New York Nights (A Heart of the City romance Book 2)

by C. J. Duggan

  ‘You’ll thank me in the morning after you’ve had a full night’s sleep.’ He grinned and made his way up the stairs, just before, as though by some magical force, My Sad Captains started filtering through the surround sound system. I settled down in my blanket cocoon, trying not to admit how amazing this was and how much I was loving this treatment from Ben. I was an awful, awful human being.

  I would have confessed in a heartbeat if it wouldn’t have incriminated Alistair. Perhaps I should use this night as an opportunity to mend bridges with Ben – the way we had ended last night was a bit of a disaster, and as far as working as a team to get Grace into a routine, well, that wasn’t going so great either. I had sabotaged my own plans, and it would serve me right if she didn’t sleep a wink for me next week.

  I rearranged my blanket and thought how easy it would be to fall asleep in this recliner. Of course, Sarah McLachlan singing about angels as I looked up at the fabricated Milky Way on the ceiling wasn’t helping. My eyes became heavy, until the sound of footsteps and the clinking of a tray had me sitting straight once more. I turned expectantly to the doorway, amazed that he’d returned so quickly. He must have ordered takeaway.

  Ben entered like a total domestic god, carrying a tray with immense concentration. He looked adorable, a tea towel slung over his left shoulder; all he needed was a little apron and he’d be husband material. It was a side to him I hadn’t seen and, I had to say, I liked it.

  ‘If you scoot over there’s a side table that flips out from the arm rest.’ His eyes darted to the side.

  ‘What?’ I said, flipping the arm rest back to find, sure enough, a side table. I looked at him with a huge grin. ‘No way.’

  ‘It’s the couch that keeps on giving.’

  ‘I’ll say, it’s like a bloody Transformer,’ I said, readying myself for whatever was hidden under the silver dome on the tray. ‘I think you’ve missed your calling in life, Mr Worthington. Ever thought about a career change to the hospitality industry?’

  He smiled as he placed the tray in front of me, and it made my stomach flip. ‘Well, eat first, praise later. If you like it, I’ll consider a career change,’ he said, reaching over to grab the dome.

  My mouth was watering already, thinking about what he had organised: Indian, Thai, Italian?

  ‘Wait a minute, did you cook this?’ I asked.

  He nodded, seemingly modest about his efforts before lifting the lid to reveal …

  ‘Oh. My. God.’ My hand covered my mouth, capturing my gasp.

  Ben looked worried. ‘Well?’

  I tried to find words, feeling stupid as tears threatened. I lowered my hands from my face and took in the grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of minestrone soup. He’d remembered.

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  ‘Yeah, well, don’t get too excited, the soup is from a can, but the grilled cheese is all me,’ he said.

  ‘It’s amazing.’ I laughed, thinking that there wasn’t anything better in the world for lifting my spirits than this.

  ‘Thank you, Ben,’ I said, making sure I looked him in the eyes so he knew I meant it.

  Ben’s mouth twitched as if stifling a smile. ‘You Aussies sure are easy to please.’

  ‘Yeah, just an elaborate home cinema with a grilled cheese sandwich and I’m anyone’s,’ I joked.

  Ben’s expression changed and suddenly what was meant as a joke took on a whole new meaning. Yep, me and my tragic jokes strike again.

  ‘Well, I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll leave the music on for you?’

  ‘You’re not having any?’

  He shrugged. ‘I ate at Nikki’s.’

  My heart sank. I don’t know what made me think that maybe Ben might sit next to me, watch a movie, chat about our favourite things like we were having a slumber party. But of course that was stupid. And then I felt ungrateful. Ben had shown me more compassion and consideration than I could have hoped for. It made me feel truly awful about all the bitterness I’d held against a man I didn’t really know.

  ‘Well, thanks again,’ I said, saluting him with my toastie.

  ‘Is there anything else you want?’

  His words hung heavily in the air and all I wanted to say was: Yes, stay.

  I smiled and shrugged. ‘Nope, all good.’

  And of all the little white lies I had told today, that was by far the biggest one.

  Chapter Thirty

  The music had stopped. My tray was gone. If it wasn’t for the lights above me, I would’ve thought maybe I had dreamt it all. How long had I been asleep?

