Virgin For The Fourth Time: Barrington Billionaire's Series: Book Four

by Jeannette Winters

  Bennett’s phone rang, and it was Doug again. What the hell, man? “Better be important.”

  Doug’s tone was flat as he spoke. “I’m working. Something you asked me to do. Would you like an update?”

  Not really. I have better things on my mind. “About Zoey?” He didn’t want to hear anything that was going to ruin what they’d just shared.

  “Yes.”

  “Spill it, and make it quick.” Bennett knew Doug could make a short story longer than necessary. He wanted facts only at the moment.

  “It appears there are some underlying health issues she’s been hiding.”

  “I know.” Bennett may not have informed Doug of that piece when they’d spoke. He didn’t think it was anyone’s business. It was something she’d shared only to explain why she was desperately seeking out her mother.

  “Have you read the medical reports?”

  I don’t have them. “Where did you get them, Doug?” Bennett was concerned that if Doug had them, there was a chance Logan did too. He was the one who had more contacts than anyone in the family.

  “I may not be the investigator you are, but I can read reports. It was buried, but when I saw her trips to New York, I did some digging.”

  Bennett was concerned now that Zoey may not have shared with him exactly what was going on. Had she played it off to be less than what it was? “Is there a diagnosis?”

  “No. She was going for in vitro when the issue appeared.”

  She was trying to get pregnant? She’d never mentioned that to him. Shit. Was she trying to trap him? Fuck, Bennett. Don’t even think it. She’s not like that. Zoey is . . . one of a kind. It’s not as if she had flirted with me. Should I feel angry she didn’t tell me? She’s so private and self-contained, and last night I didn’t give her any opportunity to say anything about taking her. Making her . . . She can’t be mine. She wouldn’t try to trap me either. The look on her face when she left my car last night guttered me. How did she not know how much I wanted her?

  “Is she still going for the treatments?”

  “No. The treatments stopped due to Zoey’s lymph nodes. From what I read she has an enlarged node they want to remove and biopsy.”

  Want to? But didn’t? “Why haven’t they?”

  “The report states patient refused treatment,” Doug replied.

  That didn’t make any sense to him. If she wanted to have children, why would she stop so suddenly? The woman he’d come to know would’ve fought for what she wanted. Hell, that’s the reason I’m here. She doesn’t give up.

  “Why did she do that?” Bennett barked, and then remembered he needed to keep his voice down. The last thing he wanted to do was have her walk in while he was discussing her personal life with Doug.

  “Since you aren’t supposed to know this information, it’s not like you can ask her. Health issues on top of what she’s suffered in her past are more than most people can handle.”

  She’s stronger than people give her credit for. Would she be strong enough to handle any more or would she break? Bennett didn’t want to find out. “With this development, we need to make sure no one finds out what we’re doing here.”

  “It’s not my actions I’m worried about.”

  Don’t fucking go there. “Good. Keep it that way. Text me if there is anything urgent. Otherwise, I’ll contact you.”

  “Bennett, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Not in the least. “I’ll be in touch.” Bennett ended the call and put his phone on silent. He wanted to enjoy the morning. Maybe even sneak back upstairs and crawl into bed with her. I’ve been in bed with many women, but never lying there holding her in my arms for no other reason but to hold her. Grabbing his coffee, he headed to the living room.

  He looked around and didn’t see a television in sight. He knew it could be a hidden wall mount, but there didn’t appear to be one anywhere. Who lives without a TV? What does she do to fill her time?

  Looking at the piano, he knew one thing: that wouldn’t be a showpiece if it was in his home. It’d been a long time since he’d played. The last time he played was when he was on active duty. His team was at a bar after a mission, and there was an old, beat-up piano in the corner. Everyone had been drinking, so no one noticed how out of tune it was. He didn’t think this one would be out of tune at all.

  His mother had insisted he learn an instrument when he was young. He’d tried the drums and trumpet. His mother told him the piano was more versatile. As he got older, he realized what she meant; it was less painful to her ears. In the years of taking lessons, he’d gained the ability to hear the music as he read it as if he were playing the piece without touching the piano.

  Bennett knew only a few songs off the top of his head, though he could play almost any score he got his hands on. Sitting down he began to play the songs he remembered. He was rusty for sure, his fingers hitting the wrong keys and his rhythm way off. Maybe sheet music would help.

  He got up and instinctively knew where to look. Lifting the bench seat he found several music books, more classical than anything else. That’d never been his style. As he fished through, he found a folder at the bottom of all the books. It was filled with pages of handwritten compositions.

  Closing the bench cover, he sat down again and began looking through the folder. The music was somber, profound, and what he’d call sad. Although looking through it briefly, he didn’t see any compositions that’d been completed. Odd. Who compiles such work, never finishes it, and then hides it away? I wonder if Zoey even knows it’s here?

  One piece caught his attention. It was a composition that started very slow. Looking at the notes, he could hear the pain of the composer. But toward the end, the artist leaned toward something different. As though a weight had been lifted, a door opened, before being slammed shut again. Now this is something I can relate to.

