by Amelia Wilde
I shake my head, cutting him off. “How much did you research this?”
“I spent the subway ride looking up everything I could.”
“And that’s why you kissed me?”
He shakes his head. “I kissed you because you’re fucking gorgeous. And you smell like springtime. And...”
Ben’s watching me, as though he needs visual confirmation of every breath I take. It doesn’t seem to matter that he can feel it beneath his hands. “And what?”
“You needed it.”
I lean into him, giving a little more of myself over. “How would you know that?”
“I can see your face.”
That’s what makes his gaze too intense to hold for another moment and I look down. It’s a little less like looking into the sun this way, and part of me—a small part—would like it if he let me retreat back into myself. To hide.
He doesn’t.
Ben puts his fingers underneath my chin and tilts my face back to his. “I see you,” he says, and in the low rumble of his tone, it doesn’t seem like some stupid pick-up line. It’s the truth, clear and bright as day.
“I don’t…I don’t know how I feel about that,” I admit. “That’s not something I want—” My throat tightens. I’m tiptoeing too close to the grief that underpins all of my life, and I can’t go there. Not now. Not with my career on the line, and Ben Powell in my apartment. Not with the night wide open like this.
“Why don’t you want people to see you?” Ben’s voice is pure curiosity and it’s like cold water against my skin. “You’re successful. Isn’t that the cost of doing business?”
I swallow around a painful knot in my throat, and even though I don’t want to, even though I want to stay as close to him as I can, in the afterglow of his kiss, I feel myself pulling away. No. No. I hold myself as still as I can. Something in the air between us shifts. “There is a cost,” I tell him uselessly. I know if I say one more word about it, he’ll sense the loose thread that leads into the very heart of me and tug on it until I’m unraveled before him.
It could be a relief, to let him in.
To let him all the way in.
But even as I consider it, a warning bell clings in the back of my mind. If Ben finds out what happened, there’s no telling what he might think of me. I’d rather him think I’m just your regular anxiety-ridden writer than find the truth.
My heart twists with the guilt. This—this is what I write into all my books. I hide the truth of the stories behind other problems, behind other stories, so that when the curtain draws back, the audience gasps with horror and delight.
I don’t want that from Ben.
I go to pull away—really, this time—and he holds me in place.
“Eva.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not going to ask you to stay this time,” he says. “I’m going to ask you to leave.”
I have nothing to lose.
Other than everything.
An hour after Ben suggests he’s going to kick me out of my own apartment, we’re cruising up the highway to the part of New York that nobody knows about and nobody cares about, except for the people who want to vacation there.
It makes no sense, and in the dark, with the headlights illuminating a narrow path in front of us, I’m beyond caring.
I don’t even know where we’re going.
“You’re going to ask me to leave?” I’d squeaked, standing in my living room.
“Yes,” Ben said, getting that laser-focused look in his eyes. “With me.”
Who could resist that magnetic pull?
I’m 0 for 2.
He whisked me to the nearest Quik Car Rental. Destination: unknown. All I know is that he clicked and swiped on his phone while I threw clothes into a suitcase. Ben has a plan, even if I don’t know what the hell it is. He. Has. A. Plan.
I consider pestering him until he gives up the details, but instead, I lean my head against the headrest and watch the silhouettes of the trees whiz by against the navy sky. I visualize pinning each one of my worries to the trunks and leaving them behind. Lying to editor, reads one of the pinned note. Keeping this secret from Ben. That last one shouldn’t be such a big deal. I don’t owe him anything.
That’s not true; I owe him a lot. I don’t know precisely how much yet, but I’m going to be in his debt.
Whitney wouldn’t be friends with a serial killer, anyway. I’m sure of it. Her big personality would flush out the truth long before she invited him to her house for a party. So what else can possibly happen on this mystery trip? I raise my fingertips to my lips and causally brush them across. Another kiss like that, and I might get an idea for a story. It’ll probably be at romance, but something is better than nothing.
It does occur to me that if Ben is a serial killer and I’ve just agreed to skip town with him, then I won’t have to worry about my deadline. How fucking morbid is that? I don’t realize I’m laughing, until Ben asks, “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” I tell him.
He clicks his tongue and waits.
“I was thinking that if you’re the serial killer, then I won’t have to face the consequences of lying to my editor.”
Ben’s laughter is full of warmth. “Sorry to disappoint.” It must be the excitement, the adrenaline of getting out of town in the middle of the night, that’s keeping me awake without a hint of irritation. In fact, I feel more refreshed than I have in weeks, out here on this pitch-black highway lined with trees.
“Only time will tell.” I look at him now in the glow of the radio panel. His eyes are on the road, and his hands are steady on the wheel.
I see the flicker of his eyelashes when he glances over at me. “Why did you pick your job?”
Not: when did you know you first loved writing? Not: when did you know that writing was going to be your calling?
“That’s not how people usually ask that.”
A shadowy smile. “It’s how I asked it.”
