Tailored for Trouble

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  There was a long stretch of silence. “You see there? You’re smart. Just perfect for my Bennett.”

  She hadn’t answered the question, but it wasn’t necessary.

  “Promise you won’t tell him, Taylor. He’s got enough on his shoulders right now and Bali is at a critical point—his legacy. Do everything you can to help him see it through. Even after I’m gone in a few months. Can you do that, child?”

  She only had a few months to live? And Bennett didn’t know? Oh God. Taylor did not want to keep this sort of secret, but denying a dying woman her one wish…Well, that wasn’t something Taylor could ever do. “Yes, Mrs. Wade. I will do everything I can.”

  “That’s a good girl. Now call me Linda. Or better yet, Mom.”

  Poor Mrs. Wade had already married her off to Bennett. Chances of that happening are slim to when pigs fly. Rocket ships. “I don’t think—”

  “I never had a daughter,” Mrs. Wade added, “and it would give me some peace in my final moments.”

  Taylor sniffled, not realizing she’d been standing outside the revolving lobby doors of the Ritz-Carlton Tokyo, crying. God help me. This woman is so insane and so sweet. And in a very, very bizarre way, Taylor imagined her own mother would’ve been similar. Her father rarely spoke of her mother, and only Marcus, the oldest, had any real memories of her, since he’d been almost seven when she’d died; but Taylor knew two things without question: One, her mother had been the love of her father’s life. He’d never so much as looked at anyone else after she died. And when Taylor was growing up, though her father always did his best to keep a smile on his face, she often caught him staring off, lost in his own thoughts.

  Taylor liked to believe he daydreamed of her mother, maybe imagining her there with them, laughing and crying and breathing the same air. Yet, he never looked sad. Which led her to her second point: Her father had no regrets. It simply was who he was, and probably the reason he had raced cars. He lived in the moment and knew that there were never any guarantees, but there’d always be surprises. Taylor was one of them. The fourth child and an “oops.” It had taken a long time for her to accept and forgive herself for having caused her mother’s death, but if her brothers and father could forgive her, then so could she. No doubt about it, though, not having a mother gave her a deep appreciation for moms. Something about not having one made them all so special.

  “Yes, I’d be happy to call you ‘Mom,’ Linda.” Anything to make her final days happier.

  “Thank you, dear. And one last thing.”

  “Ye-yes?”

  “When he pushes you away—and believe me, he will—like a drowning man fighting for air—you push back. You hang on. He’ll come around.”

  “O-okay…”

  “Have him call me as soon as he can. Good night, dear.”

  “Good night…” she gulped. “Mom.”

  CHAPTER 9

  After hanging up with Mrs. Wade, Taylor went inside to the reception desk and asked about getting to the hospital. Honestly, Taylor had no clue where it was, and jumping into a taxi willy-nilly made her feel uneasy. She didn’t know the city that well nor did she speak the language.

  The reception clerk, a young man with short black hair, suggested calling St. Jude’s first to check on Bennett’s admission status. He pointed out that they might not let her see him or give her information considering she wasn’t family. “I might be able to convince them to call us when he’s ready for release; you’re his travel companion, and they’ll want someone to get him.”

  “Thank you. Whatever you think will work,” she replied, trying to keep her cool.

  The clerk called but got a busy signal and advised he’d keep trying, so she took a moment to catch her breath, finding a lonely sofa in the far end of the lobby. Her head throbbed as badly as her stomach churned—just say “no!” to sadka—but as she sat there, she realized she wouldn’t be getting any rest. Not until she had word that Bennett was all right. And after that conversation with his mother, she felt even guiltier for setting out on this journey of revenge. Mrs. Wade had all but told Taylor that Bennett wasn’t what he seemed, and she was beginning to believe it. That thing about Vera, for example. Wow. She never would’ve guessed. Then the restaurant owner saying Bennett had saved his business? Random-act-of-kindness point for you, Bennett. And finally, Candy. Holy crap. That was quite possibly the most horrific story she’d ever heard in real life, and Bennett had saved her.

