Just get it out there. What’s the worst that can happen?
“I thought maybe it’s not too late. To have a normal sex life. When I get back to New York, you know? Since marrying a gay man didn’t work out for me,” she added, trying for a little humor. “I want . . . I just want . . . I want to know what it’s like. To have good sex. To feel what other women feel.”
She paused, searching Ben’s eyes to discern his reaction.
It was so hard to read what he was thinking. But he wasn’t judging her, and he wasn’t laughing at her. That would have to be enough to go on with.
“So I wondered if you might . . . be willing . . . to help me.”
A quick spasm went through her, but it was out. It was out, damn it, and the world hadn’t ended.
She took a deep breath. “The other night, when we kissed, I felt . . . I mean . . . I don’t usually feel like that. I’ve never wanted someone like I wanted you.”
Her cheeks burned. But she needed to think about this clinically, like a conversation with a doctor. If this was going to work, Ben had to have all the information.
“Of course I’ve felt desire before, but . . . there’s always been this disconnect. Once things start heating up I always freeze, or something. So I thought . . . this time . . . maybe I could take a more direct approach. If you know I have a problem, then you won’t expect . . . that is, you won’t be disappointed if . . . if things don’t go well.”
She cleared her throat. “You said I can figure out who I am by figuring out what I like. That’s what I want to do. With you. With sex. And since you’re moving to Chicago in the fall, there won’t be any, you know, emotional fallout. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to expect anything from you or get my heart broken or . . .”
She trailed off, seeing the waiter approaching with her salad and Ben’s soup.
Maybe having this conversation in the restaurant had been a mistake. How was she supposed to eat?
She looked down at her plate. They’d put the dressing on the side. She focused on picking up the little silver pitcher and pouring the vinaigrette over her greens, and then she speared a bite and brought it to her mouth.
“Jessica?”
She choked on a slice of cucumber.
Oh God. She was coughing like she’d never stop.
Ben started to rise from his seat, but she waved him off. She gulped down some water, took a few deep breaths, and looked up.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were saying something?”
God, what a disaster. What in the world had she been thinking?
“My answer is yes.”
She stared at him for a long moment. His brown eyes were warm and alive, and the slight smile he wore didn’t seem to be mocking her.
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
Okay, then.
As she continued to sit there, her face getting hotter and hotter, it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought past this point.
“What happens now?” she blurted.
Smooth, Jessica. Very smooth. All in all, this had to be the strangest—and least sexy—proposition a woman had ever made to a man.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to eat dinner.” He took a sip of his seafood chowder and made an appreciative noise. “Wow, that’s good. Do you want to try this?”
He looked completely at ease, which was more than she could say for herself.
“You don’t think it’s weird to just sit here having dinner?”
He shook his head. “Nope. And we’re not just having dinner. We’re on a date, and it’s my job to entertain you, to charm you, to give you the impression that I’m a responsible adult, and, hopefully, convince you to make out with me at the end of the night.”
“But we’re not really on a date. And you already know I want to make out.”
Ben leaned toward her. “Do you trust me, Jess?”
Something in his expression told her that this was a serious question—one that could define the events going forward. So instead of answering quickly—yes, of course I trust you—she took a moment to think about it.
“I would trust you with my life.”
He looked startled.
After a moment he cleared his throat. “Well, then. Will you trust me tonight? Enough to put yourself in my hands?”
This time she didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Good. Then we’re on a date, which means I’m doing all the work. Your job is to enjoy yourself and let me know how I’m doing.” He paused. “I’m going to start with something easy. How’s your salad?”
She’d spit out the only bite she’d taken so far. Now she took another one. “It’s very good.”
“Excellent. You already know my soup is good. Are you ready for my next dating move?”
She was starting to relax a little. How could she not, when Ben was narrating the evening so disarmingly?
“I’m ready.”
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Well, thank you. But I didn’t do anything special. I mean . . . I didn’t dress up or anything.”
“You don’t have to. You’re Grace Kelly beautiful, Jess. You’d be gorgeous in a burlap sack.”
She blushed deeper. “Okay, that’s pretty good. I give you high marks for your dating moves so far.” She took another bite of salad. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“It might be a bad date question.”
“One of the rules for the evening is that you can do no wrong. Ask me whatever you want.”
“All right.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a pretty nice guy, and not exactly hard to look at. How is it that you’re still single?”
His eyebrows went up. “You’re saying I’m easy on the eyes?”
Considering she’d been on the point of dissolving in embarrassment a few minutes ago, it was hard to believe they were actually joking now. “I’m not going to repeat it, if that’s what you’re angling for. Your ego doesn’t need any stroking.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s true. After all, I’m the one you turned to when you needed a sex god.”