  Time sure was difficult to gauge in a cinema room, not a problem I was usually faced with. I pulled myself from my blanket cocoon and stretched my arms above my head then tried, rather inelegantly, to collapse the footrest. I knew my lethargy was a combination of my boozy afternoon and napping on possibly the most comfortable couch in existence, but I felt like someone had roofied my grilled cheese.

  I went upstairs. The house was dark, but judging by the microwave clock, I had only been out for a few hours, so the night was not entirely lost. I could go to my room and get a good night’s sleep.

  And that was exactly where I was headed before a shadow caught my eye. I stood at the end of the couch, drinking in Ben’s sleeping form, the bow of his lips, the fatigue that lined his face. A frown was visible, as though he was worrying even in his dreams. I had no doubt he would, this man bore the weight of the world on his shoulders, worked so hard, and received nothing but grief from me. Ben was a good man whose life had been turned upside down but who was trying to do his best. My heart ached for him, and I wanted to help him. I could at least help him to sleep soundly, knowing that one aspect of his life – perhaps the most important one – was looked after. I didn’t want him to worry about Grace. I could care for her and love her for both of us in the times he couldn’t.

  I tiptoed around the couch, kneeling quietly next to him, and took the papers from under his hands. I put them on the floor next to him, then gently lifted his glasses from his face, revealing his strong, masculine features. He stirred slightly, and my breath caught in – if he woke and caught me staring at him like a creeper, I’d be mortified. But he didn’t wake, his forehead furrowing again as another worry reached him in his dreams. I would have given anything to take it away.

  I leant over him for the throw rug on the back of the lounge and paused seeing the corner of a dog-eared piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. The same note he had urgently tucked away when I’d entered the room earlier this evening. My eyes shifted to Ben’s face, and back to the paper.

  Sarah, no, you can’t! He obviously didn’t want you to see it – it has nothing to do with you.

  I left the throw rug in its place as I sat on my haunches, letting a war rage inside me.

  Just go to bed, Sarah. Cover him up and go to bed. Don’t spoil a good night.

  I knew that everything the voice said was right, that I should just walk away, and yet I found myself reaching for the paper. Ever so carefully, I pulled it by the corner and edged it out of his pocket, inch by inch. I bit my bottom lip as, eventually, the paper came free. I sighed with relief.

  Then Ben’s hand snaked around my wrist so fast I yelped. I looked into his steely stare.

  I tried to think of a logical explanation for why I was taking the piece of paper, but of course there was none. The only thing I was aware of was Ben’s painful iron grip around my wrist.

  Ben unhurriedly sat up, his knees grazing my belly, his grey eyes looking into mine in a way I had never seen before; I would never have thought such an intense calmness would be more terrifying than his anger. He gradually let my wrist go.

  ‘Read it,’ he said, so coolly I felt a shiver run over my skin.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t want to,’ I said, handing it to him.

  He pushed my hand back. ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘Ben, please.’ I pushed the paper into his chest and went to move but he stilled me with h
is hand, scrunching the paper into my palm.

  ‘Read. It.’

  I could feel the heat of my cheeks as shame engulfed me. This was my punishment and I had to endure while Ben watched. I wished the ground would open.

  I unfolded the paper, revealing the writing. My eyes ticked over the words in disbelief.

  ‘It’s my email?’

  He had printed off my email and written little notes in the margins, what looked like an agenda for the weekend, going as far as to highlight passages. He had taken what I had written seriously, put thought and effort into respecting what would be best for Grace. My heart melted.

  ‘I’m not the best communicator, Sarah, especially with anything to do with Grace, I just – I’m trying.’

  I could try to claim it was my humiliation or his admission that made me break down, but I knew in my heart of hearts it was guilt and my own issues with communication, and I had never felt so ill about it.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ My chin trembled like a small child’s. ‘You know why I was sick today?’

  Ben looked at me, his eyes cast in shadow, his silence intimidating.

  ‘Because I went to an Irish bar and got drunk on cocktails that reminded me of you, and then if that wasn’t bad enough, last night —’ I shook my head in disbelief.

  Ben shifted, sighing wearily. ‘We don’t have to talk about last night.’

  ‘It’s not that, it’s …’ I tried to find the courage to continue.

