Melting Into You (Due South Book 2)

by Tracey Alvarez

“Kezia doesn’t smell like talcum powder. She smells nice—and Kezia’s pretty.” She chewed thoughtfully on the pencil. “She could help you with your reading.” Jade tipped her head to one side and dished up a sly smile.

  Another matchmaker to deal with? Hell’s bells.

  He set his face to neutral. “Maybe. And take that out of your mouth—Sparky licked it before.”

  Ben laughed as Jade whipped the pencil tip from her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and swiped it with her fingers. Parenting like a boss!

  “Eww, Dad!”

  The kid had grown on him the last eight weeks. Grown on him like a stubborn mold on a white shirt. No matter how many times you dumped it in the washer, it left stains. Permanent stains.

  Sparky skidded across the floor into the hallway and pre-empted Kezia’s knocking with ballistic yapping.

  “Kidding about the pencil. Go and let your teacher in.”

  Jade returned moments later with Kezia in tow. He finished rinsing his mug and turned. Drank in her knee-length leather boots, red wool coat, and hair tangled around her shoulders. “Cold out?”

  She smiled and unwound the first loop of her woolen scarf. “Yes, a little.”

  Unable to keep from picturing her naked under the wool coat, wearing only the sex-me-up black boots, Ben wiped his hands down his jeans and edged out of the kitchen. “Well, I’ll go do some…stuff. Out in my, ah—dammit, furball!”

  He snatched up Sparky, who’d assumed the pooping position right in front of the sliding door. He dove outside to the sound of Kezia and Jade’s laughter. Hustling down the stairs to the yard, Ben scratched the mutt’s ears.

  “Brilliant timing to stop me making a dick of myself, girlie.” He placed her on the ground and rolled his eyes as she ran around sniffing for the perfect place to crap.

  After she’d done her business, Ben returned to the deck with the wriggly creature in his arms and grabbed her leash off a hook. He cracked the door open. “I’m taking the dog for a walk while you ladies work. Won’t be long.”

  Sparky scurried alongside his heels as he strode down the hill. The lights were on at Kezia’s—Zoe would be hanging with Shaye, since she had the night off. The busy summer season was over for Due South’s restaurant, but the staff still worked hard over winter with the tougher tourists who didn’t mind freezing their asses off on the famous Rakiura track. And if the tourist’s weren’t hiking the Rakiura, there were birds and native bush and stuff, plus more than enough colorful locals to entertain the masses.

  And speaking of local color.

  The motorbike downshifted as it rounded the corner into Ben’s street and pulled over beside him. Sparky nearly crapped herself, straining at the leash and barking until he picked her up. The mutt shivered, tucking her muzzle into his armpit.

  West flicked up his visor. “Shouldn’t you be carrying that thing in a purse, mate?”

  “You offering me a handbag outta your collection to stick her in? I’m warning you now, she’ll pee in it.”

  “Hah.” West turned off the bike and removed his helmet.

  Sparky whined, and Ben lowered her to the ground with a sigh, patting her head. “Harden up, dog, seriously. You’re an embarrassment.”

  The furball scuttled over to sniff a fence, settling in a huddle by a post and sending him you cruel bastard puppy eyes.

  “Isn’t Kezia meant to be helping Jade tonight?”

  The Oban gossip machine in action. “Yeah, she’s doing homework with her now.”

  “You running away?”

  “No. I’m walking the damn dog.”

  West shot him a knowing grin. “Uh-huh.”

  “Where are you off to? Piper driven you out of the house already?” Ben tugged experimentally on the leash. The little dog didn’t budge.

  “Nope. My woman’s waiting for me at home. But I gotta talk to Shaye about work.” West blew out a breath and tapped the top of his helmet. “About Dad.”

  “How are the old bugger’s kidneys?”

  “Worse than he’ll admit.”

  Even by the glow of West’s headlight, Ben could see the lines of stress cut across his friend’s forehead. “I’m sorry, mate.”

  “He only works three nights a week now—and Monday and Tuesday the slowest days with Vince, so Shaye can have a couple of nights off. That’ll be too much soon.”

