by Arthurs, Nia
Jewel pulled back and wiped at her eyes.
Carrie jumped to her feet. “Come on.”
“Where are you going?” Jewel asked.
“Give me the names and addresses of those guys. We’ll sneak into their place and cut off their wood.” Her eyes glinted with purpose. “And then we’ll stuff it into their mouths.”
Jewel giggled.
It was a pretty sadistic picture so Carrie paused. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
Carrie sat back down, intrigued. “I’m curious. Why come to me instead of Jo or Sky? They’re much better at adulting than I am.”
“Because,” Jewel shrugged, “I didn’t want advice. I just… needed someone to listen.” Jewel giggled prettily. “And someone to make me laugh.”
She was so damn gorgeous. Carrie shook her head as rage washed over her. “Gosh, I wish all men would just die. If we didn’t need them for reproduction, I’d kill them all out.”
“There are good ones. Like Mr. Sun Gi and Mr. Joon. They’re nice.”
“True.”
Jewel sighed. “I’ll probably never find guys like them, huh.”
“Hey,” Carrie nudged Jewel in the side, “you’re stunning, interesting, and smart. I enjoy your company even if you don’t say much. Someday, you’ll find a guy who makes you want to come out of your shell; someone you can trust. Someone who treats you with all the love and respect in the world.” Carrie cleared her throat. “Until then, you don’t have to let the people who hurt you win. You don’t have to hide that brilliant light.” Carrie pointed to Jewel’s chest. “We’re all messed up. It’s what makes us human.”
Jewel nodded. “I-if you don’t mind, I’d really like to have those makeup lessons. I’ve always been interested in wearing makeup, but I was afraid…”
“Of the attention?”
Jewel nodded. “I heard that men are visual and I didn’t want anyone trying to get at me just for sex…”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Jewel looked uncertain. “You always seem so confident.”
“Have you seen my track record? I keep making the same mistakes with men. But not anymore. I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands this time.”
“I hope that works out,” Jewel said.
“Me too.” Carrie winked. “And about your makeup lessons, we can start small and work our way up. Trust me. There’s a whole new world out there. How about this Sunday?”
“I’d like that.” Jewel dimpled and then shot to her feet. “I’ve taken up more of your time than I should. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
It really wasn’t, but Carrie didn’t care. The club could burn. All that mattered was Jewel making steps to heal from the scars of her past. Seeing that come true was her priority.
Jewel stopped at the door and glanced over her shoulder. “Carrie?”
“Yes?”
“I met Benson when I walked in.”
Carrie’s heart skipped a beat. “You did?”
“I agree with Jo and Sky. He is very handsome.” Jewel tilted her head and stared at the ceiling. “But there’s something… I don’t know… solid. Yeah.” Jewel glanced at her and smiled. “He’s like a rock that you can climb on when the sea is scary and rough.”
“What are you? A poet?”
“It’s just an observation.” Jewel waved, a much more hearty greeting than the one she’d walked in with. “Bye.”
Carrie dropped into the couch flat on her back. She’d been trying to climb Benson and he’d slammed the brakes so hard she slapped her face into the rock instead.
Determination welled in her chest.
The war wasn’t over by a long shot. She’d regroup and attack again.
This time, Benson wouldn’t know what hit him.
16
Exhaustion. That seemed to be the theme of the week. Carrie was giving him the cold shoulder—a move he’d expected. What he hadn’t anticipated was that she’d be so damn good at it.
The woman moved right past him like he was made of air. Not a single ‘good morning’ or a ‘good night’. Nothing. If she had a question or a note about the club, she sent Zeke.
Benson was pretty sure the bartender hated being their messenger, but he hadn’t complained yet. Mostly because Carrie would chew both their heads off if they stepped out of line.
So many times he wanted to drag that woman into the storage room and kiss her until she remembered who was boss. But he didn’t. Not only because of his resolution to win her heart and her body, but because Benson had made a conscious decision to hand the ropes over to Carrie.
She’d earned it.
Besides, there wasn’t much about the club that he needed to rectify. After Carrie implemented the nachos idea to curtail customer complaints about the wait time, there were very few glaring holes in the system.
The Nightingale routine was golden and he was impressed by the turnout whenever so much as a rumor got out that Jo would be singing.
Shift schedules were made based on the levels of traffic in the bar.
The drinks were premium quality and balanced with well-known, affordable brands.
Personally, Benson thought forcing the waitresses to walk around in short skirts and masks was a little tacky, but Carrie made sure that none of the female employees were harassed and if she heard a whiff of a complaint, she moved immediately.
So why was he exhausted?
He’d been working out more and more to deal with his pent-up frustration. Benson was getting nowhere with Carrie and since he’d left the running of the bar to her, he didn’t have much to do.
So he boxed.
And he took a beating.
Again, that was Carrie’s fault. She made it difficult to concentrate. Her face kept invading his mind, torturing his dreams.
Something had to give, but the ball was in her court. His hands were tied.