  Ben tilted his head as if to capture my attention as I lifted my gaze to his.

  ‘What?’

  I didn’t want to keep the truth at bay any more, and notwithstanding all the secrets in my possession, I would be truthful. I inhaled deeply, my voice shaking as I continued. ‘I asked about you, I asked Louisa about Grace’s mum and now I know what happened and I’m so, so sorry that I always think the worst of you, and then you’re so nice to me and you make me cheese sandwiches and I don’t even deserve it.’ I wiped my eyes and looked at my hands crumpling the bit of paper because I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, knowing that now he knew the truth.

  There was a long, painful silence, and I just wanted to disappear. I had done it, ruined any chance of being able to be a part of the new world that Ben was building for Grace. It was over.

  Then Ben’s hand was sliding over mine, preventing me from crumpling the paper any further. He squeezed my hand a little. It was a tender, unexpected gesture, as was the way he moved, dropping to the floor to sit next to me, forcing me to look at him. His eyes weren’t angry, they were sad, looking at me as though he was physically pained by my tears. He brushed them away with his thumb as he shook his head.

  ‘You can say what you like, Sarah Williams, but I’ll be damned if you don’t deserve a grilled cheese sandwich.’ He smiled slowly.

  I was confused, afraid to believe that he was making light of all I had confessed.

  ‘Sarah, you survived my mother, my sister, me, and despite it all, you still continue to love and care for Grace, even in the times when you probably wanted to walk away. Why?’

  ‘Because I love her.’

  ‘Is that the only reason?’

  I thought, trying to find an answer. ‘Well, I love this city.’

  ‘And that’s what makes you stay?’ he asked, folding a wayward strand of hair behind my ear.

  I nodded, knowing that I wasn’t being completely truthful, but I scarcely thought that telling him that he made me want to stay was appropriate, so I left the most powerful part of my confession unsaid.

  He let his hand drop and pressed his back against the couch, sighing deeply and rubbing at his face. ‘Goodnight, Sarah.’

  I panicked that there was nothing for us to say after what felt like such a tender moment. Was he dismissing me after all I had done, all I confessed?

  ‘Ben, aren’t you mad?’

  ‘I’m too tired to be mad any more. Where does it ever get anyone?’

  And then before I could stop myself, I let my hand glide over his, squeezing it in the same reassuring way as he had done to me. Something changed, I saw it in the way his eyes shifted to mine. I knew he wasn’t mad, not in the slightest, because I had seen that look before, and I knew what it meant. All that was left now was for me to decide.

  Do I stay or do I go upstairs?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ben Worthington. A man at times so distant, so controlled, so seemingly shut off from emotion. And then he gradually revealed glimpses of kindness: walking me down the Mall in Central Park; taking care of me; fixing me my favourite dinner. So unexpected were these moments it was hard to imagine they had actually happened, especially when the bad stuff was so much easier to recall. He had lost, I knew that now, and that explained so much about this complicated man. I had struggled to discern his indifferences from his kindnesses, but I had never thought that I would see a change so clear in someone. The change I saw now almost made me want to stay, to close the space between us.

  I looked straight into his partly shadowed face, and it took every ounce of strength to remove my hand from his. ‘Goodnight, Ben.’

  His eyes slowly lifted as I stood; if he was surprised he didn’t show it. I had trouble fathoming that a man such as Ben could be vulnerable, but knowing his past, there was no other way to describe him. I wished I could take the pain away, to distract him as I had before. But I couldn’t.

  I let that thought drive me up the staircase. Every step I took I felt stronger and more grateful for the decision I had made.

  I closed the door to my room, pressing my back against it, feeling the safety of its barrier shielding me from all that lay beyond it. I was so certain, so resolved, so proud of how far I had come. I had turned away from those, as my best friend Sammi would put it, come-fuck-me eyes.

  If it had been so easy, though, why was I faltering, why was I lingering at my door feeling uncertain, like maybe I didn’t want to avoid the mistake? That no matter how good I felt about it, there was something bubbling underneath the surface that kept telling me what I really wanted? Try as I might to convince myself about avoiding temptation, all I could think of was walking back into it. Just for this one night. Break the tension and move on.

