Carrie set her fork down. “Thank you,” she said, squeezing her fist and then resting it beside her still plate. She’d done nothing more than pick at her dinner.
“So what’s bothering you?” He reached for the wine bottle, which was still half full, and topped up their glasses. She went to stop him but dropped her hand.
Ben lifted his glass and watched. It was as if she was struggling with conflicting emotions. She picked her glass up and took a swallow of wine before looking over at him with an expression so sad he wondered what was going through her head.
“You’re going to leave, and I’ll never see you again,” she said.
Oh, so that was it. “Carrie, you overthink things. We’re having dinner, I like you. Why are you automatically jumping to the conclusion that I’m leaving?”
“I’m a realist, that’s why.” She slid her chair back and started clearing the table. When she reached for his plate, he slid his hand around her wrist. That got her attention, but she just wouldn’t look at him. She stood there beside him, looking down with sadness.
“Hey.” He gave a gentle tug as he slid his chair back and pulled her closer, and when she finally did look at him, she couldn’t hide her expression, as if she had lost her best friend. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Carrie—”
She cut him off but didn’t pull her arm away. “Yes, you do. You have a job to do, and then you’re going to leave here and go back to—”
Ben stood up without thinking, sliding his hand around her waist and pulling her closer. He didn’t consider what would happen next as he leaned down and kissed her, and she didn’t push him away as he angled his lips over hers. She slid her hands up his arms, fisting his shirtsleeves as if hanging on for dear life. She allowed him to taste her as he stepped back, moving her against the wall. He slid his hand to the small of her back and then lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.
The kiss was taking on a life of its own. She slid her hands in his hair as if holding him to her. There was a desperation in her kiss, and Ben had been with enough women to know when he was going to lose control. She started pulling at his shirt, trying to finger the buttons open, but she was fumbling. He broke the kiss, sucking in a breath and resting his forehead against hers.
“Carrie, is this what you want?” he said. What was wrong with him, asking her? Her body was telling him she wanted this as she squirmed against him.
“Don’t stop,” she said. She slid her tongue over her lips, and he leaned in and kissed her again. Instead of putting her down and talking like he should, he gripped her bottom and kissed her as he walked them to her bedroom.
The room was dark, but Ben liked to watch the women under him come apart. He wanted to watch her reaction and where he could take her, but when he flicked her bedroom light on, he could feel her panic before she said, “Please turn off the light.”
He laid her on the bed and just watched her as he leaned over her. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist, and she had to feel how ready he was for her. “No,” he said.
Her eyes widened, and he could see the moment that uncertainty—or maybe fear of where he was taking her—finally sank in.
“Last chance, Carrie. Say no, and we stop now, but if we keep going, there’re no regrets. You understand?”
She seemed to consider what he was saying. She bit her lower lip again and nodded, and Ben leaned in and kissed her, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, watching her eyes widen and listening to her breath catch. She was so responsive as he lifted her sweatshirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. She didn’t have a bra on, and her hands went instantly to cover her small breasts. He had been right—she had nothing there. He reached down and pulled her hands away.
“Ben…” She was blushing again, and it was so darn cute.
He ran his hand over one of her nipples. “Hey, look at me.”
She shut her eyes and arched her back, pressing into his hand. He put his mouth to her nipple, taking it in his mouth while running his hand over the other. She reached for his shirt again, so this time he pulled away and quickly undid his shirt, taking it off. She rose up on her elbows as if taking in his chest, which was covered with hair. He kept himself in good shape, so he knew what he was seeing was appreciation—and then something else.
He reached down and undid her jeans, starting to pull them off when she grabbed at them for a second before letting go. She was fighting something as he slowly slid her jeans down her legs and took in her flowered bikini underwear. It was plain, not the fancy silk and lace he was used to in the women he dated.
“Ben, the light.” Her eyes darted around the room, and he could tell she was uncomfortable with her body.
He moved on the bed beside her, leaning over her and running his fingers down from her collar bone over her breasts, her flat stomach, down over her hipbone and along the edge of her panties. He slipped his hand under the waistband and pulled them down lower, pulling them off and taking in her light coloring. When he touched her, there was something in her hesitation that made him say, “Carrie, have you been with a man before?”
The way her eyes widened and her bush deepened, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like her answer.
She licked her lips and said, “No.”
Chapter Seventeen
She wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Ben was off the bed, and he swore in an icy tone. She knew well that he was angry. She was lying naked, exposed, a feeling that had her sitting up and pulling her legs under her, reaching for her shirt to cover herself.
Ben jammed his fingers in his short, dark hair, rumpling it even more. “Why wouldn’t you say anything, Carrie?”
