“I know. I still drop by occasionally. Even the customers are the same. I’m still friends with one of the bakers that works there.”
“We should go there together sometime. It might be fun. Then we could visit the Zombie afterward.”
I smile. “You hated working at the Zombie, don’t you remember? Next thing I know you’ll be trying to get me to go hiking.” For a second I wonder if this was the smartest thing to say, but Ben keeps talking and doesn’t seem bothered.
“Yeah, you’re right. I did hate working there.” He laughs. “And I promise I won’t make you go hiking with me—not YET anyway.”
I laugh with him, glad that we can joke about it. “So how late were you for your meeting today?”
“You don’t want to know. Luckily the people I was meeting with got lost finding our office, so it turned out all right. They have a project they’re putting together down near the Bay area, so it looks like I’ll be flying to California.” He tells me all about the project. Clearly he enjoys his work.
He then asks me how my day went and I describe to him some of the various things I’m working on. Ben acts really interested, but I can tell it’s that overly enthusiastic interest guys show you in the early stages of dating. Eventually that gives way to polite interest and finally there’s no interest at all, just complete boredom which they don’t even bother trying to hide because they’ve grown so complacent. Since Ben and I have a history together I wonder how long each phase is going to last this time. I’m guessing the early stages will go by more quickly and we’ll be at the yawning-that’s-nice-honey-where’s-the-TV-remote stage before other couples have even left polite interest yet. And then as I’m considering all this, something else occurs to me—I’m already thinking about us as a couple again.
Chapter Ten
When I arrive at work the next morning the place is buzzing with news of Declan’s eminent departure. Apparently he decided to go ahead and hand in his resignation early. The first thing that pops into my head is that it has something to do with what happened between us last night. But then I think about how he told me that he was leaving yesterday anyway.
Grabbing my coffee, I head up to Declan’s office, figuring I’ll get the real scoop on what’s going on. On my way there I run into Greg, our senior manager. I groan silently, wishing there was some way I could escape, but I can’t think of a single excuse. Ben and I talked on the phone until three in the morning, so my brain is basically mush.
“Just the woman I wanted to see,” Greg says, eyeing me as if I were a slab of meat he’d ordered for breakfast. I have a sudden urge to throw my coffee in his face, but I’m pretty sure I’d get fired. I’d do it in a second if I knew I could sue for sexual harassment. Greg is way too smart for that though. He never does anything that could be blatantly construed as harassment. He’s never tried to touch me or any of the women who work “beneath him” (an expression he loves). It’s all in the way he looks at you and the things he says that have a double meaning. Despite the fact that Greg is not a bad looking guy, he’s such a lascivious bastard that his Ken doll looks hold little appeal.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.
“This is your lucky day.” He gives me a wink. “I presume you’ve heard about Declan handing in his resignation this morning.”
“Yes, I was headed up to talk to him.”
He grins. “I’m headed to a meeting right now and word on the vine is that you’re the number one pick for his replacement.”
I don’t say anything as I digest this bit of news. It had never occurred to me that I might be offered Declan’s job.
“Really?” I say, trying not to appear too shocked. After all I am qualified, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
“How about we rendezvous,” he pauses and then steps a little closer to me as if we’re planning some sort of secret tryst, “in my office a couple hours from now? Then I can really give you the low down.”
I stare at him. His cologne is so strong it’s making me nauseous. Can’t he smell himself? Or maybe that’s the whole point. He wants to make sure he’s invading your personal space in every way. “Sure,” I say, deftly moving away from him. “I’ll meet you there at eleven.”
When I get upstairs, Declan is standing in the hall talking to a few people. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. I feel nervous after what happened between us. When he sees me, I smile, though he doesn’t smile back, absorbed in what someone is telling him. Without warning I get a flash of last night, remembering the way his mouth felt on mine and the way he didn’t want to let me go even as I was pulling away from him. Lust slams through me and I have this crazy wish that Ben hadn’t called and that Declan and I had done more than kiss. But then I think of Ben and how it seems like fate has brought us together again.
“Hi,” I say to him when there’s a break in the conversation and people have wandered off. “You’ve been busy. I’m surprised you already gave your notice.”
Declan shrugs. “It’s time to move on.”
“Have you heard anything from the realtor about finding another building?”
“We’ve got a few good leads and we’re still hoping to rent a place in Pioneer Square, but there’s a spot near Fremont that might be suitable.” He tells me about some of the various office spaces their realtor emailed him this morning, describing each one in detail. He sounds overly professional and maybe it’s my own insecurities, but he seems distant and not like his normal self at all. Finally he tells me he’d better get back to work, that just because he’s leaving it doesn’t mean he can slack off.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say in a rush. “I don’t know what happened. Should we talk about it?”
Declan smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen yet. He puts his hand up to stop me from saying anything more. “Don’t worry about it, Kate. Seriously. Sometimes things like that happen, but it didn’t mean anything. Let’s just forget about it—all right?”