* * *
On Saturday morning, Benson tossed in bed. His body ached from the drop kick his sparring partner had delivered yesterday and even falling into bed last night had been a challenge.
His jaw was still throbbing.
The clock read nine thirty.
Benson reached for a pillow to pull it over his head and get a few more hours of sleep when he heard water splashing.
Stacie had a pool in her backyard, but he hadn’t gotten around to using it. Who was in there this time of day?
Slightly annoyed, Benson forced himself out of bed and yanked the blinds. The guestroom overlooked the backyard. Sunlight splayed against the water where a lithe figure swam gracefully.
Sleep fled.
He recognized that backside.
Carrie.
Without bothering to drape a shirt over his head, Benson tore downstairs and out through the kitchen door. Carrie finished her lap and floated toward him.
He felt the usual desire that coursed through his body whenever he was around her, but this time, it was mixed with confusion. She’d ignored him the whole week and then showed up in Stacie’s swimming pool unannounced.
What is she up to?
“You’re up late,” Carrie said. Water dripped from the slope of her nose and down her chin. Her skin looked even more inviting as it glistened in the sunlight. From what he could tell, she wore a skimpy white bikini.
His fingers begged to touch her.
He curled them into fists instead and lowered himself to his haunches at the edge of the pool. “I see you’re still breaking and entering.”
“Still have a key.” Carrie flicked him a mischievous gaze. “Were you planning to join me?”
He glanced at his chest and laughed. “No. I just couldn’t believe you were here.”
“Come on in.” She swam away. “Water’s great.”
He eyed her suspiciously.
Carrie threw her head back and laughed. “What? Are you scared?”
“Cautious is the word I’d use.”
She slashed her
hands through the water and soaked the front of him. “There. You’re wet already so you might as well jump in.”
He sat on the edge of the pool, still resisting her even though every nerve in his body skittered toward that water.
Benson wasn’t stupid. He knew where he’d end up—where Carrie would end up—if he so much as thought of slipping into the pool with her. There’d be very little swimming and a whole lot of something else.
“Fun sucker.” Carrie pouted and grabbed ahold of the metal stepladder. When she climbed out, Benson’s mind went blank.
Sexy… wasn’t good enough a word to describe her.
She held him spell-bound. Even if he wanted to, Benson couldn’t look away. Legs… Carrie had legs that could make a grown man weep. Smooth. Glossy. Fine as hell. And that bikini—what exactly were those tiny triangles supposed to be covering?
The chaos Carrie would raise if she ever wore that on a public beach…
She glided toward him, her hair dripping at the ends and her eyes locked on his. Benson slowly straightened. His blood rushed downward and his heart thudded in his chest.
Carrie grinned as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him. “Could you get me a towel?”
In that moment, she could have asked for anything. A million dollars? A house in San Pedro? A dead body?
Done, done and done.
Benson scrambled to get her the towel. Instead of taking it from him, Carrie turned around and lifted her hair, exposing the back of her neck. When he didn’t move, she glanced over her shoulder. “I’m so tired from the swim, Benson. Could you do me a favor and dry me off?”
His fingers curled into the towel.
Sneaky, little…
Still, he moved forward and wrapped her up in the towel, making sure that his skin didn’t touch hers. Benson dried her back and only allowed his stare above the neck when she turned to face him. Carrie put her hand over his and guided his reach lower.
His wrists went still. He dropped the towel into her hands and said gruffly, “Do it yourself.”
“Okay.” Carrie easily agreed.
Benson was about to stalk inside and take a couple cold showers when she appeared in front of him, this time holding a bottle of sunscreen. “You mind? I can’t reach my back.”
He gritted his teeth. “I thought you were supposed to put sunscreen on before you went outside.”
“I do things a little differently.” Carrie winked.
He was holding on to self-control by his fingernails. This is such a bad idea. Despite the warning, Benson snatched the sunscreen from her and squirted the paste onto his fingers.
Carrie backed up until she brushed against him. He nudged her forward to give himself some breathing room and dug his hands into her shoulders. She started moaning and he dropped his hands.
Carrie twisted her neck. “Don’t stop.”
The blood pumping through his body demanded some form of relief. Benson knew his face was getting red. He hoped Carrie assumed it was sunburn.
Truth was, she was driving him mad. Deliberately.
He let his fingers glide over her back; dropped them down to the dip just above her rear. He got a little too excited touching her there and pulled back.
All mental wires that were still working after seeing her in a bikini and rubbing her down were focused on keeping his boundaries.
Must resist her…
Carrie turned and moved toward him. Eyes gleaming, she set a hand on his expanding chest and kissed him softly.
Man, she tasted so good. Felt so good. Looked so freaking good.
“Benson.” Carrie made a tsking sound, drawing his gaze to her perfect lips. Brown at the top. Plump, luscious and pink at the bottom. “Why are you torturing yourself?”
His fingers dug into the sunscreen bottle. “Admit it first.”
“Are you still interested in talking?” She flattened her chest against his. Pinpricks of desire exploded everywhere her pert body touched. “My bikini is so easy to take off…”
He trembled.
