The Bottom Line

by Sandy James

  Tears pooled in her eyes. The amount of work he’d done and the trouble he’d gone to in finding her holiday decorations amazed her.

  “Merry Christmas, Mal.”

  Ben’s voice coming from behind her made her smile and sniff back the threatening tears. “It’s all so… beautiful.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Our first Christmas together. I wanted it to be perfect.”

  “It’s not Christmas yet. We’ve got a few days before the twenty-fifth.”

  His lopsided smile was intensely charming. “You’ll still be laid up on the twenty-fifth. So I figured we’d celebrate tonight.”

  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she smiled up at him. “How exactly did you think we’d celebrate?”

  “How about I take you to a nice dinner? Then we can come back here and make love by firelight.”

  “I’ve got a better idea.” She kissed him quickly before taking his hand and tugging him into the great room.

  “And what exactly is that?”

  She flipped off the lamp. Since dark was rapidly descending, the lights from the Christmas tree and fireplace gave the room a cozy glow. As he waited in the middle of the room, she grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and spread it in front of the fire.

  “Why, Ms. Mallory. What are you up to?”

  Instead of answering, she tossed him a saucy grin and reached for the top button of his flannel shirt. After opening each fastener, she helped him shrug out of the shirt. She let out a frustrated growl that a T-shirt blocked her access to his skin. She jerked the garment over his head, glad that he grinned in response.

  Would she ever tire of looking at him? Her dark knight. So very handsome.

  As she ran her tongue around his flat nipple, she fumbled with his belt buckle until she could whip the belt out of his pants. Then she took a step back, enjoying his confused expression.

  “Mal?”

  Mallory followed up by folding the belt and snapping it hard enough the sound echoed through the room. “You’ve been a bad boy, Ben Carpenter.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “You haven’t finished my house yet.”

  “Been a little busy. Work and all…” He popped the button on his waistband and unzipped his fly.

  She snapped the belt again. “Excuses, excuses. You’ve been a bad boy, and bad boys need to be punished.” A slap of the belt against her thigh accompanied her authoritarian tone.

  Ben let out a ragged groan as he dropped his jeans. They pooled around his ankles.

  “Tighty-whities, too, mister.”

  After peeling them down his body, he kicked both garments aside and yanked off his socks. His erection bobbed, drawing a smile from her.

  “That’s better. Much better.”

  “So where should I be for you to punish me?” he asked, his voice husky.

  Mallory’s bravado vanished. While it might have been fun to tease, she wasn’t sure she could actually hit him, especially with the belt. She was definitely in over her head—way over her head.

  Ben bent over the arm of the sofa and wiggled his ass at her. “I’m ready.”

  This time, she was the one to groan at the tempting picture before her. She’d often taken the lead in sex. Why should this be any different?

  How could she ever deny him?

  She smacked the belt gently against his tight buns. His responding yelp made her jump. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Do it again.” His voice held a note of desperation she didn’t understand.

  She found herself in uncharted territory. Sex with Jay had been nothing but normal. Missionary. Her on top. From behind once or twice.

  Vanilla.

  Watching Ben’s eyes fill with desire just because she’d given his ass a light tap left her feeling heady. Empowered. Each encounter, each time they made love, was still so new, so exciting. He took advantage of her small body to take her up against the wall. In the shower. On the backseat of her car. Now it appeared they’d be on the floor in front of a roaring fire.

  “Do it again, baby,” he said. “Spank me.”

  She did, a little harder but with a smile on her face.

  Ben surged against the sofa, let out a rumbling growl, and then came to her. Without a word, he stripped her quickly and efficiently until they faced each other.

  The air between them fairly cracked with anticipation. Mallory was no longer afraid to show Ben her body. From the first time he’d made love to her, he’d shown nothing but appreciation, so why try to hide?

  She’d learned that her missing breast didn’t define her. Not personally. Not sexually. He made sure she enjoyed each tryst every bit as much as he did. And he did enjoy himself, despite her scar. She had no doubt that if she decided not to have the reconstructive surgery, he’d still desire her, still want her, every bit as much as he did right now.

  The love swelled in her heart until tears stung her eyes.

  How long had she loved him? Mallory wasn’t sure.

  Love hadn’t snuck up from behind and clubbed her over the head. There had never been a moment of clarity that screamed her love. Nothing so deliberate. Instead, he’d stolen her heart in small pieces, claiming a new bit with each kind gesture and loving word.

  He reached for her the same time she took the last step toward him. The feel of his skin as he enfolded her in his embrace sent heat shimmering through her veins. She was hot, wet, ready—had been from the first button opening on his shirt. The smack on his butt, tender though it was, lent an air of naughty that heightened her desire.

  Who knew the prim and proper schoolteacher enjoyed giving her man a spanking? The school board would be scandalized should they discover the truth.

  His kiss was possessive, downright frantic. She matched his need with her own, thrusting her tongue past his lips to mate with his—wild kisses she used to show him what she couldn’t find the courage to confess.

  Would Ben welcome her declaration?

  Probably. But Mallory was going to take the coward’s way out and show rather than tell.

