Souvenirs (26 page)

“The furniture’s not posh, but it’s comfortable.”

“It’s perfect,” she assured him.

They climbed the stairs and she turned unerringly into his childhood bedroom.

“I was always afraid to have this room,” Ben said. “Every monster from my daydreams crept up the stairs at night until one year when Dad gave me a staff he’d polished and carved. He told me it was magic and would keep me safe.”

“What happened to it?”

“It’s at my bedside in London.”

He toured her around the room that had been his childhood sanctuary and kingdom. The ceilings had towered over him then, but now he ducked to reach the window that had been over his tiny bed. Sunset darkened the rolling hills, recalling oft-debated bedtimes.

“I used to stare out this window into the darkness and wonder what lay beyond the church steeple at the edge of the village.”

“Can we walk?”

“Tomorrow, yeah?”

He led her across the landing to the master bedroom. While she explored, he started a fire and put their bags in the cavernous closet.

“You’ve made some improvements, haven’t you?”

Her question echoed. She’d found the bathroom.

“The bedrooms shared one bath,” he explained. “The third bedroom was tiny, so I took it for a bath and the master closet. I have plans drawn up to expand the house, adding a sunroom downstairs and another bedroom and bath up here.”

“Do you want to live up here full-time?” she asked as she returned to the bedroom, still exploring.

“I always thought I would, but I tried it for six months and almost went mad. Fe staged an intervention. Two weekends a month seem to be the magic number, and then whenever I need to get away.”

“Which is this?”

She was standing next to the bed, and Ben realized why a home tour had been a bad idea. They always ended in the bedrooms. He hadn’t wanted to rush into this, but his body throbbed and thrummed in the demand to push her into the mattress and kiss her into submission.

“I’ve wanted you here for a year.” He walked toward her, hoping it was a confident stroll rather than hungry prowl. “I was looking for a way to invite you. Sticking my foot in my mouth was a pretty daft plan.” He stood in front of her. “I’ll try to be better.”

“Be yourself.” Grace closed the distance between them, and her scent made his mouth water.

“I’m terrified you’ll run back to the States,” he confessed. “I can’t believe I got this lucky
twice.
”

She tilted her head and sighed. “My first book deal was perfect timing. I had a great product and an agent stumbled across me. Right place, right time. Do you remember your first role?”

Frowning, he tried to follow her thinking. “Very much right place, right time.”

“Since then I’ve had to work to keep things going, to get better. Same with you? Or do you wander around in a fog hoping people will hire you?”

He stroked her sweater, finally beginning to catch on. “I work at it. Just like my businesses. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t thrive.”

Her face softened as she curled her arms around his waist. “Salzburg was luck. Now we’re working. Together. I’m not running because we had an argument. Are you?”

He shook his head, and his heart lifted with relief as her breath warmed his lips.

Opening his mouth, he let her explore. It was exquisite torture—the slow taste of the front of his lips, the flick of her tongue against the back of his lower lip, the dance along his teeth. His tongue twitched, anxious to play, but after a quick touch she withdrew. As a parting shot, she caught his bottom lip between her teeth.

A year’s worth of need rushed through Ben as he dug his fingers into her sweater and refused to let her go. The textures were delightful. The curve of her lips gave way to the ridge of her teeth. Her tongue stroked his, drawing him deeper, as her nails pressed through his shirt.

Their communication was limited to gasps, growls, and whimpers. Cradling her head with one hand, he framed her ribs with the other and then eased it toward her breast. His knee slipped between her legs to keep her steady.

Grace rocked forward as she brought her hands from his back to his chest and then up to his shoulders. Tilting his head, Ben silently begged her to pet him and sighed when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

The deep neck of her sweater and the soft, warm skin it revealed were too large a temptation. As he stroked her collarbone, Grace wriggled against him, pulling her mouth away enough to whisper, “Take it off.”

With a hungry snarl, he reclaimed her mouth as he pushed the sweater down one shoulder and tugged it from the other. Her lacy bra teased him under the thin cotton camisole as she bared her neck. Anchoring one hand on her lower back, he took advantage, tasting her unique flavor and dragging his teeth on her silky skin.

“Please, sweetheart.” Grace’s whisper was almost a whine as she arched upward. He shoved the straps from her shoulders and covered her sharp nipple with his mouth.

She ripped his shirt from his waistband and explored his back before lightly scratching her nails around his ribs to his abdomen.

Ben pushed her to the mattress, keeping his gaze on her passion-hazed eyes while he stripped her naked. Her hair was wild against the coverlet, her skin flushed. When he moved between her thighs, she bucked against the friction and wrapped her legs around him.

Seams tore as Ben yanked his shirt over his head and flung it away. Shoes, belt, zipper . . . and then he buried himself inside her. Hot and slick, her muscles rippled, grasping him.

Grace arched into him, moaning as she fought to keep him inside her. “Oh God, yes.”

He’d never last like this. Pulling her legs from around him, he pinned her to the bed, easing deeper into her as she knotted the bedding in her fists.

The wet heat and tight friction weakened his knees. In her body, he found a welcome for his every thrust, a gasp as he ground against her; shivers under his hands. Her heels dug into his thighs.

Sliding his hands to her knees, he opened her further, keeping her feet away from him and staying out of her reach, regaining control.

“Bennett,” she pleaded.

“Not yet, baby. Soon, I promise.”

She shuddered under him again. Her breath hitched. Panting, groans, a whimper, a whine, screams. Another pant . . . one more scream. This time deeper than the last. Again, reaching a hoarser crescendo.

He focused on her, proving what he could give her, that she could trust him, he’d be here, he’d put her first.

“I missed you,” he panted. “So much.”