  “I can take over some of your boring desk-job duties, so you can help out more in the kitchen.”

  West cracked a half-smile, but it barely touched his eyes. “You hate my boring desk job.”

  And even West had no idea how much Ben loathed paperwork. “Well, you got my ass out of the fire more than once. But I’m not wearing a suit.”

  “You don’t own a frickin’ suit.”

  “Exactly. And tell my sister I won’t wear one at your wedding, either.”

  West laughed—a genuine belly laugh. “You wanna go there with four women obsessed about dresses and flowers and canapés—be my guest. No fucking way will I offer an opinion to Piper or my mother about anything involving the wedding.”

  “Man, how long did it take to swap your balls for a va-jay-jay, Westy?”

  He shot him a glove-covered finger. “I’ll remember this conversation when it’s your turn to get hitched, asshole.”

  “You’ll be stocked up with incontinence pads and a walking frame by then—you won’t remember squat.”

  West just shook his head and grinned like a smug bastard. He jammed his helmet on and started the bike.

  Sparky bolted between Ben’s legs, scratching her paws on his jeans. With a sigh, he picked her up, tucking her under one arm while he strode down the deserted road toward the beach.

  Four women, West said. Piper, Shaye, his mother…and Kezia.

  Uh-oh.

  Wedding fever could bring down even the staunchest anti-matrimonial female, rendering them delusional, desperate, and demanding. Surely Kezia wouldn’t get sucked in by the hysteria? She’d done the whole wedding thing—and given the wealth of her husband’s family, it would’ve been a lavish affair. She said marriage didn’t interest her. But weddings had a way of infecting women with false hope, giving them rose-colored glasses to view some poor slob as potential mate-material.

  Maybe he was that “some poor slob.”

  Dear God. He’d have to bank on Kezia’s immunity.

  ***

  Ben’s front door squeaked open, and a swarm of butterflies dive-bombed Kezia’s stomach. Sparky skidded into the family room and launched herself into Jade’s lap.

  “Down Sparky!” Jade giggled as the dog scrabbled on the couch and licked her jaw.

  Kezia rinsed their mugs and glanced up as Ben entered, still smoothing his wind-blown hair. The last thirty minutes of peaceful work with Jade at the dining table was blasted away by crackling awareness. He dominated the room, not merely because of his size but in the way he held himself—confident, but without a trace of arrogance…supremely male without the puffery of machismo.

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “Jade’s done well tonight.”

  Ben gave her a distracted half smile and looked at his daughter. “That’s good. Reckon you’ve earned some ice-cream?”

  Jade stretched her mouth wide in an exaggerated yawn, cutting a glance between the adults. “Nah, I’m very tired. I’m going to bed.”

  A sharp line appeared in the center of Ben’s brow. “It’s not even eight—and did you miss the part about ice-cream?”

  “Kezia made me a hot chocolate. I’m full.” Jade clambered off the sofa. “Night, Kezia. Night, Dad. C’mon, Sparky.”

  She and the little dog left the room.

  The awareness between Kezia and Ben oozed into an awkward silence thicker than molasses. Her breath snagged in her throat as she moved to the barstool for her coat and bag.

  Ben arrived first. Her bag gaped open, revealing a book. He snatched it out before she could object, a slow smile curving his lips. “You brought me Switch.”

  She re
sisted the urge to snatch the book back. “Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I reneged.”

  “Finished already?” He flicked the pages with his thumb, stopping at a random one.

  “It’s a quick read.”

  Ben looked down. His eyebrow arched. “‘Gabrielle ran the tip of the switch along the bulbous head of his manhood, juices dampening her panties as Stone groaned low in his throat.’” His grin widened. “Handcuffs and a gag? Stone’s got himself into quite a pickle.”

  Kezia’s fingers curled into her palm. You’re a grown woman. You will not blush like a schoolgirl. “Trust you to open to a sex scene. I should’ve guessed you’d be into the kinky stuff, considering your fascination with riding crops.”

  She reached for her coat—jerked her hand away when Ben stepped in front of her.

  “Kinky stuff, huh?”

  Kezia licked dry lips and backed up. Something in his tone caused goose pimples to pop out under her clothes.

