He dropped his hand a little, squinting through his fingers at her wide smile. “Four. The dog played too.”
“You’ve turned out to be a good dad, Ben.”
“I think it’s more that Jade’s a good kid. I only feed her, send her to bed on time, and help her with her homework. That doesn’t count for much.” He tipped his chin toward the parked car. “Shall we go?”
Puddles of golden light mottled the sidewalk as they walked along the lakefront, pausing by the sculpture of Queenstown’s founder, William Gilbert Rees.
Kezia patted the ram’s horns at the sculpture’s feet. “It counts with Jade. You’re her rock, someone she can depend on.”
Although the description still didn’t sit right, the thought of being his kid’s long-term caregiver no longer made him break out in hives. He’d accepted the buck stopped with him—so he’d pulled on his big-boy Y-fronts and tried to be her dad. Tried, being the operative word. He wasn’t sure of the quality parenting she received.
He removed Kezia’s hand from the sculpture and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “We’ve established I’m up for Father of the Year. That I’m a man who knows how to have fun…” He waggled his eyebrows. “Race you to the car?”
Ben tugged her past touristy gift-shops and noisy bars. They ran, laughing like escaped lunatics, to the Holden.
Driving to Harley’s house with Kezia’s hand on his thigh, he was tempted to handbrake slide into the graveled driveway—a rally driver on the last stretch to the finish line. Somehow, he resisted his inner speed-demon and parked carefully. Wind whispered over the car, and the motor ticked as it cooled.
Kezia unbuckled her seatbelt and flicked her hair off her shoulders. “Think we’ll make it to the bedroom this time?”
“Not if the Secret Ninja catches you.”
“I like this game already.” She opened the door and clambered out, revealing a length of silky thigh as her dress slid up.
She had a four-second head start while he tried to figure out if she had panties on.
He flung himself after her, spinning her around and scooping her up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Listening to her swear at him in Italian—he assumed the words strung alongside his personal favorite, stronzo, were curse words—Ben copped a delightful grope of her bottom as she hammered her fists on his back.
Yep. No panties on his hot little captive.
“Put me down!”
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Wheezes of laughter and another thump. “Neanderthal.”
“Aren’t I your teddy bear anymore?”
She snorted and wriggled her sweet little tush some more in an effort to get away.
“Or am I your toy-boy, since, technically, you are two years older.”
Her weight shifted and a second later, a sharp slap landed on his butt. “Let me go, or I’ll make you my chew-toy!”
Ben lowered her to the ground, kissed her to shut her up, and backed her down the hallway. He peeled off her coat and ran fingers up her spine until he located the zipper tag, desperate to get them both naked. God, he throbbed for her, a full-body ache. He wanted to slow down and lick every inch of her bare skin as he had in the shower earlier. But the drive to claim her, to lose himself in the blind pleasure of her, was overwhelming.
Clothes whispered to the floor, the only other sounds in the huge, still house their rasping breaths, the hiss of his zipper, and Kezia’s soft moans as he sank onto the stairs, pulling her onto his lap.
Heaven. Each part of her, every touch, every stroke of her tongue in his mouth, dragged his soul out of hiding. He suckled the tip of one breast, savoring the pebbled texture of her nipple. Her fingers threaded through his hair and tightened as she ground her slick folds against his cock. Heaven. He cupped the swell of her ass and lifted, settling her into position.
She leaned back and sank down, drawing him deep inside her body with a soft cry. Her warm wetness gripped him, and it was all he could do not to cry out with her.
She rode him ruthlessly hard, taking all she wanted. He gave her everything, compelling her to greater heights with his hands and mouth, matching her stroke for stroke. Need boiled through him, his senses dizzied by her silky skin, her nails clawing his shoulders, the heady taste of her kisses. His name on her lips tore Ben’s control to rags. She came, and the spasms of her body rocked him senseless. He shattered moments later, folding her in his arms as she slumped against his chest.
