Nevertheless, anytime he pondered the problem—and he’d circled around it more times than he could conceivably count—he always came back to the same thing. It wasn’t his place. Furthermore, how in the hell did you frame the words for that conversation?
April, my dad and your dad are lovers and always have been. My father is the man your father is in love with. Dad wasn’t the same after Vietnam and, rather than letting his family suffer, your dad gave him a job and a place to live. He took care of him.
Ben stilled as that last thought registered. He’d never thought about it that way before, he realized, peace coming with the epiphany. And he should have. He should have realized the honor in the act. Marcus hadn’t just conveniently stationed his lover on his property, as Morgana had told him—he’d done it because he loved him. He’d done it to help them—all of them, himself included.
Furthermore, things would have never worked out between his parents even if Marcus hadn’t been a factor. Like a lot of gay men of his generation, Ben imagined, his father had tried to do things the PC way. He’d married, even produced a child, but…Oh, well. Water under the bridge.
At any rate, while the new understanding brought comfort, it didn’t bring a solution. He was still left with the unhappy task of figuring out what the hell to do. And for whatever reason—instinct, hidden psychic abilities, whatever—he got the distinct impression that time was running out. Morgana had been to see him, had called her daughter and raised immortal hell. She would not sit idly by, not so long as there was a chance she could get her way.
She’d take action. The question was, how would she strike?
Ben lay in the darkness, April’s rump pressed deliciously against his groin and waited for some sort of answer to emerge. He’d slung an arm about her waist and could feel the sweet, rhythmic rise and fall of her side beneath him. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, tickling his nose with the scent of her shampoo. He was aware of every breath she breathed, every quiet, sleepy sound that emerged from her lips. She was so soft, he thought. As though she’d been created expressly for him—carved by the same master—she couldn’t have fit any more perfectly against him.
He loved her, he thought simply. There was no other explanation for this achy, full feeling in his chest, or the immense, sucking dread the idea of losing her instilled in him. April had always been the one for him, would always be the one for him.
And to this day, Ben still carried a vivid memory of when he’d first realized it. Grade school. She’d been in fifth, he’d been in seventh. They’d taken the bus home from school and had been talking about the day—who’d gotten paddled for cheating, who’d gotten caught kissing in the coat closet, average grade-school drama—when all of a sudden she’d gotten this dreamy look on her face and said, “I wouldn’t mind getting caught in the coat closet with Jeremy Tillman.”
He’d stopped in his tracks. “What?” he’d demanded, because the idea of her going into the coat closet made his belly feel as if he’d eaten a jar of live worms. He’d realized a few minutes later that it wasn’t so much her going into the coat closet as her going into it with someone besides him.
She’d shot him a look. “What?” she’d asked, as if he were crazy. “What’s wrong with wanting to be kissed? Don’t you ever think about it?”
He’d stared at his feet, not knowing what to say. The truth was, until that very moment, he hadn’t really thought about it.
But then an odd thing happened—he’d looked at her mouth.
The sweet bow at the center of her upper lip, the plump, rosy bottom…and his insides had knotted, his palms had gotten sticky and his face had flamed.
“I guess,” he’d lied. “But you need to stay out of the coat closet with Jeremy Tillman,” he’d added belligerently.
“Melanie Garner says he’s a good kisser.”
“What’s she got to compare it to?” Ben had demanded. “Has she been in the coat closet with every boy in the fifth grade?”
“I don’t think so…but she’s been kissed and that’s more than I can say.”
Though his legs had turned to noodles and his mouth to dust, Ben had decided that the best way to keep her from venturing into the coat closet with Jeremy Tillman was to kiss her himself. “Well, if you want to be kissed that bad, I’ll kiss you.”
She’d darted him a hopeful glance, which had quickly turned to one of curiosity. “I would like to know what the big deal is,” she’d said, as though it were merely an experiment.
“Fine. I’ll kiss you.” He’d taken her hand, waited for her to close her eyes, then with a nervous, shallow breath, he’d pressed his lips to hers. She’d tasted like summer heat and Big Red bubble gum and the bottoms of his feet had gone numb, standing there as the hot May sun had beat down on their heads.
Eyes wide, April had drawn back and tentatively touched her lips. At the time, he’d thought he might have done something wrong—hell, he’d never kissed a girl before—but then a slow smile had slid across her face and she’d said, “Wow…no wonder Melanie spends so much time in the coat closet.”
“Yeah, well, you just stay out of there,” he’d told her. “The next time you want a kiss, you just come see me.”
And she had. Ben smiled, remembering.
That had been the beginning of a romantic relationship that had lasted until her mother had intervened. Which was why he had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
There had to be a way out, had to be a solution. Ben stilled as the inkling of an idea began to form. Maybe he didn’t so much have to tell her as show her, Ben thought.
Bring her by sometime, his father had said. I’d love to see her…and I suspect someone else would, as well.
His father had given him the answer, dammit, Ben thought wildly. It had been there all along. Davy had issued the invitation. All Ben had to do was make sure that April accompanied him. Problem solved. Marcus would be forced to tell her—which he should have had the guts to do a long time ago.
