand across the table to
shake, watching as his strong fingers engulfed hers in his massive paw. Hard
calluses brushed the softness of her palm, so pale against his sun-darkened
skin. The tingles turned to tremors, and she gasped. She couldn't help it.
Sensations swamped her. Her scalp felt ablaze, and trails of heat shot straight
to her toes.
And elsewhere.
"It's a pleasure," he said, but that indefinable
something still lurked in his eyes, making her doubt the sincerity of his
words.
Aware he still held her hand, Allison drew a deep breath,
trying to get herself back under control when all she wanted to do was climb
into his lap and wrap her legs around his waist. To plant her mouth at the
corner of his and kiss and lick and chew his firm, full lips between her teeth,
then kiss some more. Kiss him until his hard, unsmiling mouth softened and
opened and. . .
And she needed to regroup.
Their waiter appeared, and Ben let go of her hand. The loss
of contact left her buzzing with need, even as she breathed a tiny sigh of
relief for the reprieve. Maybe now she'd regain her usual iron control, though
her nipples ached and her panties grew steadily more damp with every passing
moment. This was
so
not her. She'd never
experienced such a reaction to a man in her life.
Some part of her had always believed the women in her family
exaggerated their tales of meeting their soul mates. Not that they lied,
exactly, just. . . embellished their stories for the sake of the retelling.
But now. . . now her perspective had shifted, as though
she'd been knocked sideways off her lofty pedestal, victim of a hammer blow
swung by a god.
It had to be a bad case of sexual frustration run amuck.
It'd been a long two weeks since New Year's, and she wasn't used to going for
so long without masculine attention.
Yes, that was it. Just frustration.
The server refilled Ben's iced tea and took her order for
the same, uttered through lips gone numb with tension. The waiter's departure
left a sea of awkward silence in his wake.
Desperate for words, Allison's brain fumbled for an opening.
"I'm sorry I was late," she said, then kicked herself for repeating
the apology.
Ben nodded, his head tilted just slightly to the left as he
considered her, and the kicked up side of his mouth rose a bit higher. "So
you said."
"It's just. . . I'm not, usually. Late. I value
punctuality. I mean—"
I value punctuality? What am I, his CEO? For cripes sake!
Flustered—and she was
never
flustered, damn it—Allison rubbed her thumb
across the inside of her opposite wrist, digging in with her fingernail, hoping
the tiny crescent-shaped pain would center her cart-wheeling emotions. Wishing
her racing pulse would slow. That hint of something familiar flashed in his
gaze again. Something. . .
"I just mean—"
She couldn't think straight. Did he have to stare at her so
intently? Those eyes of his were burning their way through to her soul, as
though he could read every thought in her head. Not that there were many in
there at the moment.
"I mean—"
God! Form a sentence, you
ninny!
The man—Ben—leaned toward her and grasped her
hand again. Fresh tremors shot across her body in a dizzying rush. This time,
when he smiled, he smiled fully. Strong white teeth, and yes, dimples. Deep,
friendly ones that changed the entire dynamic of his face from stern and
reserved to boyish and open in a heartbeat. The smile reached all the way to
his eyes, crinkling them at the corners and sending dancing golden lights
dashing through the green. She couldn't help but smile in return.
Oh, my God.
The Wall-Street-Rambo routine had already pushed her sexual
temperature soaring past the safety setting, but the combination of his
dangerous side and the pure charm now radiating from his handsome face tipped
her right over the lethal edge. If a person could truly fall into the depths of
another's gaze, surely she'd fall into his now. Whatever chaotic whirl of
thoughts had been tumbling through her brain ceased altogether.
"Allison," he said, his lips shaping her name like
a dream, "relax. It's not a problem."
"Uh. . ." She shook her head. Nope, no thoughts.
No words. None at all.
Breathing deeply, seeking calm, Allison closed her eyes for
a quick count of five, but when she reopened them, something niggled. Again.
She frowned. There was definitely something familiar about his rough, masculine
voice. A quality she recognized in his woodsy scent. The spicy warmth of it
wrapped around her senses like a caress, further stoking the secret fires
sizzling beneath her skin. Her already taut nipples tightened more, went nearly
painful as they strained against the fabric of her lacy bra, silently begging
for this man's touch.
Clearly, two weeks
sans
boy
toys was too long. Her body had gone into withdrawals, and it was affecting her
mind.
"O-okay, then," she said, her voice rasping in her
throat. "Well. Thanks. For understanding."
Tugging her hand from his, she rubbed her tingling palm
surreptitiously against her thigh. She'd experienced lust plenty of times, but
this was something. . . else. Something more. Something that had her mentally
stumbling down a steep and rocky slope, faster and faster, until she'd have no
choice but to crash into a heap at the bottom.
The more agitated Miss Allison Kelly became, the more Ben
liked her. He couldn't say why, exactly. Maybe the glimpse beneath the Perfect
Princess exterior humanized her in some way. Knocked her off her perfect
pedestal. Or maybe it was simply the deep, pure blue of her eyes. Regardless,
his initial resistance to her began to thaw.
The meaning of Sally's smirking mouth had become clear with
his first sight of his date. Allison exuded sensuality like a drug. Every head
had turned to watch her approach his table, male and female alike. Sally
probably thought getting him laid by her fiery-haired neighbor would help him
relax and ease him back into the dating scene.
That might be true, but sex with a near stranger wasn't on
his agenda.
She was all wrong for him, in any case. A party princess
like her would never suit a guy like him. He was too serious, too grounded, and
not looking for a casual hook up. Sex with her was off the table. But with the
pressure of those possibilities out of the way, at least he could relax and
enjoy lunch in the company of a beautiful woman.
If a deeper feeling stirred, something beyond simple
attraction, something not altogether welcome, it didn't mean he had to act on
it. His physical reaction to her, stronger than that first moment in her
garage, was insistent and unquestioning—me Tarzan, you Jane—and he
wouldn't mind swinging through the trees with her in his arms, if that was all
he wanted. His palm still throbbed where hers had touched, but that was just
sex. Important, sure. After a six-year hiatus of all but the most basic
physical needs, he'd thank whatever gods existed for his libido's return. But
it didn't drive the train. He was a healthy male. He could get hard if the wind
blew the right direction. Respect, trust, common interests—he was looking
for more than sex. For more than a party girl like her could offer.
Practice, Sally had said. If dating Allison was out of the
question, he'd at least get in some of that practice. It couldn't hurt.
"Should we, um, decide?" Allison asked, her hand
on top of her leather-bound menu. "Get it out of the way?"
When he agreed that was a good idea, she dove behind the pages
with a grateful nod, clearly eager for a distraction. His smile grew.