by Sandy James
At least by the time they decided to call it a night, Ben and Juliana found some common ground—they both spoke fluent sarcasm. Mallory even had a fleeting thought they were better suited to each other than she was to Ben. Not that she would ever give him up.
He killed the engine and then smiled at her. “Want me to come in?”
She gave her head a quick shake. “Not tonight. I’m really tired.”
“Me, too. Just enjoyed myself so much, I didn’t want to call it a night. Not yet.”
“You enjoyed yourself?”
“Yeah. A bunch. You’re a great dancer.”
“Oh, please.” Although she rolled her eyes, she smiled. “I’m amazed I didn’t break any of your toes.”
“As little as you are? No way. Probably wouldn’t even leave a bruise.” He had slowly turned toward her as they talked. Now he eased closer.
Funny, but she was doing the same. With a sigh, she admitted to herself she wanted him to kiss her.
Bullshit. You want him to carry you inside and screw your brains out!
A giggle bubbled out.
Ben smiled in response. “Sure you don’t want me to come in?”
Hell, yes. “Not tonight.” She nibbled on her bottom lip as she squirmed.
The heat inside her grew with each move he took in her direction. Unfortunately, she was already stifling yawns left and right. If he came in and tried to keep up conversation, he’d probably think she found him boring. And Ben Carpenter was anything but boring.
He slid the rest of the way, cupping her cheeks and lifting her head. “I had a nice time.”
“So did I.”
“Then you’ll go on another date with me? I’ll even pony up the dough for a movie. Popcorn, too, if you play your cards right.” Giving her no chance to reply, he brushed his lips over hers.
When he pulled back, Mallory let a frustrated growl rise from her throat.
Ben grinned and kissed her again. A little deeper. A little longer.
She was tired of waiting. Her tongue pushed between his lips, stroking his as she looped her arms around his neck. He held her by the waist, pulling her close enough she might as well have been sitting in his lap.
The kiss was thorough. Sweet. Hypnotizing. His taste was becoming familiar, something she craved as much as chocolate. She let his tongue chase hers back into her mouth, then she grasped it between her teeth and gently tugged.
Ben lifted her, bringing her up and over until she straddled his hips, never breaking the kiss.
Mallory tunneled her fingers through his hair, letting whatever was causing her libido to run rampant take control. Tearing her lips away from his, she kissed his cheek, working her way over to his ear. She traced the ridges with her tongue, then took his lobe between her teeth.
His hands settled on her hips, pressing her down. His rigid cock was easy to feel, and the contact made shivers race the length of her spine.
She licked his neck, wondering if he’d get upset if she nibbled on his skin enough to give him a small hickey.
Suddenly his right hand settled on her left breast.
“Stop!”
Chapter Nine
The moment Ben placed his palm on Mallory’s breast, she reacted as though she’d been hit by lightning.
She shoved herself back with both hands on his chest, scrambling off his lap. Sitting there, her eyes were full of fury he didn’t comprehend as she panted for breath.
“I—I don’t understand.”
Sure, she was a little flat-chested. He’d felt the padding in her bra and immediately dismissed it.
So what?
Boobs weren’t a big turn-on for him anyway. He’d never fixated on body parts, usually admiring the whole package from hair to eyes to a really sexy smile. Why did all women with small breasts feel so inadequate?
“I—I have to go.” Her words were clipped and filled with more emotion than simple anger.
“Mallory… stop. Please. I’m sorry.” Why he was apologizing, he had no idea. But it seemed to be the right thing to do.
She grabbed her purse from where it rested on the floor of the truck. “I have to go.”
He wasn’t ready to let her out of the truck, so he didn’t click the lock open in case she started trying to go. “I don’t understand what happened. I mean… that was so… nice. Why’d you push me away?”
“I have to go.” She jerked on the door handle, her eyes growing wide when she found it locked. “Please let me go.” Her voice quivered as though she’d burst into tears if he didn’t obey.
Ben frowned, but he responded to the fear in her voice by opening the locks. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”
Her eyes, full of unshed tears, found his.
“Mallory… don’t go. Talk to me.”
With a shake of her head, she scrambled out and then slammed the door. She hurried to the garage door, punched in the code, and waited while it rose. Before it was all the way up, she ducked underneath and made her way into the house.