  The picture of Bennett in her mind had rapidly evolved from a slime-covered gargoyle with fangs, packaged in the body of a sex god, into a celestial being, close to earning his fluffy wings and a halo. Yes, still packaged in the body of a sex god. Okay, Bennett is no angel and never will be. But he wasn’t a demon either.

  Her intention to come on this trip just to get a little revenge now felt sadder than ever.

  But you didn’t actually do anything bad to him, Tay. That was true. She’d merely planned to do some damage. In the end, she hadn’t followed through. No harm, no foul? And, well, who could blame her for wanting a little sweet revenge given the facts at the time?

  Maybe she had been thinking about this all wrong. She could do the training—the real training. And who knew? Maybe he’d get something out of it.

  But you still need to hear the explanation about the bet. Had he really taken six million dollars from his friends? And bragged about sleeping with her?

  That little nagging tug in the pit of her stomach kept teetering back and forth between wanting to cut her losses and giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  You promised his mother you’d help him with whatever this Bali project is. Now you’re in it, Tay. She couldn’t go back on her word. Especially not when she knew his mother was sick.

  The thought sent a little jab straight into the heart. He didn’t know his mom was terminally ill. It wasn’t her place to inform him, but she could tell by the way Bennett worried about his mother that when he found out, the news would devastate him.

  Yeah, but Bennett has family and friends. He doesn’t need you. However, something deep inside her wished it were otherwise.

  She lurched up and went over to the clerk who was busy dialing again. “Excuse me? I’m going to head over. I’ll give you my cellphone so you can call me if there are any updates.” She scribbled her number on a piece of hotel paper.

  The young man bowed his head. “Yes, of course.”

  She made her way outside to the standing row of cabs. Forty minutes and two traffic jams later, they pulled up to the hospital and Taylor paid quickly—twelve thousand Yen—a hundred bucks—holy shit—before hurrying for the double sliding doors. The waiting room was brightly lit, all-white, and almost empty. Still, she’d run in so fast, she practically ran into the registration desk where a nurse was seated.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Bennett Wade. Is he here?”

  The woman stared blankly. Oh no. She doesn’t speak English. Taylor racked her brain, but she just didn’t know any Japanese aside from “your sword is very big,” a phrase she’d once learned at a samurai cosplay party.

  Taylor pulled out her cell, pulled up Babelfish, and typed in her phrase. A bunch of Japanese characters popped up. Who knew if they were right?

  She showed it to the woman. Within seconds, the woman nodded. “Ah. Wade-san. Gone.” She made a little walking gesture with her fingers. “So sorry.”

  “Gone?” Taylor hoped the woman didn’t mean it in the eternal sense of the word. “You mean…hotel?” Taylor plugged the word “hotel” into her phone and flashed the screen at the woman.

  “Hai,” the woman replied. “Hotel.”

  They’d let him go already?

  “Okay. Thank you.” Taylor rushed outside and grabbed the first cab back to the hotel. Another forty minutes and three traffic-jams later—What? Thirteen-thousand Yen? You’re killin’ me, Japan—Taylor charged into the lobby and headed straight for the clerk who hadn’t bothered to call her.

  “Is he here?” sh
e said frantically.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.”

  “Mr. Wade. He’s not at the hospital.”

  “He’s not?”

  “No. Can you call his room?” He was on her floor, but she didn’t know the room number.

  “Yes, of course.” The clerk dialed and waited, but then shook his head. “He’s not answering.”

  So Bennett was drunk, suffering from exhaustion, had a head injury, and was running around Tokyo. WTH! Someone needs to spank that man.

  An image of doing just that popped in her head. Only, he was smiling and had no clothes on. Neither did she.

  She cleared the naughty thoughts from her mind. “Where the hell could he be?” she wondered aloud. The restaurant owner had been with him so maybe he knew where Bennett had gone?

  Taylor decided she’d go wake up Candy—she spoke Japanese and could go with her to the restaurant. If anyone was still there, they’d know how to get ahold of the owner.

