Tempt Me If You Can

by Janet Chapman

  Emma picked her words carefully. “I appreciate the offer, Ben, but I don’t want your money. Don’t take it personally. It’s just that I … I wouldn’t be comfortable,” she finished, looking down at her papers.

  He walked back to the table and stood over her, and silently waited. He was going to take it very personally, she realized. He’d made a generous, innocent offer, and she’d rebuffed him, no matter how diplomatically. Several long seconds passed before she found the nerve to look up.

  “I can just write you a check.”

  “I know you can, but I want to do this myself. Paying for a new plane isn’t the problem; it’s waiting for the insurance to pay that’s got me stumped. I just thought that with your business background, you might have an idea how I can temporarily shuffle my money around.”

  He suddenly turned and headed back to the sink, once more rolling up his sleeves. “You need an accountant for that.”

  Emma blew out a breath with enough force to ripple her papers. He wasn’t angry; he was hurt.

  She began gathering up her papers into an unorganized pile. Hell. She felt like throwing the papers into her woodstove, then crawling in behind them. She hadn’t meant to hurt Ben.

  The last paper to go on her pile was one Emma didn’t recognize. It was legal length and folded in fourths, and she knew it hadn’t been there ten minutes ago. She opened it up to read it, but didn’t get past the first line.

  The silence that suddenly fell over the room was so absolute, Emma could hear the blood rushing through her veins. The pounding of her heart was deafening. The room around her receded into the recesses of her consciousness as she opened her mouth and closed it again.

  She finally found her voice, which didn’t seem to be hers at all. “This is an application for a marriage license.”

  “Yes,” came a solid, faraway voice from right beside her.

  “It’s all filled out.”

  “Only one line’s still blank,” Ben said.

  Emma stared at the document. Every piece of information about her was there, from her birth date and birthplace to her parents’ names and her Social Security number. Everything was filled in for Benjamin Sinclair as well.

  “Michael. Your middle name is Michael,” was all she could say, fixated by that one small fact.

  “Kelly knew my middle name.”

  Emma finally looked at him. “This is a marriage license application,” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “And all I have to do is sign it, and we can get married.”

  “You would also have to show up for the ceremony.”

  “Are you … is this a proposal?”

  “I believe I already proposed. This is the next step.”

  Emma rubbed her forehead. “I don’t remember a proposal, exactly. I do remember you mentioning your plans for after we got married. You said something about running your business from Maine.”

  He pulled her hand away from her forehead, holding it in his as he went down on one knee. “Sign it, Emma.”

  “I … I have to think about this,” she whispered, tugging on her hand.

  “You have thought about it.”

  “I’ve had plenty of other things on my mind lately.”

  “You’re going to sign it eventually, so why not take this load off your shoulders now? Sign the paper and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Just like you plan to take care of me?”

  He shook his head. “I have no intention of taking over your life, Emma. You’ll be just as independent after we’re married as you are now. You just won’t be alone anymore.”

  He was telling her to trust him.

  Which she already did.

  He was telling her they could spend the rest of their lives together.

  Which she wanted to do very badly.

  He was saying he respected her independence.

  Which she needed to keep in order to survive.

  But he wasn’t telling her that he loved her.

  Emma’s eyes locked with his, and that was how Greta found them.

  “Land sakes, that boy can fill a hamper with clothes!” her friend complained as she walked in from the great room. She came to a halt in midstride and stared. Her eyes widened when she spotted Beaker sitting next to the stove, eyeing her back.

  Greta returned her gaze to the table. “It’s nice to see you again, Benjamin Sinclair.” She set her basket down and wiped her hands on her slacks before she reached out in greeting. “You might not remember me. I’m Greta LaVoie, a friend of Michael and Emma.”

  Ben stood and accepted Greta’s hand, taking it between his as he smiled down at her warmly. “Miss LaVoie. I certainly remember you bake the best cakes this side of the Canadian border.”

  Greta, who wasn’t charmed by the best of men, blushed like a peach. “So you finally came,” she said, clasping Ben’s hands within hers. “I’m so glad. Michael’s been wanting to meet you for a very long time.”

  “I’m deeply glad to have discovered him,” he answered before pulling away.

  “And now you’ll protect him and Emma from whoever’s trying to kill them?”

  “What makes you think someone wants to kill them?”

  Greta frowned up at him in disbelief. “They were shot at. Their plane crashed. They know too much.”

  “Half the county knows as much as they do by now.”

  Greta nodded. “You just keep that boy out of this logging war. And who’s this?” she asked, going over to the German shepherd.

  “That’s Beaker. Emma’s new pet,” Ben told her.

  Greta looked at Emma. “But you’re scared to death of any dog larger than a squirrel.” She looked at Ben. “Emma Jean was chased halfway across town by a Doberman when she was seven. I had to walk that child to the store for six months after that. She had terrible nightmares for years.”

  “She likes Beaker.”

  Greta began petting the dog, who welcomed the attention.

  Emma looked down at the table, picked up the application for her marriage license, and quickly signed on the one remaining blank line. Then she folded it back into fourths and pushed it to the center of the table.

