by Kennedy Fox
He was dressed head to toe in black, and blended in to the night with ease, but as he turned the corner, his blond hair caught a glint from the streetlight.
She recognized Ben immediately from his hair, and his profile, and the general shape of his body. He may be fully dressed now, but she knew what that butt looked like, how taut those thick thighs could get when he flexed.
And on the front side…
Well, she wasn’t going to think about the front side while she was in public. She would save that thought for the privacy of her bedroom.
Chelsea Jane, you will do no such thing, she admonished herself. You will remain professional no matter what.
He slowed down in front of her building and then, to her horror, headed up the walk to the courtyard.
Her courtyard.
Which she also needed to turn into, because she lived there, but if she followed him, it would look like she was following him.
The smart thing to do would be to keep walking, to head around the block and stretch her legs a little more.
For reasons she could not explain, she didn’t do that.
She didn’t head up the walk, either.
She just stopped right there on the sidewalk. Like a weirdo, she realized belatedly, because her sudden, jerky movement caught his attention, and he turned around.
A few more feet and he would have been inside.
Even from fifteen feet away, she could tell he was frowning at her, trying to place her.
Laughing, she waved her hand. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m not stalking you.”
His eyes went wide. “All right.”
“It’s Chelsea. From art class?”
He nodded. “And brunch.”
She pointed at the building behind him. “I live here.”
“Small world,” he said. “I just moved in.”
“No kidding.” Chelsea’s pulse skipped a beat. “That is a small world.”
A magical coincidence, Hannah might say. But Hannah wasn’t here. Only practical, down-to-earth Chelsea was here right now, and coincidences were more weird than magical in her worldview.
“Which one is yours?” Ben gestured at the staircases in each corner of the courtyard.
She pointed up to the third floor. “Straight up. I’m in unit fifteen.”
“No way.” He grinned. “I’m your new neighbor. Unit fourteen, moved in two days ago.”
She hadn’t even noticed. He must have moved in while she was at school.
He held out his hand, indicating she should lead the way. Halfway up the stairs, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Almost certainly that was her sister, and there was no way she was checking it in front of Ben.
The chances of blushing were too high. Hannah had been on about him all day, blowing up her phone to such an extent that Chelsea had already fired back one pointed message about how Hannah was supposed to be spending time with her potential in-laws.
That hadn’t stopped the wannabe matchmaker.
At the top of the stairs, she dug out her key, then waved goodnight to Ben. No point lingering over awkward small talk.
Inside, she put her stuff away, then sat down and savored her hot cocoa before checking the text from her sister.
Hannah: How was your art class?
Chelsea: Very professional.
Hannah: That’s a shame.
Should she confess the latest development? No. Yes. Her fingers started typing before she could talk herself out of sharing.
Chelsea: You’ll never guess what, though.
Hannah: He slipped you a note during class.
Chelsea snorted at the idea of Ben wandering over to her donkey, naked, and surreptitiously handing her a folded piece of paper.
Chelsea: He just moved in to the apartment next door.
Hannah: You’re living in a rom com. I called it. He loves you.
Chelsea: I regret telling you.
Hannah: I need to see that waiver. I will find you that loophole.
Chelsea’s heart fluttered like mad in her chest. No. This was ridiculous. Yes. She hopped off the couch and ran to her craft corner, where her art bag rested against the wall. She pulled out the paperwork for the course and snapped a picture of the waiver.
Then she sat down, her back to the wall, and read it carefully herself.
Where was the line? And could her heart handle getting close to it?
Chapter Five
The farmer’s market was a zoo, and Ben absolutely hated it. One of his SEAL teammates, Cade Duncan, had heard through the grapevine that Ben’s stuff was still missing, and basically ordered Ben to come out to the market with Cade and his wife Mel.
Mel had a serious Christmas plan, and she needed extra arms. And then, Cade promised, they would feed Ben and he could lounge in their backyard, on actual furniture, for the entire afternoon.
It had seemed like a fair trade when Ben had been standing in his empty living room.
Now, hemmed in on all sides by holiday-obsessed shoppers, he wasn’t so sure.
“You okay?” Cade shot him a look that said, I know, crowds aren’t my favorite, either. Re-adjusting to civilian life after a tour was always like this. This crowd held no danger to them, he just needed to keep breathing.
“Yep.”
“We’re almost done,” his buddy promised.
It wasn’t just the usual need to decompress. It was also the awareness that Coronado was a small community, and he could bump into his ex-girlfriend, or his ex-roommate, although neither of them had ever shown any interest in the farmer’s market.
From the other end of the aisle, a flash of shiny dark hair caught his eye. As the woman turned, her pink lips pursed in deep thought, a heady pulse of recognition thumped in his chest.
Chelsea.