  He began playing with the intention of keeping the noise to a minimum, but this piece was calling to him. It started legato, long sweeping notes, as though the somberness was all-encompassing and without hope. The piece brightened slowly, moving to an almost lyrical andante. From the darkness came what felt like a rising wind sent to blow away the clouds. Brightness, like a ray of sunshine, broke through the all-pervasive hopelessness in the form of a quick and moving staccato, the notes choppy and detached. The tempo quickened, an abrupt accelerando, to a lively allegro, flowing like water in a brook, babbling quietly before the crescendo. The brook became a river of building emotions struck down by dissonance awaiting its resolution.

  But there was no resolution. The song ended in the middle of a phrase as if a question was posed, but the composer didn’t want to know the answer.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Zoey shouted at him as she entered the room.

  He stopped playing immediately. Bennett had become lost in the music and had totally forgotten about Zoey sleeping upstairs.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Was that anger in her eyes?

  She stomped her way over to the piano and grabbed the folder and sheet music from the piano. “Who do you think you are just . . . just fishing through my belongings? You have no right to go through my private things.”

  He saw her hold the folder to her chest possessively. Bennett could understand her feeling of him overstepping, but all he did was play the piano. “I played your piano; I’m sorry. It’s not like I was fishing through your panty drawer.”

  Bennett regretted the words once he said them because her eyes widened as though she was questioning if he’d done that too.

  “Zoey. Seriously. Calm down. I meant no harm. It’s been a long time since I played and once I started, I got carried away. If you played the piano, you’d understand.”

  She stared at him as though she wanted to yell, scream, tell him off, but nothing came out of her mouth.

  “Holding it in isn’t healthy. If you want to say it, just say it,” Bennett told her.

  She spoke but not what he w
anted to hear. “I think you should leave.”

  “Zoey. I touched your piano. That’s all. I don’t know why you’re so—”

  “Now please,” Zoey said still holding the folder to her. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes were darker than he’d ever seen. She looked angry, but she also looked . . . hurt. I have no idea what is happening here.

  Bennett was about to argue with her when he remembered Doug’s warning. Pushing her too hard could make her shut down, pull away from him completely. That wasn’t what he was striving to achieve.

  He got up from the bench, walked up to where she stood. Even though she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry.” With those simple words, he walked past her and out the front door.

  Don’t think this means I’m done. Because trust me, Zoey, I never quit on something I want.

  And I want you.

  Zoey couldn’t stop shaking. When she awoke hearing the music—her music being played—she thought her heart would stop. It was never meant for anyone to hear. When she entered the living room to find him not just playing, but adding to her composition, she felt so violated.

  Uncontrollable anger had filled her, and she snapped. It was as though Bennett had opened her diary and was reading each word she’d written. This is mine. For me only. It’s my private . . . feelings. He had no right. None at all. How could he?

  She couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of her mind. He was stunned by her reaction. Who could blame him? There was no way he could have known the music was hers. She’d made sure no one had even the slightest inclination that she’d mastered the piano at a young age. Hiding what she didn’t want people to know had become something she excelled at. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who the real Zoey was because she’d hid her away so well.

  Even with Bennett gone, she couldn’t trust her legs to support her to put the folder away. It was too late. He’d not only found it but had looked through it. She may have only heard him play one piece, but it hadn’t been the one on top. She remembered the day she wrote it. It was the first day she’d met Bennett. Brice had hired him to protect the family. Bennett was so serious, informing her of what he expected of her to ensure her safety. She found him endearing. Hell, even cute. That night she composed that very same unfinished piece. Although they had only met briefly, he’d left a lasting impression. One that made me dream of seeing him again. And now, part of those dreams have come true. But at what price?

  She walked over to the piano and placed the folder—the book that held the murmurs of her soul—back inside the bench. It was only a formality. What she’d kept secret all these years had been revealed. What would stop him from looking at them again? Nothing. If Bennett wants to find them, there won’t be a safe place.

  Bennett played the piano. He had played my piece—effortlessly. What other secrets would I learn about him? I should be so angry with him.

  Zoey knew she wasn’t thinking clearly. Bennett honestly didn’t mean any harm. She was irrationally upset. Not only had he played one of her compositions, but he’d added to it. Brought it to a place she’d never been able to before. A happy place. One filled with joy and excitement. Neither of which I have been able to write.

  She knew it wasn’t about not being able to write such music. It was a fear deep within her. Putting the notes on paper was acknowledging the wants and hopes within her. She hadn’t been ready to do so when she was a child. Even now it scared her.

  Zoey closed the bench and started to leave the room. When she got to the entrance way, she stopped and turned back, looking at the bench. She couldn’t bring herself to leave. Like Bennett couldn’t un-see her sheets of music, Zoey couldn’t unhear what he played either. It echoed throughout her and pulled at her soul. Closing her eyes the melody flowed again until it was etched into her heart.

  Returning to the piano, she removed the folder from the bench, pulled out the composition, and sat with it facing her. Her heart was racing as she stared at the keys. Although the music was now in her, was she ready to play it, to add the notes to paper? If she did, this would no longer be just hers, but theirs. Something created together. Like what we shared last night.