Damp skin bathed in a sheen of sweat, faces pressed into each other’s necks, his huffed breaths shockingly loud in the silence, they held each other. Stair treads dug into his spine hard enough to bruise. Blood pounded through his groin, because God knew, every drop had drained from his skull. There were places more uncomfortable than a flight of stairs to have wild monkey sex—only he couldn’t think of one now.
He curled his hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her back. “Okay?”
Eloquence was beyond him, but the warm light in Kezia’s chocolaty gaze indicated she didn’t mind.
“More than okay.” She cupped his jaw, her thumbs scraping over his evening shadow.
Her tenderness coiled through him, and a fluttery sensation stirred in his gut. He shifted on the hard step. The movement sent a bolt of awareness to his dick, which in turn fired a memo into his fogged brain: you’re not wearing a condom, dumbass.
Oh. Shit.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t use a condom, are you on the—?”
Her eyes widened and her lips formed a pale slash across her face.
Guess that was a no.
“I’m not. Unpleasant side effects.” She offered a tight smile. “You don’t need to apologize. I forgot too.”
Dammit, why had he been so careless? Condoms weren’t perfect—otherwise, hello, he wouldn’t have a daughter—but he wasn’t a horny teenager, hell-bent on his own pleasure. He always made sure his partner was protected.
“I’m still sorry, Kez. I haven’t had unprotected sex before, and I’m up to date with regular check-ups.”
He never, ever lost control with a woman. Kezia had changed him, done something witchy-spooky so he fell into her eyes and drowned before he could spot the danger. Bewitched. Enthralled. Totally under her spell. The only logical explanation for his urgency to possess her. The reason he yearned to hear her cries of pleasure and release. Why his chest felt filled with bubbles when he heard her laugh. Why he tried to be the reason for that laughter.
Her hands petted his chest in consoling circles. “You wouldn’t have made love to me if you thought there was any risk you’d hurt me.”
Ben swallowed hard, throat locked up tighter than a bank vault. “Yeah.” He paused, gaze flicking to a spot beyond her shoulder. “And if there are, ah, complications later…I’ll take care of it.”
As soon as the words were out, he wanted to clock himself in his big, fat mouth. Kezia’s internal muscles clenched. This time the sensation didn’t bring a wave of pleasure. She removed her hands from his chest.
“Complications?” Her voice stretched hard and thin like fishing line. “You mean, as an example, our weekend fling resulting in me falling pregnant?”
He stiffened at her tone. Words weren’t his deal. And words meant to soothe the feminine sex were as foreign to him as Latin. How else could he phrase such a loaded statement? Of course, he’d take care of the situation—take care of her—if their mind-blowingly amazing sex resulted in pregnancy. He didn’t want to overthink that scenario because it scared the shit out of him.
“Kezia—”
She grabbed the banister and eased herself upright. Without making eye contact, she walked down the stairs and picked up her dress.
Like hell would he apologize a third time. Ben stood, jamming himself into his pants, zipping his fly so aggressively he was lucky not to lose a vital part of his anatomy.
“What did I say?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, pinned him with a patented
female stare that said: Really? You’re that frickin’ dumb? Then, giving him a lovely view of her naked back—which he appreciated because he wasn’t dead—she slithered into her dress.
“I’m tired.” Her ass shook as she wriggled the dress’s zipper partway up. “I think it’s best if I sleep in the guest room tonight.”
Ben folded his arms across his chest, pushing down the jagged lump behind his breastbone. “Fine.”
Now he even sounded like a pissy female. She could sleep wherever she liked.
A pulse beat in his temple, and his brain ached. She looked so vulnerable with her hair in wild spirals, her shoulders slightly folded in as she collected her lacy bra off the floor. He’d hurt her—they’d somehow hurt each other—and he didn’t have a fucking clue what to say to make it right again.
Kezia paused after snatching up the second high-heeled shoe, shooting him a sidelong glance as she clutched her gear. The look speared him down to the balls; she was hesitating, waiting for him to move so she wouldn’t have to brush past him.
“You take the main room since you’ve already got your stuff spread all over the en-suite bathroom. I’ll grab my bag and sleep in the guest room.”