  First, I need to change. She still wore her dress and heels and her feet were killing her. A quick tinkle-chat with her toilet also sounded nice, too.

  “Call me immediately if you see him,” she said to the clerk.

  She headed upstairs, chewing the corner of her bottom lip the entire way. When she got to her floor, she charged down the hall, pausing with a sharp screech when she reached her room and noticed the door ajar. Not by much, a centimeter or two at most, but enough that the lock hadn’t caught.

  She was about to turn right around—hell, she had enough on her plate and didn’t need to be playing hotel security on top of everything else—when a familiar groan caught her attention.

  “Bennett?” He had a distinctive voice. Deep, masculine, wholly sensual and capable of instantly fogging up her panties.

  She slowly pushed open the door and immediately spotted him sprawled out facedown on the bed in his slacks and dress shirt.

  “Bennett! Ohmygod.” She rushed inside and kneeled over him, brushing his messy dark hair off his forehead. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

  She shook him. “Bennett?”

  He groaned, “Leave me alone.” And then rolled onto his back. Her laptop had been under him—luckily it didn’t seem to have suffered permanent damage. “I have a meeting in the morning,” he mumbled. “Bali.”

  Taylor looked at him curiously. “Bennett, why aren’t you at the hospital?”

  He began sawing logs. Like, shake windows and rattle doors logs.

  Taylor gingerly rolled his head to the side, looking for the spot where he’d been bleeding. She found a small bandage.

  Okay, Bennett was stubborn, but not stupid. If he’d left the hospital, then the doctor had probably looked him over and told him there was nothing serious—no concussion or anything.

  She shook her head. “Well, I hope you’re all right because I promised your mother I’d look after you.”

  She reached for the phone and called the front desk to let the young man know she’d found Bennett. “Can you tell me what room is his?” The clerk replied that Bennett was next door.

  That’s weird.

  Maybe he wanted to be near me?

  The silly thought sparked little tingles in the pit of her stomach.

  Oh stop. He’s not into you.

  She reached for his blazer, which was flung over the foot of the bed, dug out his room key, and then reached for his arm and pulled. “Okay, Mr. Workaholic, let’s get you to your bed.” How the hell had he ended up in her room anyway?

  She gave him a tug, but he wasn’t moving. The man outweighed her by—well, she didn’t know how much, but whatever his weight, he wasn’t budging.

  With a sigh she slid her computer into its case, thinking how strange it was that she’d left it out. Normally, she made sure that sort of stuff was out of sight or put into a safe.

  Then she sank down next to Bennett for a moment to catch her breath. Her head was pounding like she’d been the one who’d passed out in the street.

  She laid her arm over her eyes, her body and mind spinning.

  “Taylor,” he mumbled.

  She turned and looked at him. His eyes were closed and his lips rested together in a slight pucker. She smiled. Was the man dreaming about her?

  She continued staring, drinking in his male beauty. He looked so peaceful. Not an ounce of hardness to be found in his face, just the simple masculine lines of his straight nose and the angular contours of his stubble-covered jaw. She reached out and traced her finger along the faded scar that ran between his lower lip and chin.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her heart beating faster, getting a rush from being so close to him.

  Like petting a sleeping lion.

  “So are you,” he mumbled back.

  She snapped her hand away. “Bennett?” she said quietly. “You awake?”

  “Wayan would like you,” he said, and rolled over, giving her his back.

  She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. You can’t keep drooling over him, Tay. You’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak. Fact was, Bennett was a complicated man with sharp edges. His own mother admitted that he had some serious baggage that prevented him from letting people get close.

  Taylor didn’t want to let him in only to find that his scar tissue was just too thick. And, in any case, he didn’t seem to be a relationship sort of man.

  All reasoning aside, however, Taylor felt herself liking him more and more. The quiet kindness, the loyalty he showed toward others, his really big balls—in the metaphorical sense, of course. Although, she didn’t doubt he probably matched up in the literal sense, too.

