by Nia Arthurs
Benson spun and found the woman eyeing him. The music from inside the club pulsed through the air, but it was faint, diluted, a faded back-track to the shimmering tension between them.
He slipped his hands into his pockets to give them something to do. “Should I call a cab?”
“No, I’m good.” She held up her keys. “I only got to enjoy one beer before Bozo showed up.”
His lips quirked without his permission. “Is that his real name?”
“Should be.” Her eyes flashed.
“I asked for him to be removed so if you’d like to go back in…”
“Nah.” She raked slender fingers through her long, black hair. “I’m not in the mood for crowds anymore.” Gliding toward him, she stuck out a hand. “Carrie.”
He shook her hand.
She smiled, one that made her already gorgeous face ten times more appealing. “I figured since we’re dating now, we should at least know each other’s names.”
“Oh.” He chuckled. “Sorry about that. I was thinking on the fly.”
“No, that was genius.”
He let her hand go, missing the warmth of it as she pulled her fingers back and her nails gently scraped the inside of his palm. “I’m Benson.”
“Well, Benson,” Carrie leaned forward, twinkling eyes nearly blinding him, “you wanna get out of here?”
His first instinct was to say yes.
Remember, she’s fire, Benson. You’ve got scars all over your heart from women like her.
She saw him hesitating and pulled back. “Unless you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s not...” Benson’s eyes shot to the club. He had responsibilities.
“Were you with friends?” Carrie followed the direction of his gaze.
“Something like that.”
“It’s fine then.” She turned.
Benson watched her hand curl over the door handle. Watched her draw it back.
He really shouldn’t.
But he really wanted to.
Screw it. The bar could survive without him for one night. He quickly texted his manager and ran to the exits to grab the door.
Carrie startled and glanced over her shoulder. Her expression relaxed when she saw him and another heart-stopping grin crossed her face. “Change your mind?”
He jutted his chin forward. “Lead the way.”
“My car’s over there.” She pointed to a sleek blue ride that was probably nicer than his. “I hope you don’t mind if I drive. I want to have a getaway plan. You know,” she paused and smirked at him over the roof of the car, “in case you turn out to be a psychopath.”
“I assure you, I’m no psychopath.”
“Well, that’s what my gut is saying. Or else you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Benson laughed. He’d bet that some people found her forthrightness rude or abrasive, but he thought it was refreshing.
“So where are we going?” he asked after he’d climbed in and she started driving.
“Somewhere quiet.”
He nodded. This was, obviously, Carrie’s adventure and he was down to join her for one night.
Benson glanced at her from the corner of his eye and wondered what she was trying to run away from. Most of the women who visited his bar alone were there to complain about or recover from a bad relationship.
Whether she was in one, had recently gotten out of one or was thinking of leaving, he didn’t know or care. But there was no way a woman as breathtaking as Carrie would be single without some sort of history.
He wondered what her story was. Did she get cheated on? Scammed? His gaze perused the luxurious interior of her car. She looked like she had money. Or maybe this car belonged to her boyfriend? Maybe she didn’t have a ‘boyfriend’. Maybe she was a high profile escort who slept with powerful men for money.
What is this? A novel?
His imagination had always gotten him in trouble and here he was letting it roam free again. He’d enjoy whatever the night brought and scribble his ideas on the computer later.
“What are you thinking?” Carrie asked.
Benson looked at her. “That you drive like my Halmoni.” He remembered that he wasn’t in Korea anymore and clarified. “I mean my grandmother.”
“I know what Halmoni means.”
“Do you?”
“Korean drama fan here.” She waved a hand. “Plus both my friends are dating Korean guys. But that’s not the point.” She glared at him. “How dare you compare me to your grandma?”
Amused, he looked ahead. “You both have lead foots.”
“You’re just jealous because we have skills.”
Benson laughed. “Right.”
She smirked at him and then looked forward again. “We’re almost there.”
Benson glanced through the window and saw the Caribbean Sea thrashing against jagged rocks. The water thumped grey mist over the sand.
Carrie parked near the beach.
He cleared his throat nervously. “Are you sure you’re not the psychopath? This looks like the perfect place to kill someone.”
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” She sent him a devilish look and bent over. Benson averted his eyes from her exposed chest that dangled like ripe fruit in front of him and steadied his gaze on the view.
The Caribbean Sea stretched out as far as the eye could see. Bright stars pierced through the velvet sky. The moon found its reflection in the stormy glass of the water.
“Alright.” Carrie popped the door open.
Benson saw her bare feet and frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I know what I’m doing.” She winked and reached into the backseat, pulling out a large blanket. “In case we get cold,” she explained. In the blink of an eye, she’d climbed out and slammed the door behind her.
Benson scrambled to follow her, keeping a close eye on the sand. As she’d promised, Carrie stepped lightly past the rocks embedded in the ground and led him to a point just above the beach.
The outcropping jutted out like a small cave that feathered close to the rising tide. Carrie spread the blanket and sat down.