He stalked up the stairs before she guessed how much he wanted to curl around her for the rest of the night. How much he’d started to want to curl around her every night.
***
Kezia woke to a cry of a night bird hunting. Goose pimples pebbled her arms and legs. In her restless sleep, she’d kicked off the thick duvet covering the empty, king-sized bed.
Not how she’d envisioned spending the night—alone, cold, and fighting tears. She fumbled in the darkness for her phone to check the time. A little after four in the morning.
So she’d managed to sleep for a couple of hours.
She rolled out of bed and felt for the mohair throw she’d used instead of a robe. No need to pack a robe when a sexy, hot-water-bottle of a man would keep her warm. So she’d thought.
The silky fabric of her brand new nightdress swished around her thighs as she crossed to the heavy black-out drapes. She’d closed them earlier, not wanting Ben to walk by and glance in, should he be out for a stroll.
What would he have seen if he’d stepped out for some air and peeked into the master bedroom? A woman sharing the mattress space with a roll of toilet paper in lieu of tissues, curled into a self-pitying ball, clamping her lips together so her sobs wouldn’t wake him.
She tugged the drapes apart and cold pewter moonlight spilled in through the huge windows. The glass was cool beneath her fingers, and she leaned closer. No one was on the deck or seated in the pair of Adirondack chairs positioned to enjoy the scenery. Pulling back, she glimpsed her reflection.
She sighed and let the drapes fall shut, the inky blackness hiding her puffy eyes and sleep-creased face.
Gesù, what a mess they’d made of things.
Bolting into her room earlier, she’d spent an hour vacillating between indignant fuming, panic, and hurt. Finally, she’d swept the snotty toilet paper balls off her bed and sat up. After she’d told him about her mother-in-law’s reaction to her pregnancy with Zoe, she’d bet her last dollar Ben’s inference was innocent. But being male, he suffered from foot-in-mouth disease on a regular basis. Not only was he male, he was Ben. Not a surgeon when it came to dissecting and naming his emotions. She should’ve given him more leeway before cutting him off at the knees.
Above all else, she craved him. Craved his touch, his earthy smell, his big, sexy body that simultaneously drove her wild and provided comfort. They’d agreed to one night together, so dammit—he owed her one night in his arms.
Kezia had padded down the hallway, lifting her fist to knock on his door. The settled silence of the rest of the house amplified the soft snores inside the guest room.
He was asleep? She’d been tearing her heart out—wanting him, needing him, imploring him to come to her bed so she could explain that she’d been too quick to judge—and the man had fallen asleep. Merda.
Stalking back to her room, she was tempted to slam the door and wake the stronzo up. But then he’d know who was really upset by their sleeping arrangements. That she was so needy she’d come crawling, even though she suggested sleeping apart.
Now hours later? Awake again. And still wanting him, still needing him, and still broadcasting telepathic commands for him to come to her bed. He wouldn’t, though. His stubbornness rivaled hers. But she possessed the blood of Italian fisher folk. Ben was stubborn, but a woman on a mission? An Italian woman on a mission? Someone stick a fork in his sexy butt—he was done. They would have their night together, because she needed their night together.
Then they’d shake hands as friends after they departed the plane in Oban. Her scolding inner voice didn’t sound convinced. Tugging the mohair throw tighter around her, she stepped into the hallway before she could chicken out.
Hah! A coward she wasn’t. But a chicken? Well, her belly certainly felt stuffed with tickly feathers.
She stopped by Ben’s room—heart thudding painfully, and the skin across her shoulders feeling two sizes too small. This time, no soft snores or rustles from behind the door. Not bothering to knock, Kezia eased inside.
Ben hadn’t drawn the drapes. Shafts of moonlight speared the white-sheeted bed and highlighted the man sprawled in it. He lay on his stomach, dead center of the mattress, face turned away and resting on the crook of one arm. The duvet puddled at the bed’s foot, and a top sheet draped over his legs and the swell of his butt. And oh—she could almost guarantee he didn’t have on a stitch of clothing.