Satisfied that he’d discerned a workable solution, Ben pulled her more closely against him. He’d use Rule Number One to get her there. That way, he wouldn’t violate Rule Number Two. And after it was over and done with, they could concentrate on Rule Number Three.
Then he fully planned on instituting a Rule Number Four—no more lonely nights. He wanted to make permanent sleeping arrangements.
As in, they slept with each other exclusively. For the rest of their lives.
12
APRIL LADLED scrambled eggs onto Ben’s plate, then added a few slices of bacon and a biscuit. Looking adorably—sexily—rumpled, Ben glanced up at her and smiled. “Thank you. You didn’t have to fix me breakfast.”
April loaded her own plate and joined him at the kitchen table. She buttered a biscuit. “Well, before you get a big head, I didn’t fix it just for you. I always make breakfast. Margo and Joyce will be along shortly.”
He inclined his head. “So I’m just reaping the benefit of Margo and Joyce’s breakfast, then.”
April felt her lips twitch. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“If you weren’t making breakfast for Margo and Joyce, would you have made breakfast for me?”
She grinned. “Of course. You’re a guest in my house. I’d have to feed you something.”
Ben chuckled, those whiskey eyes twinkling with perceptive humor. “So long as I know where I stand,” he said, heaving a small sigh.
She didn’t care so much about where he stood as much as where he’d lain. Last night had been magical, feeling Ben’s reassuring presence at her back. The steady beat of his heart, the whisper of his breath against her hair.
April had slept harder than she ever had in her life. Within minutes of feeling that warm body at her back and masculine hand snugged against her belly, she’d drifted off to the land of Nod, and slept until her alarm sounded this morning.
This morning she’d awakened with a smile, a feeling of contentedness and well-being that h
adn’t been a part of her daily life in so long, it had taken her a few seconds to identify it. Ben did that for her. He had the singular ability to soothe and inflame, to comfort and impassion. He was the itch and the cure, the balm and the fever. She was without a doubt head over heels in love with him.
She cast him a covert glance, watching him idly shovel his breakfast into his mouth while calmly perusing her paper. Given Rule Number Three, he’d gotten up this morning and slipped back into his jeans, but had neglected to button them or don a shirt. She’d seen him naked, of course, but this was the first time she’d been lucid enough—translate: not sex crazed—to really appreciate him.
And she did appreciate him.
Toned muscle, smooth skin, crisp masculine hair. His shoulders were broad and well formed and tapered into a chest that could easily grace the cover of any men’s magazine. Six-pack abs drew the eye down to a small line of hair that arrowed beneath the snap of his jeans. A treasure trail, April thought, remembering what lay at the end of that line.
She let go a shuddering breath as moisture seeped into her panties, then looked up and caught Ben staring at her with a lazy grin that told her he knew precisely what she’d been thinking…and he liked it.
“Problem?” he asked, blatantly fishing for a compliment, the wretch.
“Not unless you’re sporting a defect I haven’t discovered yet,” she told him. She propped her chin in her hand. “You’re one beautiful man, you know that?”
Ben scribbled something on a corner of the paper, tore it off and handed it to her, then leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Not half as beautiful as you are,” he said huskily.
“What’s this?” she asked, studying the little piece of paper. It looked like an address.
“It’s my Rule Number One. I’m giving it to you in advance. Meet me there at six tonight.”
She felt her mouth curl into a crooked smile. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He shrugged, grinning at her. “What’s the fun in that?”
April heard a car pull into the driveway. “Button your pants. Sounds like one of my girls is here. I don’t want them getting a peek at my prize.”
Ben chuckled. “As the lady wishes. I wouldn’t want to risk the wrath of the penis voodoo doll.”
He’d just fastened the snap when the back door burst open and Morgana, of all people, stormed in.
Stunned, April gaped at her.
Until this very instant, her mother had never stepped foot inside her house. She’d never been invited and wasn’t invited now. April always unlocked the kitchen door in the mornings for Margo and Joyce. It was a habit she’d evidently have to rethink in the future.
Her mother’s lips twisted with fury. “You’re sleeping with him? You let him spend the night?” she screeched.
April calmly set her fork aside. “Who I sleep with is none of your business. This is not your house.”
“I don’t care whose house it is!” she screamed, breathing heavily, her lips unnaturally white. “You’re my daughter and the idea that you would defile yourself by sleeping with that, that mongrel makes my stomach turn.”
Appalled that her mother would speak that way about Ben, much less in front of him, absolutely infuriated her. “Frankly, Morgana, I don’t give a damn. You should leave,” April said through tightly gritted teeth. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving until he does and I want your promise that he won’t be back.” She flung her hands up wildly, getting more agitated by the second.
“He’s not going anywhere and I’ll promise no such thing.” April swallowed, trying vainly to maintain some semblance of control. “Either leave now, or I’ll have you forcibly removed.”
That seemed to sober her, but not in the way that April intended. Her mother smiled cruelly, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ben as though he were something she’d scrape off the bottom of her shoe. “You’ll call the police on me? On your own mother?”
April nodded. “If it comes to that.”
