by Ally Blake
She lifted her hand to her lips, then she murmured, as if to herself, “I’ve been wondering what that might feel like for the longest time. You feel like lunch yet?”
Lunch. Ben needed a moment to fathom the meaning of the word.
“Or,” she said, lifting her head, to whisper against his ear, “we could go back upstairs.”
The hand against the wall curled into the wallpaper. Hell, this was fast. He’d been in her vicinity fifteen minutes, tops. But the truth was, they’d been a snowball rolling down a hill, gaining speed and momentum, since their very first conversation.
Yet, he was no savage, prone to act on a whim. He made decisions based on reason, evidence, fact. One of them had to try to take control of this thing.
“We should slow down,” he managed.
“Why?”
Good question.
“I’m a big girl, Ben. And you are most certainly a big boy. Whatever worries are bouncing about inside that big brain of yours, let them go. I am the one thing in your life that you never, ever have to worry about. I ask nothing of you but this. Now.”
She took him by the hand and moved a step higher, tilting her head towards the upstairs apartment, towards her big, soft bed, giving him that slow, languorous, wider-than-should-be-possible smile, and he thought, To hell with it.
He was on holiday, after all. For the first time in more years than he could count, he was responsible for no one but himself.
At the letting go Ben felt something shift inside him. Something big and cumbersome and weighty. He felt a hook slide into the new-found space, right through his centre, tugging him wherever Nora chose to take him.
Which was up the stairs, and into her bed.
* * *
Skin still slick with sweat, bones lax, muscles no longer of any use, her entire body drifting on a blissful fog, Nora stared at a spot on the ceiling where a small patch of paint was flaking away, as her thoughts threatened to spin out into crazy town.
She’d just taken Ben Hawthorne to bed. Literally taken him by the hand and led him there! What had she been thinking? She hadn’t. That much was clear.
And what happened to helping Ben make peace with his wonderful grandmother so she could walk away, no regrets?
One thing she hadn’t considered when letting her feelings for Ben have free rein, while they’d flirted, and teased, and talked about things she never talked about with anyone, ever, was that within the word crush, crushing was implied. Being crushed. The heaviness she felt in her chest sure felt as if it was heading that way.
When Ben moved beside her, all big and warm and strong, Nora whimpered; the urge to curl into him, absorb his warmth, absorb him, was rich and lush and terrifying.
She flopped her arm over her eyes, as if that might quell out the tumble of concerns fast bubbling up inside her.
“Nora,” Ben murmured, in that deep, rumbling, bone-melting voice of his. “Everything okay over there?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, her voice coming out an octave too high. “Everything’s super-duper!”
Nora felt Ben’s fingers—oh, God, those fingers—curl around hers, before he gently lifted her arm away from her face. She gave herself a moment, or three, to brace herself against the onslaught of that face before she opened her eyes to find him leaning on one elbow, looking down on her.
Her heart kerthunked. Her head swooned. His heartbreaker face was just so serious, and earnest, and lovely, it made her ache.
“That was my fault,” she blurted.
“How so?”
Excellent question. “Okay, maybe it was your fault for smelling so good.”
His mouth kicked ever so slightly at one corner, as if he was laughing at her—no, as if he was delighted by her—and it was possibly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“If so,” he said, lifting a hand to his chest, his beautifully sculpted chest, “then I take full responsibility.”
Nora smiled. Dreamily. Then shook her head hard enough her brain thunked against the sides of her skull. “See, now you’re looking at me as if I’m adorable. But you should know, I’m this delightful to everyone. So don’t think you’re special.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Actually,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, “maybe not that delightful. The falling-into-bed part was new. An aberration. A hiccup.”
“A hiccup,” he repeated, though he didn’t seem at all perturbed by her summation. Instead his fingers curled around a lock of her hair. Then he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek, then another at the edge of her ear.
Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh, her body shifting as waves of pleasure scooted through her. If she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t get control of herself, she’d be hiccupping again before she knew it.
“The cleaner!” she cried, eyes flying open.
“What about her?”
“Him. He’s due soon. Any minute.”
“Okay.” His lips moved down her neck, dragging against the skin till she felt feverish.
“He has a key!”
Ben’s mouth halted. He laid one more kiss on her collarbone, as if he was marking his place with a promise, then he sat back up.
Nora did the same, bringing the sheet with her. The rest barely covered Ben, hip to thigh; his huge feet hung off the end of the mattress.
Oh, now you’re all demure, a devil on her shoulder intoned. Five minutes ago you were riding him like a—
“As I was saying,” she blurted, “what happened, just now, was the result of a number of factors.”
“My smell, your adorableness...”
“Yes. And hanky-panky can be wonderfully...ah...distracting.”
He blinked, his long-angled lashes sweeping against his cheeks. The move devastating to any kind of balance she might be trying to regain. “Distracting.”
“Sure. We clearly both needed a good...distraction. From how much we both miss Clancy.”
At that, Ben reared back, his brows coming together, forming deep burrows in his forehead. Seriously? How could forehead burrows be so sexy? But, gosh, they were.