“The answer isn’t interesting. It’s...pretty boring, actually.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Ben changes lanes to pass some other car that’s trundling along well below the speed limit. He’s a smooth, careful driver, but being in the car with him is still giving me a head rush.
“I picked this job, because it seemed safe.”
“Does it?” He turns his head a fraction of an inch, another look, and then his eyes are back on the road. “You don’t act like it’s a safe job. You’re like a five-alarm fire. Most of the time.” If he’s thinking about that kiss, he’s not the only one.
“I’m in a situation right now.” I’m in two situations right now. I’m in a situation with my non-existent book, and a situation with my very existent...I don’t know what to call him. A crush? A friend? Neither one seems adequate.
“A deadline situation, though. That’s not an actual deadline, is it?” Ben shifts in his seat. “If you don’t finish the book…?”
The question makes my heart leap up into my throat, makes my lungs feel constricted. I take in a deep breath and let it out. “You never know which things are actual deadlines.”
It’s a misstep, and I know it. I’m baiting him, and Ben’s the kind of guy who will take the bait. He’s going to want to know what I’m talking about, and with those eyes on mine, and his hands on my skin, how can I deny him?
Do I even want to deny him?
I look back out the window at the trees, a dark blur at ground level as we speed by, lit for a moment each by the edges of the headlights. And I can feel that he’s looking at me. Any moment now, he’ll ask the question, and I need to make a choice.
Will I give him the answer?
Or will I keep it buried deep down, where it can’t hurt anyone else?
An electric anticipation arcs over my skin. This could be the moment when I reveal everything. It could be the moment—
The GPS on his phone lets out a cheery chime.
“In five hundred feet,” a wom
an’s voice says, smooth and clear and definitely not hiding anything, “take the next exit.”
“Saved by the bell,” says Ben.
8
Bennett
I’ve stayed here before, so I recognize the turnoff. It’s the kind of thing you could easily miss in the dark. This late at night, it almost seems possible that the entire place could have disappeared, so I’m relieved when I see it.
This is my favorite work getaway, which is why I think it’ll be perfect for Eva.
It’s on the cheap side of a nice lake and it has wireless internet, so when I need to get out of the city and concentrate on work, I’ll get it for a week. Right now, I do need to concentrate on work. There is a project for the job that pays me hanging over my head. And my secondary job—the one I haven’t told Eva about—is nagging at me. When it starts to nag at me like this, I have to shut everything out and focus on it until it releases its grip.
“Where are we?” Eva asks when the cabin comes into view. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but the owners renovated the inside a couple of years ago to nearly the standard of a hotel. Except it’s cleaner.
“My favorite getaway.”
“Are you going to show me where the bodies are buried?” Eva jokes.
“Bodies would really fuck up my peace and serenity,” I tell her.
We park in the front and I haul both our bags out of the backseat. At the door, I punch in a code on a little lockbox, which pops open to reveal the key.
Inside, Eva lets out an audible sigh. “Oh, thank God,” she says. “I hate camping.”
I laugh out loud. “Do you think I’d really take you camping with only a couple bags of clothes?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. You were in the army, so maybe you still have a taste for sleeping on the ground and being uncomfortable.”
“Not tonight I don’t.”
I give her a quick tour. There’s a large bedroom with an en suite bathroom, a smaller bedroom with a screened-in porch, and the main area with the living room and kitchen.
It’s late as hell when we finally drop our bags in the master bedroom. Eva yawns then bends down and digs through hers until she comes up with a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste.
“Okay, so.” She stops herself, watching me, and her shyness makes me hard as a rock. “We’ve already slept in the same bed before—”
“And you found it mortifying.”
“And I did find it mortifying, yes.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.
“But you also loved it.”
Desire flashes through Eva’s eyes, but a yawn comes right on its heels.
“I missed it when it was over,” she admits quietly.
“Enough that you’d risk coming to a deserted cabin with a serial killer?”
She laughs. “Honestly, I think I’m the better candidate for serial killer.” Eva blushes, and it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Just like every other time. “Don’t make me ask for it.”
There are so many things I’d like to make her beg for that it hurts me. My cock is painfully hard. But I can see the slope of her shoulders and the burn in her eyes.
I’ll let her off the hook. This time.
“Want to sleep in my bed, Eva?”
“It sounds so dirty when you say it like that.” She makes her way past me, brushing close.
“I can sound dirtier,” I call after her as she disappears into the bedroom.
Eva pokes her head back out, exhaustion written on her face alongside pleasure. “Don’t tempt me.”
We get into bed and I’m thinking of tempting her. I’m thinking of reaching over and pushing down her little shorts she’s wearing. She changed into them in the bathroom, leaving the book dress behind. I’m absolutely certain that her body would react in very pleasant ways. But it’s the middle of the night, and as intoxicating as she is, I shouldn’t….
I shouldn’t is the last thought that crosses my mind for the rest of the night. With her warm body curled next to mine, breathing gentle and slow, I sleep as deeply as I ever have since I came back from Afghanistan. Eva’s the one who thinks she needs me to get her out of her situation, but I’m beginning to think it’s the other way around.
