Kathleen shed them where she stood, letting the coat slide to the floor before kicking it aside. She tossed the gloves in the general direction of a chair. Ben’s coat and gloves landed on top of them.
“Do you want a glass of wine or something?” she asked.
“You’re intoxicating enough for me. What about you? Will it help you to relax?” he asked, stepping behind her to knead her tensed shoulders. “Your muscles are tighter than a drum, Kathleen.”
The warmth of his touch began to ease through her, releasing the tension. “I think you’re more effective than any wine could be,” she said.
“Good to know.”
Kathleen could almost hear the smile in his voice. “It wasn’t just idle flattery, Benjamin. You really are making this easy.”
“Easy?” His hands stilled. “Are you really afraid, Kathleen?”
“A little nervous,” she admitted, because there seemed no point in denying it. She wanted there to be honesty between them, not the lies and evasions that she’d attempted to keep her marriage bearable.
His massage resumed, even gentler now. “Sweetheart, there’s no need to be scared of anything, least of all making love. We don’t have anywhere to go. There’s no rush, no timetable. Nothing is going to happen until you’re ready. You’re with me now. There’s no one else in the room. No ghosts, okay?”
His patience almost made her weep. What had she ever done to deserve a man like this? Was Ben God’s reward for what she’d endured during the few brief months of her marriage? If so, she would spend the rest of her life on her knees thanking Him for His gift.
“Would you kiss me?” she pleaded, needing the fire of his mouth on hers, his tongue tangling with hers. That would chase away the last of her fears. She knew it would.
He turned her in his arms and took a long time simply gazing into her eyes before slowly covering her mouth with his own. It was a sweet, gentle kiss for about a heartbeat. Then the familiar hunger and need kicked in and Kathleen’s fears fled, just as she’d predicted. Instead, all she felt was the rising urgency, the powerful pull to have Ben’s hands all over her, teasing and tormenting until she was writhing beneath him.
Now she was the impatient one, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, tugging at the buckle on his belt, reaching for taut, hot skin that felt totally masculine, totally alive beneath her fingers. The textures, the masculine scent inflamed her. She had something to prove…to him, to herself.
“I guess slow and easy is out of the question,” Ben commented, laughing.
“Yes,” she said, skimming her hand over his abdomen, reaching lower until she felt the hard, reassuring thrust of his arousal against her palm.
It wasn’t a lack in her—had never been—she exulted, when she felt that solid evidence of her power to stir a man. She was enough woman for any man, for this man. It was a heady, exhilarating discovery. The last of the tormenting doubts from her marriage vanished. If nothing more came of this night, she could be grateful for that.
But there was more. Ben wasn’t satisfied to let her do all of the exploration. His restless hands stroked and teased, first through the silky fabric of her dress, then against bare skin until her whole body was humming again, her flesh so sensitive that the slightest touch could make her soar.
When her knees went weak, he scooped her up and placed her in the center of the bed, where she was bathed in moonlight. The look of awe and wonder in his eyes was something she knew she would cherish for years to come.
“Do you have any idea what your body does to a man?” he asked. “Those beautiful breasts, those slender hips, those long, long legs? You’re incredible. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
His words filled her heart, but it was the reverent way he touched her that made her fall in love with him yet again. That touch chased away already fading memories of the past and gave her the future.
“Come to me,” she said, unafraid.
He knelt over her, his gaze warm, his smile gentle, and waited, giving her time, she knew, time to accept his body, time to yearn for him.
“Really,” she said softly. “Come to me.”
He kissed her then, stroked her everywhere, and when the fire was at its peak, when her blood was thrumming through her veins, he entered her with a sure, deep thrust that stole her breath.
Again he waited, patient as ever, and only when her hips moved restlessly did he begin to move inside her, leading her to the top of an incredible precipice, then waiting for her yet again.
And then, when her heart was pounding, her pulse racing and her whole body aching with the sweet torment of it, he carried her over the edge into magic, just as he’d promised he would.
Chapter Thirteen
Ben lay in bed, Kathleen cradled in his arms, sunlight now spilling over them from that amazing skylight in her bedroom ceiling. He was filled with an astonishing range of sensations that he’d never expected to experience.
Desire, of course. He hadn’t stopped wanting her for a single second all night long. No matter how many times they’d made love—and he’d lost count of that—he’d wanted more. He wished he could attribute that to the long, dry spell in his love life, but that wasn’t it and he knew it. It was all about Kathleen and what she did to scramble his senses.
Then there was the raging possessiveness she inspired. He wanted her to be his and his alone, even though he knew that he was incapable of making the same level of commitment. Sooner or later he was going to have to face facts—he couldn’t have one without the other.
And then there was the flood of protectiveness that nearly overwhelmed him. He would die before he let anyone hurt her ever again.
And finally fear, because despite all the rest, he wasn’t sure he was brave enough to risk his heart, to chance another loss. Kathleen deserved nothing less than a man who could share himself completely and without reservations, and he could lose her because he couldn’t give her what she needed.