He ran a hand over his face, before saying, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Negate what happened by making it about Clancy.” His voice sounded weary. None of the delicious, teasing burr that had kept her enthralled as he’d whispered all the things he’d imagined doing to her during their late-night phone calls, then followed through.
“Sorry,” she said, and meant it. “It’s just... All this time, I wasn’t actually sure that you even liked me.”
The moment the words came out of Nora’s mouth, she regretted them. Letting such ignominies slip in front of Ben over the phone, in the quiet, the night crowding in around her, had been one thing. But in person? It left her defenceless, and her defences were her lifeblood.
Ben breathed out hard and fell back on the bed beside her, the mattress bouncing with him. For he was a big guy, in all the best possible ways.
He was quiet for a moment. A long moment.
She risked a glance to find he’d tucked one big, strong arm loosely behind his head. The other rested on top of the covers, which only came to his waist, leaving his stunning torso bare, his profile a study in manly beauty.
To think she’d traced the lines of his ribs with the flat of her hand. Felt his muscles contract under her touch, while he’d tried to stay in control. Followed the trail of dark hair that came together in an arrow leading—
“I like my coffee sweet,” said Ben, as if he’d worked hard on his answer.
“Hmm? What now?”
Ben tipped his head. “I like,” he reiterated, “my avocado smashed. My socks to be one hundred per cent cotton.”
“Could you be more preppy?”
“You’re determined to
put a label on this.”
Her eyes snapped back into focus to find him looking deep into her eyes. “Labelling things helps me remember where the landmines are buried, and where I’ve yet to map. It’s a thing of mine.”
“A thing of mine is that I do not put you in the same category as avocado on toast or cotton-rich socks.”
Nora’s next breath in stuttered. If Ben noticed, he let her be.
Deep down, she so wanted to be liked. She craved it. Having been told, over and over, that she wasn’t enough, or was just too much, she’d learned that being affable, easy-going, helpful, of use—happy—made her likeable in a way that she could control.
Unlocking her Sunshine Mode had been like tapping into some magical power. It put her in the driver’s seat, no longer at the whim of anyone else’s opinion or desire.
Ben, for all his Ben-ness, would be no different. He’d tire of her. Or become distracted by some other shinier, easier thing. And that was okay. It was life.
And so she would do as she always did, and leave while she was ahead. Before she was pushed. His liking her or not, her liking him—or more than liking, as was clearly becoming the case—couldn’t and wouldn’t play into that decision.
“All that talk of avocado toast has made me hungry,” she said. “You hungry? There’s a pub across the way. They do a mean steak. Unless you’re bushed. And just want to go to bed.”
The glint in his eyes gave her ideas. So many ideas.
She rolled her eyes in order to break eye contact, lest she give into those ideas. For, despite all of her fancy self-talk, she was not impervious. Not to him.
Then she smiled her sunshiniest smile, and sing-songed, “Steak it is! Now get the heck out of my bed, big boy, get dressed, and let’s go!”
CHAPTER NINE
AS NORA PRESSED through the Shenanigans crowd she instantly wondered if she’d made a huge mistake.
Her plan had been to show the place off—it was infamous for great food and atmosphere far beyond the borders of Fitzroy—and have him meet some of the younger locals. Make him see this was a place a successful guy from London could fit right in.
But as she angled her way through the early-evening crowd she noted the number of people who stopped talking as they looked Ben’s way. Maybe they knew who he was. Or maybe they’d figured out sooner than she had that beneath the stuffed-shirt stubbornness lurked the dark charisma of a bit of a bad boy.
Because the stairs. And then the wall. Then the top of the stairs. Then her bed. Rolling around, clothes flying, hands everywhere. All salty, and hot, and reckless. And then there was that thing he did with his—
Nora tripped. Over nothing, bar her own metaphorical tongue.
Ben’s hand reached out and captured her elbow, steadying her.
She glanced back. Caught his questioning smile. And even though all that warm, hard male skin was hidden away behind a chambray shirt and dark jeans, spot fires still popped up all over her body.
She spun front in the hopes he might not notice the blood rush to her cheeks, but could still feel him behind her; all big, and broad, cutting a swathe through the place like a hot knife through butter.
Nora breathed out in relief when she caught Sam the bartender’s eye as they approached the bar. “Hey, Sam! I heard you aced your uni results. You’re killing it.”
Sam lit up; her sunshine working its magic.
“By the way, this is Ben. Clancy’s grandson.”
Sam’s eyes lit up. “Clancy was great. My ma was in her book club. We miss her heaps around here.”
Nora glanced back to see Ben take the note with a smile. But only a quick one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. None of the bottomless warmth and subtle humour that had filled their depths when it had been just the two of them. Alone. In her bed.
Nora, cheeks starting to hurt from fake smiling, said to Sam, “We sure do. I’d love a cider. Ben?”
“Sounds good,” said Ben.
“Sam, can we grab a spot for early dinner?”
“Sure. Take the corner booth,” said Sam, popping the tops off a couple of ciders before sliding them across the bar.