“A sex god? Wow. You’re setting the bar pretty high, aren’t you? Most men would fold under that kind of pressure.”
“I’m not most men.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to answer the question, or what?”
He paused as a waiter cleared their dishes and another set down their main course. “I was in a long-term relationship until about a year ago. I’ve dated since, but nothing too serious.”
“Oh.” Jessica took a bite of her chicken and watched Ben dig into his mahimahi. She wanted to ask about the relationship that had ended. Who was the woman? What was she like? And how could she have been crazy enough to let a man like Ben go?
Instead, she asked about his meal. “How is your fish?”
He looked up and grinned. “Delicious. Would you like to try it?”
“Sure.”
He prepared a bite for her, dipping a piece of mahimahi into the sauce and extending the fork across the table. She leaned forward and closed her mouth over the tines, making a sound of pleasure at the delicate flavor of the fish.
“Wow, that’s good,” she said.
Ben’s expression was intent as he reached toward her and captured a drop of sauce from her upper lip. “You missed some,” he said, and without stopping to think she licked the lemony goodness from his finger.
Heat swept through her. Back in New York, she would never have done such a thing on a dinner date. It was so forward, so . . .
Sexual.
She looked up and met Ben’s eyes. He was staring at her, his expression smoldering. Her heart started to pound.
She looked back down at her plate, cutting a bite of chicken with trembling hands. They focused on eating for the next few minutes, but the electricity between them was like a living thing.
For the first ti
me since they’d arrived in Bermuda, neither one of them ordered dessert.
As they were leaving the restaurant Ben put a hand on her lower back, and the contact sent a flutter of excitement through her whole body. But when she started to head for the outside doors, he steered her across the lobby instead.
“Where are we going?”
“The cocktail lounge.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. I don’t want to drink. I know it would probably relax me a little, but I don’t want to—to cheat. That probably sounds stupid to you, but—”
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Ben said. “It sounds brave.”
“Brave?”
He nodded. “You want to make your own choices, without the help of alcohol. And you can. You don’t have to drink to be able to know what you want. That’s what this is about, right? Figuring out what you want? What you like?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then. We’re not going to the lounge to drink. We’re going to dance.”
“Dance?”
“There’s a band playing tonight. I thought that would be a good start for us.”
She thought about it. She didn’t really want to dance, but she’d told Ben that she trusted him. That she was putting herself in his hands. “Okay.”
They could hear the music before they reached the doorway. Jessica wasn’t positive, but she thought the song sounded like . . .
“Oh my God. It’s a Journey cover band.”
“Not only Journey,” Ben said with a grin. “The guy at the desk told me they do a wide variety of eighties songs.”
She looked up at him skeptically. “And you think this is a good dating move?”
“We’re about find out,” Ben said as they went through the entrance to the lounge.
CHAPTER TEN
They stood inside the doorway for a moment, taking in the scene. The lounge was full but not crowded. The couples on the dance floor and at the tables and barstools were mostly over forty, and they looked like they were having a good time.
The band was at the far end of the room. They finished “Don’t Stop Believing,” paused a moment, and then went into a slow song she didn’t recognize.
“Come on,” Ben said, taking her hand and leading her onto the dance floor.
“I’m feeling déjà vu,” she murmured, letting Ben place her right hand on his left shoulder before he took her left hand in his right. “Do you remember our ballroom lessons at Shipley?”
In seventh grade, all the students had been required to take ballroom dance.
Ben pulled her a little closer. “I remember.”
The two of them had agreed to be partners through that year of torture. By the end of it, the half hour devoted to learning the waltz and the fox-trot had turned into her favorite part of the day.
“Should we try to do steps or something?”
The question sounded silly as soon as she asked it, but she felt stiff and she couldn’t seem to relax.
“We don’t have to do anything fancy,” Ben said. “This is a slow song, right? All we have to do is sway.”
“Sway?”
“Yeah.”
He showed her what he meant by moving back and forth to the beat.
“You’re right. This is easy.”
“I told you so. All you have to do is trust me. Remember?”
“Yes. I do.”
He slid an arm around her waist. “Good.”
Millimeter by millimeter she felt herself relaxing. Maybe that was because of Ben, who seemed perfectly relaxed himself, as though he were in no hurry at all. Somehow, her stereotype of men had included the idea that when an offer of sex was on the table, their libido would take the wheel—which would mean getting horizontal as soon as possible.
But Ben wasn’t trying to rush her into bed. He was enjoying himself in the moment, with her, swaying to the music of a mediocre eighties cover band.
She let her head fall forward, resting her cheek against Ben’s broad chest. She could hear his heart beating. As he changed his hold and enveloped her in his strong arms, his heart beat faster.
Hers was beating faster, too. Ben’s body was so warm, so big, so strong and male—but there was nothing intimidating in his masculinity, nothing that made her feel helpless or afraid.