  That was exactly how the music felt to her. As she heard it, it was like Bennett’s kisses, his strong, calloused hands on her skin, how she responded to him. The warmth he brought her to now, not only physically, but emotionally as well. Something I may never know again. Bennett may not come back, not in a physical sense. She knew she only had him for a moment. But musically, she could have that for a longer time.

  Her fingers began to glide over the keys, each note pulling at her, bringing him to her mind. His beautiful blue eyes as he called her sweetheart and how tenderly he held her as they slept. This was no longer a song of emptiness, but one of finding what she’d been searching for. While the appassionato, the ardent emotion of the piece, was not directly notated, she knew at once that he cared for her deeply. Though Bennett was not with her, she felt his hands guiding her own, showing her what he saw when he looked at her. She choked back a sob. How can you see me with such purity, such beauty that I’m not sure is there?

  Where his notes ceased, hers began anew, not returning to where she’d started. Tears ran down her cheeks as she let her fingers be her writing instrument and the keys her paper. Holding nothing back, she played what she might never be able to say or express to Bennett in person. Every want and desire that flowed through her, her fears and insecurities rising to the top. But her hands returned to the steady, constant beat Bennett had created. Love.

  She was falling in love with him. From his notes, she knew he cared for her as well. Exactly how much she wasn’t sure. But no matter what they were facing, she didn’t believe he had walked out for good. He’d only respected her wishes. And I love him even more for that. For understanding that I needed my space. I had to . . . process. How does he know what I need so well? More than I think I know myself sometimes.

  Zoey pulled out a pencil and added not just what he wrote, but what she had just added as well. She smiled as she looked at it. It wasn’t complete without a title. None of her compositions have ever made it this far. Maybe I’ll save that for when I’m ready to let him play it again. Will we play it together one day?

  How she wished she was like other women, able to express herself without fear of rejection. For now she’d keep her folder hidden. One day that might change, but now her hands trembled, thinking about letting him into her life so completely. I need to tell him I’m sorry. I’m broken and can’t be fixed. Not even by someone as loving and strong as he is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bennett had no idea what had sent Zoey flying off the handle. He’d replayed everything he’d done. Nothing leaped out at him that’d been so . . . he couldn’t even think of the word to describe it. All he knew was what he saw in her sweet eyes: shock, anger, and pain, dulling the sparkle she’d had earlier. Those things he could fix, apologize for, once he understood what’d caused the issue. But there was one very important thing missing: her trust.

  Gaining her trust back wasn’t going to be easy. Hell, I’m not sure why she trusted me in the first place. But when she’d looked at him prior to yesterday morning, he knew she’d trusted him totally. Unwise, but she did.

  He needed to know what he’d done so wrong. There was one person who probably could explain it to him in more detail than he wanted: Doug, who was also the person who would’ve chewed his ass out. It will be a well-deserved lecture, but one I’m not in the mood for. I don’t regret what we shared. Damn. Being with her was amazing. How she came alive in my arms.

  Those were all things that were no one’s business. That’s why he purposely avoided all contact with Doug after leaving Zoey.

  Throughout the night he must’ve picked up his cell phone a hundred times to call or text her. He wanted, no needed, to know she was okay. This sucks. How do you respect someone’s wishes when you know they aren’t making
the right choice? If I show up there, then I’m just as controlling as she says her brothers are. If I don’t, then I’m an asshole who doesn’t give a fuck.

  He hated to admit this was a problem he knew nothing about, had never really tried to figure out. How to decipher what’s in a woman’s head. That left him with only one option. Picking up his phone, he made a call to the one person who might not rip him a new one. Even if she has all the facts.

  “Good morning, Bennett. If you’re looking for Shaun, he already left for work.”

  “Actually, Morgan, it’s you I need.”

  “Me? Okay. But I don’t know how I can help you.” Before he even asked, she continued, “Unless you’re looking for a woman’s opinion on help with Zoey. Then you called the correct person.”

  Nailed it. “I could use your help there,” he said in a flat tone as to not give anything away over the phone. This conversation was one he wanted to do in person. Bennett needed to see her reaction as he replayed what transpired yesterday morning.

  “Okay. Tyler is at school, Shaun’s at work, and I’m looking for a good reason not to dust the house today. So how can I help?”

  “I’d prefer to talk face to face.”

  There was a pause, and he knew she was contemplating if she should get involved with this. She was part of the Henderson family now. Why would she want to stick her neck out for an outsider? He hoped the friendship they’d built over the last few months counted for something. He was about to find out.

  “So why don’t we meet for coffee?” Morgan offered.

  “Perfect. How about the coffee shop around the corner from your house? Let’s say, twenty minutes?” Bennett didn’t want to rush her, but right now he needed some intervention, and if he waited any longer, he was going to ignore his own advice and head right over to Zoey’s. Somehow his heart and brain had disconnected, and his choices weren’t his best lately. He needed to step back, regroup, and come up with a new plan of action before things became worse.