  She stroked down his body, over the hard planes of his chest and the defined abs until she could capture his cock. Wrapping her fingers around him, she loved the hot feel of the silky skin over the hardened flesh. “I want you.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m so past that. You’ve worked me up so much.” He glanced at the couch. “Think you can let me go long enough so I can grab a condom?”

  “No.” She punctuated her word with a few pumping strokes. Then she rubbed her thumb over the crown, smearing the drop of fluid that had pooled at the tip.

  “Don’t we need birth control?”

  She gave her head a shake, figuring it would be easier to reveal the truth at a time when he was so drugged with desire the weight of the words couldn’t quite sink in. “I can’t get pregnant.”

  * * *

  Ben hadn’t expected her to be so blunt about something that might devastate most thirtysomething women. Not Mallory. The woman’s spine was made of the strongest steel.

  The way she was touching him made it impossible to think, especially about such an important topic. All he wanted was to toss her on the afghan and bury himself so deep inside her they became one.

  She released his erection long enough to crook a finger at him. Then she sat down, dragging him with her until he was sprawled over her.

  He would never tire of the feel of her skin against his. She’d gained a little weight, enough that her hips and collarbones were no longer so sharply evident. She was round and soft and so incredibly beautiful.

  Even her scar. It was such a part of Mallory, in some ways making her who she really was deep down inside. He was sure he wouldn’t give a shit if she didn’t have the implant or if she didn’t have the new nipple tattooed to give it color. While he’d support her through the recovery, he’d have to make sure before she checked in at the hospital that she knew she was doing this for herself. Not for him, because
to Ben, it truly didn’t matter.

  He spread her thighs with his knee, loving how she pressed her core against his leg. She was so open about her desire, something he’d quickly learned to enjoy. To have a woman who knew her own mind and her own body was exciting.

  Holy shit, she’d actually spanked him. Mallory had really followed through and used his belt on his butt. He’d been teasing, figuring she’d back down if he pushed her. He should have known better. But he’d loved it enough he’d probably ask her to do it again.

  Probably?

  No.

  Definitely.

  “Tell me what you want, baby.”

  “I want you to fuck my brains out.”

  He smiled down at her. “Such dirty talk.”

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  Obeying her was his pleasure. He let his tongue explore her mouth, rubbing over hers before he nipped at her bottom lip. Ben slipped his hand between her thighs to be sure she was ready for him. The wet welcome took away what remained of his control.

  He settled between her slender thighs, rubbing his cock against her until he plunged forward. She fit him perfectly, even better without the condom between them, and the feel of her would never grow old.

  Her hands covered his backside, pulling him deeper as she lifted her knees. “Damn, I love it when you fuck me, Ben.”

  Unable to find a voice to answer, he eased back and then thrust forward. Soon he found a fast, rough rhythm that drew gasps and moans from Mallory. Then she sucked in a breath and held it, a signal that she was close to release.

  Ben increased the speed of his movements, and when her eyes widened and her body clenched around him, he gave up his own battle, surrendering to his orgasm.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ben paced the length of the surgical waiting room yet again. Twenty-two steps up, twenty-two steps back, then a glance to the hallway to see the closed doors to the surgical area.

  It was maddening. Waiting had always been difficult for him at best, but this was nothing short of torture. He wished their roles were reversed, that he was facing the surgery rather than Mallory.

  She’s fine.

  He kept reminding himself this was a routine kind of surgery, nothing nearly as bad as what she’d already faced with the mastectomy.

  Even thinking about what that had been like made him squirm. The poor woman must have lived through hell. All the Internet sites he pulled up doing research on breast cancer and mastectomies made a point of discussing the pain that the patient went through. And that wasn’t the worst of it. The waiting, the days, months, and years of worrying—those could be unbearable.

  At least this surgery would only keep Mallory in the hospital one night, and as soon as she was back in her room, he’d stick close to her side. He’d sleep in the chair if he had to, like he’d done when Amber was born.

  The delivery had been easy on Theresa, so much so even the nurses commented on how different the experience was when compared to other first babies. How funny was it that a woman who was such a bad mother could so easily squeeze out a baby? She’d delivered around noon and hadn’t even wanted to spend the night, but the doctor and nurses convinced her it was better for Amber to be watched for the first twenty-four hours. Theresa suggested she go and Amber and Ben stay. The nurses thought she was joking. Ben knew better.

  After checking the clock—three more minutes gone—he started counting the tiles on the floor. Anything to keep his mind calm.

  Who was he trying to kid? He was a fucking mess. A million horrible things were flying through his thoughts.

  Mallory going into cardiac arrest.

  Mallory stroking out on the table.

  And the one that refused to abate and turned his blood to ice water—the surgeon finding more cancer when he opened her up again.

  How did she live with the fear?

  Duh. The same way she handled everything else. With grace, elegance, and the strongest love of life he’d ever known. Mallory embraced each day with open arms.

  Perhaps her unflinching approach to the world was because she’d looked Death in the eye and that bastard had blinked first. Since Ben didn’t know her before the cancer, he could only imagine whether she’d changed with the diagnosis. But he loved her the way she was now, so it really didn’t matter what she’d been before the day they’d met.

