Living rooms. Jobs. Taxes. Childrearing.
“Mom—what are you doing?” Livvie tried to speak in an undervoice, but the empty room echoed. “You can’t just make up a new name and pretend you’re a Vanderbilt. That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?” Her mom, on the other hand, didn’t lower her voice at all. “Your last name isn’t Winston, and that’s worked out pretty well for you. I figured it was my turn to give it a try.”
Ben raised an amused brow, which Livvie did her best to ignore. “Her name is Barb,” she said irritably.
“And her name is Olivia Schnur,” her mom retorted. “As long as we’re being honest.”
“Schnur?” Ben asked, his voice wavering.
Livvie could feel her blood start rising. “Don’t you dare.”
“Schnur?”
“This is not part of the stupid napkin list.”
“Schnur?”
She threw up her hands. “Go ahead. Laugh it up. Get it out of your system. I’ll give you five minutes, and then we’re never speaking of this again.”
He obliged, falling into a hearty chuckle her mom decided to share. Great. Now they were bonding. Her mom, the one woman in the world who disliked the rich and powerful as much as she did, freaking loved him.
Everyone loved him—that was the problem. Ben was perfect. Ben was everything good and noble and golden. Ben was the man who would move the moon and stars to prove his love. And Livvie was just the ungrateful woman who wanted him to put them back in the sky where they belonged.
“Okay—just one question.” Ben didn’t lose the sexy chuckle in his voice. “Did you name yourself after Winston Churchill?”
“No,” she said, still sullen. “I didn’t even know who Winston Churchill was at the time. It was the name of a barn cat that hung around and sprayed our laundry.”
“Like hell it was,” her mother interjected with a laugh. “She picked it because of the jeweler Harry Winston. It was the only thing she could think of that sounded fancy enough.”
“Mom,” she warned.
“She was obsessed with making a success of herself, even back then,” her mom said in an aside to Ben. “From the moment she learned how to walk, she was searching for a way out of my arms and into the big, wide world.”
Livvie gave up trying to maintain her calm and marched through the living room toward the kitchen, bypassing walls of random artwork—nary a baby or childhood picture in sight, of course. Pictures required cameras, and cameras required a somewhat steady income. Who wouldn’t have searched for a way out?
“Did you really pick a nom de plume based on a jewelry store?” As always, Ben was one step behind her, prepared to use this moment to his advantage, to continue pressing his suit.
The kitchen was a small one. If she’d thought she was trapped before, she was downright caged now.
“I was fourteen at the time, and my entire experience of the world revolved around handmade hemp socks.” She whirled to face him. Even caged, she still had some fight left in her. “So, yes. I made a few bad choices.”
“You wore hemp socks?”
Trust him to fixate on the least important detail. “I wore hemp socks and hand-me-downs and dresses sewn from bedsheets,” she said, ticking each item off on her fingers. “And my birthday present that year was a cactus, so you’ll have to forgive me for thinking a jewelry store was the height of sophistication. I would have done just about anything for a diamond ring.”
She would have done just about anything to experience a different kind of life.
“Oh, really? A diamond ring, huh? It just so happens...”
She couldn’t pretend to misunderstand him as he trailed off and looked suggestively at the purse she held clutched to her side. Of course. The velvet box, a gift from a man for whom sparkling jewelry was just another tool of the trade.
“I don’t care if there are eight diamond rings in there,” she said bitterly. “Things that sparkle don’t cut it anymore. My tastes have matured since I was a kid.”
“How mature are we talking?” Ben drew close, his chest touching hers, making her painfully aware of her breasts and the way his proximity brought them to life. “I’d like details, if you please.”
She huffed instead of responding, showing him what she thought about his flirtation.
“I’m not kidding, you know.” His voice dropped and his mood grew somber. The shift rendered his stance predatory, possessive, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What happened to fourteen-year-old Olivia Schnur and her love of the finer things in life? Where did that little girl go?”
She didn’t make a sound, not even to huff this time. That little girl was gone forever. Men like him had made sure of that.
“It’s going to take a lot more than your bohemian mother to scare me away, love, but I appreciate that you tried.”
“You did this on purpose,” she accused. “Just like everything else, you’ve had this lunch with my mom planned for months. One more task completed, one step closer to your goals.”
“Don’t be mad at her. I know things haven’t always been easy for you, but that’s one of the things that makes you so incredible. I admire the climb you’ve faced, your tenacity in making it to the top. So does your mom. All I had to do was tell her how much I care for you, and she promised to do everything she could to help.”
“He’s very persuasive,” her mom said, coming in behind them. “I like him.”
Ben’s hand lifted to her face, his fingers a whisper along the curve of her cheekbone, catching at tears that weren’t there. “Everyone in the world knows we belong together, Livvie—everyone except you. Why do you insist on holding out?”
“Because it’s my life we’re talking about here. Maybe I want to have a say in it.”