He joined her, enjoying the salty sting of the air and the water that rushed their feet. This wasn’t the way he’d pictured his night going, but he was glad that he’d followed her.
Carrie dragged her knees to her chest and tried to pull her skirt down to cover her legs. It did nothing to conserve her modesty, but she showed no signs of caring. “My parents lived in Ladyville for a while. I used to visit this beach often to collect seashells.”
“When did you find this place?” he asked.
“It was by accident. I got caught in the rain and I needed shelter.” She glanced to the ‘roof’ that curled over them, giving the illusion of privacy. “I stumbled here and it became my favorite spot ever since.”
Benson nodded and dug his fingers into the sand.
Carrie swerved to face him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Is rescuing beautiful women from narcissists your part-time job or…?”
“More like a hobby.” He was rewarded with a chuckle from Carrie. “I dabble in different businesses. The nightclub is one of them.”
Her jaw dropped. “Wait… you own…?”
He leaned forward and gently closed her mouth.
“Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed. You don’t look like a bar owner.”
“Well, how am I supposed to look?”
She held a hand to her chin. “Prissy. Immature. Annoying.”
Sounds like Stacie. He chuckled. “I apologize for the bar owner that scarred you, but I promise we’re not all alike.”
“Yeah, you are,” she whispered. Her eyes went sober and Benson sensed the shift in the air. The playful, carefree Carrie was gone, replaced with another side of her—one that looked broken and vulnerable.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, I—” She sucked in a deep breath. The wind pulled a secti
on of her hair and threw it in front of her face. She flung it back with a trembling hand. “I broke up with my boyfriend today.”
“I’m sorry.”
“His other girlfriend sent me a picture of them together in bed.” She laughed darkly. “Do you know that loser denied it even after I showed him proof? Gosh, I’m an idiot.”
“No, you’re not.”
She looked at him with glistening brown eyes.
Benson decided to share his own story. “I was born in Belize, but I went to Korea to study and stayed there until recently.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“My girlfriend cheated on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “With her professor. Funny, right?”
“Piece of crap,” Carrie blurted. “I hope she gets hit by a truck.”
Laughter tumbled out of him.
Carrie smiled sheepishly.
The laughter died. His gaze found her lips and lingered there. The air between them charged with tension, with promise. He realized that he wanted to taste her again. One more time.
She blinked thick lashes, inviting him closer.
Unable to resist, Benson leaned in and kissed her.
3
One thing led to another.
She’d heard that excuse a hundred times, mostly from her cheating exes who couldn’t keep it in their pants and decided that vague apologies could stop her frying pan from bashing their heads in.
Tonight definitely didn’t give anyone a pass for cheating, but at least now she could understand what her slimy ex-boyfriends probably meant.
Hookups were not her thing. But this… something stronger than gravity drew her to Benson. Made her want to feel every inch of his skin. Flesh against flesh. Hard against soft.
Harlot. Maybe she was.
Hypocrite. That too.
Only a few hours ago, she was whining about the male species and kissing dating goodbye.
Although this, technically, wasn’t a date, Benson wasn’t her boyfriend, and she wouldn’t see him again. If you looked at it objectively, she wasn’t breaking any rules here.
Even if she was, Carrie couldn’t find the time or breath to care. Like the tide that followed the muses of the moon, she and Benson flowed into each other. It was natural. Easy. And so toe-curlingly good.
Her fingernails dug into his back. She gasped and he rolled off her, out of breath. Cheeks flushed. They were both burning up despite the almost freezing winds that blew from the Caribbean Sea.
Barely conscious, Carrie stretched out and touched his side. Dark eyes collided with hers. Benson’s hair fanned over his forehead, messy from her restless fingers. His shoulders were broad and well-defined. Faint scratches riddled the patches of pale skin where she’d gone a little overboard.
“That’s a first,” he said.
“Really? That was your first time?” Her eyes bugged. “You’re a natural.”
He chuckled. “No, this.” He pointed between the two of them. “Sleeping with someone I just met.” He paused and thought it over. “You don’t feel like a stranger, but I just realized I don’t even know your last name.”
“Are you asking for it?”
He rolled toward her and propped his head up. “Would you give it?”
Carrie thought it over. “No.”
“I figured.”
“I’m Carrie. You’re Benson. It doesn’t have to be more than that. We’re just two consenting adults blowing some steam.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“You’re a nice guy, Benson. I mean, as far as I can see, but I’m not ready for a relationship.”
“Relax. I’m not suggesting anything.” He swirled his thumb across her cheek. “Just know, Carrie With No Last Name, that your ex was an idiot. You can tell him I said that.”
She ducked her head into the blanket so her hair covered her face and laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious.”
She peeked at him. “How are you so sure? Like you pointed out, you don’t even know me.”
“True. We just had sex, but I guess that doesn’t count for much.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I have a strong feeling.” He studied her intently, eyes narrowing with determination. Goosebumps popped over her body as he said, “If we’d met under different circumstances at different times in our lives, I wouldn’t let you walk away.”