  Now, she was his.

  Four more minutes gone.

  Ben plucked his cell phone from his belt and almost called Amber. The only thing stopping him was that she’d still be on the flight to Dallas. Probably for the best. He had no business foisting his anxiety off on his daughter. She was anxious enough having to spend the holidays with her mother and grandparents. He’d considered telling Theresa that Amber couldn’t go, but a call from his ex-mother-in-law changed his mind. Begging that she get to see her only grandchild, Doris had promised to make things great for Amber and to be sure that Theresa behaved while under their roof. So for the first time since her birth, Ben was missing Christmas with his daughter.

  That turned his mood sour, which wasn’t a good thing because only another two minutes had clicked by. The tumultuous emotions were almost more than he could take.

  A nurse in pink scrubs marched into the waiting room. Ben hurried over. She had to be there for him because no one else was there.

  “Ben Carpenter?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Fighting the urge to grab her hands, he shoved his own in his front pockets. “How’s Mallory?”

  The woman smiled, her blue eyes full of sympathy. “She’s in recovery. She did great. We should be taking her up to her room in about an hour.”

  He could have kissed her purple Crocs.

  She glanced at the collection of empty cups of coffee he’d bought from the vending machine. “Why don’t you go grab a bite to eat?”

  “I don’t know… Shouldn’t I stay close?”

  “She’s fine. Go eat. We’ve got a great cafeteria.”

  Since his hands were shaking, Ben figured he should probably have a decent meal to offset all the caffeine. Unless his hands trembled because he worried about Mallory.

  The nurse put her hand on his arm. “Go on. Get a bite to eat. Then you can see your girl.”

  * * *

  Although her eyes were open, Mallory didn’t seem to understand too much of what was happening.

  The orderlies had wheeled her into her room—thankfully a private one—and two nurses had taken over, pushing Ben to the background as they got her settled. She had tubes popping out of her everywhere.

  By the time the fuss was over, only one nurse remained—a thin, ponytailed blonde wearing a scrub shirt decorated with penguins wearing Santa hats. She finished taking Mallory’s vitals and then clipped a call button on the blanket next to Mallory’s hand. “Push that if you need us for anything, hon.”

  Ben moved closer to the bed, worrying that Mallory looked so fragile in her green hospital gown. The left shoulder of the garment was held together with only one snap, probably to give the nurses quick access to the bandages. Her arms appeared so slender, and the gown seemed to swallow her whole. Her hair was a riot of waves and curls that she’d probably be trying to tame if she could see herself. She wore no makeup, but her face had so much natural beauty, she didn’t need any—although a touch of color might have been nice on her pale skin.

  “Hey, baby. How you feelin’?” he asked, his voice throaty with emotion. Seeing her so helpless tore at his heart.

  “Fine,” she murmured. “Sleepy. Really sleepy.”

  “That’s the anesthesia.” The nurse fiddled with Mallory’s IV. “It’ll keep wearing off tonight, but you’ll have times you still get a little groggy.”

  “Anything I can do to help her?” Ben asked.

  “She’s doing great.”

  Mallory tried to push herself higher up on the bed before hissing out a long breath as her brow gathered and a frown formed on her lips.

  “Easy, honey,” the nurse said. “I kno
w they explained the PCA in recovery, but…” She grabbed a line from the IV, stretched it out, and put a controller with a red button in Mallory’s hand. “When you need something for the pain, push this. You’ll get morphine released right into the IV.”

  “Seriously?” Ben asked. “But what if she pushes it too many times? Won’t she overdose?”

  The smile the nurse gave him appeared genuine rather than patronizing. “The machine will lock her out until it’s time for another dose. She can push all she wants, but it won’t release the meds until the right time.”

  Such an odd concept—the patient controlling her own painkillers. Both he and Amber were seldom sick, so he knew little about medicine let alone surgery.

  Mallory pushed the button, and a few seconds later, her whole body relaxed. She even had a lopsided smile on her face.

  Ben let loose a laugh. “Good stuff, there, Mal?”

  She hummed her answer before closing her eyes.

  “She’ll be sleeping a lot,” the nurse said as she finished adjusting a few more things. “I’ll be back soon to check on her. If you want to watch TV, the controls are”—she picked up what he’d assumed was the controller for raising and lowering the bed—“on this.”

  “Thanks. I’ll turn it on if I get too bored.”

  With a nod, the nurse left, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Ben grabbed a chair and scooted it closer to the bed, choosing her right side in case the nurses needed access to her incision. He picked up her hand and cradled it in his. Her skin was soft and warm as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. That hand was so tiny, all but lost in his enormous mitt.

  With a murmur of something he couldn’t understand, she wiggled her nose and then sighed. After her zap of morphine, she’d be out for a good, long while.

  The woman sure couldn’t hold her painkillers.

  He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Sleep, baby. Best thing for you. I’ll take you home as soon as they let me, but just sleep for now.”

  No surprise that she didn’t reply.

  Since she clearly couldn’t hear him, he smiled and said the words he’d been holding in his heart. “I love you, Mallory.”