  Yeah, even I wasn’t buying my own bullshit, and yet I pushed from the door and twisted the handle, pulling it open to step out into the hall, ready to descend the stairs at a run.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  There, blocking the stairs, was Ben, and in that stunned silence, it was never more clear: we both wanted the same thing, to hell with the consequences. After all, it was our world now.

  And as if reading my mind, he moved. He took determined steps, closing the distance to where I stood. Then he kissed me, pushing me against the wall and pinning me there with the warmth of his body. Nothing romantic, nothing tender or soft, just pure need. He pushed, I pulled, there seemed too much space between us even as he crushed his body against mine. Our clothing was an infuriating barrier, but before I had a chance to remove his jacket with eager hands, we slid to the stairs, caring not for comfort, only for pleasure.

  Oh, the pleasure of straddling Ben, cupping his face and thrilling in the power of my position, knowing that the hardness of him between my legs was because of what I was doing to him. It only encouraged me to grind against him as I kissed him so passionately I could feel his fingers clutch my hips before gliding over my arse and pulling me closer to him, urging me on, grinding against the seam of my thin yoga pants. My already stretched top was almost beyond help as Ben pulled the front of it down, groaning as he saw I wasn’t wearing a bra, then cupping and squeezing my nipple. I bit down on his lip, causing him to smile and squeeze more firmly. Damn, if he didn’t know all the right things to do to me. I pushed away from his mouth, my hands on his heaving chest; he looked at me confused, until I slowly peeled my T-shirt over my head, flicking my ponytail to spill over my shoulder and letting the tee drop next to me on the staircase. Ben ran his eyes over me like a s
low caress. I had never felt more wanted, more needed. There may have been things he was unable to communicate with words, but he knew how to convey his desire as he sat up and did something I wasn’t expecting. He pulled the elastic from my ponytail, letting my hair spill over my shoulders. The feel of Ben’s hands in my hair caused my skin to prickle as he kissed me once more, this time slower, as if he was committing the taste of me to memory.

  I put my arms around his neck, thrilling in the way the material of his jacket brushed against my breasts. As much as I loved the feeling, I edged the jacket off his shoulders. Leaving it crumpled underneath him as I pushed him down, I leant over him, my hair falling around his face like a veil. Looking into his smouldering eyes – I can’t believe I had ever thought them cold – the moment was almost romantic. I worked at undoing his belt and reached into his briefs to grip the length of him, using the rapid rise and fall of his laboured breath as a guide. Ben swallowed, looking down at my hand on him before his head tilted back with a moan. I don’t know whether it was a plea to stop or to keep going but it made me smile, seeing the usually controlled man become so weakened by my touch.

  ‘This is a hell of way to christen the new carpet.’ He laughed, his voice gravelly, strained.

  I laughed too, loosening my hold on him and moving forward to kiss him tenderly. Before he could protest me letting go, I pulled away from him.

  ‘You have no idea,’ I said, shaking my head. I saw the realisation in his eyes as I lowered myself down, and showed him exactly how we were going to christen the new carpet. I took him into my mouth and sucked. He groaned my name, his hands gripping the dampened strands of hair at my scalp, and I had never felt more alive. I was taking great pleasure in tearing down all the defences this man had built up so well.

  Every. Last. One.

  Ben kicked my door open wider, dumping me on the mattress and, working with strong, assured hands, peeled off my pants and knickers, skimming them over my sensitive skin. He tugged them free and I lay before him, naked but not cold, exposed but not sorry. Ben looked like he was committing every curve, every line to memory as he worked on unbuttoning his shirt in a way that was driving me mad. I knew I should have just ripped those buttons apart when I’d had the chance, but then the shirt was gone, tossed aside, soon followed by his trousers. I didn’t have time to take him in as he crawled over me, dividing my legs and opening me to him. He settled between my thighs, arms on either side of me, caging me in. My hands moved to his ribs, making him flinch. I laughed, knowing my hands were colder than any other part of me. He punished me by grinding himself against me and making me gasp; I was so wet for him, I knew he would be able to feel it. The carpet burn on my knees, the taste of him in my mouth. It took every inch of my control to stop him and search through the drawer of my side table, trying to concentrate as Ben kissed my spine. I flung papers and documents everywhere, upending the drawer’s contents without care, my passport flying across the room along with some foreign money.