Authors: Chantilly White
There was no fear in her gaze this time, thankfully, as he'd
sensed in her garage on New Year's Day. Well, not fear exactly, but the healthy
wariness of a single woman, living alone, catching a big, strange man in her
space. Understandable, but he didn't want her to feel threatened.
He was used to that reaction. A lot of women were
intimidated by his size, at least until they got to know him, but he went out
of his way to put people at ease in his presence.
The women who came on to him strictly because of his size
were worse. There was a certain darkness he sensed in their characters that put
him off, as though they wanted him to dominate them. Maybe hurt them. He didn't
understand those women. He didn't
want
to understand those women.
Allison gave off neither vibe. Maybe she was still a
snob—she definitely hadn't liked the look of the hairy giant he'd been at
her party—but he didn't really blame her for her reaction. That
hippie-throwback style had served him in his travels. It didn't work so well in
the concrete wilds of Orange County.
But he liked that he was making her nervous.
He liked it a lot.
It had been a long time since he'd been the cause of any
woman's speeding pulse, but Allison's had galloped beneath his fingers when he
touched her wrist. Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed. With every
crack splintering her confident outer shell, his own confidence strengthened.
Her mouth was a soft, lush temptation on that perfect face
of hers. He wondered what she'd do if he reached over and stroked his thumb
along her plump bottom lip.
The waiter returned, interrupting his musings. Just as well.
He needed to remember this lunch was only practice. Nothing more.
Allison rattled off her order in a breathy rush. Had his
scrutiny done that? Stolen her breath? He hoped so.
Ben raised a brow at her selections and had to work to keep
his amusement to himself. She wasn't the only one guilty of stereotyping by
appearance, the way she'd done to him in the garage. Going by her model-slim
figure and high-fashion dress code, he would have bet on a small side-salad and
a sugar-free drink. Instead, she'd ordered a double-cheeseburger with the
works, cheesy fries on the side, and she'd already poured three sugar packets
into her tea.
Grinning, Ben ordered the same, handing the menus to the
departing waiter. He liked a woman who could eat.
He liked her, more than he'd thought he would. More than he
should, on ten minutes worth of acquaintance with a swizzle-stick princess he'd
already dismissed as hot-as-hell but not his type.
Allison was studying him in return, that little frown
between her brows again. Trying to figure him out. What did she see when she
looked at him? Her eyes roamed his face as though reading a map, looking for
signposts. He didn't think she realized she was stroking her right index finger
in slow, sensual circles on the linen tablecloth.
He imagined her doing so on his skin. Good thing he wore a
long-sleeved sweater. It covered the goose bumps that vision raised.
Cut it out, man. No sense torturing yourself.
"So," she said finally. "What do you do,
Ben?"
Distracted by her hands, it took him a moment to answer.
"I'm in the middle of several projects right now,"
he said, cursing himself for not having a better answer ready for that
particular question. He wasn't ready to discuss his plans with a casual
acquaintance, and he never discussed his financial situation.
The lines between her brows deepened. "You're an
entrepreneur?"
A few of her wild copper curls had caught on the lip of her
sweater's wide neckline. He focused his gaze on them to avoid her searching
eyes. His fingers itched to brush the curls aside and expose the long, pale
length of her throat above the wine-colored fabric. He'd like to press his lips
right there, to the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck. He shifted
forward in his seat, just close enough to catch her scent. Feminine, floral,
mysterious. Woman.
"You could say that," he said.
The ideas he'd come up with while traveling would take him
in many different directions over time. On his tour in the military, then again
on his extended journey, he'd witnessed deprivation no human being should
suffer. A deep, stirring need to help had surged inside his soul. He might not
have to work, but he needed to give back. Needed the stimulus, the challenge,
and his plans were close to his heart.
He'd found his purpose. He'd done what he could as he went
from place to place, but his resources had been limited on the road—lending
his hands and back had done some good, he hoped, but he would accomplish more
from behind a desk than in the field. It was that fact, more than anything,
that finally brought him out of his introspection, his grief, and turned his
feet toward home. He needed access to people and funds, assistance with plans
he couldn't implement from the distant outposts of the world.
Some problems—too many—were beyond his
capabilities to address, but others. . . those he could, and would, put his
wealth and energy into fixing.
"I joined the army after high school," he said,
"but after that, I wanted something that was mine. My decisions, my rules,
not answering to anyone else."
His non-answer seemed to satisfy Allison, because she smiled
and said, "Me, too. Well, not the military part, but isn't it great being
your own boss?"
"I never was a good employee."
Nodding, Allison gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Me,
either. I have this problem with being told what to do and how to do it."
Appreciating her, Ben grinned. "Exactly."
After that, the conversation flowed more smoothly, the
voices of the other diners and the clinking of cutlery forming a backdrop to
the restaurant's piped in classical music. They talked sports and hobbies,
discovering a mutual love for football. Then books and music, though Ben was
careful to steer them away from movies, since he hadn't seen any in so long.
He tromped down on the kicks in his pulse every time she
laughed or smiled. He'd been out of the game a long time, but still, he was
amazed by the depth of his response to her. The sheer power of her presence
sank steadily into his bones, swam in his blood. His body revved.
Their food arrived, and he was happy to see her dig in. She
didn't pretend to be full after one or two bites. In his experience, a woman
who enjoyed her food was liable to enjoy other appetites as well. An image of
her, naked and heaving above him, her wild hair rioting over him, her golden
skin dewed with sweat, swam before his eyes. With effort, he shoved it to the
back of his mind to be taken out again later, explored and enjoyed at his
leisure.
Just because he didn't intend to touch didn't mean he
couldn't look. And dream.
