His eyes run over my body, and I try to act like I'm as confident as he is. That night is what really changed everything, sent me on this downward spiral into the rabbit hole.
I move toward his room like I'm not internally shaking like crazy.
"Can I borrow a shirt or something?"
He doesn't respond, but as soon as we walk into his room, he pulls out a drawer and tosses me a shirt. I look around his room, since it's the only one in the house I've never seen before.
It always felt like a personal boundary that I never crossed, even though he's seen my room plenty of times.
I happily accept the shirt, and duck into his bathroom-which is not the same bathroom he went into back when I followed him-and gasp.
Because it's massive.
There's a huge walk-in, tiled shower with two showerheads on each side, and one massive rainfall showerhead right in the middle. The glass doors are pristine, as though he always cleans them.
The floors are … holy shit! The floors are heated!
Towels are neatly rolled inside bamboo shelves off to the side, and then there's a towel warmer built into the wall, glass casing surrounding it.
It's a bathroom wet dream.
"You okay in there?" he calls out.
"No. I'm moving into your bathroom. You'll never get rid of me."
His laughter is soft, because he thinks I'm kidding. I'm already doing the math on how big my bed can be.
I almost sing Hallelujah when I see the large, granite countertops with so much space you'd never have to worry about things toppling into the wet sink when you're trying to use them. Plenty of drawers for storage too.
It's … perfect.
"Are you still looking at everything?"
"Never coming out," I tell him as I tug my shirt off and replace it with his, then pull my shorts off.
I fold my clothes neatly and take them back out, and he flashes a grin at me as he looks up from his phone. He's sitting on the bed, looking every bit as tempting as he possibly can, as I place my clothes on his dresser.
"Why don't you have a phone?" he asks me randomly. Three years we've been friends, and he asks this question now of all times?
I shrug. "Why would I have one?"
"Well, for business for one."
He arches an eyebrow.
"Facebook has video calling, regular calling, and text. Email has chat boxes for immediate things. Also, my preferred method of communication with my clients is email, because otherwise, they try to monopolize the hours that I carve out for just me. Phones just mean less face-to-face interaction. I prefer to speak to my friends or family in person."
He smiles like he likes that answer. "But sometimes someone might want to call you to tell you to come see them."
"If they want to see me, they know where I live or the other few places to find me. Like all the other Wild Ones, I raise the flag when I'm at the cabin; I put it down when I'm not."
He laughs under his breath. "You're a complicated woman, Lilah Vincent."
"Actually, I'm very uncomplicated. As simple as they come."
His grin turns thoughtful as I near him, and I move onto the bed next to him, careful not to let the shirt ride up.
"That's probably the most wrong I've ever heard you," he finally says.
I snort derisively, stabbing my legs under the covers. I always get cold right before I go to sleep.
Benson shifts, tugging the covers down, and I turn away, trying not to hyperventilate when he takes off his pants, revealing his nice, black boxers. He slides into bed, staggering a little, and his hands immediately go for me, grappling me and pulling me back to him.
"You haven't pushed my hands away tonight. Is it because I finally got rid of the beard?" he muses, his hands sliding down my hip, hesitating where the T-shirt stops.
"No," I say, swallowing thickly.
He presses a kiss to my neck before curving his body around mine a little better. I stare at the wall in front of me like it's fascinating.
"Then why?" he asks quietly.
I shudder when he starts pushing the T-shirt up.
"Because when I woke up on top of you, I realized I wanted to do more than just sleep there."
He groans when his hand slides up my bare hip.
"Are you really not wearing any underwear?" he asks, sounding somewhat tortured.
I swallow audibly this time. "Bugs."
His hand pauses, and then he laughs into the crook of my neck.
"Bugs," he says on a sigh. "Forgot about that."
I turn in his arms, and all the humor leaves his face as my eyes take in his features, studying him now that I can see his expressions so easily.
"What are we doing right now?"
He slides his hand back over me, then he jerks me toward him until our bodies are pressed together completely. My leg comes up over his hip, and I suck in a breath when I feel something really hard and promising right up against my pubic bone.
"I don't really know. But I know I've wanted to do it for the past year."
"The past year?"
He nods slowly, his eyes scanning my face. "Always thought you were gorgeous-maybe even freakishly gorgeous," he says, mocking my last words about Liam. Do I detect a hint of jealousy?
A smile slithers over my lips.
"But at first I thought you weren't the type to stick around here. You'd already gone to Seattle once, so I distanced myself. Then as the years whittled on, I started seeing you as the girl next door, sort of. A constant Vincent nuisance, yet also a breath of fresh air. But never thought of anything more. Then, somehow, we became friends, and I couldn't believe I'd ever not been friends with you."
I inch closer to him, and he flicks his gaze over my face again.
"Then one year ago almost exactly, I was burying that damn cat your aunt had saddled me with. I didn't even realize I liked the damn thing until I found it dead at the edge of the lake. You showed up to borrow my axe, but saw what was going on. You never mentioned the fact I was crying like a pussy over a cat, and you helped me bury him. Then you held my hand, said a prayer for him, and stayed the rest of the night while I got drunk and touched you a little inappropriately."
I cock my head.
"You were trying to put moves on me? That wasn't just drunken bullshit?"
He laughs, his eyes lowering briefly. "Pretty much. Never knew it was an issue with the beard."
"The beard was just very distracting. Sleeping on you, feeling that boundary crossed, and waking up feeling unsatisfied … that's when I realized … I still don't know what we're doing," I say on a long sigh.
He grins, staring at me. "Nothing while we've been drinking."
That … irks me. We're supposed to sleep in the same bed and do nothing? Again?!
Okay, so last time it was a couch, but still.
"You're serious?"
His grin only grows. "Yeah. I'm serious. I've waited a year. I can wait one more day to make sure you're sober."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
He shrugs. "You kept saying you weren't ready to settle down. But then there was a little hope when you said Liam wouldn't settle down, almost as though you'd slipped up and said it, then tried to back pedal."
He bends, his delicious breath bathing my lips, and my whole body tenses and burns as a powerful ache forms between my thighs.
"That was when I decided you were ready, because I knew once I had you, I wouldn't be able to give you up. And I won't share."
I lean forward, ready to see if those lips of his are as soft as they look, but he reels back, grinning at me when my eyes open.
"Tomorrow," he says softly.
Lucky for him, I happen to be exhausted tonight.
Chapter 10
Wild Ones Tip #645
Mean what you say. Or keep your mouth shut. And don't get upset when we put words in your mouth if you plead silence.
LILAH
I jerk awake, feeling around for Benson, but his side of the bed is cold. I do hear muffled words coming from the bathroom, and I stand to go listen.
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Mom. I'm not concerned with any of that. Haven't been in a long time. That's not why I still live here." He grows quiet, and my brow furrows. This is the first time I've ever heard him talk to any of his family.
"Yeah. Two weeks from now. I'll see you guys then."
Again he grows quiet, and I shamelessly press my ear to the door.
"I've already told you I don't care if they come, but it's up to you which rooms they take. They've come plenty of other times. Just so long as it's nowhere near mine, I've never given a damn which rooms they're in."
He groans like he's frustrated.
"I know they're divorced. I don't see her like that anymore. But stop thinking we're going to be that kind of family that doesn't have scars."