For the second day in a row, she was literally in his path, although this time he saw her coming. Who was this woman? Other than an artist, and possibly a fan of a Navy SEAL TV show, although he hadn’t heard any more of that through the wall since that first night and early morning.
He’d been thrown last night when he realized she was the person next door, but he woke up dreaming of her lips—a sure sign he’d gone six long months without any alone time with a friendly bed partner.
Dreaming of an absolute stranger.
Dreaming of her painting him, when he didn’t even know if she painted. And he still didn’t know how he felt about people drawing his body over and over again. He was doing it for the money—and the distraction.
Chelsea was proving a distraction all right.
He shifted so he could see her better.
Unlike their previous encounters, this time she wasn’t aware of him—and he wasn’t naked. It gave him a situational advantage, and he took it. He stepped closer to the stall beside him, obscuring himself from her direct line of sight.
She was dressed much the same as she did for the art class, in jeans and a cotton peasant blouse, but today she had on red framed sunglasses, too, and a matching red sweater.
A very pretty, touchable Christmas elf.
“I think that’s everything on our list,” Mel said, stepping in between him and the vision at the other end of the market. “We can go.”
But now he didn’t want to leave. Except what would he say? Nice leeks, neighbor. Hey, do you want to grab coffee before you see me strip down tonight?
And if she said no, his afternoon plans to sit on real furniture would be scuttled.
Maybe the universe would put her in his path again tomorrow morning. If it didn’t, well…he knew where she lived.
The farmer’s market had been a zoo, but Chelsea loved every second of it. There was some extra magical in the air there today, and she returned home feeling very much in the holiday spirit. She put on her favorite Christmas movie—Die Hard—and listened to that as she put away her groceries.
Later, when she arrived at the studio, Ben was already there, talking to the instructor.
He flas
hed her a quick, professional smile—something between hey, neighbor and hello, artist—then went back to the discussion.
As she set up her donkey, he disappeared into the anteroom to disrobe. When he returned, he wasn’t wearing the robe. He’d opted instead for a small white towel around his hips. One of his big hands clutched the two ends of it together just below the ultra-defined V-shaped muscle inside his iliac crest.
She had resisted the urge to draw that part of him for two whole sessions.
She would resist again tonight.
Hannah’s texts kept popping into her head, creating a wild, nervous kind of hope inside her that was entirely unfounded and unrealistic.
And yet, fostering that little fantasy, that her crush on the model might actually turn into a Christmas romance, was a gift in and of itself. There was no way it was actually happening—Ben was so far out of her league it wasn’t funny—but a girl could dream, and for that dream to remain a PG-13 Hallmark romance fantasy, she wouldn’t be drawing the sex lines on his lower abdomen. Or any other part of his lower anything.
She clipped two photographs she’d taken of her previous days’ drawings to the side of her board for reference. They looked pretty good in miniature, but she’d fucked up the joint, so today, her goal was to get that right first, before getting into all the glorious muscle details.
So intent was her goal to stick to the art that she didn’t realize until the class was almost over that Ben was avoiding looking at her.
Some models made more eye contact than others, but Ben didn’t seem to have any problem looking at anyone else, responding to directions or requests.
Not that she had any instructions for him, but when his gaze had to drop or lift to make it past her station, she couldn’t tell herself that he wasn’t looking at her just because.
She must have made him feel uncomfortable the day before, somehow. Had it been her pose request? She searched her memory for some explanation and came up empty.
This is why they had those waivers. It was a vulnerable thing, being a life drawing model.
Chelsea would have to do better.
And then just when she was convinced she had to find him and apologize, the class was over. He grabbed his towel, and then searched the room, stopping when he caught her gaze.
His smile didn’t a hold any trace of concern. It was warm and friendly, if brief, and left her heart racing—surely an overreaction in the other direction.
Before she could pack up, one of her classmates came over to chat about charcoal. When they finished talking, Ben was long gone.
But he hadn’t actually traveled far.
He was waiting outside the coffee shop on the next block. When she caught sight of him and slowed down, he pushed away from the wall and walked toward her.
Chelsea’s heart fluttered, and then took a nervous jolt when it processed that in fact he had been waiting, and for her.
“Hi,” she said softly when they met in the middle of the block.
“I wanted to walk you home.”
“Oh!”
“Surprised?”
“A little.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “I thought you might be…” Uncomfortable with me, she was going to say. “I thought you might be trying to keep things ultra professional between us since it turns out we share a wall. It seemed like you were avoiding eye contact.”
A faint darkness colored the tops of his cheekbones, and he gestured to the street. “Shall we? If you’re heading home?”
She fell into step beside him. “I am.”
He didn’t say anything until they were half a block away from the busy buzz of Orange Ave, then he ducked his head in her direction. “I was avoiding eye contact,” he murmured. “I have to confess that.”