Before he knew it, the check was on the table. It was time
to wind down the date. His inclination to extend it into the evening surprised
him, but he cast aside a slew of options for doing just that. It was better to
make a clean break, nip his one practice session in the bud, despite the
light-speed force of his pulse hurling through his veins. He didn't want to say
goodbye, but it was better this way.
Brushing aside her attempt to pay her half, he sat back a
moment to consider her. She blushed lightly under his regard, and that didn't
bother him one bit.
"Thank you for meeting me, Allison. I enjoyed the
lunch."
When she smiled, her whole face seemed to light from within,
and her blue eyes glowed. "Me, too."
"I'd like to call you," he said, "if that's
all right."
The words fell from his mouth without conscious thought, but
once uttered, he discovered they felt right. He couldn't be sorry. Maybe
another practice session wasn't such a bad idea.
Her smile grew. They exchanged numbers, and Ben entered hers
into his brand new cell phone, already overflowing with business contacts. She
was his only personal one, other than Sally and Sally's two daughters, Megan
and Marissa. He'd been so busy setting up his official plans, he'd yet to enter
his other friends' and family members' information.
Rising from the table, he put his hand to the small of her
narrow back and said, "I'll walk you to your car."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They strolled out of the restaurant in companionable
silence. Allison looked him over again out of the corner of her eye. There was
such a lot of him to appreciate, and oh, she did love big men. Especially ones
who knew how to dress and how to manage their size the way he did—he
moved well, with authority and athleticism, not like a lumbering giant.
A flash of him moving above her, sweaty and straining, made
the muscles in her thighs spasm. All that strength, all that skin and heat. . .
Whew.
She needed a feathered hand fan. She'd finally gotten her
sexual cravings and weirdly rollicking emotions locked down over burgers and
fries, thank God, but his long fingers burned against her back and his somehow
familiar scent played havoc with her senses. When she brushed against him, her
heart pounded and her breaths went short. She'd need a cold shower when she got
home.
And her vibrator.
She loved his height. Even in her high-heeled boots, she
barely came to his chin, and his width—all muscle—dwarfed her body.
She liked that he made her feel small and delicate, as she so rarely did at her
height, and protected somehow, even though she was perfectly capable of
protecting herself. She liked that he escorted her with his hand at her back,
and that he opened the door for her. So many guys their age had forgotten how
to act like gentlemen, or had been bred out of the habit by confident,
independent women determined to do it all for themselves. She considered
herself both confident and independent, a modern woman, but she still enjoyed
being treated like a lady.
Ben was a bit older, though, closer to thirty, and
ex-military. Chivalry seemed to come naturally to him. She liked that about
him. She liked the way he talked, and the way he listened to her, the way his
eyes warmed when he looked at her. She liked the way he filled out his clothes
and the way his hair glinted in the sunlight. He was too serious by half, not
her usual type at all, yet his scent made her hungry in ways that couldn't be
satisfied by food. Her body craved. Saliva pooled in her mouth.
His scent. . . there was something about his scent. A memory
niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn't grab the fragment. It
flittered away.
Instinct said he could take her to new heights in the
bedroom—or anywhere else—and her instincts were rarely wrong on
that score. If sexual attraction was all she felt for him, she'd drag him back
to her lair right now and pounce. But much as she wanted to deny it, it wasn't
all.
He was handsome, but she was used to dating handsome men.
There was something more to Benjamin Turner she didn't quite want to put her
finger on. Not yet. Something beyond mere attraction. Something the women in
her family had described all too well. Something dangerous to her heart.
Those crazy images threatened to return in a rush. Images of
Ben holding their child or brushing aside a strand of her hair, gone grey with
the years, to whisper in her ear. She squashed the pictures under the heel of
her firm grasp on reality.
Keep it casual, she reminded her inner match-maker.
"So, Ben," she said, her voice only slightly shaky
as they rounded the corner of the building toward the parking lot, "why
Cupid's Cavalry?"
He looked down at her with a bashful grin she found way too
adorable. "I could ask you the same."
Shrugging lightly, Allison kicked a pebble off the palm-tree
lined sidewalk with the toe of her boot. "DeeDee—the owner—is
a friend of mine. We do business together. Plus, it's fun to meet new
people."
"I doubt you need a dating service to meet
people."
"And you do?"
"I've been away. A lot."
Matching her casual shrug, Ben kept his gaze forward, making
her think there was more to it than that, but she didn't question his
statement. Despite their lunch conversation, and her rioting emotions, she
hadn't really learned much about him on a personal level. His reticence
intrigued her. She didn't think he was trying to be deliberately mysterious,
more that he was a little shy, or maybe just careful with his confidences. That
was okay. She'd enjoy digging beneath the surface over time.
Allison gestured to her siren-red late-model BMW. "This
is me. Thanks again for lunch."
Playing it cool, she unlocked the car and reached to open
the door. His eyes intent on hers, Ben placed his fingers on her wrist, holding
her in place the way she'd hoped he would. The skin-to-skin touch, even on such
a small scale, seared her like a brand.
He shifted closer to her slowly, stopping just short of
pressing his powerful body against her own. Subtle scents, masculine
flavors—heady enticements—hovered at the edge of her awareness,
beckoning her closer. The space between them throbbed with pent up desires and
the urge to tip forward, to complete the full-body contact, whistled along her
spine. Every tiny hair on her body stood straight up, electrified and yearning
toward him. Could he feel her trembling?
So much rode on a first kiss. Soft and sweet, wild and
hard—either way, they would learn something about each other with the
first touch of their lips.
With one hand, Ben cupped her cheek. The warm slide of his
palm, just a little rough, was a seductive caress against her skin. Resting his
other hand oh-so-lightly atop her shoulder, he lowered his mouth to within a
whisper of her lips. Her lids fluttered closed, and her breath caught. Every
nerve in her body sparked with tension, begged for his heat.