Mack had been wrong. Getting her into bed wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.
She stirred against him and that alone was enough to make him forget the fear for now. There would be time enough to worry about that when he was back out at the farm, alone, his equilibrium restored.
“Hey, sleepyhead, wake up,” he murmured against her ear.
“Mmmm?”
“It’s morning.”
She moaned and snuggled more tightly against him. That was no way to get them both up and out of this bed, Ben concluded. Most of the ideas raging around in his head, in fact, involved this bed and a long, leisurely day spent right here. That was probably not a good idea. If he stayed now, he might never want to leave. History told him that as soon as he wanted anything that much, wanted anyone that much, he was doomed to lose them.
He forced himself to ease away from Kathleen and sit on the side of the bed, ignoring her little whimper of protest. It was harder to ignore the sneaky hand that reached unerringly for a part of him that had no thought processes at all, only feeling. He’d spent the whole night listening to that part of his anatomy. It was time for his brain to kick back into gear.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you wicked, wicked woman,” he said lightly, ignoring the temptation. “It’s a workday.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” she mumbled sleepily.
“You’d leave the gallery closed and spend the whole day right here?” he asked skeptically. She’d always struck him as a businesswoman, first and foremost. She’d never abandon potential customers to seek her own pleasure.
She rolled over and blinked at him. “In a heartbeat, as long as you’ll stay with me,” she said without hesitation, proving him wrong.
Now that raised an interesting quandary, Ben decided. It left him with a dangerous choice. He opted for emotional safety, as always. “Wish I could, but I can’t.”
“I don’t see why. After all, you keep telling me you’re not a professional artist, so it can’t be that you have to rush back to your studio
to complete a painting.”
“No, it’s not that,” he agreed, almost regretting that he couldn’t claim that as an easy excuse, one she would readily understand. “But if I don’t show my face around Destiny’s this morning, she’s liable to come over here pounding on the door to see for herself what we’ve been up to.”
“Your own fault. She could only do that because you blabbed that we had a date,” Kathleen reminded him. “Why you let her in on that little tidbit is beyond me.”
“I didn’t,” he said. “I merely told her I was coming into town. Then Mack called and asked me point-blank if I was seeing you. I made the mistake of admitting that we had a date. Foolishly, I thought he’d keep it to himself.”
“And now it’s costing you,” she concluded, sliding from the opposite side of the bed wrapped in a sheet. She frowned at the clock. “Serves you right that there’s not even time for me to bake you some muffins, if I’m expected to open the gallery right on time.”
He laughed. “I think I’ve proved that I’m interested in more than your baking. You can stop plying me with pastry now.”
She gave him an oddly sad look. “I like baking for you. You’re a very appreciative recipient.”
“Then by all means keep it up,” he told her, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm for the prospect of more delectable goodies appearing on his doorstep. “But just for today, I’ll be in charge of breakfast. I think I saw eggs in the refrigerator when I was in there looking for a snack for us in the middle of the night. I’ll have something ready by the time you come downstairs.”
She stared at him in shock. “You cook?”
“Adequately. I didn’t survive this long by waiting around for somebody to do it for me. Don’t expect much, though. Richard’s the real chef in the family.”
“Really?” she said, apparently finding that fascinating. “And Mack?”
“He can order takeout with the best of them,” Ben said, smiling. “It’s a good thing this family owns restaurants. He has every one of them on speed dial.”
Kathleen chuckled. “Poor Beth.”
“Oh, I think she figures she got a good deal. Mack has other attributes, to say the least. Besides, as much as Beth’s at the hospital and as unpredictable as her hours can be, takeout suits their life-style and Mack’s version is definitely top-of-the-line. There are no fast-food hamburgers on his menu.”
His gaze drifted to the curve of Kathleen’s bare back and his body stirred again. Once more he ignored the temptation to drag that sheet off her and haul her right back into this warm, comfortable bed.
“Scoot,” he said instead, reaching for his pants. “You’re giving me ideas, standing there looking all rumpled and sexy.”
“What ideas?” she taunted.
Rather than tell her what she expected to hear, he said, “I’d like to paint you looking exactly like that.”
His response surprised them both, but he realized it was true. He’d never painted people, but he wanted to paint Kathleen. He wondered what that said about how she’d managed to sneak into his heart.
Usually he stuck to nature, because of its beauty, but also because it was safe. To paint a portrait and do it well, he’d always known he’d have to get inside the person’s head, to understand their soul. He’d never wanted to risk it before, not even with Graciela. Maybe on some level he’d understood even then that if he dug too deep beneath Graciela’s polished surface, he wouldn’t like what he found.
But with Kathleen, he already knew he’d find a gentle, caring soul. He shook off the implications of that and grinned at her. “Now that’s a painting I could see hanging in your gallery,” he teased to lighten the mood.
“Not in my lifetime,” she retorted and scampered quickly into the bathroom and firmly shut the door behind her as if that would end the threat.