His hand moved to grip her neck, his hold powerful, capable of crushing her both from the inside out and the outside in. “No. It’s my life, too. By the time eight thirty-four rolls around, you’ll finally come to realize that I can’t exist without you.”
“And if I don’t?”
He took a wide step back, releasing her, his arms outstretched. “Then I’m a man of my word. I’ll never speak of this again.”
Before Livvie had a chance to respond—to release the cry that lodged in her throat, the confusion clouding everything on the horizon—her mother clapped her hands. “Well, that’s good enough for me. I’m starved. How do we feel about bean curd tapenade?”
* * *
“I’d move it myself, but it’s too heavy.” Minerva gestured toward a large fountain in the middle of her backyard. “I have some friends coming out to look at it next week, but I want to make sure it’s properly hooked up first. You can’t show a fountain that’s not fountaining. That would just be silly.”
The yard they stood in was little more than a neat fenced-off square, equal parts junkyard and artist’s haven, but Ben liked it. He liked everything about this house—especially the two women currently standing outside it. Livvie and her tofu-loving, anticommerce mother couldn’t be less alike, yet it was somehow the most natural thing in the world that they were related.
They were sharp women, unapologetic women, women who weren’t afraid to go after the things they wanted in life. They were also women who showed affection for one another by locking horns.
He took comfort in that. It explained a lot about the relationship he and Livvie shared.
“It probably weighs close to two hundred pounds, but I think it might be my best work yet.” Minerva turned her attention his way. “What do you think?”
Ben cleared his throat, trying to find the best way to wrangle his opinions into something approaching a compliment. He had no idea what sort of response would fit this oversize metal basin with a baby standing upright in the center.
/> No, not a baby. A cherub. A particularly well-endowed, uncircumcised cherub.
“It’s...”
“Mom, you can’t make a fountain out of metal. It’s going to rust after a few months.”
Minerva smiled fondly at both the fountain and her offspring. “That’s the whole point. The water will run clear for a spell, but the rust will eventually turn it all red. Pissing Blood.”
“It will look a bit like that, won’t it?” Ben offered.
“No—that’s what it’s called. Pissing Blood. Do you want it? I can cancel the other appointment.”
At that generous offer, he made the mistake of catching Livvie’s gaze. Her mouth was compressed with anger and laughter, her eyes flashing as she struggled not to let the laughter win.
But it did. It always did.
“Let’s not deprive your friends of this beauty,” Livvie said with a warning glance his way. “Maybe I’ll look into commissioning a piece for Ben’s birthday instead.”
“How delightful,” he said, and meant it. His birthday was a long way off, which meant Livvie wasn’t ready to dispose of him just yet. He was breaking through to her. He could tell.
Minerva left them with a few instructions on getting the hose properly hooked up before taking herself back inside, being careful to shut the door behind her. He wasn’t sure if the privacy was intentional or not, but he appreciated it all the same.
Livvie got right down to business. “Are you sure you can lift this with that fresh wound on your back?”
“I can barely tell it’s there,” he lied. He circled the fountain, checking for the best hold. It looked heavier in the front, which meant he’d have to carry the damn thing with a full cock’s view. The sacrifices I make for love. “Grab the tail end, would you? We only have to move it a few feet. Even you’re strong enough to make it that far.”
She huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “There’s no need to insult me. I’m plenty strong.”
“Prove it. Grab the cherub’s ass, would you?”
“I do not grab asses upon command, thank you very much.”
“Really? I do.”
She picked up the challenge as it was intended. “Is that a fact? Then why don’t you come over here and grab my ass?”
Fondling the cherub would have to wait. He dropped his hands in an instant. “Be careful what you ask for. I think I’ve more than proven I’m capable of following through.”
He licked his lips just in case she didn’t catch his meaning. From the way her eyes followed the path of his tongue, as hungry for a taste of him as he was of her, he knew she’d caught it just fine.
“For one day, maybe,” she said, forcing a scowl back on her face. “Any man can follow through for one day. Even you.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Oh? Not even you, then? Are you tired of me already?”
“No. You’re wrong about how long I can follow through.” Five years he’d been waiting for this day. Five years he’d been preparing himself for this moment. “You’ll see.”
“Maybe I don’t want to see. Maybe I’m the one who’s done already.” She paused. “Just because I let you between my legs once doesn’t mean I’m going to do it again.”
“But what about your heart, Livvie? Will you let me in there?”
She stopped, not moving or blinking, binding him in place with her stare. He thought maybe he’d done it again, pushed too hard, demanded too much, but a smile slowly crossed her face. “I guess you’ll have to catch me first.”
She began circling the fountain, transforming the moment into a game, and he was happy to let her. He loved the game, the challenge, the play. He loved knowing that even though he’d knocked Livvie flat by pulling out the napkin, she was ready and willing to knock him right back.
