The Fifty-Cent Groom

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Too late for retreat, she thought. Any more brilliant strategic moves on her part and she’d be at checkmate. “Not necessary, Ben. Really. This is not-”

  “Oh, but it is. Because I want you to understand that I intend to marry you.”

  She gulped and tried to say something, anything, but her voice had deserted her. And Ben, damn it, took advantage of her incoherence and kissed her. A long, wet, debilitating kiss that she should have stopped, would have stopped if she’d been thinking clearly. If he hadn’t tasted of Chinese spices and lusty temptations. If his arms hadn’t gathered her against him in a light but compelling embrace. If she hadn’t felt blissfully, wonderfully right about participating in this exercise of mutual attraction.

  Didn’t plan to fall in love…didn’t plan…

  If she had an ounce of willpower, she’d inform Ben that this was lust, pure and simple. Of course, she hadn’t planned on falling into lust, either. But there was not much point in denying that’s exactly what she was in. And as long as he kept kissing her, kept her wrapped in his arms and entwined in this fantasyladen state of mind, it didn’t make much difference whether she called it lust or love. At the moment, the two felt remarkably the same.

  “Hey.”

  Jason came in through the front door and Sara pulled guiltily away from Ben, blinking furiously to bring her brother into focus. “Hey,” she repeated in a voice two sizes too thick.

  “Don’t mind me.” Hardly sparing a glance, Jason moved down the hall with a fast stride and a sure purpose. “I just came to get a few of my CDs.”

  Sara avoided looking at Ben and hoped he wouldn’t notice how disconcerted she was by the interruption. “You’re not going out again,” she called down the hall. “Not at this hour.”

  Jason breezed through the living room on his way to the door. “I’m nineteen, Sis. I don’t need permission to stay out all night and listen to music with my friends.”

  “But you could get into trouble,” she protested.

  Jason paused in the doorway to look from her to Ben and then back to her. “Yeah,” he said. “And with any luck, so could you. See ya tomorrow.” And with that, he was gone.

  She stared at the closed door, fighting the impulse to walk right over to Ben and take up exactly where they left off. But that would be asking for trouble. And Lord knows, she didn’t need…

  The next thing she knew, Ben’s arms were around her, her chin was lifting, her pulse racing, the urgency sweeping over her like a summer storm as his lips made a slow descent to meet hers. She could only speculate about which one of them had made the first move, but there was no doubt she had met him halfway. Ever since she’d set eyes on that antique wedding gown, she hadn’t been herself. All her plans had been turned upside down in one little twinkle. Impulses had become second nature. Sane, careful planning had given way to insane, reckless actions.

  Not that she felt particularly insane or reckless right now. Her arms were wound around Ben’s neck, and she twined her fingers in the thickness of his hair. In fact, she felt particularly rational at the moment. She was tired of being cautious, weary of keeping her emotions in check and exhausted from planning for the future.

  Her plans and her future had evaporated before her eyes, all because of one silly impulse. What difference would it make if she gave in to one more? Tomorrow Ben would be on his way, with his dog and the antique bridal gown. There wouldn’t be room for her, even if she wanted to go with him, even if he remembered that tonight he’d intended to marry her.

  She knew his talk about love and forever was as much an illusion as the twinkle of a wedding dress. But at the moment, it seemed real and within her reach. So what if it vanished at sunup? So what if Ben was every man who had ever stolen her heart? What did she have left to lose by believing his love was meant for her alone, that a commitment made at first glance could last forever, that there were sometimes moments of magic that couldn’t be explained away?

  Ben sensed a change in her attitude. Actually, he would have had to be completely insensitive not to notice the caress of her hands in his hair, the repositioning of her body against his, the subtle—possibly unintentional, but highly suggestive—movement of her hips. Until then, he had fully intended to let the kiss wear itself out and conclude this phase of seduction by sending Sara to bed alone. He hadn’t really considered pressing her for more. And now, suddenly, he found himself hard-pressed—in more ways than one—to know how he was supposed to respond.

