A stinging slap came out of nowhere, knocking him back a step. He wagged his head again, this time a bit more forcefully as he attempted to clear the stars spinning in his eyes. Okay, that’d sure as shit felt real.
“You have a lot of goddamned nerve, you son of a bitch.”
He blinked at Rory’s furious countenance as she snatched her cap from him and angrily tugged it back in place over her lush, golden waves. Realization crashed into him with a heavier wallop than the time he got T-boned by a passing ladder. “Ro?”
“Oh, gee, so you do remember me. Guess that’s something.” Fire flashed in her eyes, and the unspoken “mother fucking dickbag” that he suspected she longed to tag onto the end of her reply sat like an elephant between them.
Not that he blamed her if she did despise his guts. He was more than deserving of any knee-to-the-groin scheme she might have in the planning stage. On the off chance that was about to become a reality, he cautiously angled his hip away from her, lessening the odds of a direct nail in the family jewels. Yeah, he rightfully had it coming, but he was no damn idiot. At least not when it came to shielding his privates from a justifiably pissed off woman. “Of course I remember you. For shit’s sake, I damn well asked you to marry me.”
Judging from the scariness of her expression, that might not have been the most intelligent comeback in the history of ever. Stupid ass lack of sleep. One way or another, it was bound to get him fit for a body bag.
“Thank you so much for reminding me of that. Oh hey, while we’re skipping down nostalgia lane, how about that time I had to get my appendix removed? Or no, wait; we can’t forget Mr. Fluff’s early retirement to the cat convalescent home in the sky after the neighbor’s Jeep squished him. Good memories!”
He winced. Before he had a chance to stick his foot farther down his throat, Michael, Dallas, and Nev rounded the corner. All three men grinned when they spotted him and Rory. Michael was the first to speak. “Don’t be getting any sneaky ideas, bro. Those cookies are already spoken for.”
The appreciative glint in Michael’s eyes while he smiled at Rory made it crystal clear that it wasn’t the cookies he was salivating over. Out of all of the guys at the station, Michael was the one Ben most considered his best mate. The other men loved to routinely razz the probie—not that Ben didn’t indulge in the pastime now and then. He was a card-carrying member of the Y Chromosome Club, after all. The difference with Ben though was he and Michael had been friends long before they started working together, so Ben had six plus years of accumulated credit in the heckling department. But right now he possessed zero interest in good naturedly ribbing Michael. Nope. Cold cocking Michael and busting a few of his teeth? That held some potential.
Instead of giving into the primal urge, Ben settled for another. Though he no longer owned any claim on Rory, it didn’t stop him from scooping her against his side and resting his hand on her hip. Michael and the other men’s expressions clued Ben in that they’d gotten his Back the Fuck Off message in glaring surround sound. The way Rory nearly dislocated his shoulder socket when she wrenched out of his hold hinted that she’d intercepted the memo too.
“Oh hell no. You did not just go there.” Steam practically billowed from her nostrils. Her grip tightened on the vase of cookies. For one tense moment, he swore she was about to throw it at him. Well, it could be worse.
“I’ll, uh, just leave you two alone,” Nev offered. No sooner did he scurry off, and his partner in crime, Dallas, pussied out by extending a similar farewell and hustling to safety.
Good ole Michael was the last man standing between Ben and Ben’s slow, sure to be painful death. Which kinda made Ben feel like a major prick for considering putting the hurt on Michael earlier.
His wary gaze panning between Ben and Rory, Michael fidgeted with his goatee before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Everything okay here?”
“It will be.” A tic visibly twitched near the corner of Rory’s eye. “Once I kill him.”
“Call me crazy, but that sounds like the opposite of okay,” Michael pointed out.
Ben grunted. “Easy to see why you’d be confused. But when it comes to me, death and dismemberment are preferred outcomes in Rory’s estimation of things.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Rory?” He jerked his gaze to the woman in question. “You’re Rory?”
