by Sandy James
It wasn’t long in coming. “When I fell off a roof and broke my leg, I was grounded to my recliner. Got so bored I thought I’d lose my mind.” Neither his tone nor his words contained a note of sympathy.
She couldn’t stop herself. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Soundly.
* * *
Ben groaned, his breath knocked out of him when Mallory jumped him. Before he could react, her mouth was on his.
As though he’d let such a wonderful opportunity pass him by. He returned her ferocious kiss, rubbing his tongue over hers when she thrust it into his mouth.
God, he loved how she didn’t hold back. With the exception of her hasty exit the night before, Mallory was unabashedly passionate, never waiting for him to be the first to deepen a kiss.
He gave as good as he got, drinking in her taste and her wonderful scent as the kiss went on and on. The touch of lips. The caress of tongues. The exchange of breaths.
Easing her back, Ben trapped her against the island. As he continued to ravage her mouth, he glided his hands down her arms and her sides to settle on her waist. Unable to stop himself, he held her tight while he ground his pelvis against her.
His cock was so hard it ached. Were Mallory Hamilton any other woman, he’d be carrying her upstairs. He harbored no doubts she’d allow it. From her uninhibited response, the way she undulated her hips to rub against his erection, she’d not only allow him to make love to her. She’d eagerly participate.
Until he got anywhere near her chest.
As much as he wanted her, he had to slow down. Not only did she need to know that he liked her, the whole package of Mallory, he also needed to take it at a more relaxed pace. The woman needed time, and he’d be sure she got it. He had no intention of being her rebound guy. When he made love to her it would be because she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
There was a lot to consider, but while she was kissing him, his logic disappeared.
Easing back, Ben breathed hard and fast. “God, Mal… you’re the best kisser I’ve ever known.”
Her lips were swollen and red when her fingers flew to touch them. “R-really?”
First hurdle: helping her find her self-worth after her divorce. Her ex had to have been the biggest asshat in history. “Absolutely.”
Second hurdle: convincing her she was still desirable, even after what cancer had done to her body. “You have no idea how hard I’m fighting myself not to take you upstairs and make love to you.”
“I-I’m not… ready,” she whispered in a voice choked with emotion.
“I know.” Ben smiled and then tapped her nose with his fingertip. “Besides, it’s too soon.” Then he stepped back.
Her eyes were wide as saucers. “Too soon?”
“Yeah. Too soon. You know it, too.”
“I—I suppose.”
He took her hand. “I don’t want a quick fuck. You don’t, either.”
The way she winced when he’d said “fuck” told him to be more careful with his choice of vocabulary. Maybe schoolteachers never liked to hear curse words, even from adults. Since he wasn’t a guy to swear often, except in his thoughts, where he cursed like a seasoned sailor, that would be an easy change. At least he didn’t have to face a third hurdle.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “But I figured we might want to go ahead and… do it. That way I’d know if you were… I don’t know… disappointed?”
And now he had a third hurdle: to figure out how her mind worked, because her last statement made absolutely no sense. “Why would I be disappointed if we f—Um, if we made love?”
“Because of my surgery.”
“Oh…” Trying to think of the right thing to say to allay her fears, he tossed around responses. Then he realized he wasn’t sure what tack to take.
Did he pretend she wasn’t missing a breast? That seemed absurd.
Did he tell her he didn’t care? That wasn’t the truth.
He did care, but not because he thought she was somehow less than a woman. His concern revolved around whether he could contain any reaction he had when or if he saw her scar.
“Look, Mal… I want to talk about this, about everything. If we’re going to try to be a couple—”
“That’s what you want?”
“Well… yeah. Isn’t that what you want?” He’d lost all control of the conversation and had absolutely no clue what she was thinking. That third hurdle was going to be the highest and most challenging.
She shrugged. “Jules says the first relationship after a divorce can only be a rebound.”
Jules again. Of course she’d claim he’d be nothing but a rebound guy. The woman annoyed him as much as jock itch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mallory pulled a chair away from the table and sat.
Ben followed suit. He shoved the small pile of magazines aside and took her hand. “Tell me what you meant.”
“All you can be is a rebound guy. If I fall for you, you’ll eventually dump me.”
“She said that?” Juliana needed to have her head examined. That or she was severely misguided about men and relationships.
Mallory nodded.
“Okay… look. Here’s what I think,” he said. “You and I have something kinda special going on here. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Then how about we don’t worry about what everyone else says or thinks and just figure it out as we go… by ourselves. Deal?”
A slow smile settled on her face, finally reaching her eyes. “Deal.”
Ben stood, bent down to give Mallory a quick kiss, and then cupped her chin. “So if we’re still on for supper, how about I pick you up around six?”
“That would be wonderful.”
Chapter Eleven
Ben sat across the table from Mallory, wishing she’d talk about something other than the unusually dry weather or her students.
