by Fiona Lowe
His lack of the word please caught her attention and she realized with surprise that it was because he was usually so polite. Even when he’d been in a great deal of pain, he’d still managed to thank her when she’d fashioned the makeshift sling.
She glanced at the screen and then back at him. “It’s ice hockey and you’re Australian.”
“So? It’s your fault I can’t chop wood or ride my bike so I have to resort to some vicarious violence.” He took another long draw of his beer.
The only other time she’d seen him drink to excess was the night he’d arrived and that was to drown out the pain of his shoulder. She did a quick study of him. He wasn’t holding his shoulder rigid but the lines around his eyes had deepened and his jaw was so tight that a ball could bounce off of it. His shoulder might not be causing him pain but something was.
She swiped the remote, switched off the TV and sat down next to him. “What’s going on, Ben?”
“Nothing seeing as you just turned off the game.”
She pressed on. “When you saw Janey, you looked...” How, exactly? “...shocked.”
“Yeah, well I was hardly expecting a bride to be standing in the middle of the room.” Avoiding her gaze, he opened another longneck but instead of offering it to her, he started drinking it himself.
Something inside her ached for him. “It’s my experience that brides don’t tend to have that effect on people. Usually they make everyone around them feel happy and positive.”
His head swung around fast, his eyes flashing. “So you’re a wedding expert, are you?”
His hostility sliced into her and she had to work at not leaning back. “I’ve been a guest at a few weddings, yes. I also remember a few years back how the royal wedding made millions of people around the world feel very happy and positive for the future.”
“Ah, Amy.” His sharp gaze softened as he reached out his hand, winding a curl around his finger. “So deliciously innocent and naive.”
The gently spoken words tumbled over her like mist. He was so close to her that she could see the individual lashes fringing his emerald eyes, smell the sunshine on his skin and feel the delicious tingling touch of his finger against her cheek. The featherlike caress turned everything inside her to mush, including her mind, and she forgot everything.
His lips met hers but unlike the soft and gentle kiss in the woods this one was hard, hot and demanding. His fingers dug into her scalp while his mouth scorched hers like the dry heat of a fire. His tongue, unlike the gentle exploration of his last kiss, raided her mouth—gulping her down like a parched man drinks water.
In the midst of her surprise at the kiss, she tried to keep up with him and find her place in it, but the intensity of it swamped her. Scared her even, just a tiny bit. She’d never been kissed like this before in her life.
Stunned, she pulled back to grab a breath and as she did she glimpsed raw and ragged pain in his eyes. Then it was gone. “Ben, I—”
“Romance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it now, Amy?” he said, picking up his beer again. “It can be ugly and nasty.”
She stood up on wobbly legs, feeling like he’d just used her to prove a point himself. It buried her desire to help him. “You’re drunk.”
“Oh, baby,” he said harshly, raising his bottle to her in a mocking salute. “Not nearly enough.”
* * *
There hadn’t been many moments in Ben’s life when he loathed himself, but this morning was one of them. On his early morning walk along the lake trail, he’d rationalized that if he hadn’t have been stuck in Whitetail, if Amy hadn’t decked him with that bloody torch, if he hadn’t been ambushed by that bride, if he could have ridden Red or chopped wood, he would never have behaved so appallingly as he had last night.
Only you can take responsibility for your actions, son.
“Gee, thanks, Dad,” he’d said out loud, frightening a chipmunk who’d scurried away. He might be ten thousand miles away from home but he could never outrun the wisdom of his father.
Which was why he was now in the kitchen setting a tray complete with a pretty daisy he’d found on his walk. His arm was coping with some light duties and he’d managed to oven-bake Canadian bacon, make pancakes and cut up some fruit. The gurgle and beep of the coffee machine said the latte was ready and he placed it on the tray. Now he just had to get it all upstairs without dropping it. Amy was going to eat breakfast in bed and he was going to eat humble pie.
Despite the blow to his shoulder, he made it up the stairs without mishap and knocked on Amy’s door. “Are you decent?”
He heard a groan and took that as a yes. Walking into the darkened room, he set the tray down on the dressing table and then threw open the curtains. “Good morning.”
“Go away,” Amy’s muffled voice sounded from under the covers. “I’m not going on an early morning walk with you.”
“I brought you breakfast.”
The bump under the quilt moved and then auburn curls, springing at crazy angles, appeared and then her round face and sleep-flushed cheeks followed. She sat up and her face had a pillow crease down one cheek. She looked warm and soft and delectable, except for the scowl that marred her face.
A streak of remorse reminded him why he was here. “I’ll grab you another pillow,” he said as he placed the breakfast tray across her lap.
She stared at him nonplussed. “You made me breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
Her scowl got deeper. “Put your arm back in the sling. The doctor said three weeks.”
“It’s allowed to be out for short periods as long as I don’t overuse it.” Her bossy tone didn’t bother him like it would have a week ago. He’d slowly worked out that Amy was at her most tart and organizing when she was nervous.