The angry hiss streaming between her teeth was a precursor of eminent doom and destruction. She whipped her focus to Ben. “You asshole. So help me, if you’ve talked smack about me behind my back after everything that happened—”
“Whoa, totally not the case,” Michael interjected quickly. “In fact, if you had any idea how crazy this guy is about you—”
The laugh that burst from Rory had to be the most forced in existence. She held onto her side with her free hand, really getting into her performance. Straightening, she wiped her eyes. “Good one.” A second later she clamped her mouth shut, fixing it into a hard line.
“No, he is.” Michael’s hands abandoned his pockets as he shrugged. “You’re pretty much all he talks about. Especially if he’s had too much to drink.”
Ben groaned. Thanks for painting me in such a flattering light, bud.
Apparently intuiting that he wasn’t helping Ben’s plight, Michael held up his hand. “What I meant to say is I can never get him to shut up about you when he’s half in the bag.”
Ben sent a quick mental plea to the universe. Just let her fucking kill me now. Less painful and infinitely faster.
Rory leveled him with her pissy gaze. “Did you put him up to this?”
He tossed up his hands. “Yeah. ‘Cause obviously I’m psychic and knew you’d be coming in here today, and I thought I’d really win you over by looking like a sentimental drunk.”
Michael assumed a hangdog expression. “Sorry, bro.”
A weary exhalation fizzled from Ben. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing you say can compete with the shithole I’ve already dug myself into.”
“You can both cut the crap. I don’t have time or the patience for it.” Rory jabbed her index finger in Michael’s direction. “You said something about helping me find George. So let’s do this.”
Ben settled his hand on Rory’s shoulder. “I can take you to George.”
Her glare threatened to sear straight through him. “I know there’s no way you’re touching me right now.”
He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Damn it, Ro. Would you stop being so stubborn? I just want to help you.” Truthfully, he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that. She’d been his every waking thought for the last ten years. And also the majority of his sleeping ones too, if the countless occasions he’d woken during the middle of the night dripping with sweat and sporting the mother of all hardons was any indication. Then there were the not so pleasant dreams, where he constantly relived the agonizing moment he’d blown everything to hell.
She’d wanted a forever with him, and he’d ruined their future, their happiness, because the thought of failing as a husband had terrified the living shit out of him. So he’d ducked out on that possibility before he could potentially prove what a fuck up he’d be. Brilliant stuff right there. Miracle he didn’t win Moron of the Century for that one. Of course he hadn’t been completely honest with her about the true motivation for his breaking their engagement either. That would have been too decent. Too much the logical, smart thing to do. Hell, come clean about his fears? No, better to deny they existed and blame something else. His budding football career had offered the perfect excuse. If he was going to make it pro like his brother, Gage, he couldn’t afford the distraction of a wife. Or a relationship at all.
Fast forward a decade, and here he was. No wife. No relationship. No football career.
No Rory.
She was the only one that mattered. The only one he regretted losing. With every ounce of his soul.
He stepped toward her again, his hands held in front of him in supplication. “I know I don’t deserv
e your forgiveness. But please, I’m begging you for it. Whatever you want me to do, whatever you want from me period, it’s yours.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Really? Anything?”
He nodded.
She stroked her chin. “Hm, this time of year, might be kinda tough finding that patch of poison ivy for you to roll around in naked.”
Grimacing, he tried his damnedest to ignore the itchy ball syndrome her words instigated. “Got to admit I’m surprised you didn’t mention a pit of alligators.”
She smiled sweetly. “Where do you think the poison ivy patch is located?”
Michael chuckled, only to immediately snuff it when Ben shot him the stink eye. “I’ll, uh, go find some heavy lifting to do.”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re supposed to help me locate George.” Rory marched over to Michael and seized him by the elbow.
Ben made a tsking sound. “Not nice to manhandle the probie that way.”
Rory sent him a slit-eyed look before glancing at Michael. “Are you going to let him talk to you like that? He just called you an alien sex probe.”
Michael looked suitably confused. “No, it’s a term they call us new guys.”
“What? They all call you an alien sex probe? What a bunch of jerks.”