  He drew back. Well, at least, he tried to draw back. But in a surprise attack, she moved with him, maintaining full body contact and throwing his balance off. He grabbed her to keep from falling, but it was too late—or else she pushed him—and he tumbled backward, striking the backs of his knees on the edge of the sofa and sprawling inelegantly across the cushions.

  If Sara noticed his groping efforts to pull himself, and her, into a more comfortable position, she gave no sign. Her kiss was relentless. Her body issued every invitation known to man. She had gone from escape to capitulation in zero point one seconds, and Ben knew that if he lived to be a hundred and twenty, he would never meet anyone like her. This was his once-in-a-lifetime, the surprise he’d been searching for as long as he could remember. She was his destiny as surely as he was hers, and since there was no glory in struggling against the inevitable, he settled back to let her seduce him.

  As if he could have stopped her.

  Sara slipped her hand inside his shirt, excited by the discovery that she liked taking the initiative. She liked the way his breathing escalated when she touched his chest just so. She liked the feel of his hair-roughened skin and the muscular proportions of his chest. She liked the pull of desire deep inside her when his kisses trailed from her chin to her ear and down to the hollows of her neck. But most of all, she liked the scary but exhilarating sensation of being out of control, of not taking responsibility beyond this moment, of letting this impulse take her where it would.

  Her fingertips tousled the thick hair at his nape. He tensed at the touch, and the reaction pleased her. She had never felt overly confident when it came to sex. She could count her experiences on one hand…with a few fingers to spare. Obviously, she needed to let her ambition take over this phase of her life, too. Take control. Insist that she be the one to set the pace and guide his responses, instead of the other way around.

  Ben took her bottom lip in his mouth and sucked gently, stripping her willpower to naked desire and making her think that maybe it was all right for him to be the guide every now and then. There was no need to be selfish, and geez, he was so good with his lips.

  Apparently, he knew how to use his hands, too. His fingertips traced a delicate blueprint of longing from the base of her neck to the base of her spine, and Sara trembled as she imagined how it would feel without a layer of clothing separating her from him.

  His slow, sultry kisses raised her blood pressure and promised the discovery of pleasures she hadn’t dreamed lay hidden within her, like a vein of gold waiting to be mined. He branded her throat, her cheeks, then returned to her mouth for a long, wet, soul-searing kiss. She lay passive and pliable, half on, half off his flat stomach, while his long fingers climbed her ribs until he could cup one of her breasts in his palm.

  So, okay, he was a better guide than she was. He obviously had an itinerary all his own, and while she wasn’t entirely thrilled at being relegated to follow his lead, she recognized that there were some advantages. For one, she could simply enjoy the scents, the sounds and the sensations of his efforts. For another, she didn’t have to bear the responsibility for making a single decision. She had meant to take charge, but he was in full command. She had meant to tease, but his irrefutable demands required her serious attention. What she had imagined as a languorous escape from reality he transformed into a passionate contest with possession of her heart as the prize he meant to claim.

  “Sara,” he whispered tenderly into her ear. “I’ve waited all my life to hold you like this
.”

  She braced her weight on her hands and frowned at him, mostly because he’d stopped kissing and started talking. “We just met.”

  “Very romantic,” he said with a sigh. “And I’m trying so hard to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Too late. I tripped you up first.”

  “Several times.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Would I be overstepping the limits of your hospitality if I suggested we continue this discussion in your bedroom?”

  “Something wrong with my couch?”

  “No. I was trying to be sensitive to Cleo’s feelings. Her self-esteem may be shattered by all the attention I’m giving you.”

  Cleo’s snore was timely and conclusive.

  Ben shrugged. “Okay, so I thought you’d be more comfortable if you had a little more space to move about.”

  “As long as you’re kissing me, comfort isn’t high among my priorities.”

  His smile held the pleasure of all the kisses they’d shared. “I’m planning to take this a little further than kissing…if you agree, of course.”