Not that I’m going to put that on her. Not now, and maybe not ever.
I wake up when the sun hits my face through the slats in the newly installed wooden blinds.
Eva isn’t next to me.
She’s already up, standing at the window, staring at the lake, her ass mind-numbingly perfect in those little shorts.
I turn over, pulling up the sheets to hide what we all know is going on beneath them, and she turns to face me, a sleepy grin on her face. “It’s beautiful out there. I thought we were in the middle of nowhere. Like, actual serial killer territory.”
“That would suck on a first date.”
She lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Isn’t this our second date?”
“I think the first one was a one-night stand.”
Eva frowns. “How can it be a one-night stand if I’m in this cabin with you right now?”
“You’re right.” I run a hand over my face. “It’ll be a three-night stand at least.”
She considers me carefully. “Is this part of your writer’s block solution?”
“Could be. Being out here, it gets the blood flowing.”
“I can think of other ways to get the blood flowing.” She says it half under her breath, almost to herself.
“What was that?” I cup a hand to my ear. I would really like to hear her say it louder.
“Nothing.” Eva gives me a bratty little grin and heads for the bathroom.
I do several deep-breathing exercises while the water runs so that I’m not at full attention when she emerges. Before she does, I go and knock on the bathroom door. “Did you bring a bathing suit?”
There’s a sudden hush from inside.
“Eva?”
“Yeah, I brought one.” Her voice is a little tight. “Are you planning to look at me wearing it?”
“What in the hell kind of question is that?”
Eva pulls open the door and crosses the room to her bag. It gives me a mild heart attack when she bends over to rifle through the contents. “Hang on.”
Then she goes back into the bathroom, shutting the door tightly and locking it.
As if I’d barge in while she was changing like some animal.
I go down the hall to the other bathroom with my suit, and when I come back, she’s standing in the middle of the bedroom.
“My God.” It takes all my willpower not to bend her over the bed right then.
“Don’t,” she says, face red. “This is…it’s from a billion years ago. I keep it in this travel bag, and it’s not like I knew we were going to be swimming—”
“Stop.”
I can’t listen to her protest. Not when I’m looking at one of God’s very best masterpieces.
The bikini barely fits.
Or...it fits her too well.
It fits her indecently well.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’m planning to look at you.”
“Ben, it’s…” She gestures to her breasts, which are this close to spilling out of the damn thing. I’d untie it right now if I wasn’t trying to be a decent person. “It’s like this.”
“There’s nobody else around,” I reply crisply. Anyway, they’re more likely to notice the bulge in the front of my bathing suit. It’s working out as well as Eva’s. “Let’s do it.”
Eva follows me through the house and then we go out across the green, tended lawn toward the narrow beach. The sand here is pretty fucking pristine for the cheap side of the lake, and watching her hips sway as she walks is nearly my undoing.
It’s a clear morning, though already warm and humid, and my toes sink into the sand on the way to the water’s edge. Eva wonders out loud if it’s going to be cold.
“I hope it’ll be cold.”
She whips h
er head around and looks at me, eyes dancing. “Perv.”
“For maximum refreshment.”
“Hardly.”
“Maximum shrinkage, more like.”
This makes me laugh, but it also makes me slightly self-conscious. Not that it’ll matter mid-swim.
It really is nice here. Eva shades her eyes with her hand and turns back to the water, a little smile on her face.
There’s a red buoy bobbing way out in the lake, and the sand is warm between my toes. Nothing like the fine, gritty bullshit in Afghanistan. Eva drops her towel heavily to the ground and stretches her arms over her head, the old bikini rising up a little bit to show another inch of the curve of her breast.
I can’t take it.
So I suck in a deep breath and do a little hop on the sand.
Eva looks at me like I’m crazy. “You’re not serious. You don’t want to wade in first? Ease into the morning?”
“Dead serious.” I want to rush into the water. I want to rush all the walls she has up around her, and learn all her secrets. I want to have all of her in my hands. And if I can’t do that, then I’m going to go around the side and challenge her. Bit by bit. “Are you a good swimmer?”
“I’m fine, but—”
“No buts. First to the buoy and back wins. One, two, three, go.”
I sprint for the water, and there’s a moment when I think she might just stay on the sand, laughing, but with a shriek, she follows me in. The water hits my knees—it’s cold; fuck, it’s cold—and my head clears just in time for me to dive into the shallows.
When I resurface, the first thing I see is Eva kicking hard alongside me, taking the lead.
She’s fine at swimming. Sure.
In fact, she’s lighter and leaner and moves through the water like a fish, like a mermaid, and my lungs burn as I try to keep up. And I’m in good fucking shape. We tear through the water and go in opposite directions around the buoy. At the last moment, I think I might crash into her, and Christ would I enjoy that, but Eva dives down deep. The water has to be over her head; it’s definitely over mine, but she doesn’t seem to care at all. I’m still careening around the buoy when her head breaks the surface, sprinting for shore, arms flying, water droplets bright as diamonds in the sun.