I’m not quite sure what to say. In a strange way I feel disappointed and even kind of insulted. It didn’t mean anything? What kind of response is that? But of course, he’s right. “Everything is okay then.”
He nods. “Neither of us is going to go all Harry Met Sally on each other if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“No.” I try to smile. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Good.”
I take a sip of my coffee which has grown cold and then glance around to make sure we’re alone. “Greg stopped me on the way up here and told me they might be offering me your job.”
Declan’s eyebrows rise as he nods slowly. “Is that right? I hope they do. You’d be good at it. Don’t let them mess with you over the salary either—they should pay you exactly what they’re paying me.”
“And what is that? If you don’t mind my asking.”
He tells me how much money he makes and now it’s my turn to have raised eyebrows.
“Wow, you make a lot more than I do.”
“I know.”
Suddenly I feel scared. Am I really worth that much? Of course I am, I tell myself. Plus I know our business backwards and forward. Still, I almost wish I hadn’t found out how much money was involved. Now there’s so much at stake that if I don’t get the promotion I’ll be disappointed. Not to mention I’m going to have to fight for the same salary as Declan or I’ll feel like I’m being taken advantage of.
“Don’t worry,” Declan says, obviously tuning into my self-doubt. “You’re worth every penny. They’ll be lucky to have you. Remember that. And, hey—if you get tired of this place you can always join me and Sev.”
“Declan, I’m going to miss you so much.” I know I sound pitiful, but I can’t help myself. “What am I going to do without you?’
His expression softens as he takes in the details of my face. “I’ll miss you too.”
***
My meeting with Greg winds up being one big tease. Instead of offering me the job, he tells me
I’m being considered along with a couple of other people, and that they’re also considering hiring an outside person. He won’t know for another week or two. I feel annoyed, but I know I can’t let it show. I’m supposed to act like I want whatever is in the best interest of our company. I do point out that I can’t imagine them finding anyone who understands both our software and our clients as well as I do.
He agrees, but then shrugs. “I’m only telling you what Jim and the others have told me. I’ll put in a good word for you though.”
I stare at him, wondering if he really means that. He’s so sexist, it’s hard to imagine him backing up a woman, but maybe I’m wrong.
I spend the rest of the day holed up in my office, figuring if there’s a time for me to give the impression that I’m a hard worker, now would be it. There’s a voice message from Lauren on my cell phone, but I figure I’ll call her back later. Suzy calls me on my regular line and wants me to go out for lunch, but when I tell her what’s going on at work she agrees that I should keep a studious profile. She tells me that Lauren called her and wanted to know if we were up for a day of shopping on Saturday. Sure, I say. I’m always happy to spend money.
The rest of the week goes by in a blur, except that Ben has been calling me every night. We usually talk for hours and it’s gotten so I look forward to hearing his voice. I’ve been telling him about all the big happenings at work and while he’s interested and supportive, our phone conversations are getting more flirtatious and sexual in nature. We’ve even had the safe sex talk. I can’t decide if all this sex talk is good or bad. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m going to jump into bed with him right away, but at the same time it feels so comfortable, like the years apart were only a long hiatus.
When Friday evening rolls around and I’m preparing for our date, I decide to play it cool. As I stand in front of the mirror before taking a shower, I make a solemn vow to myself that I will absolutely, under no circumstances, sleep with Ben tonight. I’m going to stick with Lauren’s fourth date rule. And to make sure I keep my promise I skip shaving my legs and wear plain white cotton bikini panties and a plain white bra.
Hairy legs and un-sexy lingerie. Talk about the perfect birth control. There’s not a glimmer of smooth skin or black lace in sight. If I owned a pair of nude colored granny panties that went clear up to my waist I’d probably wear those, but I don’t own anything (thank heavens!) even remotely resembling that.
At six forty-five there’s a knock at my front door. Ben was supposed to be here at seven o’clock, but true to form he’s early. Luckily I’m dressed and ready to go. I’m wearing a pearl colored silk blouse, flowing tan slacks, and a pair of strappy high heel sandals. He said he wanted to take me someplace extra nice, so we have dinner reservations for Canto’s, one of Seattle’s best restaurants. When I open the door I find Ben standing there wearing a tie and jacket, looking as handsome as ever. What’s more he is holding a large bouquet of daisies—my favorite flower.
“These are for you,” he says handing the flowers to me.
I take them and for a moment I’m too moved to speak. The bouquet is gorgeous, with every size and color of daisy imaginable from large purple blossoms to small delicate white ones. Clearly some thought went into the arrangement.
“They’re beautiful,” I say softly. “Thank you. I can’t believe you remembered.” I glance up meeting his gaze. “I’m going to grab a vase. Make yourself comfortable.”
I find a large crystal vase under the kitchen sink and fill it with water, arranging the flowers inside. I don’t know what it is about getting flowers that always makes me melt. Is it a genetic trait all women share? I imagine even brutish cavemen brought their women flowers as a way of getting into their hearts, not to mention under those animal skin skirts. I’ll bet it worked every time.
