“So what’s going on with that guy you went to college with? He’s coming to the wedding, right?”
The voice was Ben’s father’s, and the unexpected question made Ben jerk his head toward him. “What guy?”
“The baseball player.”
“Gabe?” Ben asked, knowing damn well his father knew Gabe’s name.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Ben took a sip of his water and placed his empty plate on the table. “Yeah, he’s coming. And what do you mean what’s going on?” Knowing Gabe’s personality and history, Ben had no idea what his dad was referring to. It honestly could’ve been anything.
“His leg. He’s injured, right?”
“Yeah,” was Ben’s only reply.
“Huh.” His father nodded slowly, making Ben wonder what he was thinking. Though he knew he’d find out soon enough. “Is it serious?”
Ben shrugged. “He needed surgery. He’s all right, though.”
“How long’s he going to be out?”
Ben couldn’t tell if his dad was simply trying to make conversation, or if he had another reason for asking. Though the reason for his dad’s question didn’t change the fact that Ben would have to answer it. “Depends. There’s a chance he’s done for good.” The irony of being honest about Gabe’s leg while lying about . . . basically everything else was not lost on him.
His dad shook his head. “That’s a shame,” he said, sounding genuinely sorry about it.
“It is. But Gabe seems okay with it, actually. He hasn’t made a final decision, but I know he’s at least considering retirement as an option.”
His father leaned forward to grab his drink from the coffee table. The action looked stiff, painful almost. He took a sip and settled back against his brown leather recliner. “Guess that’s the downside to abusing your body like that. That’s why it’s always good to have a backup plan.”
And there it was—the reason for his father’s inquiry about Gabe’s recovery. He wasn’t asking because he cared about Ben’s friend’s health, or about whether he’d return to the game that he loved. His dad had asked about Gabe to prove something.
Take a look at Exhibit A: Gabriel Torres, an otherwise healthy young man whose career came to a sudden and devastating end as a result of constant physical injury. Ben could almost hear how his dad would sound in the courtroom. Except this wasn’t one of his cases, and Gabe wasn’t some piece of evidence his father could use to convince Ben that he’d made a horrible mistake by choosing a dangerous sport as a career.
“I wouldn’t call it abuse. It’s a game. We know there’s a chance of injury when we decide to play.” Ben wasn’t sure why he’d even bothered to reply. Unlike his dad, Ben knew better than to think that he could change someone’s opinion about the topic. Ben opened his mouth to speak again, but Ryan’s voice stopped him.
“You feel like giving me that tour now?” she asked. “I’d love to see the rest of the house.”
“Absolutely,” he answered, standing and walking over to where Ryan still sat on the couch with the other women. He extended a hand for her to take and helped her up. “Where do you want to start first?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
As Ryan climbed the dark wooden stairs behind Ben, she thought about two things. The first was how perfect his ass looked. Ben had one of those firm round ones that flexed even when he was standing still. So watching him do any type of activity that required his muscles to actually be used was like a massage with an extra-happy ending.
The second thing, which she’d almost completely lost focus on as she admired Ben’s ass, was that they’d barely even been there twenty minutes and already he’d been about to get into it with his dad.
“Thanks,” Ben said when they got to the top of the stairs. His soft pink lips curled up at the ends and his eyes caused her to practically melt as he slid his arms around her. “If you hadn’t asked to see the rest of the house, that probably would’ve escalated to something worse.”
She knew that some amount of contention was to be expected, but she hadn’t quite expected it to rear its ugly head so soon. “I get it,” she said, hoping that the acknowledgment of his feelings would put him at ease. “But what I don’t get is why there are two sets of stairs that lead to the same hallway.”
Ben brought his hands to her hips and squeezed gently, making her let out a squeal that she tried to stifle.
When he tickled her again, she pushed her arms down so she could shove his away before her laughter became uncontrollable. Then she grabbed one of his hands and began pulling him down the hall.
“I thought I was giving you a tour.”
Ryan stopped walking and looked over at him. “I thought so too, but the only places I’ve seen are your kitchen and family room. Oh, and the weird staircase.”
Ben rolled his eyes playfully. “Come on,” he said, grabbing her hips once more and giving them another squeeze.
This time she could hear her squeal echo downstairs. “Stop,” she scolded with a whisper. “Your parents’ll wonder what we’re doing up here.”
His eyebrow raised in that cute little way she loved. “You think my parents would assume I’m having sex with you up here? I’m not a teenager bringing a girl up to my room for the first time. I can control myself.” He nearly laughed as he said the last sentence, making her wonder if he knew how ridiculously false the statement was.
“That sounds like a challenge,” she said with a rise of her eyebrow.
“You need your ears checked.”
“Where’s your old bedroom?”
Ben stared silently at her, his jaw lowering a bit. “Why?”
She plastered on an innocent expression. “Because you’re supposed to be giving me a tour. Your memory’s horrible,” she said with a smile.
He stared at her for a moment longer before he finally seemed to decide she could be trusted. Then he nodded over his right shoulder. “This way.” He led her two doors down and gestured for her to walk inside. “Nothing special.”
