'Ben,' I whispered, hot tears welling in my eyes as I wished that the arrogant man would return. 'I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked.'
Ben shook his head. 'It should never have been a secret.'
I could feel the warmth of him, and I wasn't sure if my touch was helping him but it was helping me, calming me, as I concentrated on the slow movements of my hand over his shirt.
'Grace was born,' he said, and I gripped his forearm.
'It's okay, you don't have to.'
'But I want to.' He straightened and turned to me. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was summoning the patience to continue, his jaw clenched. He wasn't sad, it was something else; an emotion I couldn't quite put my finger on. I stepped away a little, waiting for him to tell me about her, about Caroline.
He stilled himself as he began. 'Grace was a few weeks old when Caroline had the accident. Car accident,' he added. There was a faraway look in his eyes again as he remembered. 'We were just starting to get our lives back together. Our relationship was on the rocks – with the fighting, the arguing, there didn't seem to be anything worth salvaging, but then there was Grace: a beautiful surprise.'
A suggestion of a smile appeared as his finger absent-mindedly traced the marble of the countertop. 'You see, Caroline never wanted to have children, but when she found out she was pregnant, it changed everything. It took what was broken, and seemingly irreparable, in our relationship and it pieced it all together. There was purpose in our lives, a reason for trying.' He glanced at me and I saw the rawness in him had resurfaced. I found myself being drawn into him once more.
'And it's all broken again, and Grace is the memory of a piece of my life I don't want to remember.' His voice broke a little but his words were heavy like thunder. 'And as much as I try, I can't forget, and I so desperately want to forget.' He swallowed, shaking his head, torturing himself with an inner turmoil that made me want to just fall into him, plead for him to forgive me for judging him. It was no wonder he hadn't bonded with Grace, had kept his distance from her, from this house. He was haunted by a time and a life he hoped for and now it was gone.
'Ben, I am so sorry.' I was sorry: sorry I'd asked; sorry I knew. I was beyond sorry to see this vulnerable side to him. I stepped closer, taking his hand and squeezing it, my heart spiking as the gesture freed him from the memory that pained him. He had wanted to forget, but he was tortured by it, so palpable I could feel it through his fingertips as I ran mine over the back of his hand, along the roughened ridges of his knuckles. I turned his palm as I traced his jagged heart line, marvelling at how strong it was.
Ben closed his hand around mine, stilling my fingers. I caught myself, realising how intimate the action was, how inappropriate, even if I was intending to comfort him. I looked into his serious, ever-watchful eyes.
'I don't want to forget Grace, that's not what I mean, I just want to forget the past. I'm trying, I am, but no matter what I do I just … ' His words fell away and his hand squeezed mine, as if with pure frustration at the inadequacy of his words.
I placed my hand on the side of his face. 'I know you love Grace, I know it. And it's going to take time and that's okay. You might not forget, but you'll learn to live with it, I promise you that.'
He was thinking so deeply, looking at his hand holding mine, that I stood frozen, my hip digging into the cool marble counter. I didn't feel cold, far from it. I felt flushed, my cheeks aflame at the way he was examining my fingers, making me have to concentrate on breathing. In and out; I had to put conscious thought into the action as long as he kept his hand where it was.
He looked at me, and it wasn't out of anger, or sadness, or anything that I could define. He was seeing me in a new way, a silent question in his gaze as it dropped to my mouth. Beyond my control, my eyes copied his, but I couldn't be sure if he was thinking what I was thinking: what would it be like to kiss those lips? To taste his tongue in my mouth? To have his hands on me? And it was wrong, so wrong to think, to feel that way. I had wanted to comfort him, but glimpsing the softer side of Ben Worthington made me want to do so much more. It was wrong but I wanted him to forget, to take away the anguish, even if for just one night. I wanted to be the one to help make him feel better, consequences be damned.
Blocking out every rational voice inside my head, I moved to him and I kissed him once, softly.