She knew it probably meant nothing. Men said sappy things in the throes of passion, but Benson’s gentle encouragement touched her deep in a place she thought no one would ever be able to access.
She wanted him. Again.
Carrie pressed her lips to the thrumming pulse at the base of his throat. Moved her mouth so it grazed his skin, up his neck, behind his ear. He dragged her on top of him. Nuzzled against her neck.
Desire whirled to life again as his hands grazed her stomach.
The night wasn’t over yet.
“Where did my dress go,” Carrie mumbled. Dawn was approaching. The sea had calmed and transformed into a still mirror that reflected the grey-blue mist of the morning.
Benson showed her a soggy shoe. “I think the water claimed a victim.”
“You can’t find the other one?”
He shook his head.
She smiled awkwardly and turned away.
Her raging pulse had drowned out every anxious thought, but as Carrie shook sand from crevices where sand should never be, the past few hours shifted into perspective.
Scary warnings crawled through her mind.
What if this guy has AIDS or something? What if my birth control pills fail me and I get pregnant?
Frustration edged through her heart. She’d given in to passion with a complete stranger and now her common sense wanted to creep in and guilt-trip her? Where was this voice of reason when Benson had her fingers curling into the sand? Huh?
“You good?” Benson asked. A glance over her shoulder found him fully dressed—black blazer, white shirt, and jeans. He clutched his shoe in one hand and stood barefoot. Even with the wrinkled shirt and disheveled hair, he looked tempting as sin.
“I’m fine,” Carrie said uneasily. She’d had no problems being naked when they were intimate but, now that the sun was peeking past the waves, she felt… vulnerable, exposed.
Instead of putting on her bra and panties, she just slipped the dress over her head and turned around. “Shall we?”
“Yeah.” Benson turned and walked with her to the car. She noticed how he matched his steps with hers and hurried along so they could leave as soon as possible.
In her haste, she didn’t look where she was going. Pain shot through her foot. She glanced down and saw a pointy rock jutting into her skin. A hiss seeped past her teeth.
Benson froze and glanced at her. “What happened?”
“I stepped on a rock.” She moaned.
His eyebrows slanted together, dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Here. Let me carry you the rest of the way.”
“I’m fine.” She shirked from his touch.
“I wasn’t asking.” Benson swiped her into his arms and held her, bridal-style, all the way to the car.
His touch sparked a mixture of desire and shame to life and she tried to make herself as small as possible.
Benson stopped and looked at her. “Where are your keys?”
“In my bag.”
He reached for her purse and dug around until he found the keys and set her on the driver’s seat. Carrie started to swing her legs around so she could drive when she felt him snatch her foot.
Her pulse spiked. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her and pulled her leg up to inspect the bottom of her foot. Gently applying pressure there, he finally looked at her. “Does it hurt when I do this?”
She flinched but lied. “No.”
He stood to his full height. Carrie had to crane her neck to see into his frowning face. The expression he wore was similar to
the one he’d leveled at Bozo when he refused to listen yesterday.
Carrie cleared her throat. “You don’t have to act like you care about me. Remember, this doesn’t—”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I got it.” He nudged her leg.
Carrie held her breath when his fingers dug into her thighs, but he only hefted her out of the driver’s side.
Opening the door with one hand, he got her settled into the passenger seat. “I’m not doing this for you. If you can’t drive properly you’ll get us both killed.” He dangled the keys in front of her face. “I’ll take us back to the bar at least.”
She nodded her agreement.
The ride over was quiet. She put on the radio and listened to the morning anchors complain about the government while Benson drove. For a while, she forgot that he was even there.
The bar appeared in the distance. In the light of day, it looked like any other obscure building between two warehouses. So much had happened since last night, she couldn’t even wrap her brain around it.
Benson shut the engine.
For a moment, he was quiet. Finally, he turned to her. “Goodbye, Carrie. I wish you the best.”
He sounded like an old teacher sending her off at graduation. Stiff. Formal. They’d had sex—the most physical form of human connection. Now what? Should she thank him? Shake his hand?
Someone should write a manual about proper Morning After conduct.
Since none of the options that blazed through her head felt right, Carrie just smiled stiffly and crawled over to the empty driver’s seat.
Benson headed inside.
She glanced at the rearview mirror to see if he looked back.
He didn’t.
Not that she’d expected him to, but it might have helped her awkwardness if he’d seemed the least bit as scandalized as her. Instead, he’d been cool and professional.
Maybe he’d lied when he said that was his first one-night stand.
It wouldn’t surprise her. Benson seemed different on the surface, but she’d come to learn that—deep down—most men were the same.
With a sigh, she backed out of the lot and drove home. Her apartment was in desperate need of a major cleaning. Carrie kicked aside her loads of laundry, tossed the mountain of clothes on her bed to one side and curled into a ball around it.