Although his first instinct was to follow and demand she explain her odd reaction, he simply sighed. Watching her go, he was both confused and frustrated. She’d felt the same fire. He was sure of it.
So why did she run away?
Since she hadn’t shut the garage door, Ben stared at the back of her car. His thoughts whirled with questions. Was she afraid to get close to another man because of her divorce? Was she angry at him or at herself since the kiss had come close to getting out of hand? Did he piss her off by trying to touch her breast?
She’d been turned on, too. No way he could’ve been that off in reading her response. He might not have a wealth of experience with women, but Mallory had been an active participant—a very active participant. He hadn’t imagined her tongue in his mouth and his ear.
Afraid she’d forget to put the door back down, he got out of his truck. Marching to the garage, he ran his hand over his face, fighting an inner battle over whether to close the door or march inside and demand to know what made her run.
Think, Ben. Think.
The gentleman in him won the fight, and he punched in the five-digit code.
After watching the door descend, he clenched his right hand into a fist, trying to calm his rising anger. He hadn’t done anything wrong. They were both adults. She’d responded to his kiss with a passion that seemed to match his own.
This doesn’t make any sense.
The truth hit him the instant he unclenched his fist, trying to remember the shape of her breast against his palm.
Padding. His hand had found padding, not the natural texture or softness of a woman’s breast. Nor had she reacted the way other women had. There was no recognition of his touch. No murmur. No reaction. Except anger.
Ben was sure he felt padding.
No, not just padding.
A fake breast.
“Oh my God.”
He remembered her saying that her husband had experienced nothing but “poorer and sicker” in their marriage. And in his mind’s eye, Ben clearly saw that pink ribbon magnet on the back of her SUV.
That ribbon wasn’t just for her mother.
It was for her.
An angry roar built in his chest, but he smothered it, unsure of where he should direct that rage.
Mallory?
For what? For having the temerity to win his affection after his repeated promises of keeping women at arm’s length? Or for so easily stealing his caring only to have the audacity to threaten to take it away just as quickly by having cancer?
No, his anger was directed inward. He was stupid on so many levels he let out a scoffing laugh.
You fucking idiot.
He’d let her in. Without an ounce of self-protection, he’d let her crawl right inside his mind. If that wasn’t stupid, he didn’t know what was. After all his promises, all the oaths he’d made to himself about keeping his life and Amber’s uncomplicated, he’d dived right back into the deep end.
Ben hopped back in
his truck, sitting behind the wheel for a good, long while, mentally kicking himself in the ass. Repeatedly.
He was blind, too. Stupid and blind to ignore all the clues Mallory had dropped along the way.
He’d dismissed her thinness as an emotional response to the divorce. Some people, especially women, were comfort eaters, but there were also those who wouldn’t eat at all when stressed out.
Sure her hair was short, but not short enough to scream chemotherapy.
Yet his own stupidity became obvious whenever he thought back to her reaction when he first entered her bathroom to give her the estimate on fixing her home. The stuff he saw had made a deep blush rise on her cheeks, and she’d rapidly scooped it all into a drawer. He struggled to remember as many items as he could.
Prescription bottles. Tubes of antibiotic ointment and scar-lessening cream. And a falsie, a fake breast, probably the same one his fingertips had brushed when he’d tried to deepen their intimacy. He’d been ignorant enough to believe she just wanted to look like she had bigger boobs.
After smacking his forehead against the steering wheel a couple of times, Ben turned the key and brought the engine to life. He broke every speed limit getting back to the church. He was tired of feeling stupid, and Mallory’s friend would surely have the answers he so desperately needed.
He marched inside and quickly spotted her leaning against the wall, chatting with Robert.
Did he know too?
Was Ben the only one in the dark about Mallory’s breast cancer?
The redhead—what was her name?—caught him stomping across the floor, head down, like a bull that had seen a red cape. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fixed into a harsh frown.
She spoke before he could think of how to ask the questions pounding through his brain. “I thought you two headed home.” Leaning to the side, she looked past him. “Where’s Mallory? Did she go to the restroom or something?”
“She’s at home.”
“Home?”
“Yeah, home.”
She stared at him for a few long moments then her eyebrows gathered in irritation. “What in the hell did you do to her?”
