The Burden of Desire

by Natalie Charles

  The drive to Bedford took half an hour, but if Ben had worried about how to fill that time, it was needless. Sally had come prepared with an almost endless supply of funny stories about her parents and her siblings, or, as she called them, Hank and Lana and the kids.

  “We had cocktail hour growing up. Hank had a bourbon, Lana had a highball and we had seltzer with a twist of lime. Every night.”

  His stomach hurt from laughing. This was the Sally he remembered from law school—the charmer who was underestimated and passed off as fluff, the engaging girl who spoke animatedly with her hands and lit up when she told a story. She was a born actress, he realized. A natural storyteller who did hilarious impressions of her parents and each of her siblings. She must be a hell of a litigator.

  “What did you talk about? At cocktail hour?”

  “Beaver anal gland secretions and how they can be used to make a delicious, all-natural vanilla flavor,” she deadpanned. “Or algebra. There was a spectrum, and no topic was off limits.”

  “I know your secret mission is to get me to swear off all forms of flavoring,” he said. “Natural, artificial. But you haven’t considered the error of your ways.”

  “Oh?”

  “What becomes of your family fortune if everyone stops eating that stuff?”

  She grinned. “I’m not trying for everyone,” she answered. “I’m trying for you.”

  He might have imagined the suggestion in her voice, added it as a sort of wishful thinking. Then she made a pretense of leaning to reach something, and brushed her fingers against him. His body stiffened in response. Every part of it. She flashed another flirty smile. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he had the thrilling suspicion that she was trying to seduce him.

  The Gilmore Estate was set in the rolling hills of Litchfield County. He’d worked summers here during high school, doing landscaping work, mostly. The estate was picturesque any time of year, but now the fall foliage was a spectacular mixture of vibrant reds, yellows and oranges that rippled over the hills like a blaze. They parked in a gravel lot and made the short walk to a large tent in back of the sprawling white manor. Rows of chairs were set to form a makeshift chapel. The altar itself was decorated only with white pillar candles, but the tent sides were raised so that the brilliant leaves on the surrounding hills were visible.

  Ben gripped Sally’s elbow as they walked. Mostly because he was a gentleman and she was wearing impractically high silver heels, but also to feel the soft warmth of her skin. To remind himself that he wasn’t alone. He was glad she’d come.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” she asked softly when they’d taken seats in the back.

  “A few months,” he said, trying to keep his voice quiet. “They’ve been together for years now, and I’ve always known. I made peace with that long ago.”

  She peered at him with wide eyes, searching his face for something. “You loved her, and she’s marrying your friend. How could you ever make peace with that?”

  He hadn’t invited her here to administer psychotherapy. To be fair, coming had been her idea, and he hadn’t really invited her at all. He leaned away from the heat of her body, the scent of her perfume. Her concern. She was so concerned about him and his response to his ex-fiancé. He wanted Sally to stop it and just let him be.

  More and more guests were filing into the area. People he didn’t know, dressed in dark autumnal shades, reds and muted golds. Black. So much black, and this was supposed to be a celebration. They looked somber against the colors of nature. Sally’s dress, by contrast, came alive in the candlelight, catching the flames in a rush of movement that made it appear as if she might melt and run downstream, or take off and fly. She had the right idea, to wear the color of the sky. All this darkness, and Sally wasn’t afraid to shine.

  “I made peace with this the same way you made peace with your ex sleeping with another woman,” he replied in a voice that felt as if it had been wound too tightly. “It hurts, and then over time it stops. You move on, and you forget.”

  She furrowed her brows and then sat back in her seat with a little “humph.”

  “What?” He wasn’t angry, just curious at the response. “What’s that mean?”

  “Nothing.” She flipped through the little paper program they’d received from one of the ushers. “Like you said, I made my peace. I got over it.”

  “But?”

