Resisting Fate

by Kylie Gilmore

  “Missy Higgins,” he said in a mock offended voice, “I am not leaving here today until you admit it’s fate that brought us together. It’s happened too much to be coincidental.” His voice took on a deep robotic tone. “Resistance is futile.”

  She shook her head, focused on her chore. “You seriously believe in fate?”

  “Not until you.”

  Shiver upon shiver, goose bumps on top of goose bumps. She risked a look at him, and he gazed back steadily with no hint of dimpled amusement. Her breath caught. She swore and went back to work. He chuckled in a deep rumble by her side.

  Harmless flirt, harmless flirt, she repeated to herself in a mantra, though she was beginning to believe Ben was much more dangerous to her carefully structured safe life than that.

  They fell into an easy rhythm, working another hour on potatoes before switching over to assembling stuffing ingredients in large pans. Ben kept up the conversation, asking about her job and telling her about his and Logan’s company Checkin, a background-check service for employers. How she wished her current employer had used their service before hiring Matt last spring; then Missy would’ve known he was married. For sure she’d suggest they use it going forward. They often had to add a crew of short-term contractors for big jobs.

  The dinner hour arrived, and she and Ben worked side by side at the hot-food station, serving up food to the long line of people. They talked little, but she was tuned in to him. He made eye contact with every single person he served, speaking in a warm friendly voice, even to some of the surly old men, and he joked around with the kids. Her heart just about burst. His mom must’ve set a tremendous example for him. Or maybe he inherited her compassionate nature. Either way, she knew how rare that was in people, and it made her admire him even more.

  Dinner finished serving at seven, which was also when her shift ended.

  “You up for cleanup?” Ben asked, heading back to the kitchen with her. “I’ll wash this time. You dry.”

  “Sure,” she said, even though she was tired from being on her feet. If Ben had more to give, then she could too.

  She joined him at a sink full of soaking pots and large pans. “Wow, that’s a lot of scrubbing.”

  “I’ve got the muscle power.” He grabbed a scrub pad and got to work. “Many hands make light work,” he said with a wink. “My mom used to say that.”

  Missy grabbed a dish towel. “You must’ve inherited her heart-of-gold gene, with all your selfless volunteering.”

  “Actually, I’m adopted, but thanks.”

  She couldn’t breathe for a moment. The similarities in their paths were too glaring to ignore.

  “You’re volunteering too,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short.” He handed her a pot.

  She took it and somehow fumbled it, the pot hitting the floor with a clatter. They both went to pick it up at the same time. Down on one knee, mirror images of each other, their gazes locked.

  Ben handed the pot to her. “You must be getting tired,” he said gently.

  “I was adopted too,” she whispered. “As a baby. It was my adoptive parents who died.”

  His eyes widened. “Me too, all of it.” He rubbed his exposed forearm covered in goose bumps.

  She bit her lip.

  He reached for her elbow and guided her up with him. “What’re the odds?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “I know,” she managed, a slight tremor in her voice. It was both freaky and comforting at the same time. He knew what it was like to live with the knowledge your mother gave you up. He knew what it meant to have a good adoptive family and then lose them. Their similar histories seriously made her believe in the mystical, a force greater than herself at play here. He just might be the only person on the planet who really got her.

  Several minutes passed in silence while they worked, except for the din of other volunteers’ conversations as dishes were scraped and piled into dishwashers or set in sinks to soak.

  She studied his profile, his short light brown hair emphasizing his masculine features, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, lightly stubbled jaw. He turned, giving her a warm look that said fate. She heard it just like he’d said it out loud, and it was really starting to freak her out.

  Maybe they weren’t all that similar. Maybe his dad was there for him the whole time and he hadn’t felt alone like she had as a kid.

  “Is your dad still around?” she asked.

  He handed her a pot. “He split when I was two, so it was just me and Mom for a real long time. But Joe Campbell was an honorary dad. Mom set me up with the Police Athletic League on his baseball team. She knew Joe was a good man with a lot of sons. She wanted me to have that male influence.”

  She swallowed hard. They were spookily similar. She kept asking questions, needing to know if they’d actually lived parallel lives. “Then, later, your grandmother took you in?” She figured it must’ve went down that way because he was close with her. Missy had made the mistake of immediately sending a letter to her biological mom, asking her to take her in after her adoptive parents died. She had her mom’s address from the birthday cards she’d sent. Missy never heard back. Her parents hadn’t made a will, so the court appointed her adoptive mom’s sister to take her in, who made it clear she was doing Missy a big favor, all while bitterly lamenting how little money social services provided for her care. The small proceeds from her parents’ estate were squandered by her aunt before Missy ever saw a cent. She pushed that dark memory away, realizing Ben was talking.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I missed that last part. Did you say your grandmother moved into your place, or did you have to move to hers?”

  “The first. But my family always felt bigger than that with the Campbells and all the other strays like me that hung around their house. I was one of the younger boys—Ty, Alex, me, and Logan. Parker was our age too, but he came along later.”

  “So you were happy?” she asked.

  He lifted one corner of his mouth. “I take happiness where I can find it.”

  “That’s smart.”

  “What about you?”