She just felt . . . good.
Her arms were around his waist, her head against his chest. She was surrounded by the scent of clean male skin and the warmth of his presence, and for a few minutes that was all she could focus on.
But below the haze of comfort and ease was a lower, deeper thrum. When the band finished one song and began another, Ben introduced a new rhythm to their dancing.
He insinuated one of his legs between hers as they swayed, and after a moment Jessica realized that she was sort of . . . riding his thigh.
She tensed up for just a moment but Ben eased her even closer, splaying one hand against the small of her back and sliding the other up to the nape of her neck.
She let her head fall forward again. The friction between her legs was subtle but constant, and as Ben shifted with the music, twisting his hips and moving her with him, heat bloomed inside her. It started low in her belly and at the tops of her thighs and then spread through her whole body. A kind of tension coiled between her legs—tension that Ben had created in her and that only he could ease.
“Jessica?”
She lifted her head slowly, as though drugged. And she felt drugged, too—drugged on something ancient but new to her, something she’d never really felt before but that she knew was old as the hills.
Ben’s eyes were such a rich, warm brown . . . and now they were hot with desire, the same desire she was feeling. As she looked up at him she saw his pupils dilate until his eyes were almost black.
“Jessica?” he asked again.
“Yes?”
“Close your eyes.”
She did. Ben’s head dipped toward her as she let her own fall back, and when their mouths touched, the relief was so intense she moaned.
He pulled her tight against him, and she realized for the first time that he was hard for her.
They were in the middle of a room full of people and Ben was hard for her.
Maybe she should have been mortified, but all she felt was excitement. Ben urged her lips apart and she complied eagerly, longing for the invasion of his tongue.
His hands slid into her hair and she shivered all over. She looped her arms around his neck, tugging him down toward her, and relishing the way her breasts flattened against his chest.
She dragged her mouth from his, panting. “Let’s go back to the cottage,” she said.
He was breathing hard, too. “You sure?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.”
That made him smile, and he grabbed her hand as he pulled her off the dance floor. “Okay, then,” he said. “Never let it be said that I can’t take a subtle hint.”
They stumbled out of the lounge and into the lobby, where he tugged her into a dark corner and pressed her up against the wall.
“Tell me you want me.”
His voice was low and rough and so, so sexy.
“I want you,” she said, her own voice trembling. “Oh God, I want you so much.”
Her reward was another searing kiss, and then Ben grabbed her hand again and pulled her across the lobby to the doors.
Outside a cool breeze was blowing, but her cheeks—her whole body—felt blazing hot.
Suddenly she stopped.
“What is it?” Ben asked, turning toward her.
“Tell me you want me,” she said, echoing his words.
He gave a sharp tug on her wrist and then she was in his arms, pressed against him collarbones to thighs.
“I want you,” he said, gazing down at her. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life. I’ve wanted you since I was too young to know what that meant. You were my first fantasy, Jess.”
Her heart was pounding. “I was?”
“Yeah. The first time I made myself come, you were right there with me.”
Her cheeks flamed, and she pressed her forehead to his chest. “Oh my God. Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He slid a hand under her chin and urged her face up again, looking deep into her eyes. “You were the prettiest, sexiest girl I’d ever met, and you still are. So yeah, I want you.”
He took her hand and led her down the flagstone path toward their cottage, and even though she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol all day, she felt drunk.
This was happening. This was really happening.
They pulled out their key cards at the same time, and they both dropped them. Jessica started to laugh, feeling so good she was almost effervescent. Ben scooped up the cards and waved them in front of the reader.
And then, finally, they were inside.
Ben swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down on top of the covers.
“Hey,” she said, feeling suddenly shy as she looked up into his face.
“Hey,” he answered, supporting his weight on his arms as he looked down at her.
They stayed like that for a moment, desire crackling between them.
“Will you let me make love to you?”
She swallowed. “That’s what tonight is about. That’s what I want.”
He shook his head. “Tonight is about finding out what you like. But we’ve got a week left on this island, and I want to take full advantage of it. Tonight’s just act one.”
“What happens in act one?”
“You lie back and I make you come.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. That was probably the sexiest sentence she’d ever heard, but—
“Ben.”
“Yeah?”
“You should know that I don’t usually . . . that is, I’ve never come with someone before. I’ve faked it, but . . . I don’t want to do that with you.”
He lay down next to her and brushed her hair away from her face.
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to do that, either.” He paused. “Have you ever made yourself come?”
Talk about being direct.
Her cheeks flamed. “Yes,” she said.
“Good.” He leaned over and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “You only have one job tonight. If you don’t like something I’m doing, you let me know. And if you like something, you can let me know that, too.”
Anything But Love Page 12