  But he’s no saint, Tay. Remember that.

  Taylor closed her eyes. In the morning, she’d ask Bennett about the bet and why he’d lied to her about Lady Mary. Then she’d decide once and for all if she’d be going home and cutting ties or continuing on the trip.

  She rolled over and kicked off her shoes. Then she turned off the lamp and immediately drifted off to sleep.

  —

  Sometime during the night, Taylor felt a slight chill on her bare hip and the warmth of a body pressed to her back.

  Her eyes opened with a startle. “Bennett?” she whispered. She turned her head. The streetlight coming through the window cast a gentle white glow over his body. Not only was the man spooning her, but at some point he’d removed his shirt and pants, and had managed to hike up her dress around her waist, wrapping his strong arm around her midsection, holding her tightly against him.

  Oh, crap. That feels so incredible. She wasn’t sure if it was because he touched her in a way that instantly fired up all sorts of erotic impulses below the belt, or because he was almost naked in bed with her, or because she felt his erection eagerly prodding her ass. Probably all three.

  She blew out a breath. Okay, don’t get all flustered. He’s exhausted and probably doesn’t realize he is in bed with me.

  “Mmmm…” he groaned, in a deep, sensually male voice, nuzzling the back of her neck with his lips, the short whiskers on his face tickling her skin and creating a violent wave of goose bumps over her body. Her nipples instantly hardened, and she clenched her eyes shut. Oh Lord, what’s he trying to do to me?

  “Mmmm…” he groaned again. “You smell so good.”

  She turned her head just a notch. Yep, the man was still asleep. At least, he appeared to be.

  Okay, what do I do? Uh, why am I debating this? I need to get up and go sleep on the couch. She started to roll away, but he tightened his grip, this time using the leverage to grind himself against her ass.

  Her eyes rolled in her head. Only two thin layers of fabric—her panties and his boxers—separated his shaft from her bare ass, or, really, that little valley right between her cheeks.

  Oh God. He feels so good. Hard, thick, and hot against her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, and she’d certainly never been with a man like Bennett, who was large, lean, and muscular ever
ywhere. I bet he’s the demanding, take control, and give for hours kind of guy. Yes, he had to be. Bennett Wade was far too proud a man not to be a fuck-god in bed.

  He placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the nape of her neck, and it sent a throbbing wave of hard, needy aches right to her bud and into the sad, empty space in her core. The rest of her body sizzled, her pulse circulating a million miles an hour, her breath just shy of a sex-pant. If she didn’t stop him now, she might actually let him finish his sexy dream any way he liked.

  He pushed himself against her once more, sliding his hand from her midriff to the spot between her legs.

  Ohmygod. Ohmygod. That feels so good. Maybe I should just let him finish—

  “I want to come inside you,” he said in a gravelly, sin-filled voice.

  Dammit. With his hand firmly rubbing that one strategic spot, his words almost made her orgasm. You can’t do this, Tay. You can’t. No matter how good this…Ohhh…he slid his hand inside her panties, diving straight between her folds.

  She found herself unable to make him stop.

  “Mmmmm…That’s what you like. Isn’t it, Taylor?” he mumbled.

  Taylor. He was dreaming about her!

  She clenched her eyes shut. I…I…oh that feels so—No! I have to wake him up.

  He began rocking himself just a little faster, moving his hand in time with the wonderfully wicked hip-motion. She was about to….Ohgod. No…I…I’m going to…

  “Bennett!” she said in a firm voice. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

  She felt her entire core twitching and fluttering on the brink of an orgasm. His hand froze mid-stroke. It took every grown-up, rational cell in her body not to rock against him and finish.

  She turned her head slightly and found his eyes open, staring at her, the look on his face—a slight frown and lots of blinking—an indication of his severe confusion.

  “Miss Reed, why are you in my bed?”

  She cleared her throat. “It’s Ms. Reed. And you’re actually in my bed.”

  “And how did I get here?” he asked, making no move to uncouple their tightly pressed bodies or remove his hand from inside her panties.