Good. He was nervous too.
She surveyed the contents of the tray. “You’ve made me unhealthy stuff like pancakes and bacon?”
He gave what he hoped was a self-deprecating smile. “There’s fruit salad too.”
“Of course there is,” she said waspishly. She flipped out the napkin and cut into the maple-syrup-covered pancakes.
He watched her carefully as she slowly chewed and he caught the fleeting look of delight cross her face when the combination of the light pancakes and the decadent syrup hit her tongue. At least he’d got that right.
Finally, she raised her gray eyes to his. “Guilt-induced cooking, is it, Ben?”
He opened his hands in supplication. “Peace offering.”
She blinked as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Why is it a peace offering, Ben?”
He ran his right hand through his hair and then winced as a shot of pain reminded him that lifting his arm wasn’t on the agenda yet. He slid it back into the sling. He might have made the decision to tell her the less-complicated version of the story that was Lexie, but that didn’t make it easier.
He blew out a breath. “I should never have kissed you.”
She slumped for a moment as if he’d hit her and then storm clouds scudded across her eyes complete with flashes of lightning. “Well, you’re not the first guy who’s said that to me, and I doubt you’ll be the last. I’d throw breakfast at you but then I’d only have to clean up the mess.”
Her words lashed him. “No. Shit, Amy, that’s not what I meant. I shouldn’t have kissed you the way I did.”
She savagely speared a piece of bacon. “Would that be the first or the second time you kissed me?”
He understood her anger at him. He’d anticipated it, but it was her unexpected well of hurt which confused him. Every part of him wanted to leave the room, run from this sort of emotional angst which he didn’t deal with well, but he’d caused part of this and he had to fix it. She didn’t deserve what he’d done.
He sat down next to her on the
bed, careful not to touch her, partly because he didn’t want to upset her any more and because he didn’t trust himself. When she looked at him with those enormous gray eyes, all he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. “Amy, I don’t want to sound like one of those wanky self-help books but in this situation, what happened both times I kissed you, was way more about me than it was about you.”
She stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup, disbelief clear in her eyes. “Now that’s a new excuse. Usually the guy says, ‘it’s you, not me.’”
He frowned. “What sort of morons do you date?”
She flinched. “You’re apologizing to me, remember?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He sighed. “Yesterday when you said I looked shocked after seeing that woman in her wedding dress—”
“Actually, it was the mock-up of the gown.”
“Jeez, Amy, now isn’t the time for semantics. It looked like a bloody wedding dress to me.”
“Sorry.” She sucked in her lips as if to say she would remain silent until he’d finished.
“The last time I saw a woman in a wedding dress...” he scrubbed his face with his hand, “...it was at my wedding. A wedding that didn’t happen.”
Amy didn’t know what she’d been expecting to hear but it wasn’t that. “She left you at the altar?” she asked, stunned. “But—” She bit off the words, you’re gorgeous. You’re sex-on-a-stick.
“Yeah,” he said wearily, “she did.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, hating whoever-she-was on principle. “This woman, was she the one who was fitter than you?” And a hell of a lot fitter than me.
He nodded. “Lexie.”
Lexie. Things fell into place. “So that’s why you’re on this road trip and traveling for so long? You’re running away.”
“I am not running away.”
She raised her brows at his curt tone.
His green eyes narrowed. “If I’m running away, then so are you.”
“No, I’m not,” she said vehemently, immediately justifying to herself that she’d made calls to try to set up interviews.
“Amy, you’re a long way from Chicago where all the big law jobs are. Meanwhile, you’re here making some woman’s wedding dress.”
“Gown,” she corrected, hating how succinctly he’d just articulated her current situation. Instantly, she realized what she’d done. “Sorry.”
He shook his head at her but his expression was oddly indulgent. “So you’re not hiding out in Whitetail?”
Her stomach rolled as she thought about how she hadn’t told her parents about losing her job or how she’d left Chicago. She immediately defended why it was necessary that she not tell them. “No, I’m not hiding. I’m regrouping.”
He raised his brows, the action saying, I do not believe you one little bit. He looked gorgeous, even with the stubble on his cheeks, which made him look just a little bit bad boy. He was the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.
Sexy and unavailable. Not that he’d ever really been available to her. Exactly why he’d kissed her twice still wasn’t clear to her at all, but asking him about it was too much of a risk. He might just tell her the truth and she didn’t need to hear in words what she knew already.
It’s not you, it’s me.
The kisses were all about his ex-fiancée and nothing to do with her.
“I’m guessing the fact you flipped out yesterday means you still love her?”
He shrugged, his face twisting. “Not really. It’s complicated.”
She supposed it must be, although how he could still love someone who obviously didn’t want him was beyond her. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that a woman wouldn’t want Ben. Apart from last night and when he’d got all bent out of shape about being lied to—and now all of that made sense—he was a good guy. A bit anal about eating healthy all of the time but then again, everyone had their quirks. And if Lexie had been in better shape than him then she would have been just as obsessive about exercise.