  She shrugged, not willing to share any more of her tumultuous early life. “Like you, I take happiness where I can find it.”

  He went back to scrubbing a pot. She went back to drying.

  A few minutes later, he handed her the next pot to dry. “What’re you doing after this?”

  “Why?”

  He leaned close, giving her a sexy smile. “Because I’d like to do whatever you’re doing.”

  Heat surged through her, her pulse skyrocketing. “I was planning on a hot bath with a glass of wine.”

  He winked. “It’s smart to conserve water.” He went back to work, whistling to himself.

  She didn’t know what to say. She wanted him, no question, but something held her back. She felt like she was on a high wire with no idea how she got there, unsure if it made more sense to retreat or rush forward and risk the fall. But then he made it easy for her.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said. That mischievous look was back in his eyes, dimpled smile on full display. “How about tomorrow we jet off to Vegas for a long weekend. What happens in Vegas—”

  She cooled. “I hate Vegas.”

  “How can you hate a playground?”

  “Because it’s my biological mother’s playground. She’s a dancer, and I use the term loosely.”

  He glanced at her, a light of surprise in his eyes, but no judgment. “Okay, so no Vegas.” He washed a tray, rinsed, and handed it to her.

  “Anyway, I don’t have money for frivolous trips.”

  “I would’ve covered you.”

  She clenched her jaw. “I pay my own way.” Paying her own way meant she was in charge of her life, taking care of herself. No man would ever hold the purse strings again no matter how enticing the offer.

  He blew out a breath, but refrained from commenting. Smart man. She supposed, being raised by his mom and grandmother, he knew how to avoid land
mines of conversation. She liked that. She didn’t have the patience to bring a guy up to speed on woman speak.

  They resumed working in silence. The tension was thick in the air—do-or-die moment fast approaching. If she turned him down now, after all they’d shared, he wasn’t ever coming back. On the other hand, if they went somewhere together, well, what was the worst that could happen? Something heavy, deep, a relationship. But he’d said he didn’t believe in long-term commitment. In fact, hadn’t he said he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? In which case, he would expect something casual and light. That might work.

  But then what about after the casual and light with all their mutual friends?

  She watched him. His big, bulky-with-muscle, masculine self competently tackling a domestic chore. He was exceptional.

  Maybe just for tonight. One night.

  When they finished all the dishes, Ben dried his hands and turned to her, plucking his hairnet off and then hers. “This hair,” he said, staring at her hair, “such a shame. All that gorgeous red. You hardly ever see a natural redhead.”

  She rolled her eyes, took off her apron, and made her way over to the laundry basket near the back door, tossing it in.

  Ben followed her, wadding up his apron and throwing it in like a basketball. “Will you ever go back to red?”

  She sighed. “I look like my biological mother with red hair. That’s why I hate it. Every once in a while, I let it go natural, but then I can’t stand it. I also got her big lips, but I’m stuck with those.”

  Ben stared at her mouth. “Missy, that mouth. Swear to God it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She put her fingers to her lips. “But—”

  “Trust me.” He leaned down to her ear to whisper, “That mouth has starred in some very erotic dreams of mine.”

  She scowled, not at all appeased. “See? I have porn-star lips.”

  He traced the dip in her upper lip with his index finger before pressing on her plump lower lip. “You have luscious sweet lips I want to feast on.”

  Her lips parted on a soft exhale. He smiled but made no move to kiss her. Instead, he dropped his hand, his gaze moving from her lips to her hair. “Do you still see your Vegas mom?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why does she get to decide how you wear your hair?”

  “Why do you get to decide?” she returned.

  His eyes danced with amusement. “You’re a prickly one.” He went to the closet and pulled out his black leather jacket, pulling it on. “I’ll call you cactus from here on out.”

  She found her black wool coat and shoved her hands in the sleeves, irritated by the nickname, probably because it hit a little close to home. Her defenses sprang right up when someone pushed her. “Let me guess, you normally call your women sweetie or honey bunny.”

  He laughed out loud. “Honey bunny, that’s a good one. No, I call them by their name. Maybe throw in a—” he dropped his voice, low and husky “—sexy thing if it’s warranted.”

  Her cheeks heated, her neck too, and so many more southerly parts. “We should say goodbye to Leah.”

  “Sure, she’s an honorary aunt. She was close with my mom.”

  She swallowed hard, his openness about his loss bringing a visceral deep empathy. She bumped his shoulder in a small gesture of affection, drawing a smile from him that reached his eyes, warm and tender. She wobbled for a moment, not used to warm and tender, before she walked over to where Leah was busy wiping down the counter. Ben followed close behind.

  “We’re heading out,” Missy said. “Have a happy Thanksgiving.”

  Leah put the sponge down and gave Missy a warm smile. “You too, sweetheart. Thanks so much for your help.” She turned to Ben. “There’s my Super Ben. Your mom was looking down on you from heaven today.”

  “Super Ben to the rescue,” he murmured. “I felt her.”

  Leah nodded, her eyes shiny, before giving him a hug. She pulled away and said to Missy, “This guy is a keeper. Good people.”