  “I shouldn’t, you know.” Their eyes met, sharing the knowledge that they had passed the point of agreement some time back. “Any man who says he intends to marry a woman in order to seduce her doesn’t deserve to spend the night in her arms.”

  “If seduction was my only objective, I would have simply said I’ll respect you in the morning and made my life easier.”

  Thoughts of West intruded…and were ridiculously easy to get rid of. All she had to do was lower her mouth to Ben’s and skirt the corner of his lips with her tongue. He groaned, and her feeling of power asserted itself again. She pushed to her feet, took a firm grip on his hand and pulled him upright.

  The journey down the hallway was interrupted several times while Ben tested her agreement with another round of beguiling kisses. She pressed his back against the wall while she reached around him and switched off the bedroom light Jason had left on. The next stop was at Ben’s insistence, and Sara leaned against the door of the bathroom as his lips trailed down her throat and his hands kneaded the firmness of her breasts. She was breathless with yearning when he drew back to ask, “Do you have protection?”

  Barely able to keep from melting at his feet, she nodded at the medicine chest. Ben opened the mirrored chest and whistled in surprise. “I realize you like to plan ahead, Sara, but…”

  She looked past him at the boxes of condoms stacked one on top of another on every shelf. “My nineteen-year-old brother lives here, too.”

  “This seems optimistic, even for a teenager.”

  “He doesn’t buy them. I do. I figure it betters the odds that he’ll at least stop and think before he tumbles head over heels into trouble.”

  “Does it work for you, too?”

  “You forget how susceptible I am to reverse psychology.”

  “I wasn’t going to mention that.”

  She sighed. “To be honest, this is the first time the question has come up.”

  He approached her, stepping within her space, lifting his hands to cup her face. “I recently heard someone say that anticipation is half the pleasure.”

  “If you’re trying to take my mind off the disaster I’ve made of my life, repeating what you overheard in West’s bedroom is not the way to go about it.”

  “You’re about to forget any other man exists.” He leaned closer, and she trembled with anticipation. “I give you my personal guarantee.” He switched off the light, and then his lips covered hers with forgetfulness.

  By the time they reached the bedroom, her dress was unbuttoned to the waist and her bra pushed aside by his eager hands. He had lost his shirt outside the doorway and claimed her breasts as compensation. When they fell together across the bed, lips, arms and legs all entangled, Sara wondered when he’d finished unbuttoning the dress and how he’d gotten it off without her noticing.

  Not that it mattered. If he hadn’t gotten rid of it, she would have. But she did wish she had the same finesse in getting rid of his clothes. It took awhile, and required judicious amounts of his help, but eventually he had on fewer articles of clothing than she did. A fact he remedied without delay before proceeding with the luxurious task of disarming her impatience with slow, wet kisses and singular, seductive strokes of his fingertips on her skin.

  Her senses swam with new sensations, her blood pounded like crashing surf in her veins, her heart strained with her body to be closer, to lose herself in his touch and to claim a corner of his memory for all time. She wouldn’t forget him anytime soon, and she meant to make sure he didn’t forget her, either.

  As his mouth returned to hers, his body covered her and she trembled, anticipating the aching pleasure of belonging in his arms. It was the safest place she had ever been. And the scariest. But she wouldn’t think about tomorrow. She wouldn’t feel past this moment, this specific now. When Ben belonged, heart and soul, to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  The phone kept ringing. Sara pulled a pillow over her head and waited for the incessant noise to stop. When it didn’t, she lifted the edge of the pillow and peeped at the clock on her bedside table. Not even six o’clock yet. Someone had a sick sense of humor.

  A husky sigh came from the other side of the bed. Easing a foot beneath the covers, she first encountered Ben’s warmth and then his long, hairy leg. His arm slid over her shoulder, and he draped himself around her. For a moment, Sara lay still, remembering the passionate energy they had created in this bed only a few hours earlier. She snuggled against him, wondering how that energy had become this safe, lazy serenity. His breath stirred strands of hair at the base of her neck, and she let the pillow slide to the floor while she savored the experience of waking up next to Ben.