The more she thought about it, the less sense it made that Lexie could jilt him.
“So here we both are,” Ben said, breaking into her thoughts.
“Excuse me?”
“You and me. Not hiding out in Whitetail,” he said, winking at her.
“That’s right,” she said, crossing her arms against the tingles that danced inside her. “I have a job.”
“So do I.”
Surprise whipped her. “Really? Doing what?”
“Helping out Al a few hours a day with mostly one-handed tasks. It helps pass the time and make the days shorter. I’m not very good at standing still.”
She knew all about that. “You really miss your motorcycle, don’t you?”
“You have no idea.” He picked up her tray. “So are we going for that walk before we both go to work?”
She groaned and sank back onto the pillows, every part of her rebelling at the thought.
“Come on, you know you want to.”
His words sounded almost like a caress and she fought the dizzy feeling, knowing that she was imagining something that didn’t exist. “Why are you badgering me?”
He looked offended. “I’m not. You said the other day you wanted to get in shape. I’m just trying to be a good house mate and friend, and give you some support.”
She studied his face for some hidden agenda but could only see genuineness. “You said the other day we were strangers.”
“We were, but given we’ve both seen each other naked and we’ve traded sorry stories about our current life situations, I think we’re a step up from strangers.”
“I’ve never had a friend who was a guy,” she said, hearing doubt in her voice.
His laugh sounded strained. “There’s a first time for everything. I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”
He left with the tray and she got up, going directly to the bathroom. After splashing her face with water, she looked into the mirror and swallowed. Her hair looked like a bird’s nest. She had a zit coming up on her face from the chocolate brownie binge the other day and her pajama top hung like a sack, making her look like a marshmallow. No wonder Ben was suggesting friendship. She was totally resistible.
Chapter Eleven
Melissa met Amy at the Udder Bar on Saturday night, pleased to have some company. Once again, Emily had gone to Madison to visit friends. She’d been very cagey about the visit so Melissa was wondering if she’d met someone, although if she had, she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t told her about it. They usually shared all their guy stories—the good, the bad and, sadly, on occasions, the ugly.
“Did you and Janey manage to find the material for the gown?” she asked, surreptitiously checking out the nearest tables for possible male talent.
“We did,” Amy said, her curls bouncing and her face wreathed in a wide smile. “Actually it took a lot less time than I imagined, which is why I got back in time for supper. I’d thought I might have to stay over in Minneapolis.” She picked up the menu. “So what’s good?”
“Everything. The chef here is great.”
While Amy studied the menu, Melissa was able to scan the room more widely but once again, now the height of wedding season was over, not every Saturday was a wedding day. The only men she could see were locals. As she swung her head back toward Amy, her gaze met Scott’s serious one framed by his glasses. Glasses that gave him a sexy gravitas.
No they do not.
But her body disagreed with her, tingling deliciously as the brown in his hazel eyes reminded her of hot caramel sauce.
She crossed her legs, giving herself a lecture of all the reasons why Scott Knapp was not for her. He was, however, her piano teacher and seeing him reminded her that she really needed to practice before her n
ext class.
“Hello, ladies.”
Melissa looked up to see Ben standing by their table with dusty boots and a streak of grease on his sling.
“Sorry I haven’t dressed for dinner, but my ride stopped in here for a beer and now Al looks pretty settled in that bar stool. May I join you both?”
“Sure,” Amy said, pulling out a chair and giving his dirty sling a disapproving glance. “Have you been breaking doctor’s orders again and working on Red?”
“Would I do that?” he said with a look of a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar.
“Beyond all reasonable doubt, yes,” Amy said briskly, sounding as if she was a grandmother rather than Ben’s contemporary. “You do realize the more you try to rush things, the longer it’s going to take to heal.”
“She’s a bossy housemate,” he said to Melissa, only he didn’t sound at all ticked off. If anything there was a hint of affection in his voice.
“So how are you two getting along sharing that house?” she asked.
“It’s interesting.”
Their identical words rolled over each other and then they both laughed. Melissa swore the sound held a private joke. She was about to ask when the waitress arrived to take their order.
Ben and Amy argued about what constituted the healthiest meal on the menu and gave the most complicated order Melissa had heard in a long time. It included them sharing wedges and asking for the salad dressing to be served on the side.
Amy rolled her eyes. “For a biker, Ben is boringly healthy.”
Ben raised his brows. “Amy’s palate is adjusting to the subtle but unadorned flavors of an organic salad.”
Were they flirting? “If you want organic food, I’ll introduce you to Keith and Lindsay after supper,” she offered. “All the vegetables they grow on their farm are organic and they have a bunch of great recipes.”
“Oh, recipes. Now Amy, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Ben said with a grin.
Amy gave him a sweet smile. “I would, although perhaps not quite as much as you’ll enjoy visiting with Ella Norell tomorrow. Sadly I can’t come to lunch because I have to work, so she’s going to pick you up. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely chat about all sorts of things.”