She edged closer, the tickly belly feathers spreading into her throat. What if he woke and ordered her out of his bed? Her toes curled on the cold floor.
Two choices, deceptively simple. Get into his bed—her presence admitting she couldn’t be without him. Or return to her room.
Decision made, she let the throw fall away and crawled onto the bed. Ben didn’t stir as she slipped under the top sheet and snuggled into his side, draping an arm over his lower back. Nose to the curve of his shoulder, she inhaled the pure male delight of him.
“Are you sniffing or kissing me?”
Busted.
He didn’t sound tetchy, only curious. His voice also didn’t contain the stickiness of sleep. Had he heard her creep into his room like a timid cat-burglar, fidgeting while she wrestled with going or staying?
“Kissing.” She pressed her lips to smooth, warm skin. Tested him with her tongue. Delizioso. “Maybe a little sniffing, you smell delicious.”
He rose up and rolled onto his side so they were face to face, tugging on a curl of her hair. “Kez—”
She held a finger to his mouth, wriggled closer, and kissed him. Firm lips met hers and parted with a rough groan, his mouth tasting faintly of mint. He brushed hot kisses down her jaw, late-night stubble grazing her skin. Drawn, as if by super-strength magnets, her fingers settled on his chest. The rapid punch of his heartbeat told her Ben wasn’t as relaxed as his posture portrayed, though he hadn’t moved to touch her.
One hand closed over hers, the other cupped her chin, keeping their mouths at a distance. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re here.” His thumb caressed her throat and she very nearly purred. “But we need to talk.”
It felt like someone picked a glass of iced water off the nightstand and dumped it down her spine. So. This was what men felt like when women spoke those double-edged words. She dug in her toes and tensed to shove herself backward, but he was too fast, letting go of her face and wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her still.
Ben reeled her in closer, fitting his big body close to hers, trapping her knee between his thighs. The heat of his leg warmed her chilled skin. It took every ounce of willpower not to burrow into his arms.
“You don’t like to talk.” Her voice came out a little breathy.
“Wrong. I like to talk with you.” His fingers splayed on the small of her back. Hot fingers that threate
ned to singe through the thin fabric of her nightdress. “Now, about before.”
Not the best time for conversation—as his interest nudged against her stomach. Kezia inhaled to tell him so when eau-de-aroused-male filled her nose. She rocked forward, breathing out something like, “Wha-for-ohh…”
Ben’s Adam’s apple bobbed in the silvery light as he swallowed hard, gripping her hip to stop her grinding against him. And oh, how she wanted to grind on every lovely inch of him.
“Sweetheart, work with me here.” Humor warmed his voice, layered over a rougher edge of desire.
“I’m trying,” she gasped. “You’re not cooperating.”
“Kezia.”
The way he said her name tamped down the fireball careening through her.
Fine.
“About before, then.” She sighed and ceased wriggling as if her lady-bits were on fire for him. Which they were. “You hit a sore spot. I over-reacted and I’m sorry.”
“I would’ve preferred you punch me than walk away.”
Normally, she would’ve come out swinging—verbally, anyway. She didn’t often walk away from confrontation. Getting things out in the open, talking, debating, shouting, compromising, kissing, and making up were the cornerstone of her childhood and then her marriage. The first few years of married life, anyway. How she’d hated Callum freezing her out of arguments after Zoe got sick.
“I wouldn’t hit you.”
Fingers tightened fractionally on her. “And I wouldn’t let you deal with an unplanned pregnancy alone.”
“I know. I know you’d do what’s right.”
The very reason she’d been too scared to call him out on the stairs. Because what could she say? I don’t want you to just do the right thing by me, the noble, responsible thing. I want more from you than incredible orgasms and that’s terrifying.
“But it’s not something we should get all twisted up about. Callum and I tried to have another child. It didn’t happen, even though the doctor said there was no medical reason why.” She shook her head. “Anyway, we shouldn’t worry about complications as there probably won’t be any.”
Melting Into You (Due South Book 2) Page 19