Authors: Cait Jarrod
The
sensual haze he generated anchored deep in her stomach, creating a sense they’d
found each other. Logically, she believed souls didn’t find one another and
people played a part in their own fate, but this connection, meeting of bodies
and minds, blew her theory.
She
gulped down the giant ball of emotion. Needing something else to think about,
she asked again, “Who’s this Ben guy?”
“Last
night, you called me Ben.”
That
part she remembered. “Why would I?”
“I
wondered the same.” He paused, studying her. “Have you spied on me?”
“No,”
she said on a half-laugh, lying a tad. Whenever FBI agents, or retired agents
in Jake’s case, dropped by The Memory Café, she’d looked for Larry. If he
showed up, she watched him through a window in one of the saloon doors. “Why
would you think I spied?”
“Benjamin
Larry Newman at your service.” He grinned.
Her
chin dropped. She hadn’t dreamed up the name. But how did she know to call him
Ben?
“Are
you all right?”
If
he only knew the workings of her mind, he’d run. She twirled the stem between
her fingers and flicked her gaze to his chest, appreciating the sight again…bare…muscular…wide
shoulders. Before she drooled, she wiped the edges of her lips and focused on
his eyes.
He
didn’t turn red this time and leaned in for another kiss. His chest rubbed
against hers, silk sliding across her sensitive nipples.
What
he did with the soft petals she couldn’t forget. Still, the nagging memory they
were at the schoolhouse stayed with her. She eased back. “The rose, did it come
from the bush at the manor?”
“It
did. You held the stem when I found you on the ground.”
“I
did?” her voice quaked. Lines muddled between what she hoped he did with her
and what actually happened.
He
tugged her close. “In time, you’ll remember everything.”
The
intimate touch of his warm chest pressing against her responsive breasts
increased her already elevated pulse. She sank more into his comfort, enjoying
the touch of him, and received a whiff of burning wood. “Why do you reek of
smoke?”
“I
should take a shower.” He shifted to rise.
She
clutched onto his hand. “No, it’s fine. Did you build a fire?”
The
mattress dipped from his body weight as he relaxed on the mattress. He held her
hand. “I did.”
She
remembered a woodstove in the schoolhouse. “At the manor?”
He
did the cuddly puppy thing again and tilted his head. “No. I cooked it
downstairs on your woodstove in the family room. I put the rest in the
refrigerator. Do you want some more?”
“More?”
“You
had a bowl last night. You told me your grandmother made chicken-noodle soup
the same way when you were a kid.”
“If
you say so.” She had no clue what she did or didn’t say. “I wasn’t quite
myself.”
“You
were lovely. You are lovely.”
She
stroked his five o’clock shadow. “Have you always been so sweet?”
A
robust laugh erupted. He kissed the palm of her hand. “I know some felons who
believe not.”
Larry’s
sincerity and considerate qualities put him on a whole other level than her
ex-husband. “I can’t imagine why you’re not married.”
The
compliment backfired. Larry’s expression turned impassive and his body went
rigid, cat-like, ready to flee.
She
read the signs…subject closed.
Since
the kidnapping, she’d seen him a few times, daydreamed about him. This gorgeous
FBI agent saved her and her son. How could she not fantasize? He never asked
her out, yet here she sat in her bed wearing a nightgown she hadn’t put on—with
him shirtless as if they hung out comfortably together every morning.
He
snuggled her into his embrace, pressing her face against his chest.
Memories
flooded her from the day he rescued her and her son. Her watery gaze had met
Larry’s across the battlefield, a magical moment passed between them. An
awareness she didn’t understand, yet knew it existed.
Last
night, his lips caressed hers. The intimacy, comforting, and soothing had
driven away the ghostly apparitions and animate objects.
Now,
the embrace sparked a fire so deep inside her she had to act.
“We
need to have a replay. The experience is worth remembering, or in this case,
repeating.” His whiskers brushed her cheek along with his breath.
The
tender words and touch made other body parts beg to be stroked. She sighed,
pulling back until her gaze met his. “Now?”
His
lips curled, his eyes brightened.
She
dove into the kiss and sought out what she’d wanted since the day she met him.
Kissing
him, the tightness in her chest, and wanting to press her naked breasts against
his skin, she got it. A magical attraction ran rampant between them, explaining
her perception she had moments ago, feeling like she’d come home to a place she
didn’t know existed.
Possessing
such a strong chemistry so easily with someone she didn’t really know
frightened her.
He
eased back, placed his hands on each side of her face, kissed her softly, and
gazed into her eyes. “I’d rather keep kissing you, but I have a few questions I
have to ask.”
She’d
forgotten about their deal. “Okay.”
He
grasped both of her hands. “This is delicate. Know that I have to ask.”
The
expression on his face bothered her. “Ask.”
“Did
you take any narcotics?”
She
had to admit her behavior last night was totally out of character, but Larry
asking her questions about her character after they had just had such an intimate
kiss bothered her. She pulled her hands free, pressed her back into the
headboard to put distance between them, and narrowed her eyes. “No.”
“My
questions won’t hurt.” He braced his hands on the mattress on either side of
her hips, trapping her in.
She
squirmed under his scrutiny.
“Do
you know anyone who works at Greenwood Manor?”
“No.”
“What
about the overseer, Jed Bradley,” he edged his upper body closer, “ever met
him?”
“No.”
“The
wine you drank on the back porch, did you bring it?”
“Who
was spying on whom?”
He
rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “My turn to ask the questions.” His
breath drifted across her face.
“No.”
“Here’s
the scoop. Last night your pupils were large and your behavior was erratic.