Her warm, shaky hands covered his. “Me, too. But this . . . isn’t about then.” Her steady gaze met his, holding his attention as she pulled him down to her and twined around him again. “It’s about now.” She stroked his chin with her thumb, coaxing his mouth open so she could swallow his gasps.

As she writhed beneath him and gripped his shoulders, her heels thudded against his spine. Her wildness pulled him to a point where he couldn’t stop. Tilting her hips, he drove into her, devouring her mouth while groans ripped through his lungs.

His release left him exhausted and his muscles quivering. Once he could feel his legs, he stood and pulled her with him. She swayed into his arms, only to collapse again as he pushed the coverlet back to bare the sheets. He put her to bed and tucked her in, staring at the picture created by her pale skin against his dark sheets.

Eager to get back to her, Ben clambered down the stairs and strode through the house to check the doors and turn off the lights. When he returned to the bedroom, Grace was still piled under the bedding. He joined her, curling around her.

“Doll?” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Overwhelmed,” she mumbled. “That was amazing.”

He buried his smile in her hair. “It was.”

“Maybe we should wait another year.” Her last word was lost in laughter.

Ben nipped her ear. “I may not wait another hour. You’d better sleep while you can.”

They ended up sleeping the entire night. He woke early and reached across the bed to find the curve of Grace’s hip, then her waist, her shoulder. Her breast filled his hand. She snuggled closer, burying her face in the pillow.

As dawn light filtered through the windows, her heartbeat thrummed and her deep breaths moved his forearm. Her stomach growled. His rumbled. They’d not eaten. Some caretaker he was. He’d dragged her up here, shagged her senseless, and not fed her.

He left the bed, stood under a quick shower, and tiptoed downstairs. A search for breakfast revealed next to nothing.

“Good morning.”

He turned to the drowsy greeting. Grace stood in the doorway, wearing his shirt. Her smile was shy, vulnerable. He knew the feeling. Every city had been different. Discovery in Salzburg, joy in Venice, passion in Rome. In Paris, there’d been fear—both that she’d forget him, and that he’d never forget her. L.A. had meant freedom. London meant honesty.

“Did I wake you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I reached for you and you weren’t there. I thought I made it up.”

Crossing to her, he ran his knuckles up her outer thigh. “Nope.”

The curve of her mouth changed from uncertain to wanton. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

Much later in the day, with the kitchen stocked, their stomachs full, and their libidos temporarily sated, they walked through the back garden, up the path parallel to his family’s wall, and to the giant oak tree at the top of the hill. Under the iron gray sky, rich green fields were dotted with white sheep and then seamed together with gray stone walls. The trees looked like scale models from the prop department. It took minutes for Ben to shiver under his jacket. He pulled Grace closer to keep her warm.

“What I wanted to say yesterday, before you distracted me,” he began as he kissed the part in her hair, “is that it’s important for me to show you this. To share my home with you, to share myself.”

“But you have.”

“To an extent, yes, but I worry I’ve shared the wrong parts first. The superficial parts of my job.” He tilted her chin and looked her in the eyes. “You draw this line between us, Grace. You see me as something
other
than you. The guy on the screen with the list of investments and an entourage. This is where I come from, who I am—a village farmer’s kid. A gangly lad from Yorkshire who ambled into London without knowing what I was going to do.”

They sat and listened to the distant bells from livestock and barking dogs. The wind whipped her hair and chilled his ears.

“I have so many pleasant memories here, but I also remember working in the weather until my muscles ached and I thought I’d never be warm again. Dad worried about his livestock in the winter, about whether the garden would feed us. I remember eating turnips in January until the smell of them made me ill. After he died, Mum worked herself into exhaustion. Her fingers were always raw. She sacrificed so much to give me a life I wouldn’t have had here, for better or worse. The existence she suffered in our crappy apartment wasn’t what Dad would have wanted for her, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Andrew gave her happiness and security, but I remember how Dad looked at her.”

She turned his chin so he could see the camaraderie in her eyes. “Your father would be proud of you. So would Andrew. So am I.”

He rested his forehead against hers, and they sat while the cold from the rocks seeped through their clothes. Then they strolled and chatted until the rain and wind drove them inside. As the storm pelted the windows, Ben made a fire while Grace brewed tea and music filled the quiet.

They read side by side. From the corner of his eye, he watched her reach the end of her book. She closed it with a thud. “Huh.
That
wasn’t what I expected at all.”

“I know, right?” He grinned as he set his book aside.

“Do you want to do this?” she asked, frowning.

“What if I did?”

“You’re not right for it at all. The characters are too young.”

“Gee, thanks,” he teased. “Can I show you something?”

“I’ve seen it.” She rolled her eyes.

“
Oi
!” He pulled her into his lap, tickling her until she squealed. Keeping hold of her, he queued up his Netflix account and started a movie.

Grace quieted, settling back onto the couch cushions as the opening scenes faded into the exposition, watching the young actor who played the lead.

“
He’s
perfect,” she whispered.

“I thought so, too. We worked together on stage for a limited run a few years back. Fe knows his agent.”

She fell silent again, furrowing her brows while she stared at the movie. Ben watched her think. Every muscle on her face worked, as if she was talking to herself.

“You could produce it,” she finally said aloud. “Option the book and manage the project.”

“Would Paul want to work with me?”

“Talk to him about it. Give him the book.”

“Would you work with me?” he whispered.

Smiling, she nodded. Then she started the movie from the beginning.

After another night together, they returned to London on Sunday. Ben kept her hand until they reached her hotel room door. He couldn’t make himself let go. It worsened when he kissed her and she made that little noise he loved. She always held her breath for a moment and then sighed as she relaxed against him, as if she trusted him to take care of her.

And he would.