  She folded the program and smoothed it across her lap. She’d painted her nails a light pink, like bubble gum. “It’s just that I think that if you love someone, there’s no getting over it. There’s no peace to be had. That was a sign for me.”

  “What was?”

  She turned her face to him, lovely and soft in the candlelight. “Don’t get me wrong. When my ex cheated, I was devastated. I cried for days. But then it didn’t take too long to stop hurting, and I realized that I’d been ignoring how wrong we were together. When I stopped hurting, I realized I’d never loved him in the first place. I was humiliated, but relieved.” She raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “I like to think that love would last forever. Through mistakes and betrayal, even.” She smiled. “Maybe I’m idealistic.”

  He started to say something to her, but a string quartet began to play, and she settled back to examine her program again. She clearly wasn’t interested in hearing a response, and his wasn’t necessary. He’d only been about to tell her that he’d like to believe in love, too.

  He watched as the groom took his place at the altar. Ben felt a calmness about it, about watching his close friend, who’d swept in and taken the girl Ben had once loved. Thought he loved. Maybe Sally was right, and there was no getting over love. The groomsmen and bridesmaids filed down the aisle in a wash of more red and black, and Ben and Sally stood with the rest of the crowd as the musicians signaled the arrival of the bride.

  He’d expected to feel a mix of anger and regret, or even the cold grip of despair as he faced a symbol of his lonely future. Instead, when Karen walked down the aisle with her father, gorgeous in a white gown, unblemished where her bones had broken and beaming at her groom, he felt content. And when Sally slid her warm hand into his and squeezed, he felt the truth of her words. He’d never loved Karen in the first place.

  * * *

  Sally scolded herself for being so morbid as to compare herself to the bride. Karen was stunning, with high cheekbones and a proud, straight nose. She could have modeled if she wanted to. She had gorgeous bone structure, and the dark brown hair that Sally had tried once in high school, only to find it made her look washed out and pale. Gorgeous chestnut hair that Karen had pulled only half up, allowing the rest to fall like silk threads down her back. Sally’s stomach rose and fell when she caught the way the groom waited for her at the altar. He was looking at her as if they were alone in the world. A tightness gathered in Sally’s chest. She’d been scheduled to have a wedding day once, too, but no one would have ever looked at her like that.

  Ben watched the ceremony with calm interest, but not the emotion she’d feared. Sally exhaled. She’d made a lot of jokes on the ride over to dissipate some of the awkwardness, but she knew that the night could have gotten ugly, and fast. She gave his hand another squeeze. She was glad she could be here for him, to be his friend. They were partners, after all, and it was sort of nice to have a work buddy. Someone who could shoulder some of the weight of her case.

  Ben had changed. He wasn’t the womanizer she remembered. He looked at her as if he was interested in her opinion, not in getting her to sleep with him, and that was a relief. She wanted to be taken seriously. She was a professional, after all.

  She went to drop his hand and started when he held on to hers. Then he gave her a look out of the corner of his eye that she couldn’t read. A shiver darted down her spine. She slowly broke the connection with him and avoided further eye contact, but sh
e couldn’t ignore the way her pulse was racing.

  She pressed the fabric of her dress between her fingers and rubbed. Time to get a grip. Sally was feeding herself a bunch of trash if she thought she wasn’t attracted to Ben. He was kind, strong and vulnerable at the same time. He had a smile that made her heart flutter and drew her to him like waves to the shore. He remembered her stories. He liked her crazy parents. But none of that made it a damn good idea for them to get involved. They were just getting back to being decent to each other, to being friends. Moving into more intimate territory would only screw up their progress.

  The bride and groom had written their own vows. Hearing them, Sally felt her eyes start to sting. They were such a cute couple, and the way he was looking at her... Sally sniffed and ran a finger beneath her eye. She’d spent way too much time on her makeup as it was, and she didn’t need Ben to watch her shape-shift into a zebra.