She didn’t really understand why she needed to. She’d never met the right man, even though she’d had opportunities in school. There had been something about the awkwardness and shallowness of those men—boys, actually, that had stopped her from giving herself to them. This meant something to her, but right now she wanted more than anything for Ben to come back to bed and finish this. She wanted him inside her. She wanted it to be him who filled her and finally made her understand what it was like to really be a woman. She couldn’t explain why it had to be Ben, but there was something about him. She craved his touch, and she thought she’d go out of her mind if she never had the chance to be with him.
“I wanted you to want me,” she said.
He stopped pacing and really looked at her, then moved toward her like a predator. He reached for her hand and pressed it over the bulge in his pants. She knew very well what that was, and the size had her swallowing.
His expression took on a dark, possessive, and very male look. “The first time won’t be comfortable for you,” he said, and then he stepped back and reached for his shirt, her hand falling away. She didn’t want him to stop, so she did something she didn’t think she had the nerve to do: She dropped her shirt and stood up, stepping toward him, naked.
She reached for his shirt to stop him from buttoning it up as she slid her hand over his chest. She wanted to see all of him. When she found the nerve to look up at him, Ben Wilde was not smiling.
“Carrie, this isn’t going to happen. I’m not taking your virginity. Good grief, I can’t believe I’m even saying this.” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss her open mouth, but he pulled away just as quickly and groaned. “Stop it, Carrie, because if you do that again, I’m going to toss you down on that bed and show you what it feels like to be a woman.”
Then he actually stepped around her, picked her sweatshirt up, and pulled it over her head.
Chapter Eighteen
Ben woke up from one of the worst nights of sleep he could remember. Even an icy shower had done little to relieve his discomfort after leaving Carrie’s. This was the first time Ben had ever turned down a woman who was ready and willing, but there was a fine line between bedding a woman who knew what she was doing and one as inexperienced as Carrie. There were some line
s with women that even he wouldn’t cross.
Worse, his body hadn’t gotten the message. He wanted her badly, and thinking about how tight she’d be, how no man had ever been inside of her before, was not helping. His cell phone buzzed beside the bed. He reached for it and growled, “What?”
“Whoa, bad night?” Verna, of course. She always called bright and early, like sunshine, but today he wasn’t in the mood.
“Look, Verna, I just have a lot on my mind. What do you need?” Okay, now he was being a prick. He’d apologize later. He could hear her tapping something in the background. “Verna, come on. Spit it out.”
“You know, Ben, the last time you were this cold with me was when Kimberley—remember her, that nice, sweet, mousy brown-haired girl who fell in love with you? You broke her heart, and she showed up at the office…”
“Okay, stop,” he barked. He remembered, of course. He’d been a miserable prick for days, weeks, and Verna, like everyone else, had tiptoed around him. It had broken his heart to hurt Kimberley. She was nice, and what business did he have dating someone like her? It was because she had fallen in love with him that he broke it off. The idea had terrified him. “Point taken,” he said. He sighed and ripped back the covers, putting his bare feet on the icy cold floor, sitting naked at the edge of the bed. His head ached from the lack of sleep, and he leaned forward and rubbed his eyebrows with his fingers.
“Ben, what’s going on?” Verna asked.
“Look, Verna, why can’t you just let it go?”
“Because I’m worried about you, and you’re not here for me to fuss over. Besides…Kenny left for college today.”
Ben had to think for a minute. Kenny was her kid—the youngest, he thought. “Maybe I should be asking if you’re okay. Why don’t you take the day off, go home?”
“And do what, worry? No thank you, sir. I have work to do. Besides, that’s what kids do: They grow up and they leave you.”
“I thought you couldn’t wait for your kids to leave home?” He wanted to laugh, but there was something about mothers: One minute they wanted the kids grown up and moved out of the house, starting their own lives, and the next they were nailing the door shut to keep them home.
“Don’t mind me. Besides, Mr. Stillwell was in your office this morning when I got here.”
Ben was actually standing up now. He shivered and reached for the red tassled throw at the foot of the bed, pulling it around himself. “Peter was in my office?” he said in a low voice.
“No, Rick. I asked him what he was doing, because he was going through that drawer in the credenza behind your desk, where all your reports and files are.”
Ben didn’t like the sound of that. There was no reason for Rick, of all people, to be in his office. “What did he say?”
“Told me to mind my own business, that he doesn’t answer to me or you. Then he left with a file. I don’t know what it was for sure, but I went back in there, and I think it was for this pipeline project. I’m pretty sure it was the one with the spec sheet from all the manufacturers, because I couldn’t find it, and I don’t think you took it with you, did you?”
Ben sat back on the bed, trying to figure out what Rick was up to. During his conversation with Peter, he’d been clear that they needed to show the residents that they weren’t cutting corners on their equipment. Why hadn’t Rick called him if he needed something? “I’ll call Rick and find out what he’s up to, what he wants. You still have a key to my office?”