They’re signs of someone taking hallucinogens.”
She
studied him. Did he think she popped pills? “I drank wine, nothing more.”
“Okay.
If you didn’t bring the bottle, where’d it come from?”
“From
a basket on the porch.”
“Do
you make it a habit to take other people’s wine?”
Disappointment
snaked down her spine from his insensitive tone. “Are you irritating on purpose
or is it habit?”
He
laughed. “Touché.”
“And
no, I don’t. I thought I was locked out of the house. The bottle was there,
ready for the taking.”
“Didn’t
Paul give you a key?”
Larry
already thought she was nuts, she didn’t want to go into the ordeal of how the
house key was locked in her car. “Long story.”
“What
was in the basket?”
“A
bottle of wine and a glass.”
He
arched a brow. “Only one glass?”
“Yes.”
One
corner of his mouth rose. “Glad to know you can say the word.”
The
tension in her face lessened. “When warranted.”
“I hope I’m worthy of a
yes
one day.”
She
let out her anxiousness by blowing out a puff of air, the hair on her forehead
lifted. “You do know how to heat up a room.”
“My
charms are more than rusty. I’m glad they work.”
“Me,
too.”
“Charlene,”
the intensity of his voice grew, “I-I—” He groaned. “I want to take what we
have between us further.”
She’d
love to see what they might have between them. With her twisted history, not
being able to trust men, she didn’t know if it was wise or fair to Larry.
“But,
I don’t know if I can.”
Her
mouth fell open. She didn’t know what to say. Thinking the words and knowing
she’d only have to contend with her own wayward behavior was one thing, but for
him to express the same…it stung. She closed her eyes and shook her head,
figuratively shaking the cobwebs out of her mind. What a mess.
His
warmth surrounded her. She kept her eyes shut and let him pull her into his
embrace. She relaxed her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the smoky,
woodsy smell.
“Let’s
take this slow, okay?”
Slow
was good. She needed time to wrap her mind around everything, too. To see if
she could bury the hatchet of not trusting to be able to lower the walls she’d
built up around her heart.
“So
you know, when we are together, I don’t want any confusion if it’s a dream or
not or if I’m real or not.”
She
slid her arms around his back and held on.
Is
this man for real?
“As
for the wine, I think someone laced it with some sort of drug. I don’t know why
or if you were the intended target. Trust me, I will find out.”
“Mommy!”
The front door banged open.
She
pulled back and whispered, “It’s Henry. He can’t see you in here. He won’t
understand.”
“Mommy,
where are you?”
“Sweetie,
in my room,” she shouted and turned toward Larry.
He
moved off the bed and grabbed his shirt from the rocking chair.
Footfalls
banged on the steps, then the hall’s wood floors. Henry bounced into the room,
wearing a Spiderman costume, no mask, his blond hair dangling on his forehead.
He halted. His keen eyes skimmed over her in bed, the blankets pulled to her
neck, to Larry, now clothed, standing a few feet away.
The
only time Henry had seen Larry since the kidnapping was on occasion at The Memory
Café, a party situation. Here in her room, she didn’t know what he’d think.
“Mommy,
are you okay?” By the sullen words and the concerned expression, her son had
assumed the worst.
“Yes…no…Last
night,” she stuttered, not knowing how to describe what happened. “I was sick.
Agent Newman helped me.”
Her
son nodded. He held up an orange pumpkin and dumped the contents onto the bed.
“Look at the candy.”
She
curled over and moved the pieces of candy and mini games from a bubble gum
machine around.
Larry
joined them. “You made a killing, little man.”
Henry
glanced up, smiled, and giggled. “I’m only seven.”
“Really?”
Larry rocked back on his heels. “I thought you were at least ten.”
The
grin on Henry’s face stretched. Charlene loved seeing him this happy. He hadn’t
really smiled much since the divorce. To be honest, he wasn’t happy prior to
the divorce either.
“You
weren’t well?” her mother asked from the doorway. The sunlight streamed through
the window onto Doris’s brown hair, sprinkled with gray. Her dark eyes
twinkled. “How are you now, honey?”
Charlene
uncurled, sitting up straight and keeping the sheet up to her neck. Telling
Henry a little white lie about the reason Larry was in her room so as not to
confuse him was different than lying to her mother, yet how could she explain
someone drugged the wine she drank? She couldn’t, and supported the lie. “Hi,
Mom. I’m better. This is Larry Newman. Larry, my mom, Doris Weber.”
“Nice
to meet you, ma’am.” Larry stretched out a hand.
“Forget
the handshake. I’ve wanted to meet you for some time. You helped save my
daughter and grandson.” Doris hugged him. “You rescued my babies.”
Larry
winked at Charlene over her mother’s shoulder.
Henry
left the candy discarded on the bed and walked to Larry as his grandmother
stepped away, his brown eyes questioning.
Larry
knelt in front of him. “Hey.”
Henry’s
chin wobbled and eyes watered, but he stood still. Charlene ached for her son,
who’d already been through so much in his young life. The expression on his
face suggested he wanted a hug. From her and Henry’s many conversations, she
knew how much her son thought of Larry.
Larry
touched the Spiderman cape. “This is a great costume. You’re my favorite action
hero. I wanted to be him for years.”
Henry
tilted his head. “He’s not real, like you.”
A
muffled sniffle escaped Doris.
Larry
raised an eyebrow to Charlene. She knew what he wanted. He wanted to comfort
her son in a way Henry’s father never did. Once she nodded, Larry opened his
arms. Henry studied him for a moment before walking into his embrace.