The date had started off well, just as well as their last one. She’d opened the front door before he even rang the bell. The choice to go through the front instead of the garage had been deliberate—a way to separate “Work Ben” from “Date Ben.” Since she’d been waiting, it was clear Mallory understood that they needed some sort of division between their professional and personal relationships.
And that was exactly what he hoped they were starting. A relationship. A real relationship where both partners were committed to making their pairing work rather than having one partner—him in the case of his marriage to Theresa—pulling all the weight.
Mallory had agreed on his choice of heading to Santiago’s to eat. Everyone from Cloverleaf loved the place, especially their all-you-can-eat pasta special. Other than Santiago’s, the only restaurants in the small city were chains that seemed generic and boring.
Now that they sat across from the table for two, nothing but a flickering candle in a jar between them, the silence was uncomfortable.
“You know, I suppose now’s the time to tell you one of my odd traits, my worst odd trait actually,” Ben said, sitting back in his chair.
“Oh? And why exactly do you think we should start this date with you telling me something bad about yourself?”
With a quick shake of his head, he replied, “Didn’t say it was bad. Just said it was the worst of my odd traits.”
Her smile was so warm and genuine, he couldn’t help but smile in return. “Okay… then what is your worst odd trait, Ben Carpenter?”
“When I see an elephant, I have to say something about it.”
“Elephant?” Her gaze darted around, settling on the artwork hanging on the walls, moving from painting to painting.
“It’s not up there, Mal.”
She quirked a brow.
“It’s sitting here between us.”
“Ah… the one in the middle of the table, right?”
He nodded.
“You want to talk about my cancer.”
The sadness in her voice made Ben regret bringing it up. His blu
nt nature had offended more than a few people over the years, but he’d never been a guy who dealt well with ambiguity. His marriage had been nothing but a roller-coaster ride, and he was sick of that kind of volatility. Knowing where he stood was more important to him now, so important he would ask the difficult questions and say exactly what needed to be said.
This wasn’t just about him. Or Mallory. Amber had a part to play in this little drama. His life wasn’t truly his own anymore. To let a new lady in could mean casting Amber back into a storm. Mallory was the first woman he’d even considered allowing to interact with his daughter. So many things about her, from her sweet personality to her kindness to her beautiful face, were impossible to ignore.
That thought spoke volumes about his growing attraction to Mallory, which also led him right back to the damned elephant. If she wasn’t well, if she wasn’t in remission, there was no way he’d let his daughter become attached to her. Amber had lost so much already.
Ben’s stomach knotted at the thought of Mallory being in danger. Living with that kind of fear was simply unacceptable. Yet he had to acknowledge that the fucking cancer might be hanging over her head for years to come, and that made it dangle over his head as well.
Seeing the haunted distance in her eyes made him regret acknowledging the obvious for once. “I’m sorry. I was too blunt. Told you it was my worst odd trait.”
“No.” Her gaze came back to lock with his. “I understand.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
“Of course I do. You’re worried you’ll fall for me then I’ll up and die on you.”
Her words were like a punch to the gut. “And I thought I was blunt.”
She shrugged. “Cancer makes a person learn to deal with stuff instead of avoid it. I got over the denial stage pretty fast.”
He gave her a curt nod but kept the rest of his concerns, especially about Amber, to himself. He’d jumped all the way to step fifty when their relationship was only on step three or four. No sense getting all worked up over something that might never happen.
* * *
Mallory took a deep breath and decided Ben should know everything. Part of her wanted to start off on the right foot by letting him into her crazy world, but another part of her wished she didn’t have the wealth of knowledge about such a terrible illness.
From the moment the Breast Center at St. Ignatius Hospital had called to say she needed to come back in for another mammogram, her life had become almost unrecognizable. Instead of grading papers and meeting parents, she’d been reading literature about cancer, chemotherapy, and radiation while making choices that could mean the difference between life and death. Instead of enjoying a few weeks of sun and relaxation, she’d been cleaning clumps of her hair out of the shower and vomiting often enough her throat had been raw. Instead of planning for her future, she’d been contemplating her own death. All at age thirty-three.
She sure didn’t feel thirty-three anymore, but at least she had a good prognosis, so death wasn’t perched on her doorstep, waiting like a vulture for her to give up. Being with Ben gave her yet another reason to look to the future.
Before she dove headfirst into the water, she decided to check the depth of it first.
“What do you know about breast cancer?” Mallory asked.
Ben shrugged. “Next to nothing.”
“Well, get ready for a quick education. What did Juliana tell you?”
“I told you. Nothing really.”
“But you knew anyway?”
He nodded as he fiddled with his empty wineglass. “Felt like an idiot when I finally put it all together.”
“No, don’t feel that way. I tried hard to hide it. Some of the people at school don’t even know. I tend to be a… private kind of person. Come to think of it, I doubt too many even know I’m divorced, since I kept my married name.”
“Interesting choice.” He had the most incredible dimple in his left cheek. “Why not go back to your maiden name?”
Mallory shrugged. “Figured switching from Mrs. Hamilton might raise a few eyebrows, so I subtly started correcting the Mrs. to Ms. instead. Didn’t have to change things at school like schedules and my door plaque. It was just… easier.”