Michael bounced his deer-trapped-in-headlights stare to Ben. “I…don’t know what we’re talking about right now.”
“Usually the case when it comes to Rory.” Taking pity on his best mate, Ben strode to Michael’s side and efficiently loosened Rory’s grip with a strategic tug on her coat sleeve. He nodded to Michael. “Go. Now, young Skywalker, before the Wampa beast discovers our trickery.”
Michael gulped before hotfooting it toward the locker room.
Securing the cookie vase in the crook of her arm, Rory speared him with a droll look. “Really? Still with the Star Wars references?”
“What can I say? Once a geek, always a geek.”
Despite Rory’s excessive eye rolling, a giggle escaped her. Ben swore to Christ it was the most beautiful sound to grace his ears in who knows how long. Actually, he had a good estimation in regards to that tally. It at least had to be ten plus years—which amounted to the last time he’d brought a laugh tumbling from Rory. He stared at her lips, his own tingling as he recalled the decadent, sweet softness of her mouth.
She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Please don’t look at me like that, Ben.”
His memories of their last kisses a tormenting siren song, he traced the succulent bow of her bottom lip. “Like what?”
She shivered. “Like you want to eat me alive.”
He slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “I can’t stop, Ro. And I’m never gonna stop. Because that’s exactly what I wanna do. With every fiber of my being.” He lowered his head and nuzzled her temple before following the curve of her cheekbone with his lips. “Wanna lick every inch of you, until you’re branded into my taste buds. I’ll spread you out, hold you down while I suck on your nipples.” His hand moved to the gentle swell of her breast and cupped it underneath her opened jacket. She stared at him helplessly, but didn’t move. Taking that as a good sign, he flexed his fingers slightly. Her breath quickened. He dipped his mouth to the corner of hers, the proximity of their lips combined with the fantasy swirling in his head springing a groan from deep in his chest. “But what I most wanna do is bury my face between your legs. Suck on your sweet little clit until it’s throbbing and ready to burst. Jesus, Ro, do you remember how fucking good that used to be? My hands full of your ass, holding you tight while you rode my tongue, coming all over the place?”
“Ben.”
The shaky sound of his name on her lips was the only invitation he needed. Plowing his hands through her hair, he pulled her snug into his arms. The cookie vase dug into his belly, the discomfort a minor inconvenience when it came to finally getting to kiss the woman who’d occupied his every thought for damn near his entire life. She didn’t fight the persuasive pressure of his lips, and instead surrendered with a soft moan before she melted into him. He quickly grabbed the slipping vase and blindly stashed it on the adjacent boot rack. That task out of the way, he tucked his arm under her ass, hiking her tighter to him. She automatically wrapped her legs around his hips. Pivoting, he pressed her back against the side of Smokey, Fire Engine Number 10. The move was purely based on ease of location and convenience. Because Smokey sure as hell would not be putting out the fire he intended to stoke in Rory.
Slamming his mouth over hers again, he set about proving that age-old adage—all it takes is a spark to reignite a flame.
CHAPTER THREE
There was no freakin’ way she was getting the living daylights kissed out of her by Bennet. Only according to the suddenly drenched state of her panties, she was. Very well. Holy crap, was that ever an understatement. Ben’s kisses had always dazzled her and left her brain fried, but this was a whole new level of rocking her socks off. Which left her wondering precisely how many women he’d seduced over the last ten years to improve his technique to this impressive degree. The niggling question worming its way through her conscious, she stiffened in his embrace. He massaged her nape soothingly; the sinful flick of his tongue on the tip of hers a sneaky counterassault on her senses. She whimpered and turned her face away from his. The crafty bastard took it as the perfect opportunity to suck on the side of her neck. The rasp of his days old beard scuffing her sensitive skin provided an additional torment. A greedy ache clenched her core, sending a reciprocal beat through her clit. She tensed, her breath catching in her throat.