  He nudged her then, holding out a simple handkerchief. She accepted it without further acknowledgment and edged the fabric into the corners of her eyes. He was still watching her, she could feel it. Her body responded with prickles and shivers that skittered across her skin like a flash of electricity. She clutched the handkerchief in her fist, willing herself to not look back at him. To fight whatever urges passed silently in the space between their bodies.

  Once the ceremony had ended, they stood in the receiving line and offered their warm congratulations to the bride and groom.

  “Karen.” Ben took her hands in his and offered her a soft kiss on the cheek. “You’ve never looked so happy.”

  “I’m so pleased you could come, Ben.” Her tone was affectionate, her gaze soft.

  “Ben.” The groom wrapped his arms around his friend and gave him a few slaps on the back. “I haven’t seen you since you got back, man. You look good.”

  “You, too, Matt.” He pulled back to look his friend in the eyes. “You take good care of Karen, okay?”

  The groom gave him another hug. “Will do, buddy. Thanks for coming.”

  Ben took Sally by the hand and led her along a brick path toward the cocktail hour at the estate house. He’d been so casual in his compliments to the couple that Sally wondered whether she should anticipate a breakdown of some sort. “You okay?” she whispered once they were out of earshot.

  He bent toward her, wrapping his arm possessively around her waist. She didn’t bother to brush it off. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You seemed happy for them. Genuinely. I wanted to make sure you weren’t putting up a brave front. You know, being all manly about it.” She cleared her throat. “In case you haven’t noticed, you lock your feelings away.”

  “And you wave yours like a banner,” he said. “But I have a stunning woman on my arm, and it’s a beautiful night. What isn’t there to be happy about?”

  Her throat locked tight against a response.

  He skipped the cocktails and ordered a glass of tonic water. She had the same. They milled about in a crowded room with lots of people he didn’t seem to know, eventually pressed into a corner by waves of perfume and cologne and exuberant conversations punctuated by inside jokes. Sally gripped her glass, the condensation dripping onto her fingertips. The atmosphere grew thick, and when he caught Sally fanning her face, Ben leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Let’s get some air.”

  They stepped through a great row of French doors onto a slate patio that overlooked the sunset across the valley. The sun, a red bulb on the horizon, still cast a brilliant light on the hillside. “Autumn sunsets are always so bright,” she observed, holding her drink out as if she could catch the rays. “They’re nothing like the summer.”

  He was quiet, leaning one shoulder against a black lamppost that had just come on. He stared at her, his gaze pressing against her like fingertips. The air wasn’t cool enough. Her skin was feverishly hot.

  A breeze carried the sound of a band tuning instruments. “Karen and Matt love to dance,” Ben said under his breath. He emptied his drink in one gulp. “Ballroom dancing. Karen’s won awards.”

  Sally gazed up at him. Ben was so tall and broad, she couldn’t quite imagine him gliding across a dance floor. “Do you dance?”

  “Hell, no.” The ice clinked in his glass, and he set it down on a circular glass table. He took a step nearer and Sally froze in place, not wanting to show that she’d noticed how close they suddenly were. “I don’t want to talk about dancing. I want to talk about how beautiful you look.” His voice was deep, edged in solemnity.

  The burn on Sally’s skin deepened and she glanced around, frightened that someone might have heard him. “Stop.” The command came out as a weak murmur, more like an invitation to convince her why he should continue.

  He cocked his head slightly, and a smirk played on his mouth. “That embarrasses you. That I called you beautiful.”

  “It doesn’t. It’s just not appropriate. We’re colleagues.”

  His gaze danced across her face, lighting on her eyes before turning to her cheeks and finally settling on her lips. She licked them and heard his sharp intake of breath as he pulled closer, speaking into her ear so that she knew his words were meant for her alone. “Would you feel better if I told you that I find you hideous? Would that put you at ease?”

  Her heart was flitting like a caged bird, and the brush of his breath against her ear sent a blaze across her skin. “Yes,” she breathed. “It would.”