“When were you diagnosed?”
“You really do cut right to the heart of things, don’t you?”
It was Ben’s turn to shrug. “I told you I’ve got some odd traits.”
“I had the mammogram last May. They called me two days later and asked me to come back for another. I just figured they’d screwed up the pictures since the machine was so tight on my boob, I’d squirmed a lot.” With a wry smile, she added, “Those things squeeze your boob tight enough you wonder if it will ever fill back out again. If guys had to do that to their… um… their…”
“Their balls?”
“Yeah. Those. Well, if they did, they’d come up with some better way to check for tumors.”
Ben moved the candle to the side of the table when the waiter brought over a large bowl of salad. The guy shredded some parmesan cheese over the top, then Ben dished out some of the salad with the big tongs and handed her the plate.
“Wow. You’re handy with those. I usually drop lettuce everywhere,” Mallory said, accepting his offering.
He served a generous portion for himself and set the plate in front of him. “I’m getting kind of handy around a kitchen.”
“From what I’ve seen, you’re kinda handy everywhere in a house.”
“I meant that I can cook.”
“I knew that. You cook better than I ever could.” Afraid her teasing was coming across as dumb, she shoved some salad in her mouth, grateful her taste buds had finally come back to life. The salad was good, as were the buttery breadsticks, and the tastes were so pleasing, she feared she’d end up filling up on them before the fettuccine Alfredo even arrived.
“My dressing’s better,” Ben said as he set down his fork.
“You didn’t like this one? I did. Very Italian.”
“It’s okay for bottled. I make mine from scratch. It’s all in the choice of olive oil and how finely you chop up the garlic.”
A man who made his own salad dressing? Surely she hadn’t heard him right. “What else do you make yourself?”
“Salsa. Always better with fresh tomatoes. I also make my own ground beef. The stuff in the stores is too likely to have E. coli.” His dark eyes found hers. “You’re ignoring the elephant again.”
With a sigh, Mallory nodded. “They biopsied the lump the day of the second mammogram. I’d just walked in the door coming home from the Breast Center when the phone rang. I was back at the hospital an hour later. I was still loopy on pain meds when the doctor told me it was definitely cancer. Juliana was there with me, and she had to explain everything when the drugs finally wore off.”
“Where was your husband?”
She shrugged, not wanting to talk about the other elephant yet.
“How old are you, Mallory?”
“You really aren’t afraid to ask questions, are you?” Trying to lighten the somber mood that always accompanied a discussion of her disease, she grinned. “How old do I look?”
Was he growling? Good Lord, that’s all she needed: a guy with a bad temper and no sense of humor. “Do we really have to talk about this?” she asked.
The waiter interrupted, bringing them their entrees and grating more cheese on her fettuccine and Ben’s spaghetti Bolognese. She’d had no idea what “Bolognese” was when he’d ordered it, but from the looks of the food, it was a lot like regular meat sauce.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” the waiter asked Ben.
“Mal?” Ben asked. “Need anything?”
“No, thanks.” She twirled her fork around, gathering the fettuccine into a small ball. “This looks wonderful. Nothing like fresh pasta. The box stuff always comes out kinda clumpy when I make it.”
“You need to add some olive oil to the water and wait to drop the pasta in
until the water is already boiling. I always make my own pasta instead of using the crap they put in boxes.”
“You really do know how to cook! Most guys can only do one dish. Figured chili was yours.”
“You doubted me?”
She put her fork down against the side of her plate. “Look, Ben… I’m not sure exactly what I believe about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve known each other a couple of months, but we don’t really know each other.”
“That’s why we’re on another date. To talk. To see if we click. After those kisses—”
So that was the catalyst, the kisses they’d shared. The ones she’d let get entirely out of hand.
Why were all men so preoccupied with sex?
Her heart sank at the thought that he’d only asked her out to get in her in bed. “I’m not having sex with you.” The words came out much louder than she’d intended, and a few heads turned their way. “Sorry. I just… If the only reason you asked me out again is because of kissing—”
“Hotter-than-hell kissing,” Ben corrected. “But that’s not why we’re here. You’d recognize that if you’d drop your firewalls long enough to—”
“Firewalls? What firewalls?”
He leaned back in his chair and simply stared at her for a moment. “You’ve been through hell this year, haven’t you? Maybe I’m expecting too much too soon.”
That made absolutely no sense to Mallory. “What exactly were you expecting, Ben?”
“A chance.”
“A chance to do what?”
“Make you love me.”
Chapter Twelve
“I beg your pardon?” Mallory’s voice was a harsh whisper.
Ben watched the color drain from her face. His fault for being so direct, but he was what he was. After all of Theresa’s stupid manipulative games, he’d approached this new relationship with honesty and openness that some women might not appreciate. He just hoped Mallory wasn’t one of those women.
“Look, Mal… I meant what I said. I want to make you love me.”
“Are—are you saying you… love me?”