Ben’s devious fingers dipped lower, continuing that tantalizing swirl on her nape, but now adding a new dimension to the sensory overload by gently tugging on a few stray strands of her hair. Getting her hair pulled shouldn’t have resulted in delicious shivers racing through her body, but the resulting goose bumps that chased the sensation spoke a different story. When Ben angled her head back, his suction on her neck unceasing, her eyes threatened to roll back in her head.
He let up on his kisses for a moment, his hot breath fanning her damp skin. “I used to be able to make you come like this. Bet I still can.” His statement was more sinful tease than arrogant boast. Either way, she had a bad feeling she was about to make an honest man out of him. Especially when he shifted slightly, bringing her in sizzling contact with the hard bulge between his legs. He rocked his hips, grinding her on his cock with slow circles.
Her body reacted with a traitorous racking shudder. She clutched at his broad shoulders, her head spinning. “Ben.”
“You ready for me to take you over the edge, baby?” He slid his mouth to hers, his whispered words a sinful promise as his tongue swept past her lips. His hand snuck inside her jacket again, this time making a bolder play by burrowing under her sweater too. He massaged the weight of her lace-covered breast, his thumb grazing the swollen tip in a persuasive figure eight. “Damn, you feel good. Wish I could lick and suck these pretty nipples while you’re losing it on me.”
She stared into his eyes, helpless against the building climax looming ever closer. An unmistakable flicker of triumph flared across his features. Bastard knew he had her. Knew she was going down. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop it.
An awkward cough sounded behind them, shattering the moment. She and Ben both jolted before simultaneously jerking their gazes toward their ill-timed interrupter. Gritting her teeth, she gave herself a mental head smack. More like perfectly timed, you twit. Because one more second of Ben’s devious seduction, and she would have really given the fellow gaping at them a sight to remember. She unhooked her legs from Ben’s waist and tried to untangle herself from him. When he refused to let her go she tweaked his nipple. Hard.
“Ow!” His expression wavering between a scowl and a grin, he released her and gingerly rubbed his chest. His thermal shirt pulled taut with his motions, defining the sculpted band of his pecs.
Somehow she managed not to swallow her tongue. He’d al
ways been built, but holy hell. Clearly he hadn’t let himself go to pot. These thoughts aren’t helping at all. Giving herself another mental whack, she scooted around him. “I hope that hurt. A lot.”
“It did.” He snagged her by the shoulder before she could make a clean getaway and pressed his mouth near her ear. “But I kinda liked it.”
“You would.”
The stranger standing near the rear of the fire truck cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard a rumor about cookies.”
Oh Lord. She’d almost forgotten her entire purpose for being here. Just went to show the devastating spell Ben continued to spin over her. Not good. Thoroughly irked with herself—and Ben—she shot his coworker an exasperated look. “For the last time, no one is touching those cookies until George gets them.”
The man nodded. “I’m George.”
“Yeah, heard that one before.”
Ben chuckled. “Honey, he is George.”
She tossed him a fulminating glare. Judging from his ear-to-ear grin, he was well aware that his term of endearment was the cause for her visual daggers. Trying her best to keep her cool, she snatched the cookie bouquet from the wooden shelf Ben had placed it on earlier and stalked to George. She plopped the vase in his hands. “Happy freakin’ Valentine’s Day.”
“Err, thanks. I think.”
Doing an about face, she strode stiffly in the direction of the exit. The fast thud of Ben’s boots coming up beside her revved her heart rate, but she refused to acknowledge his presence.
“Ro, every damn word Michael said is true. I am fucking crazy about you. Always have been. Always will. I screwed up bad, baby. I know that. And I’m gonna spend the rest of my days making it up to you. I swear to Christ, I am.”
She slammed to a jarring halt and spun to face him. “It’s a little late for that, Ben.”
“I don’t think it is.” He caressed her cheek, his beautiful soulful eyes pleading. “And down deep, I think you realize that too. It’s still there between us. The kind of explosive chemistry we have, it doesn’t vanish just because you want it too.”
Sweet Sizzle: A Red Hot Valentine Story Page 2