“I disagree.” She walked around the perimeter first, noting all his trophies and team pictures. There were a few of him playing other sports besides hockey: football, basketball, swimming. “Aww, look at little Ben here,” she said, pointing to the swim team picture.
“It’s not nice to call me little when you’re looking at a picture of me in a Speedo.”
She strolled over to where he was standing and pressed against him. “Oh, you’re anything but little.” Her hands ran along his sides and over his ass before she slid them to his hard stomach. She traced the lines of his abs and his hipbone with her fingernails before sliding her hands down the front of his thighs.
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.”
“Ryan.”
She could hear the warning in the way he said her name, but the fact that he made no movement to pull away or stop her told her it wasn’t sincere. He liked this as much as she did.
“You’re testing my self-control, aren’t you?”
“Possibly,” she said, bringing one of his hands up to her mouth so she could slide his finger between her lips. And like she knew it would, a sigh escaped him. It was so soft, so quiet, that she wouldn’t have even noticed it if she hadn’t been waiting for it. “Turn you on?” she asked after he pulled his finger out and let its wet tip brush down her chin.
“Maybe a little bit.”
She looked down at where his erection was already straining between them. “This seems like more than a little bit,” she said, bringing her hand down to squeeze him through his jeans.
“You’re cheating,” he said.
“Cheating? I wasn’t aware there were rules to this game.” She continued to rub him harder, enjoying his thickness in her hand.
“This rule goes without saying. You can’t stroke my dick and expect me not to want you. You have an advantage.”
The way his eyes drifted down to watch her hand on him caused a delicious ache
of her own between her legs. It wasn’t long before she could feel herself getting wet, the muscles inside her clenching around nothing until the emptiness was nearly unbearable. “So touch me too,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of playing unfairly.”
His eyes darkened as they pinned her in place, his hand drifting lightly down her torso to rub her on the outside of her pants. “We can’t have sex in my childhood bedroom with my family downstairs.”
“Who said anything about sex?” She hadn’t come up here to seduce him, but now that she’d taken things in that direction, the idea of getting Ben off right here with his parents nearby caused a rush inside her. “Let’s just fool around a little.”
A twinkle of amusement lit up his face. “I think we already are.”
“How much time do you think we have before everyone starts to wonder where we are?”
Ben reached behind him and shut the door, making no effort to quiet the sound. “Not a lot.” And like that he was on her, pushing her onto the bed, his weight heavy and erotic as he shifted to pull her shirt up and unbutton her pants. Within seconds, his fingers were inside her, stroking all the places that had been aching for him moments ago. Just his touch caused a release in her. But it wasn’t the one she needed.
“If you keep doing that, you’re gonna make me come in my pants,” he said, putting his own hand on hers to stop her from rubbing him.
“What happened to this self-control I heard so much about?”
“I may have exaggerated. Slightly.” His hand went to his belt, unbuckling it with a speed that confirmed how close he was.
Ryan pulled her shirt up higher, and then freed Ben’s cock, which was already slick on the tip. God, was he ready. It was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
“I’m gonna bust,” he whispered, taking hold of himself for a moment until Ryan took over.
Ryan wasn’t even able to respond. She could feel how close she was herself, but it wasn’t until Ben began coming, warm bursts of his pleasure settling onto her tight belly that she let go too. Ben stroked her through the very last pulse of her orgasm before pulling away. He then cleaned her off with some tissues he’d retrieved from the bathroom, and they both fixed their clothing.
Ryan ran her fingers through her long, dark hair and smoothed her hands over her silk, cream top which now had some wrinkles she was sure hadn’t been there when she’d come upstairs. She took a deep breath and glanced at Ben, who looked sated and ridiculously happy. “You know if the hockey thing doesn’t work out, you should consider being a tour guide.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As Ryan descended the stairs and ran her hands through her hair one more time, she wondered—no, hoped—that Ben’s family wouldn’t be able to tell they’d just fooled around. There was no way they could know for sure, but even a hunch might cause them to judge her unfairly. Though truthfully calling it unfair wouldn’t be accurate. She’d seduced these people’s son under their own roof. At this point they had the right to think what they wanted about her.
As they rounded the corner toward the kitchen, she saw Beverly cleaning up what was left of the dinner. “Let me give you a hand,” Ryan said, already heading toward where Ben’s mom was putting the leftovers in glass containers.
“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to.”
“It’s the least I can do after you fed me and gave me a place to stay for tonight.” Ryan was aware that the phrasing of her comment made it sound like she was homeless—which, now that she thought of it, she was. At least technically speaking. “I’ll do the dishes,” she said, hoping to keep the conversation going.
“If you insist,” his mother said with a warm smile. “Most of them can go right in the dishwasher. The two larger serving dishes I’ll do by hand when I’m done here.”
Ryan’s eyes shot to Ben, who had one of those little partial smiles. She knew what he was thinking because she was thinking the same thing. It was killing her not to do all the dishes by hand.