I bring the vase of flowers out to the living room and place them in the center of the coffee table where they brighten up the whole room. Ben is standing next to the bookshelf.
“I never knew you were into detective novels,” he says. “I’ve read a lot of these myself.”
“Have you? They’re really fun. I read them a while ago.” Truthfully Declan is the one who got me into reading them, but I decide this is probably not the best thing to tell Ben.
“Who’s you’re favorite?”
“I like Raymond Chandler a lot. Also James Patterson is really good.”
Ben nods. “Yeah, Chandler’s amazing. I wish I could write something like The Big Sleep, but I know that’s only wishful thinking.”
“Do you still write?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes. Not that much anymore. I’m so busy with work that it’s hard to find the time. I get ideas for stories occasionally, but I seldom follow through with them.”
“That’s too bad. I always thought you were a good writer.”
“Yeah, I remember you were really supportive that way.” He smiles at me. “So this is a nice house,” he says, glancing around. “I’d like to see more of it. Do you want to give me the guided tour or should I start exploring myself?”
“I’ll give you the tour,” I say with a laugh.
I begin taking him through my home, room by room, pointing out various features that I like. He tells me that he owned a couple of houses when he lived in Boulder that he remodeled and later sold for a profit. The last room I take him into is my bedroom.
I open the door, figuring we’ll take a quick peek and then leave, but Ben walks inside. I have a lot of art work on the walls throughout my house, but the only piece of my own I have hanging anywhere is in my bedroom. It’s one of the few still life paintings I’ve ever done and is, believe it or not, a field of daisies.
Ben walks over to it. “This is one of yours, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” I walk over and stand next to him. Even though the painting is hanging someplace where I see it every day, it’s been a long time since I’ve really looked at it.
“It has your style all the way. I can practically smell the flower pollen and hear the bees buzzing.”
Ben wanders around my room examining various items. I know I should remind him about our dinner reservations, but I don’t. Instead I watch him, drinking him in. Freshly shaven and showered, he looks handsome in his newly pressed shirt and tie. There’s something about knowing that a man has taken the time and trouble to look good for me that turns me on.
I realize it’s not a coincidence that Ben has come back into my life at the same time I have a yearning to create art again. Some things in life are synchronous and happen for a reason.
As I’m pondering this, I notice that Ben is no longer wandering around my room, but is standing directly behind me. I don’t move or say anything and neither does he. We just stand there, and for an instant it’s like that reckless feeling you have when you’re at the top of a roller coaster, right before it takes the plunge down. It’s too late to change your mind, but you don’t want to anyway. Then the moment arrives, the ride has begun, and I feel his arms slide around my waist, pulling me in tight as I close my eyes.
***
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says, his lips brushing my ear, his chest hard against my back. “Have you been thinking about me?”
“Yes.” I swallow, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I’ve been thinking about all the things we used to do to each other.”
And suddenly it’s like no time has passed. It’s like it used to be, and Ben is talking dirty to me again, touching me, sliding his hands in all the places he once knew so well. Desire slices through me like a knife and my breath is coming fast. A fierce passion buids in me, one that I haven’t experienced in ages—like I want to tear his clothes off, dig my nails in his back and beg him to fuck me. I feel hot and tingly all over and it’s with some effort that I keep my hands down, trying to hold myself in check.
He’s kissing the back of my neck when he pulls away slightly. “Are you wearing Opium?”
�
��I wore it for you...do you still like it?” The truth is I haven’t worn Opium in years. I stopped wearing it when we broke up, though I kept the bottle. When I saw it sitting there with all my other perfume earlier, I figured what the heck and sprayed myself with some.
“God, yes.” He makes a noise that sounds like something between a groan and a growl.
Ben spins me around and before I know it he’s really on me—hot and fast, demanding my mouth, grabbing my ass, pulling my hair. He doesn’t hold back and I don’t either. I let myself go completely and we’re all over each other like a couple of crazed lunatics. Clothes are torn, shoes flying, buttons are popping off. There’s a distant part of me that sees the humor in all this, but the real part of me, the one that matters, only wants gratification. We barely make it to the bed and when we do, Ben is already on top of me, pushing my panties aside, his cock pressed hard between my legs. For a second he stops himself, holds back, and we’re panting, looking into each other’s eyes.
“Please Ben...,” I whisper. He makes a face almost like he’s in pain and then he’s inside of me, filling me, fucking me. I start to come right away, sobbing loudly, wrapping my legs around him. It’s so good. That’s all I can think over and over like a mantra in my head. So good, so good, his smell, his taste, his body pressed tightly into mine, everything about him feels so good just like I remember. The way he takes my legs and throws them over his forearms, the way he looks at me so I can see the expression on his face, the one he wears when he’s on the verge of ecstasy and then I watch him as he gives into it, falling over the edge of that cliff, and I’m falling with him.
***
“So what’s with the hairy legs?” Ben asks casually. “Have you turned into some kind of kooky hippie woman?”
We’re lying in bed naked, loose limbed and relaxed, both of us draped all over each other. He’s running his hand over the short black hairs on my calf.
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