He circled the fountain with her, making furtive jabs to try and get a grip on one of her arms. But she was quick and he was not, the added strain of his new tattoo pulling at the skin on his lower back. Fortunately, he had the advantage of location. The fountain was to his front, the house to his back. The yard was enclosed, and the only gate was heaped with piles of reclaimed metal scraps. Livvie couldn’t escape without passing by him—and the fountain hookups—first. Without losing sight of his prey, he backed toward the black hose that seemed to be connected to some kind of water reservoir. Livvie caught on to what he was doing almost instantly.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He yanked the hose, the extra coils giving him plenty of slack to hoist his weapon.
“I’m not kidding. This isn’t the time or place to start acting like a twelve-year-old.”
He leaned back, grasping until his hand made contact with the flower-shaped metal nozzle.
“I don’t think you formally gained my mom’s approval. Wasn’t that the whole point of this thing? Maybe you should get it in writing.”
“I don’t care about your mom’s approval. What I really want is yours.” Without warning, he turned the handle and felt the chug of water move through. The sun had warmed the hose enough that the first spray was bathtub-warm, but he could tell when it turned cold by the shriek of outrage that escaped Livvie’s parted lips. Her metallic tank top was drenched in an instant, clinging to her jutting breasts, and she pounced across the cluttered courtyard with her arms out.
He could have easily held her off—whether by turning the spray on her face or physically restraining her—but it was too nice to have Livvie coming at him at full speed. She was coming at him in aggression, yes, but a laugh fell from her lips as she drew close.
Fuck, he could live the rest of his life on the sound of that laugh alone.
She wrestled the hose out of his hands and turned the spray his way, soaking him through to the skin in a matter of seconds. The water was brisk, but he felt invigorated by the spray—a cleansing more akin to a baptism than a shower.
“Dammit, that’s cold,” Livvie cried, but she kept moving until she wasn’t just coming toward his arms but was in them. They were both so wet by this time it didn’t matter that their clothes clung to their bodies or that their skin was slick with frigid hose water. “We’re supposed to be helping my mom, not destroying her gallery.”
The hose hit the ground and began filling his shoe, but Ben didn’t dare move. He had Livvie in his arms, and she’d come to him this time, her breasts pressed cold and round against his chest.
He’d do anything if it meant she’d keep coming to him. In times of need, in times of pain, in times of fun. He wanted them all.
Once again proving himself ineffective against these displays of emotion from her, he dipped his head and dropped a kiss on the deep V of her shirt, which stuck to her like a second skin. Her breasts had covered in goose bumps, her nipples erect enough to render all lining in her bra obsolete, and he kissed the swell of skin that arose there.
She groaned and dropped her hands to the waistband of his pants, fingers hooking in the belt loops and forcing their hips together. If she was checking to see if he was aroused, she was sure to get her answer. Being a hair trigger away from an erection when he was with her had become a standard practice. He could control himself in public—he wasn’t a fucking teenager—and he’d promised himself long ago he’d never cross a line Livvie wasn’t prepared to cross with him, but one kiss was all it took to have his blood pumping and his cock heavy.
One kiss. One set of perfect breasts pressed against his chest. One low groan as he continued nipping at her breasts, losing himself in the sweet taste of her, dripping with water.
“Don’t,” she moaned, and he paused.
“Are you afraid your mom’s going to come back and yell at us?” He brought his face so close to hers their lips touched—but not in a kiss. He was speaking against her and to her. He was giving her his breath. “I’ll tell her it
’s my fault.”
“My mom has never been much of a one for parental intervention.” Livvie gave him her breath back, her lips lingering long enough for the embrace to count as a kiss. “I’ve been on my own a lot longer than you think.”
She pulled back to separate their upper bodies, opening like a zipper and leaving their legs intertwined. He would have liked to say that having her boobs away from his chest helped him get a grip on himself, but this position only made things worse. He could still feel her—the press of her thighs against his, his cock nestled against her body—and now he could see her too. She might as well have been naked for all the wet shirt hid her nipples. He could see the tight pucker of them, trace the outline where they begged for his touch. Unable to stop himself, he reached up and did just that.
God, what he would give to feel one of those nipples in his mouth. To take her breasts between his lips until she had no choice but to cry out his name.
“Ben.”
He stopped his movements but didn’t pull his hand from her breast. He liked the weight of it, yes, but he also liked the heartbeat that flared underneath.
She cast a pointed look down at his hand, but he couldn’t seem to make himself let go. Wet skin and a hot, firm body had a way of making a man do stupid things—things like accosting a reluctant woman in the backyard of her mother’s house.
“I know I should apologize, but I’ve been waiting a long time to touch you like this.” He shifted his thumb so that it grazed the taut peak of her nipple, eliciting a gasp and pure pliability. “Do you want to know all the other ways I’ve been waiting to touch you?”
“No,” she said, but she pressed her pelvis more firmly against his, sending a rocketing jolt through him.
“I’ll tell you anyway. When I get you naked and in my bed—”
“If you get me naked and in your bed.”
“When,” he repeated, and moved his hand over her breast, refusing to relinquish his hold. She gasped, her eyes narrowing as her body accepted what her mind would not. “You have no idea how much I love watching you do that.”
Model Behavior Page 7