“I remember what you looked like,” he called after her. In fact, he suspected that her image was burned in his head forever.
Downstairs, he pushed that image aside and immersed himself in the comforting domestic tasks required to get breakfast on the table. Scrambled eggs, toast, jam, orange juice and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. He was going to need it to face Destiny and what was bound to be a litany of intrusive questions. He could sneak back out to the farm without answering a one of them, but experience had taught him it was always better to do a preemptive strike.
When Kathleen finally breezed into the kitchen, she was wearing slim black pants and an exotic-looking tunic that shimmered with silver threads. It made him think of the night sky and moonlight, which of course made his pulse scramble all over again.
“What’s your day like?” he asked.
“In retail you never know,” she told him. “But this time of year, it’s usually busy, especially around lunchtime.” She gave him a sly look. “And this morning I have a tour to give.”
“Oh?”
She nodded. “It’s a very personal and private tour before the gallery officially opens. It was scheduled for last night, but somehow the tourist and I got sidetracked.”
“You want to do that this morning?” he asked, surprised. He wasn’t entirely sure why he found the prospect so daunting. Maybe it was because he was rapidly reaching a point where there was very little he could deny her.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” she said briskly. “And your car is still by the gallery. I can’t think of a single reason not to pick up where we left off, can you?”
There was no refuting her logic. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? What makes you think it won’t lead us right back here all over again?”
A slow grin spread across her face. “I could live with that outcome. How about you?”
“It is an intriguing prospect,” he agreed, enjoying the flash of confidence in her eyes. He’d given her that. “But a risky one. You said yourself that it’s a busy time of year. Do you want to lose business by sneaking off for some hanky-panky?”
“Oh, I think you could make it worthwhile.”
“I would do my best,” he agreed. “Okay then, you can show me the gallery before I head over to Destiny’s, but we really do need to make it quick or she’ll be joining us.”
“I’ll talk fast,” she promised. “Try to keep up.”
Ben laughed at her obvious desire to avoid an encounter with his aunt. To be truthful, he wasn’t much looking forward to it, either. Destiny was never at her most attractive when she was gloating.
An hour later Kathleen had shown Ben every nook and cranny of the gallery. He had to admit that what she’d accomplished in just a few years was quite impressive. The displays were carefully thought out, the lighting impeccable. Everything had been done with simplicity, style and elegance. The scrapbook she’d kept from past showings, the collection of glowing reviews proved that she had a discerning eye for talent.
“You’ve done an incredible job here,” he told her honestly. “You should be very proud.”
“I am,” she said, regarding him thoughtfully. “Is it impressive enough to convince you to let me show your work?”
He frowned at the question, even though he’d expected it. “It was never about your professional skill,” he reminded her. “It’s about me. I’m not interested in showing my paintings, much less selling them.”
“Ben, that doesn’t make any sense,” she said impatiently. “You have talent. Why not share it with the world? If you don’t want to sell it, fine, but at least give other people the joy of looking at it.”
He knew it didn’t make sense, not from her perspective anyway, but it did to him. His paintings were intensely personal and private, not in the subject matter, but in the way he poured his heart and soul into each and every one. He didn’t want anyone, let alone strangers, getting a glimpse of the world as he saw it. He feared it would tell them too much about him. It would take something that gave him joy and open it to criticism that might rob him of the serenity that painting gave him. The world was neat and orderly on the canvases he
painted, and he desperately needed to keep it that way.
That was another reason why there were never people in his paintings. People were never neat and orderly. Emotions were never tidy and predictable. And he’d been shattered too many times by life’s unpredictability.
“Let me ask you something,” he began, hoping to make her see his point. “There was a time when you loved painting, right? When it brought something beautiful and joyful into your life?”
She nodded slowly, and he could see by the quick flash of understanding in her eyes that she already knew where he was going with this.
“And when Tim criticized, when he told you that you weren’t good enough, what happened?” Before she could answer, he told her, “All the joy went out of it, correct? He robbed you of something that really mattered to you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t tell me it’s different, Kathleen, because it’s not. Art meant as much to you as it does to me. So you, of all people, should understand why I don’t want to risk losing that. I can’t do it, not even for you. If I cared about fame, if I needed the money, maybe I’d feel differently, but I don’t.”
“Oh, Ben,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be like that.”
“Why? Can you guarantee that some critic won’t rip my work to shreds? Why expose myself to that when I don’t need to?”
“Then this is just because you’re afraid of a little criticism?” she demanded incredulously. “That’s absurd. Why would you let the opinions of people who supposedly don’t even matter to you affect whether or not you continue to paint? They’re not important. Tim’s cruelty mattered because he mattered,”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “The critics aren’t important. That doesn’t mean their words don’t have power. I don’t want to lose the joy I find right now when I sit in front of a blank canvas and envision a painting, beginning with that very first brush stroke, the first hint of a crystal-blue sky, the line of a tree. That feeling is something I can count on now. It’s the only thing I can count on.”
Treasured Page 16