He didn't kiss me back. I felt the firm lines of his shoulders and his confused eyes watch as I pulled away a little and then kissed him again, slowly enough for him to protest, to tell me to stop, but he didn't. I pulled away again, my heart spiking with the knowledge that, from the heat in his eyes, he wasn't trapped by memories of the past, he was in the here and now. I saw it in the way he watched my lips press together as if savouring the taste of him, and by the third time my mouth pressed against his, I felt his body melt. His arms circled my waist and he kissed me back, capturing my breaths with his kiss. He pressed into me, firm and fevered, as I opened myself to him, my hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt as his tongue teased me. His breath was warm and he tasted of wine and mint. I could hardly believe this was happening; as much as I was allowing myself to get lost in the throes of the moment there was one thing that my mind couldn't stop repeating.
You're kissing Ben Worthington. You're kissing Ben Worthington!
Chapter Nineteen
I was an awful human being. I let the thought run fleetingly through my mind as Ben moved me around, edging me against the counter. I yelped when he lifted me onto it as if I weighed nothing. Once again I was above him, a vantage point of power, and I liked it. I offered a cocky smirk to tell him as much, but he hooked his finger in the neck of my T-shirt and pulled me down to meet his mouth. Oh, I was going to hell.
This time he kissed me slower but deeper, hands cupping the sides of my face before they lowered, grabbing the backs of my knees and dragging me to the edge of the counter and against him. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his hips, the heat from his hardness pressing into the thin scrap of my panties. Ben's hands moved slowly up my thighs, under the edge of my tee, and gripped my hips. My hands rested on his shoulders, feeling the power in the way his body moved and the taut muscles of his back. I didn't know what to do; being face to face like this seemed so intimate – probably because we were touching and moving in the most intimate of ways. Seeing the change in my face as he ground against me and the pressure built between my thighs, Ben took my mouth again, capturing the whimper I had no control over. He felt good. His mouth, his breath, the smell of him so close, wedged between my thighs, pushing against me as if he wanted more, needed more. And then when he moved my hand and guided it lower, pressing against the firm outline in his pants, I swallowed. Dear God, I would follow him anywhere.
I wasn't sure when reality sidled in; maybe it was when his tongue delved into my mouth again, or when his hand tugged my T-shirt up and I watched him take my nipple into his mouth, swirling and sucking it. Maybe it was then, watching the top of his thick hair, unruly from my fingers running through it, pressing him against me, encouraging him to keep going, that the words ran through my mind: He's just using you. He let her go and you were there. He'll let you into his bed but never his heart.
I knew Ben was using me, unleashing something within him that needed to alleviate whatever pent-up emotions his desperation to forget had created, and then my mind started playing tricks.
So what if he wants to use you, use your body, fuck you into next week, what's wrong with that? A moment of pleasure doesn't have to mean anything. How long has it been, Sarah? Hmm? Exactly. You will never land a man like this ever again, so if he wants to use you, then you use him right back!
That little devil on my shoulder made total sense, and it was all I needed to have the confidence to take it further. I sat up straight. Looking directly into his eyes, I reached for his belt, working to unloop the leather then undoing his button and gliding down his zip. Surprise flashed across Ben's face, but if he wanted me to slow down, he never let on.
'Touch me,' I breathed, and it was all he needed, as his fingers delved past the sheer, now damp, fabric of my panties to press deep inside me.
'Ben.' I said his name like a plea, gasping, not knowing if I wanted more, or for him to stop. All my nerve endings were on the brink of explosion so when he took his hand away, I cried out in protest. It was short lived as he hooked his fingers into the elastic of my panties, drawing them down my thighs, his eyes so hungry, knowing the barrier was gone. He then did something I wasn't expecting: he pulled me up, taking my mouth once again, kissing me slowly, tenderly, like a lover. If this was how he made me feel while using me, then I was okay with that; he made me feel so desired – not just for my body, but for me. Even if it was a lie to get what he wanted, I wanted it too.
Then Grace's cries were broadcast through the baby monitor.
We froze, our only movements the barely controlled rhythm of our heart beats, the only sound the pant of our heavy breaths.
No, no, no, no, no – Grace, please go back to sleep!