  “Aww, thanks,” Ben said. “High praise from my aunt always gives me a boost with the ladies.”

  “Oh, you!” Leah said, cackling and shaking her head.

  “Bye,” Ben said, kissing Leah on the cheek. He took Missy’s hand, surprising her, his larger hand enveloping hers in a firm clasp as he guided her through the kitchen and out to the dining room. She wasn’t much of a hand holder, wasn’t used to affectionate gestures at all, really. A hug here and there. Sex, yes. Hand holding, no. Before she could decide how she felt about it, they were on the front sidewalk and he let go.

  “Welp…” She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, not sure how to finish that sentence. Goodbye? Come over? It’s been real?

  Ben closed the distance between them, instantly spiking her temperature despite the chilly November night. He pushed her hair back over her ear before gazing directly into her eyes, his voice gentle. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Nothing,” she whispered. She never dared want anything. She got what she needed and that was enough.

  His big hand cradled her jaw, tipping her face up to his. “What can I offer you is a better question.”

  That was a better question. Something she could handle. She licked her lips and he watched the movement. “If you’re offering what I think you’re offering…”

  His thumb stroked her cheek. “I am.”

  She swallowed, her stomach fluttering, on that high wire again, terrified of falling. “One night.”

  “One night,” he agreed. “And no spending the night.”

  It was everything she’d hoped for—clear-cut boundaries, passion with no hard feelings after. A little voice in her head warned it couldn’t possibly be that easy, but she was done denying herself. “Deal.”

  He dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers. “How about we start tonight?” He kissed her for real then, his mouth hungry and hot, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against his hard body and intoxicating heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pressing closer, needing more of him, not caring about anything but the raw animal instinct that drove her. Sex, that was all it was. Yes, yes, yes.

  He pulled away so suddenly she lost her balance. He steadied her, then took her hand in his, this time entwining his fingers with hers as they walked to the parking lot. She decided she liked holding hands with Ben. She liked it a lot.

  She couldn’t wait to find out what else she liked with him.

  Chapter Five

  Forty-five minutes later, she pulled her car into the driveway of Ben’s house in Fieldridge, a town not far from Clover Park and dotted with horse farms and small clusters of homes, ranging from older ranch homes to elegant mansions perched high on the hill. Ben had a newer home, near the bottom of the hill, in a development full of cul-de-sacs, the kind of neighborhood with families, where kids could play in the streets and bike safely. She’d suspected he was well off, but the house confirmed it. His business must be doing fantastic because she knew he came from modest beginnings. A single mom on a social worker’s salary couldn’t afford a lot of luxury. Her respect and admiration for him went up several more notches. Her heart kicked up speed, a warning not to get too close.

  Nope, not gonna happen. This was sex, nothing more. One night.

  She calmed, following him inside through a spotless laundry room to a large gourmet kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances, white marble counters, and sleek white cabinets. He took off his jacket and hung it on a peg in the short hallway between the kitchen and laundry room. Then he helped her off with her coat and hung hers next to his.

  “You want a drink?” he asked, heading toward the cabinets.

  She stood next to the marble island, waiting for what they were both here for. “No, thanks.”

  He helped himself to a glass of water and took a long drink, watching her over the rim. “You want to watch a movie?”

  “Not really.”
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br />   “Hungry? I’ve got some leftovers from my early Thanksgiving with my grandmother. She eats at noon, naps by three.”

  She was hungry, but that could wait. “Maybe later.”

  He set his glass on the counter. “Give me a clue here. I’m good, but I’m not that good.” He closed the short distance between them and tapped her head. “Can’t read minds.”

  She looked up at him. “Maybe we could eat after sex.”

  He stared at her mouth, his voice rough. “So you’re just here for sex.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “I don’t need all the niceties.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just fuck me.”

  His arm banded around her waist, pulling her tight against him, heat in his eyes. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

  “It’s all men’s language.”

  His brows creased for a moment, staring at her like he was trying to read her soul. Fuck that. She kissed him roughly.

  He growled deep in his throat and lifted her, setting her on the island, his mouth sealed over hers. His tongue invaded, his large hand cupping the back of her head, the other hand sliding down her back to cup her ass. He ground himself against her, all of him hard and hot, hitting just the right spot, pleasure spiraling out from her core. Something in her snapped, wild for him like she’d never been for any man. She bit his bottom lip, then sucked it, her nails digging into his shoulders, her hips rising to meet him in open invitation.

  He pressed on her chin, easing her mouth open, pulling back to stare at her for a moment before he closed the distance, his tongue tracing her lips. Then he surprised her, biting her lower lip hard enough to sting, jolting her. He sucked gently, soothing the sting, then grazed his lips over hers, bringing hot tingles over her sensitized lips.

  She yanked his shirt over his head, sliding her hands over the hard planes of his body, reveling in the lines of his muscular shoulders to his warm chest to flat stomach. He tossed his shirt behind him and then ripped her shirt off. She grabbed his head and kissed him, rough and hungry, her body humming in anticipation, and he met her there, the intensity skyrocketing. His hands were on her bra, working to get it off, while she rapidly undid the button and zipper on his jeans. And then she had him in hand, thick and hard, stroking him.