  He reached up to stroke the back of his fingers across her hair, tucking a few stray tendrils behind her ear. “Then I find you repulsive,” he murmured. “And I haven’t devoted an obscene amount of time to thinking about the things I’d like to do to you, given the chance.” He swept his fingertips along her jaw, lifting her chin to catch her gaze. “Thoughts that would make you think less of me. Dirty, sinful thoughts.”

  He came still closer, to position his hips against hers, and she felt his arousal straining against his pants. Her lips parted of their own accord as she urged him to come still closer, aching to feel more of him. “You shouldn’t think those things.”

  “I don’t,” he replied hoarsely. “I don’t think about this estate, and how I worked here for several summers. I’m not thinking about where we could go to be alone.”

  His words agitated her pulse further, increasing its frantic pace. “There’s...an antifraternization policy—”

  But he only chuckled. “I don’t care about that. You don’t, either. You want me as much as I want you, Sally.”

  The gentleness of his touch unraveled her thoughts, sending them tumbling into a hazy mass. She wanted to deny the truth of his observation. Instead she reached up to stroke his chest, sweeping her fingers across the muscular expanse. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone, and nothing mattered but having him.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I want you.”

  All sense of right and wrong had flown out of her mind a long time ago. He was hot and hard and his breath was tickling her skin, dulling her capacity for thought. He lowered his mouth to hers with a moan, pressing her back to deepen the contact between them. She reached up to thread her fingers in his dark hair, closing her eyes to feel the heat of his mouth and the eager thrust of his tongue.

  “Anywhere,” she gasped when she’d managed to break contact. “Now.”

  * * *

  He led her around the estate to an arched doorway. The door, constructed of oak boards secured by iron nails, was unlocked. He knew it would be. It was always unlocked for events.

  They stumbled into the cool shadows of the old wine cellar. The air was heavy with the scents of oak barrels and wine. The family hadn’t fermented grapes here in almost a generation, but the stone walls still gripped the smell. At the far end was a temperature-controlled room for storage. They risked being discovered by the waitstaff or the sommelier, but most of the wine being served sh
ould have been moved to the reception by now.

  Ben couldn’t stop kissing her, couldn’t break away from her soft lips and the sweet taste of her breath. She was electricity on his nerves. He brought her to rest on a long wooden table in the darkest corner of the room, and lifted her dress to her waist, parting her knees so he could stand between them. A low moan escaped her throat and threatened to make him lose all control before they’d even started.

  “Sally,” he whispered. She was unbuttoning his shirt and flicking her hot tongue down his neck. He gripped his hands in her silky hair and brought her mouth back up to his. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to make it.”

  Her response was a deep, throaty laugh. Then she stopped as her hands came across his holster. “What’s this? A gun?”

  “Don’t worry, I have a permit.” He slid the holster off and rested it beside the table. He ran his lips lightly against her bare throat, his stomach tightening at her moan.

  “Ben. You brought a gun to a wedding.”

  He raised his head to look in her eyes, cradling her jaw in his hands. “I wanted you to feel safe,” he said.

  She lifted her hands to meet his, and even through the shadows of the room he could see the fear she was fighting. She was wondering if he was going to use her and leave again, to betray her trust. He couldn’t imagine ever doing that. His throat squeezed as he fought to answer her unspoken questions without saying too much. “You’re safe, Sally. No one’s going to hurt you.” Least of all me.

  He felt her relax against his hands. “I—I hate guns,” she stammered.

  “Then pretend it’s not there.”

  He could barely see her in the darkness, but his other senses were heightened by the smell of her perfume, the heat and silk of her skin. She assisted him with her zipper, and he eased the top of her dress down to feel the achingly perfect weight of her breasts on his palms. He took them into his mouth, sliding his teeth across their plush surface, nipping gently until she melted in his hands, drawing her head back with a deep moan that shot through him like need.