  A large hand swooped down and grabbed it, and Emma watched it disappear into Ben’s shirt pocket. She lifted her gaze to find piercing gray eyes staring back at her with triumphant satisfaction.

  By God, she’d done it now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was well into the small hours of the night—the time when the mind is drugged with sleep, when dreams and reality mesh. Emma came awake slowly, her senses rousing one by one. The now familiar warmth snuggled against her side comforted her, as did the peaceful shadows of her room and the feel of her own pillow under her head. Only her nose was at odds with her surroundings, nudging her further awake.

  She was smelling springtime. Flowers. Specifically, roses.

  A sound was her second clue all was not right within her realm of security. From the floor came the soft noise of Beaker contentedly gnawing on a piece of rawhide.

  Which meant the warmth beside her was not her dog.

  Adrenaline fired her awake into frozen awareness. The heavy warmth beside her rose to loom like a dark specter as the blankets tightened, entrapping her.

  “Sshhh. Don’t panic. It’s me.”

  “Ben?”

  “You’re a sound sleeper. I’ve been lying beside you for nearly an hour.”

  Emma tried to throw off the last cobwebs of sleep. She was suddenly living her long-held dream of sharing a bed with Benjamin Sinclair. All of her fantasies bubbled to the surface—the warmth of his body, the welcome weight pushing against her, the feel of his breath on her face. His smell invaded her senses, making it impossible to tell reality from longing. She closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his weight.

  “Wake up, Emma,” he whispered.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I want you awake when I make love to you, Em.”

  S
he opened her eyes and found his face mere inches from hers, his eyes aglow with reflected moonlight, his mouth a white gleam of humor.

  “Okay,” she sighed.

  “Oh no. I want to hear the words first.”

  “Words?”

  He blew an impatient sigh, wafting her hair. “The words to back up that paper you signed today, that give me permission to be in this bed.” He softly kissed the end of the nose. “I need to hear them soon, before I go insane.”

  “I do trust you, Ben. With my life, my home, and my nephew. I trust you.”

  The moonlight illuminated his frown. She knew what he wanted to hear; she just wasn’t sure she could say it out loud.

  “And?” he growled, every muscle in his body tightening.

  “And I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met. You’re more beautiful than a sunset, and more solid than the mountains. You’re more man than I ever hoped to be with.”

  Suddenly his hands were in her hair, capturing her head while he lifted her face and kissed her full on the mouth.

  No vision from her imagination could ever consume her so completely. No other man could waken her feminine yearnings as fiercely. Emma parted her lips, matching his passion with her own. She tasted him, pulling his essence into herself as she struggled to free her hands to gather him closer.

  He broke the kiss, drawing in a shuddering breath that matched hers, and stared down at her with eyes the color of polished lake ice.

  “I swear, Ben—if the ground starts shaking again, I’m going to scream.”

  He laid his forehead on hers. “I’m about to forget all about my noble intentions, your sore shoulder, and the words I’m still waiting to hear.”

  “I can give you what you want without saying it out loud, Ben.”

  “No,” he said, lifting his head. “We’ll seal our bond tonight, Emma, but not until you surrender yourself. You can be strong and stubborn and fearless with the rest of the world, but with me, right now, you need to let down your guard. No pretenses. No digressions. I want you warm and soft and vulnerable, and that begins with you saying the words out loud.”

  He was done with the chase, and he wasn’t about to settle for a compromise. He wanted total, complete, irrevocable surrender.

  “I love you,” she whispered. “I always have and I always will. I’ve been waiting fifteen years for you to come for me.”

  She waited, then said, “I’m not the only one baring her soul here, Sinclair.”

  ”Don’t you know that I love you!” His mouth captured hers again, making her burn all the way to the center of her being.

  As a declaration of love, it was about as romantic and subtle as a bull moose bugling its intentions. Ben tore the blankets from the bed and fell on her with all the finesse of a man well beyond his patience. Completely naked, he scorched her skin right through her flimsy nightgown.

  Smelling roses again, Emma opened her eyes to see petals floating through the air, set off by the blankets thrown to the floor. She was completely surrounded by rose petals, and by the man who had strewn them over the bed while she slept.

  With an eagerness that matched his, Emma wrapped her arms around Ben’s neck and met his passion, raining kisses over the hard planes of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard tickle her with joy.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear just before she lightly bit it.

  He laughed out loud, the sound warming her. He found the neck of her nightgown and ripped it down to her waist as he pulled it from her shoulders. Another cloud of petals filled the air, dancing in the moonlight as lightly as her heart.

  He suddenly stopped above her, then leaned down and softly kissed the bandage on her left shoulder. “My God, I could have lost you.” He gathered her against him fiercely. “I nearly lost you.”

  “Sshhh. I’m okay, and I’m here,” she whispered, hugging him just as fiercely. “Love me, Ben, and see if you can make my dishes rattle again.”

  He lifted his head and returned her smile. “Oh, I intend to. I may even crack a few of them,” he finished, cupping her left breast.

  Emma sucked in a surprised breath as he moved his thumb across her nipple, and she arched her back in eager acceptance. She used her own hands to explore his chest, which was wide and hard and hot, and dug her fingers into his shoulders when he took her nipple into his mouth.