And now he was walking her home? She didn’t understand. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t—”
“What?” He stopped and looped his hand around her upper arm. As she twisted to look at him, her art portfolio slipped off her other shoulder, and he reached for it, catching it before it hit the ground.
Somehow she’d ended up in a circle of his arms. And her bag was now on his shoulder. He rubbed his hands against her upper arms. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I was avoiding eye contact in order to remain, as you said, ultra professional.”
If he hadn’t then glanced down between their bodies, dragging her gaze to the crotch of his jeans, she might have remained stupid about what he meant for way too long.
Oh. Oh. “You mean…” She couldn’t say it.
She could picture it, though. Naked Ben, making eye contact and then having to shift in place because a certain part of his anatomy was being reactive.
She caught a fleeting grin as she yanked her gaze back to his face. And he had zero problem saying it explicitly. “The last thing I wanted was a hard-on in front of everyone.”
A little confirmation wouldn’t hurt anyone. “And making eye contact with me would cause…”
“Fishing for compliments?”
“No!” She jerked back, tripping over her feet. He looked alarmed as she raised her hands. “This is inappropriate of me, I’m sorry.”
“I brought it up.”
Yes, he had. But she needed to shut it down. “Did you sign a waiver saying you wouldn’t hit on the model?”
His mouth dropped open. “You…had to sign something that said that?”
“Uh huh.”
After blinking at her for a second, he turned and resumed their walk home. He still had her bag on his outside shoulder, and his inside arm brushed against hers every few steps.
The conversation wasn’t over, though. He grinned. “But if you hadn’t signed that waiver, would you hit on me?”
She laughed. A little too loud, and little too forcefully, and somehow it came out sounding mean. A hurt expression flashed across his face for a second, and she felt awful. Regret laced her words, or at least she hoped it did. “Ben, there is not a scenario in the world I could imagine where somehow I would be in a position to hit on you, but let’s assume there is—and it’s not this one, because I take legal documents very seriously—yes, of course I would hit on you. Look at yourself. You’re…very pretty. And kind.”
“I’m pretty.” The smile was back again, a lopsided and pleased grin that made him look suddenly boyish and young.
“Very.”
“Oh, I caught the very. And I appreciated it almost as much as when you said I’m kind.” He paused a beat. “You don’t know me, though.”
“That’s true. You might be a monster.” She made sure to say it lightly enough so as not to be hurtful this time. “You aren’t, right?”
He shook his head. “Try very hard not to be. And I trust the same is true for you?”
“Depends who you ask. I’m a high school teacher. Come exam time, some students might say…”
“A cruel governess? I like it. What do you teach?”
“Math.”
“Very cruel indeed.” He pointed at a helicopter flying overhead. “I’m in the military.”
“Ah. So, yeah, maybe the same reactions from different people.”
He nodded. “Something like that.”
And yet she knew he was kind, with a bone-deep surety she rarely felt about anything. “Do you ever get a gut-feeling about someone?”
Ben made a face. “Professionally? Yes. Personally? Not as often as I’d like.” He slid her a sideways glance. His gaze was warm, lingering, and very interested. “Which doesn’t mean I don’t want to believe that someone is as nice as they seem.”
Chapter Six
Ben knew he was pushing the envelope a bit with Chelsea, but it had been a long, lonely, bitter six months, and flirting with her felt a hundred times better than laying down on the floor of his still-empty apartment.
There was no way this could be wrong, waiver be damned.
She swayed toward him, soft, naked want in her eyes. “Listen, there is a fine li
ne to walk here with regard to the fact that…you are…the model…”
“And you are the artist,” he acknowledged, but it came off as a deadpan joke.
She gave him the most earnest look. “I’m being serious.”
“And I’m listening. Intently.”
“Too intently. You’re making me feel all…”
“Nervous?”
“Fluttery.”
Hell, yes. He jammed his tongue into his cheek to keep from crowing. His Christmas Elf felt fluttery around him? “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
She gave a quarter turn, barely. An eighth of a turn, really, toward her door, muttered something about a loophole, then pivoted back to him. “Ben?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?”
He had no problem deciphering that code. He gave her a wicked grin and stepped in close. Real close. “I’d love that.”
“We can talk better inside,” she whispered.
“Good idea.”
She unlocked, then pushed the door open. Her apartment was tidy and cozy, and full of comfortable looking furniture.
Moving into the living room, she flicked on a couple of lamps, then stood halfway between the couch and the kitchen. “Should we talk first?”
He pointed to the couch. “May I?”
“Please.”
He sprawled out, then nudged his head toward the other end. “Join me.”
She curled up there, facing him, her knees almost touching his. “I’m not really great at this.”
“What is this, exactly?”
“Explaining my awkward attraction to a person.”
“Nothing about your attraction to me feels awkward on my end.”
“No?”
He shook his head slowly, heat building inside him now. “Nope.”