  “If you expect me to dress up in a leather jockstrap and let you spank my ass, we’ve had a communication screw-up.” He tossed the book onto his kitchen counter.

  “This conversation is making me uncomfortable.”

  “Talking about sex makes you uncomfortable?”

  She shook her head. “No.” Then nodded. “Yes, a little bit. I’m not a prude, but…” Kezia rolled her shoulders and took a steadying breath. “But I’ve only slept with one man—my husband.”

  Ben stilled, the teasing smile slipping off his mouth. He held up a finger, crossed to the hallway door, and shut it firmly. “Come sit with me for a minute.”

  “I should go.” Blood throbbed through her arteries, threatening to flare her face bright red again.

  “You can’t dump that on a guy and bail.”

  “Zoe will be waiting. And I’ve embarrassed myself enough.” She wanted to slink home and not be the world’s most sexually boring thirty-one-year-old woman.

  “Ten minutes. We can do this the easy way, or”—he stalked toward her—“forget the easy way, we’re doing it my way.” He scooped her up in his arms.

  She squawked and clamped her mouth shut to muffle the sound. Before she had time to struggle, he carried her to an armchair and sat down, cradling her on his lap. Even when his large hand released the underside of her knee, the spots where his fingers gripped burned. Ben leaned back, tucking her close so her head rested on his shoulder.

  “That’s better. Now we’ll talk, and you won’t even be embarrassed by accidental eye contact, see?” He demonstrated an exaggerated craning of his neck to meet her gaze, winked, then showed her his profile as he stared at his wall-mounted TV.

  Not be embarrassed? Every part of him was hard beneath her—his pectoral muscles pressed against her upper arm, and the long length of his denim-covered thighs.

  And oh, the faint wisp of wood smoke on his jersey, the cologne—sandalwood, judging by the scent—drifting off his skin. Kezia forced her body to remain motionless, every molecule inside her glowing hot to the core.

  “Tell me about Callum,” he said.

  His Adam’s apple bobbled under tanned skin stretched taut, and her heart gave a little pitter-patter at a spot where he’d shaved and nicked himself. She wanted to kiss it better, and in wanting to so badly, pressed her lips together.

  “I met Callum when I was twenty-one and shopping at a department store. He asked for my opinion on a scarf he wanted to buy for his mother’s birthday. It was hideous.”

  Ben snorted. “Classic pick-up line.”

  “He told me years later he knew the scarf was awful. But you must understand, I was a very sheltered twenty-one-year-old. My parents were overprotective, and my four brothers saw it as their duty to cover any of their blind spots.”

  “High school boyfriends?”

  She shook her head, the wool of Ben’s jersey tickling her cheek. “A mixed boy/girl primary school then an all girls’ Catholic high school. I managed to kiss my date from a neighboring boys’ school at the senior ball before my oldest brother Tony collected me at eleven.”

  She’d never heard from the boy after the ball. Tony’s snake-eyed glare may’ve had something to do with it. Either that, or she’d been a terrible kisser.

  “No after-ball function for you, Cinderella?”

  “Not a chance. I went straight to university after high school, and I was too busy studying to bother with the other male students my age who only ever wanted to drink beer and sleep through lectures.”

  “Until you met Callum the architect.”

  “He was six years older than me, charming and sophisticated. Callum could’ve been a brilliant salesman—except Dr. Joanne Murphy would’ve euthanized him if he’d ever dared show interest in a career other than architecture or medicine.”

  “Maybe he bought a scarf to strangle her?”

  She laughed, trying to keep at bay the memories of the good times between her and Callum. The times before she figured out she didn’t and never would belong in his and his parents’ world.

  “We’d laugh about that scarf, but he loved his parents. Anyway. Callum was a talker, which smoothed the path for me since I was shy with men.”

  Ben craned his neck out. “Seriously? You, shy?”

  “Twenty-one-year-old virgin with one sloppy kiss under her belt? Yes—shy. When this handsome man talked to me, I don’t know how I managed to stammer out my name, let alone agree to have coffee with him.”

  “You started seeing him?”