“Yes, I do, but apparently so does Rick. I know I locked it last night before I left.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Verna, there’s someone here,” Ben said. “I’ve got to go. Listen, call a locksmith and get the locks changed on the credenza, and don’t give anyone a copy of the key. Don’t worry about Rick, either. I’ll deal with him.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding as if she was questioning his ability to actually deal with the boss’s son. Rick was always walking around as if he owned the place, like an unwelcome relative you had to keep around because they were family. Rick wasn’t his family, though, not by a long shot.
“Hey, Verna? After you do that, take the rest of the day off. Go be with your family.”
“We’ll see. Maybe. Let me know if you need anything…and whoever this woman is, I hope it works out. You deserve to be happy.”
“Goodbye, Verna,” Ben said. He hung up before she could say anything else, and someone knocked on the door again. “Coming!” he called out, wrapping the blanket firmly around himself and pulling the door open.
Who was standing there but the woman responsible for his miserable night?
Chapter Nineteen
What had she been thinking? She was staring into the face of the man who’d walked out on her the night before, all because she’d never been with a man. It was humiliating, and she had cried after he left as if her heart was splitting in two. It had taken until this morning for her to realize that not only did he want her, but also she needed to stop assuming that she knew everything about people’s motives and instead find out why Ben had pushed her away.
The wild expression on his face now as he held the door, the other hand clutching the blanket, made her consider taking a step back, then another, until she was running the other way, but she chalked it up to lack of sleep and frustration. Everything she’d been unable to face for so long was bursting from her, and she was at a point where she wanted—no, she needed to throw caution to the wind and say to hell with everything.
Her eyes went right to the blanket around his waist, his amazing pecs and his chest hair. It was enough that she was dying to run her hands over him. She knew he was strong and lean, and she found herself longing to lean into him, wanting to feel all of him pressed against her.
“Carrie, this isn’t a good time.”
Boy, he looked annoyed, and she flushed, knowing she had that effect on people. This was the first time it really stung, though, coming from Ben. Maybe it was the look of hurt on her face that made him reach out and put his hand on her shoulder.
“Get that wounded puppy look off your face,” he said softly.
“Why did you walk out on me last night after I practically threw myself at you?” she said, and she wanted to pat herself on the back for speaking up. Her throat thickened, though, because once something was said, you couldn’t take it back. For a moment, she worried about what he’d say.
He let out a heavy sigh and pulled her inside, closing the door. She was staring at the rumpled bed, picturing herself there with him, warm under that duvet, skin to skin. She had to stop this or she thought she’d go insane with need.
“Carrie, you really want to do this?” He walked around her and touched his jeans, tossed over the back of the chair.
She opened her mouth to say something when he started toward her, putting his fingers around her chin. His thumb rubbed her lower lip, pressed between her teeth.
“I told you not to do that,” he said.
Her breath squeaked out from his touch. “I don’t understand why you left, why you changed your mind. It hurt me.”
He shut his eyes for a second. When he looked down at her again, her senses were reeling from his touch, from being this close to him. The scent of him was so male and delicious that it had her trembling.
“If I’d known you’d never been with a man before, it never would have gone as far as it did last night. You terrified me, and I didn’t want to hurt you—and I would have. Let’s get this straight: I want you very much.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against himself over the blanket, letting her know he wanted her now.
Her jaw dropped open, and she wondered how red her face was. She could feel her cheeks burning.
He shook his head. “You have no idea what you do, you little tease. Right now, I want nothing more than to toss you down on this bed and slide into all your softness, but you have no idea what you’re in for.”
“Maybe I do,” she said, and she swallowe
d, hoping he wouldn’t toss her out the door. “Maybe this is what I want.”
She could feel how tightly he was holding himself as he lowered his hand and took a step back, shaking his head. She took one step closer to him, and when she put her hand flat on his chest, she shut her eyes just to take in the feel of him. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back on the bed, with Ben on top of her. She reached up and touched his face, sliding her hand over his cheek, scraping over his whiskers, loving the roughness against her soft skin.
“Is this what you came for?” He yanked the blanket from around himself and spread her jean-clad legs, pushing them wide open, pressing against her. She knew then that she had to have him. If he stopped now, she knew, without a doubt, that she would wither away and die.
She couldn’t get her tongue to move, and she stared at his lips, willing him to take charge and lean down and kiss her again. She loved the way he kissed, and maybe he was reading her mind, because he did just that. It wasn’t gentle and passionate anymore, though. It was hard and rough and overpowering, and she loved it.
He didn’t ask as he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, pulling away long enough to slip her shoes and her clothes off, all of them. It wasn’t sensual and slow like the night before. There was an animal instinct about him.
His eyes, the intensity in them, never left hers. She watched him pull a condom from his wallet and cover himself. Good, because stupid her hadn’t thought about that as she stared at the size of him, worrying for a moment about whether she could do this, not wanting him to stop.
“Carrie, tell me this is all right.”
A Matter of Trust Page 8