  She moaned, kissing his hair and running her fingers through it. She felt his hands at her waist, pulling her panties down, along with what was left of her nightgown. Within seconds she was as naked as he was.

  “You’ve got the body of an angel,” he whispered as he moved back over her, bringing her into intimate contact with the proof of his desire. “You’re my angel.”

  Impatient, she wrapped her legs around his hips and placed the heart of her womanhood at the tip of his shaft.

  “Wait,” he gritted, trembling with restraint.

  Ignoring him, Emma lifted her hips, sheathing herself over his manhood as she exerted pressure with her legs on the back of his. He finished the task with a groan, burying himself deep within her.

  She squeaked at the discomfort of the invasion, bracing her hands on his shoulders as if to hold back a mountain. He instantly stilled.

  “You’re damn tight, Emma.”

  “You’re damn big, Ben.”

  He smiled at her as he slowly started to move, causing a sensation so exquisite Emma was afraid she might have left nail marks in his chest.

  Not that he seemed to notice. His head was thrown back and his eyes were closed, and she could see he was caught in a maelstrom of pleasure. Tentatively she began to move her own hips.

  “Be still,” he gritted through clenched teeth, looking down with eyes darkened with desperation. “Or this is going to be over before it begins.”

  She reached up and wiped the sweat on his forehead. “And I thought you were a powerful god,” she said, lightly tugging his hair. “You’re merely mortal after all.”

  He shut her up by capturing her mouth with his, and began moving more earnestly as he reached down and found the very center of her nature.

  Emma ignited like a volcano, molten white heat consuming her as she cried out in convulsing pleasure. The moon and all the stars flooded the darkness that had surrounded her heart all these years. She became one with the man of her dreams as she felt him shudder deep inside her, his own cry softly echoing through the room.

  She tried to calm her racing heart as she held Ben close. Small convulsions continued to rack her body, pleasant little ripples of waning ecstasy. Breathing, which she desperately needed to do right now, was nearly impossible.

  She shifted in an attempt to wiggle free.

  “Are you hurt, Emma? Did I injure your shoulder?” he asked, concern rousting him as nothing else could.

  She smiled up at him, and pulled him down to her side as she continued to cuddle him close. “No. I just needed some air.”

  He returned her smile with a cocky one. “I take your breath away?” He brushed the hair back from her face. “Not bad for a mere mortal.”

  As if his teasing had awoken the gods of the underworld, the soft rumble of trembling earth approached, growing more ominous in volume until even the bed began to shake. The windows rattled in their sashes. The lamp on her nightstand clinked with growing violence.

  Beaker whined.

  Emma gasped. “Dammit, Benjamin. Cut that out!” she hissed.

  He jumped out of bed and nearly fell. “Me? It’s your damn hot springs!”

  She sat up, hugging the blankets to her chest as she looked at him.

  “This is getting eerie.” He caught her staring, and grabbed a pillow and held it at his waist, covering up all the best parts. “What’s happening in your woods?”

  Emma sighed. “You’re not superstitious, are you?”

  The bed dipped and she found herself flat on her back, Ben looming over her again. “It’s not funny.” He kissed her to stop her laughter. When he w
as finished with that chore, he kissed her again. Emma guessed the second time was just to prove he could without the windows rattling again.

  “I have to go,” he whispered into her mouth.

  “Why?”

  “It’s nearly dawn. And when Mike catches us in bed, I want us to be married.”

  Emma sighed again. “Yeah.”

  “So when will that be, Em?”

  “Well … when do you want to get married?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She burst out laughing again. “How about next spring?”

  “How about later this week?”

  “A Christmas wedding, then.”

  “Thanksgiving.”

  “But that’s only two weeks away!”

  “Two damn long weeks, if you ask me. What’s the problem, Emma?”

  “I want a nice wedding. It’s the only one I’m going to have.”

  Ben heaved a mighty sigh. “You can have as nice a wedding as you can put together in two weeks. That’s as long as I’m waiting.”

  “Or?”

  He smiled but he didn’t look amused. “Or I will shanghai you on one of my cargo ships and have the captain marry us at sea.”

  “That’s … you can’t … oh, okay. Thanksgiving, then,” she conceded, sealing her bargain with a quick kiss. “In my church. With Greta as my maid of honor.”

  “I don’t care if Pitiful stands up with you as long as it’s legal.” Ben stood up and began hunting for his clothes.

  Emma unabashedly watched, her knees tucked under her chin, admiring the play of muscles that made his movements efficient and graceful.

  “Thank you for the roses. I’ve never received flowers before,” she said as she picked up several petals and held them to her nose.

  “You’re welcome.” He kissed her and walked out of the room.

  As soon as the door closed, she scooped up a handful of petals and inhaled their scent with gusto. She fell back on the pillow, letting the petals cascade over her face as she closed her eyes and inhaled again.

  Damn if they didn’t smell like moss!

  Though he considered himself firmly grounded in reality, there were times Ben could actually sense something lurking, preparing to pounce. It was never anything tangible or even definable, just a feeling of impending disaster.