  “At every opportunity. I finally moved out of my parents’ home after I finished university and shared a flat with a group of other single teachers. With that little bit of distance, I kept the romance off my family’s radar.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Until I discovered I was three months pregnant with Zoe.”

  His thigh muscles bunched beneath her, and she fisted a handful of his jersey.

  “The shit hit the proverbial fan,” he said.

  She nodded, her forehead bumping the warm curve of his jaw. “I told Callum and he said he loved me, and we’d get married. I was so scared it didn’t occur to me to question whether I wanted to marry Callum—or just as importantly, whether he wanted to marry me.”

  “And your family?”

  “My brothers plotted to kill him, my parents were inconsolable.” She couldn’t let go of his jersey. It’d soon be ruined with a stretched spot over his heart. “I expected their fury, since I’d become pregnant outside of marriage—and I got it. I expected they’d be disappointed I’d picked a non-Italian man to marry—and they were. But I believed that once Callum and I got married and they held their first nipote, they’d soften.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “Not really. Neither did Callum’s parents. I did expect that.”

  “The Murphys didn’t like you?”

  “I wouldn’t say they didn’t like me. More that they didn’t want me as their daughter-in-law. Dr. Murphy even pulled me aside the evening we told them I was pregnant and we planned to get married.” Her spine stiffened in memory. “She asked me to help her in the kitchen with dessert and then remarked on how I’d barely started my career as a teacher. Wouldn’t it be better to give my relationship with Callum time to mature before the burden of marriage and parenthood? She’d be happy to recommend the discreet services of a colleague.”

  “What a bitch. I hope you dumped the dessert on her head.”

  “I wanted to, believe me. But my parents raised me to respect my elders, and I sensed making an enemy for life wasn’t in my unborn child’s best interest.”

  “So you pulled up your big-girl panties and put on your screw-you eyes.”

  “I may’ve been shy with men, but I was no jellyfish that Dr. Murphy could flatten under her three-hundred-dollar leather pumps. I smiled and thanked her for her concern. Told her I already adored the little person growing inside me and I would raise their grandchild with or without their blessing. I said I loved her son, and he loved me. She smiled at th
at, you know. Flicked a hand to dismiss the feelings we had for each other and got out the fancy dessert bowls that had been in the Murphy family for generations.”

  “Ah. You and Callum bucked tradition and married anyway.”

  “In the registry office with a few friends on both sides, and my two brothers, Nicky and Matt. None of Callum’s relatives came. Or my parents.”

  Her breathing snagged, and Ben’s arm squeezed her waist.

  “It still cuts you, doesn’t it? Cuts deep.”

  Sure her answer would sound broken and filled with old hurts, she leaned into him. But allowing Ben’s warmth and strength to support her was a comfort she couldn’t afford. She’d learned by putting her trust in people who claimed to love her, but let her down.

  She could only count on herself in tough times.

  Kezia focused on smooth, even breaths. “The Murphys helped Callum buy us a house, but my parents only made the twenty-minute trip a few times. Mamma and Papà were never rude to him. They were quiet and polite—which, if you know anything about Italian family get-togethers, means something is terribly wrong. Once Zoe arrived, Papà caved, but my mother? She loved Zoe, but things were never right between us. When Zoe was ten months old, I went to visit her. After I explained why Callum was absent once again, Mamma admitted she didn’t approve of him. Not because he wasn’t Italian or of the faith, but because he wasn’t tenace—tenacious and strong. He’d let me down, and he wouldn’t stick, she said. I was devastated, and I didn’t visit again.”

  Her throat pinched closed, and she opened her eyes wide, trying to blink back the tears stinging in the corners. “The next time I saw her, she was hooked up to life support machines in the hospital. She slipped away from a second heart attack before Zoe’s first birthday.”

  Ben twisted in the chair, cupping her head in one big hand and pressing a chaste kiss to the center of her forehead.

  “Papà followed her two years later, before Zoe was diagnosed. He was spared seeing her suffer, at least.” She scrubbed a hand across her wet cheek and touched Ben’s jaw. “I think you got more than you bargained for opening that can of worms.”

  He covered her fingers. “I like listening to you talk.”