Morgana inclined her head. “Oh, I see how far it’s come already. Very well,” she said, seemingly coming to a decision. She sent Ben a sinister smile. “Did you tell her yet?” she asked him, her voice poisonously sweet.
April felt a curious sickening sensation take root in her belly. Mark my words. You’ll be sorry.
“Tell me what?” she asked, certain that she really didn’t want to know.
“About your father,” Morgana sneered. “Has he told you about your father?”
It took every ounce of strength she possessed, but April didn’t betray even a flicker of confusion. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction. Her entire face might as well have been injected with BOTOX.
“Yes, he has,” she lied, giving what she thought was an Oscar-winning performance considering that her brain whirled with unanswered questions. What did Ben know about her father that she didn’t? What could he possibly be privy to that she was not? As far as she knew, Ben hadn’t spoken to her father in years. Or for that matter, even his own. It didn’t make any sense. Rule Number Two…There was a connection, something she knew she should grasp, but didn’t. She—
Morgana’s face twisted with rage and she whirled on Ben. “You told her! You told her about Davy and Marcus! That wasn’t your place, you bleeding little parasite,” she snarled, advancing upon him. “He was supposed to tell her! He was supposed to tell her so that she would hate him as much as she hates me! You’ve ruined it! How dare you?”
Davy and Marcus? But what did—Realization dawned, embarrassingly late as usual, April thought as the breakfast she’d just eaten threatened to make an encore appearance. Peace shattered. Hope fled.
He’d known. He’d known that their fathers were lovers…and he hadn’t told her.
Mark my words. You’ll be sorry.
Damn it to hell, April thought as her heart withered, did the bitch always have to be right?
SHE’D EAT GLASS before she’d let her mother know how cut up she was inside, Ben thought, as April’s gaze connected with his. But he saw it—and everything inside him chilled at the hopeless look in those clear green eyes.
He’d fucked up.
Though his first inclination was to explain why he hadn’t told her, Ben knew at that moment, that the very best thing he could do for April was to play along. The explanation would have to come later. Provided she’d even hear him out.
He shot her mother an insolent glance. “I dare because I can,” Ben said. “You’re only pissed that you didn’t get to tell her first.”
“I wanted her father to tell her!” she shrieked. “I wanted vindication. I wanted him to have to confess his perversion to her. To explain to her why he’d moved his lover onto our property and forced him to live right under my nose for twenty years.”
“You could have divorced him,” April said, unnaturally still.
Her mother’s sharp gaze swung to her. “And risk being an outcast? Unable to satisfy a husband? Do you know how that felt? Do you have any idea? Seeing them together day after day? Seeing my husband in love with a man?”
Though April did seem to consider it, ultimately she lifted her shoulder in an unsympathetic shrug. “It would have been better than being miserable. But that’s what makes you happy. Wallowing in your misery.”
“Then you take up with him,” Morgana continued at April, evidently ignoring the insightful personality trait her daughter had just offered her. “Bad enough I have to lose my husband to Davy Wilson, but my daughter—my own flesh and blood—to his worthless son?” Morgana’s gaze sharpened, cutting to Ben. “You’re so smug today, aren’t you?” she needled. “But you weren’t smug when I told you about your father, were you? You weren’t smug when you found out that he’d whored himself for a place to live.”
April gasped. “You did what?”
Her mother’s eyes sparkled with malicious glee. “Didn’t tell her that, did you? Ashamed of the truth?”
Ben shook his head
. “I’m not ashamed of anything,” Ben told her, his voice throbbing with pent-up anger. “Least of all my father. He’s a good man.”
“Ha! By whose definition? What sort of a man moves his family onto his married lover’s estate? A lazy one,” she said, her lips twisting with ugliness. “Shiftless.”
“Get out,” April said, her voice barely understandable through her gritted teeth. “Get out now and never—never—come back.”
Morgana drew herself up. “You can’t talk to me like that. I’m your mo—”
“Not anymore,” April said. She stood and advanced, causing her mother to retreat a step. “You’re poison. You’re cancer. You’re bitter…and you are no longer welcome in my life. Leave now.”
“But—”
April took another threatening step and her mother wisely retreated. “Fine,” she said as she opened the door. “Choose the mongrel. Choose your father. You’ve never been anything but a disappointment anyway.” Then she turned and walked out. The slamming of the door echoed in the silence yawning between them.
April stood with her back to him, ramrod straight and unmoving. “Ben?”
“April, I—”
“Were you going to tell me?”
He couldn’t lie to her, even now, when he knew it would save his own skin. “No, I was going to sh—”
She laughed, an it-figured sort of chuckle that made his stomach roll. “Get out.”
Ben shoved a hand through his hair. “April, let me—”
“Get. Out.”
“That address I gave you, it’s—”
“Get out!” Her voice broke and he watched her press her fist to her mouth. “Go now.”
Arguing was a moot point. He knew it. Could see it in the rigid set of her shoulders, the finality of her voice. She was finished with him. Cutting him out.
It was over. And he’d lost her.
His entire body went numb at the thought. Regret and dread, dashed hopes and broken dreams swirled around inside him until he thought he was going to puke. Nausea clawed its way up the back of his throat.
Getting It Right! Page 13