  At least, she intended to savor it, if the phone ever stopped ringing.

  “Take it off the hook.” He whispered the temptation, making it seem not only enticing, but essential.

  She groped for the phone and dragged the receiver to her ear. “You have the wrong number,” she mumbled and was just about to drop the receiver on the floor when she heard a far-off and distressed, “Sara!”

  Cupping the phone against her ear, she heard a panicked voice, “Sara! Don’t hang up! Are you there?”

  “DeeNee?”

  “Yes. Listen, last night when you said you’d do something for me in return? Well, now’s the time. I need a favor and I need it now.”

  “Now?”

  Behind her, Ben made a husky protest.

  “It’s important, Sara. You’ve got to get me out of this dress.”

  “Dress?” Sara frowned. “What dress?”

  “The wedding gown. I’m in it and I can’t get out.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At West’s house. Locked in Arthur’s room.”

  “What are you doing there?”

  “I came to get the dress for you and the next thing I knew, I had it on. Please get over here as quick as you can.”

  “You’re wearing the wedding dress?”

  “Yes, and it didn’t even twinkle at me, either. Will you come?”

  “Of course. I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”

  DeeNee’s relief echoed over the phone line. “One more thing. You have to kidnap Harry Schaffer and bring him with you.”

  Before Sara could blink, the phone clicked and she was left contemplating the wrong end of a bizarre conversation.

  “DO YOU KNOW this guy?” Ben asked as Sara rang the doorbell.

  “We’ve met.”

  “I’ve met Dustin Hoffman. That doesn’t mean I know him well enough to ring his doorbell at seven in the morning.”

  She stopped checking the meticulous lettering over the brass mailbox outside Harry Schaffer’s apartment and turned to look at him. “You’ve met Dustin Hoffman?”

  “On a movie set.”

  Tipping her head to the side, she smiled and all but charmed his socks off. “You surprise me sometimes, Ben.”

  �
�You surprise me constantly, Sara.”

  She gave the doorbell another push. “Come on, Harry,” she said. “DeeNee made this sound like a matter of life and death.”

  The dead bolt clicked and the door opened. Short, balding and eagle-eyed, Harry Schaffer looked from Ben to Sara with ill-disguised impatience and said nothing.

  “Hi,” Sara said. “This is Ben. I’m Sara. We met at West Ridgeman’s house the other night?”

  The impatience didn’t alter. Neither did the silence.

  “There’s been a slight, uh, misunderstanding,” Sara said. “At least I think I must have misunderstood.” She glanced at Ben. “Actually, DeeNee called and asked us to come by here and pick you up. She said you were the only one who could straighten things out.”

  “DeeNee Ridgeman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “DeeNee,” he repeated, and Ben decided Schaffer was probably a heck of an attorney. He certainly had the poker face down pat. “Why would DeeNee Ridgeman ask you to pick me up?”

  “She didn’t tell me, but it sounded urgent.” Sara smiled, and Ben didn’t see how Schaffer could resist.

  “You’re positive she asked for me?” Harry looked past them at the empty sidewalk. “Specifically?”

  “Oh, yes.” Sara nodded vigorously. “She was very specific.”

  “She wants me to straighten things out,” he said, almost to himself. “What kind of things?”

  “We don’t know,” Ben answered, taking the initiative. “But she definitely thinks you can fix whatever it is.”

  He appeared flattered, but it was hard to tell for sure. “Where is she?”

  “Waiting for you. Shall we go?”

  “Go where?”

  Sara frowned. “Do you always ask so many questions?”

  “Usually more.”

  Ben leaned against the wall, crossed his arms and observed the exchange with interest. Hard to believe that only hours before he had been seduced by this woman. He hoped it would happen again, too, and not so many hours from now, either.

  “She’s at West’s house. Do you want to ride with us in the van or take your own car?” Sara nodded encouragement. “Your choice.”