Ryan got to work, rinsing the silverware and plates and placing them in the dishwasher while Beverly finished packing up the last of the leftovers.
Ben had managed to snag a roll before it made its way into the Ziploc bag.
“Well, are you going to help? Or are you just going to stand there and eat?” His mom’s tone was serious, but the way she slapped his shoulder with a nearby dish towel told Ryan she was probably at least partially kidding.
“Is that an actual question or your way of telling me to help?”
His mom cocked her head to the side and looked at him. “Actually neither. Your father and brother are out back.”
Ryan guessed the simple statement was his mom’s way of telling him to get out of her kitchen and leave the women alone, but Ben made no move toward the door until his mom added, “Natasha left while you two were upstairs.”
“’Kay” was all Ben said. He finished the last bite of his roll and then grabbed a beer from the fridge, seeming content to hang with them in the kitchen. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of his mother’s glare that he headed toward the French doors that led to the expansive deck and pool area. Ryan knew that Natasha’s departure only made the situation slightly better for Ben.
“So how was the tour of the house? I’m assuming Ben showed you everything. You were up there for a while.”
Ryan focused on arranging the silverware so it would fit nicely in the rack. She couldn’t bring herself to look Beverly in the eye. How the hell was she supposed to answer that? She’d been gone at least fifteen minutes and had barely seen anything but Ben’s room and the hallway. “Yeah. I was looking at all of Ben’s trophies and team pictures.”
Beverly let out a soft laugh, and when Ryan’s eyes finally met hers, she looked lost in thought. “I have all the good ones,” she said. “I keep them hidden so Ben can’t destroy them.”
Ryan shut off the water and leaned against the counter. “That horrible, huh?”
“Well, I think they’re adorable. But Ben has a different opinion. When he was in middle school, he was smaller than most of the kids in his grade. He had these big teeth that stuck out. With ears to match,” she added. “He finally grew into those and got braces.”
Ryan was trying to picture little boy Ben with buck teeth and big ears, but she couldn’t imagine anything other than the Ben she knew. And that one was perfect. The thought occurred to her that the Ben who Beverly was remembering was perfect in her eyes too. “Are those in the albums you’d keep stashed away until he brought a girl over?”
Beverly settled herself against the island opposite Ryan and thought for a moment. “Actually, no. He was always pretty self-conscious in high school—even though he had no reason to be. He was as handsome then as he is now. But I never wanted to embarrass him.”
“That’s nice of you.” She knew some mothers who lived to embarrass their kids. It was nice to know that Beverly wasn’t one of them.
“I thought so,” she replied. And then, “So now that our little Ben is all grown up, I think he can handle a little teasing. Don’t you?”
Ryan could feel her eyes light up with excitement. “Definitely. Now where are these pictures you speak of?”
Beverly looked more excited than Ryan did, if that was possible. She held up a finger and said, “I’ll be back in a moment.” She left before Ryan could even reply with a nod.
When she returned a minute or so later, she had several photo albums in her hands. “I’ll fix us some tea first,” she said. “How do you take yours?”
“Just lemon,” Ryan said, thinking she was right—rich people really do love tea. “Thank you.”
After putting the water on and getting out the teabags and lemon, Beverly set the albums on the kitchen table and opened the cream one first. The first thing that struck Ryan was how normal the album looked. It wasn’t any sort of fancy scrapbook, and it didn’t appear to be professionally made. Just hard pages with sheets of flexible plastic over a sticky surf
ace. It reminded her of the ones she used to look through at her grandmother’s.
Beverly didn’t say much as Ryan began turning through the pages. It looked like most of the pictures were taken when Ben was around four or so. There were photographs of Ben and David sitting on the floor on Christmas morning, wrapping paper surrounding them as they smiled in their matching reindeer pajamas. “He was so cute,” Ryan said. “And his teeth aren’t that big.”
“That’s before his baby teeth fell out. Once his new ones came in, it was a different story.” Beverly rose when the kettle started whistling. “Those are in the green album.”
Ryan knew she would be looking at that one next, but she didn’t want to close this one yet. There was a kind of magic in looking at childhood pictures. She loved the way the photos themselves showed their age, the edges curved and the color muted.
When Beverly returned, she handed Ryan the cup of tea she’d made for her. Ryan took a sip and tried not to wince when the hot liquid hit her tongue. She probably should’ve waited a minute or so first. “Is this a different house?” Ryan asked.
“It is. You’re very observant.” Beverly gave her a warm smile. “We moved to this one when Ben was six.”
“He never told me he lived anywhere before this one,” she said. Though it occurred to her that he’d have no reason to.
“It was only a few miles away from this one. I don’t think Ben remembers much about it. Well, other than the treehouse in the backyard that Steven built for him and David.” She pointed out Ben’s grandmother—her mother—who she said had passed away when Ben was in eleventh grade. “The boys loved her. All the grandkids did. She used to carve apple slices into shapes for them and make bets on Go Fish with dimes and nickels.”
The Proposition Page 17