Nora took a swig as she checked out the corner booth. It was big and secluded. The kind of booth in which you could get away with all kinds of things under cover of near darkness.
“Any other tables available?” Nora asked.
“Nope. Have a couple of groups coming in. All booked up.”
“Cool. Cool, cool, cool.” When she caught Ben’s gaze, she was rewarded with the slow, sexy rise of a single eyebrow that threatened to short-circuit her brain.
“No-o-o-ra?” Misty said, the vowel suggestively elongated.
Groaning inwardly, Nora turned to find Misty slinking up to their little group, and tried desperately to convey with wide eyes and gritted teeth that Misty should please behave. “Misty, you remember Ben, right?”
“Of course. Bennett Hawthorne, back in the flesh.”
“Hey, Misty,” Ben said, his deep voice creating hot skitters up and down Nora’s spine. “How’s tricks?”
“Tricks are fine. So, Clancy left you the house. Were you surprised? After what went down between you?”
Nora coughed on her drink.
Ben’s arm reached out to slide across Nora’s back, giving her a light rub that sent sparks shooting in every which direction. It was followed by a hearty thump. His way of saying thanks so much for bringing him here.
Nora shot him a glance of apology only to find him looking cool, and unfazed, and unutterably handsome. And his hand didn’t move. It stayed, his thumb making slow circles over her spine.
“Menus,” said Sam handing a pair across the bar.
Misty snapped them up. “Super, I’ll join you.”
Ben pulled out his phone and paid for the drinks, then he held an arm before him, and the ladies led the way.
* * *
An hour, a drink, a steak dinner later, the bar was hopping. And the corner booth was the place to be.
Christos from the fruit shop had pulled up a chair. Maryanne who ran the vintage book shop joined them, along with the twins who worked the coffee machine at Ambrosia. When Janey from the florist realised Ben was the very man who’d helped them renegotiate a brilliant new lease agreement, she threw herself bodily at him and hugged him tight.
So many drinks had been shouted, eventually Nora had to make a move to the ladies’ room.
Wanting to get back to Ben—only so she could act as mediator and bodyguard—she peed faster than she’d ever peed in her life. Wiping her clean hands down the sides of her boho skirt as the bathroom had run out of paper towel, she banged into Misty in the dark hall.
“Whoa!” cried Misty. “What’s the rush? Your man is doing just fine without you running interference.”
Nora scoffed. “He’s not my man.”
“Honey, if you haven’t spent half the night imagining crawling into his lap and nibbling on whatever bare skin you can reach, I’ll eat my shoes.”
Nora leant against the wall to let a couple of women pass, and said nothing.
“If it helps,” Misty added, “he’s been watching you as if he’s never seen the sun shine so brightly before.”
Strange that something could feel really nice but not help a bit. Under cover of semi-darkness Nora heard herself say, “I may have nibbled a little already.”
“Atta girl.” Misty put up a hand for a high five, which Nora bluntly refused to meet.
She moved to glance round the corner of the hall, and found Ben surrounded by intrigued locals, all of whom were hoping to find a little spark of Clancy in him. He absorbed their stories, their loss, with grace and kindness. But even from here she could see the tightness around his jaw, the exhaustion creating creases at the corners of his eyes.
And it hit her, he was grieving too. Wh
ether he wanted to admit it or not.
And that was her job here, not to nibble on the guy. Not to give the man hidden pieces of herself. Not to find solace in him.
She’d had her fun. Now the real work had to start.
* * *
The night air was brisk, but sweet compared with the spate of sludgy, grey days Ben had left behind in London. The streetlights stymied any view of any stars, but managed to create their own kind of whimsy all the same.
There was no denying the feeling of home with a dash of unreal, Nora ambling beside him; her hair, long and loose, caught by the slight breeze, sending tendrils of spun gold floating about her face.
Nora shivered. And without overthinking it, Ben moved closer, put an arm around her shoulder and said, “I like your friends.”
She stiffened a moment, shooting him a look of surprise, before allowing it. A pragmatist at heart. “Did you like them as much as you like avocado on toast?” she asked.
His laughter was swept up by the night.
Then, just as they’d found a rhythm, their steps, their breaths in sync, they neared the house. Nora took him by the hand and untwirled herself from his side, let her fingers slip through his, then hastened up the steps to unlock the front door.
“The alarm?” he reminded her, when she sashayed inside the house.
“Ah,” said Nora, spinning on one foot, giving him a look that was full of mischief, before backtracking to the door, “the alarm. Sure.”
She walked up to the big plant in the corner, moved back a bunch of fronds to reveal a small, dust-covered panel. She wrenched at it till it opened, then said, “Beep-boop-boop-beep.”
“Beep-boop-boop-beep?” he repeated.
She turned back to him with a beatific smile, with a definite impish spark. The power of it hit like a smack between the ribs.
Then something came over her face, a kind of soft, breezy calm. It was as if the woman who had grabbed him by the shirtfront and kissed him on the stairs, the woman who’d refused to give up on him, had called him daily to get him here, had been replaced by a bright, airy, translucent version of herself.