Carrie ran her slender fingers down his throat. Stopped just above the throbbing pulse in his neck. “I wonder if this time will be better than the night on the beach.” A sultry smile crept across her face. “Remember that? Remember the sand? The wind? The scent of salt and… sweat.”
His nose flared like a bull’s and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to get a handle on himself. What the hell was he doing not sweeping her over his shoulder and taking her to bed—caveman style?
With the last grains of his self-restraint, he growled, “You’re trying to seduce me, but it isn’t working.”
“Oh, yeah?” Carrie took a tiny step back and dropped her gaze to his pants. “No, it seems to be working just fine.”
She was mocking him.
That smile of hers.
Man, he wanted her.
Benson grabbed her by the back of the neck, bent her over and kissed her harshly. His other hand slid around her back. He felt the fragile ties holding her bikini together. His fingers played with the strands.
Carrie bit down on his lip and pushed him away. “Your bedroom. Now.”
“The kitchen,” Benson barked. He turned away from her and wiped the back of his mouth with a trembling hand. “For breakfast.”
“Breakfast? Is that a sexy pun or…?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stalked through the sliding glass door and didn’t stop until he’d made it to the kitchen. His body ached and pulsed, begging for release. He ignored it and splashed his face with water.
It didn’t help.
Carrie had set off a raging fire and she was the only one who could quench it. Breathing hard, he stumbled upstairs to take a quick cold shower.
When he returned downstairs, his mind was out of beast-mode and he felt much more in control. Carrie was in the kitchen, dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. Her long legs were still on display but this… this he could handle.
Benson bent over to grab the waffle maker from the dresser. “Waffles?”
“Why won’t you sleep with me?”
He plugged the machine in and got the flour from the cupboard. “You know what I want.”
“I know what you want too. The same thing I do. Your body made that very clear.”
“My body doesn’t call the shots.” He pulled the silver bowl and poured the flour. “I do.”
“Who are you trying to impress here? You think anyone will applaud you for being honorable? For having high standards?”
“I’m not looking for praise, darlin’.” He set his hand flat against the counter and looked at her. “Just three words. That’s it.”
“Never.” Carrie flounced aside and folded her arms over her chest. “Relationships build unrealistic expectations. If no one expects anything, no one can get hurt. That’s my philosophy.”
“It just so happens that your philosophy clashes with mine.”
“Should I try and sneak into the shower with you next time?”
He chuckled even as excitement skittered into his heart. “Why are you fighting it? We both know it’s only a matter of time before one of us gives in.”
“Since you were ten seconds away from caving by the pool, I think I know who that is.”
Benson pinched some salt between his fingers. “True. I haven’t made how I feel about you a secret so I’m at a disadvantage. But that’ll make victory even sweeter.”
“You and your ego.”
“You know you like it.” He winked. The tongue she stuck out in reply made him laugh.
Benson had wavered today, came so close to giving in he could practically taste her. But he had a mission and, since Carrie was playing dirty, well, he didn’t see why he had to play fair.
17
Carrie had lost the battle, but not the war.
She really admired Benson’s grit. Lesser men would have bent by now. He was going out of his way to prove he was different. Which would have been nice if she was looking for a relationship
instead of a friends-with-benefits situation.
At this point, Benson was just dragging out the inevitable.
She would seduce him and, given how close she’d come to that goal earlier by the pool, it wouldn’t take much to tip him over the edge.
Or was she being too cocky?
Nah.
Carrie saw the determination in Benson’s eyes and knew he wasn’t enjoying this any more than she was. Still, he’d made it obvious that she wasn’t getting any this morning so she might as well console herself with waffles.
Plenty of time to get him into her bed tomorrow.
“What happened to your jaw?” she asked, pointing to the body part in question as Benson whisked two eggs.
“This?” He ran thick fingers over his cheeks. “I got punished for not paying attention.”
“Did you get into a fight?” Her heart thudded. “Did you call the cops?”
“It was a fight, yes, but I volunteered so there was no need to notify the police.”
“Are you talking about kickboxing!” She slapped the counter. “Are you serious? You went to a tournament without telling me?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he said, shooting her a knowing look.
Carrie avoided his gaze. This past week, she’d made it her mission to ignore Benson. She’d wanted his defenses to be down when she made a surprise strike. Though she hadn’t succeeded quite as much as she’d hoped, it was a good plan.
“But you’re welcome to join me at the next event. If you want,” Benson added.
“I’ve always wanted to attend a match, but I thought we only had karate and wrestling clubs in Belize.”
“The kickboxing team is small, but I’m sure the guys would love to have anyone in the bleachers. Especially a beautiful woman like you.”
The compliment wedged into her heart like a stubborn burr. Benson had a habit of flattering her casually, off the cuff. As if it wasn’t a big deal. It made her heart’s excessive reaction even more pathetic.
Carrie grunted to hide how affected she was and asked, “Have you written anything lately?”
“No. I’ve been a little busy.” He poured the batter into the waffle iron. “Why?”