The accusation stung, probably because he felt guilty, as though he’d crossed some invisible line or invaded Mallory’s privacy. “I… um… We…” He was more flustered than he’d ever been where a woman was concerned. Which meant—
Mallory was already important to him. Much more important than he’d realized. “She has cancer, doesn’t she?” It hurt to say the words aloud. “Breast cancer. Right?”
“I can’t talk to you about Mallory’s personal life.”
“Yes, you can. I have a right to know if she has cancer.”
“A right?” She scoffed at him. A fiery temper accompanied the red hair. “What right do you have? You’re renovating her house. You barely even know her. Why would her health matter to you anyway? Why would she even matter?”
“She matters. Okay?” He raked his trembling fingers through his hair. “Look… I just need to know for sure. I know what I… felt when I—” A frustrated shout was gathering in his throat. He wanted to hit something. Hard.
“When you what?” Green eyes searched his face. “You felt her up!”
“It wasn’t like that,” Ben insisted. “I like her, Julie.”
“It’s Juliana or Jules. Not Julie. And I don’t give a shit if you declare your undying love. I still can’t tell you. If you want to know, ask Mallory. Or, better yet, just drop it.”
“Why do you hate me?” he asked. “Hell, you don’t even know me.”
She held her tongue.
“Seriously… what have I ever done to you?”
“This isn’t about you,” she insisted. “It’s about Mallory. She’s not ready for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know Mallory.” Julie glared at the men. “Not like I do. She copes by locking everything up inside in a deep, private place.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ben said with a shake of his head.
“You don’t know much about women, do you?” Jules worried her bottom lip. “She’s been hurt enough. Okay?”
“You think I don’t know that?” He set his hands on his hips. “I’m at her house almost every day, fixing the messes her bastard ex made.”
“I’m not talking about her house.”
“Neither am I.” He waited, hoping he was getting through to her. Then his patience reached its limit. “You’re really the type of woman who’s going to make me beg?”
“Had,” Robert blurted out.
“What?” Ben shifted his gaze to his friend.
“Had. She had cancer.”
Juliana punched Robert’s upper arm. “Traitor.”
“Why? Because I told him something he’d already figured out?” Robert inclined his head toward Ben. “The poor guy obviously likes her. He deserves to know the truth.”
Had cancer. The words were the closest thing to good news Ben had heard in a long time. “She’s cured? Did surgery cure her? Did she have chemotherapy? Radiation? How does she know the cancer’s gone?”
“I don’t know all the particulars,” Robert replied. “Jules? What’s the latest?”
She folded her arms under her breasts and dug in her heels. “What if she did?”
This conversation was making Ben crazy. “If she did what? Still have cancer?”
“Yeah. Would you like her if she still had cancer?”
The insult cut deep. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I’m trying to figure you out. You could be a serial killer for all I know.”
“He’s not a serial killer,” Robert insisted. “He’s a good guy. That’s why I sent him to help Mallory in the first place.”
“Fine,” Juliana conceded. “He’s a good guy. But would he want her if she still had cancer?”
“Of course I’d want her!” Ben lowered his volume when people began to stare. “I’m not that kind of guy, Juliana. My ex-wife’s a basket case, and I didn’t leave her. She divorced me.”
Her eyes finally softened. “Tell me what happened with Mal.”
Robert shook his head. “I’m bowing out now. You two don’t need me eavesdropping on something this personal.” His eyes shifted to a gaggle of women across the hall. “Besides, I see a rather attractive blonde in need of my handsome company.” He strode away, still shaking his head.
“What happened?” Juliana asked again. “When you felt her up, I mean.”
“I didn’t—” But that was exactly what he’d done, so he owned up to it. “She pushed herself away and got out of the truck. So left me so fast, I’m amazed she didn’t leave skid marks.”
“You frightened her.”
“She didn’t act afraid. She acted pissed.”
Dropping her arms and relaxing her at-attention stance, Juliana leaned back against the wall. “Pissed is frightened for Mallory.”
“Why would she be scared of me?”
“Because she knew you’d figured out she had cancer. She’s been very private about it. Even when her hair fell out from the chemotherapy, she wore wigs that looked like her old hair. When she abandoned the wigs, she just said she decided to cut it really short so she didn’t have to mess with it anymore. I’ll bet only a handful of the staff at school knows everything she’s been through. She needed it that way.” She shrugged. “They might even attribute the physical changes to her sudden divorce.” Then she closed her mouth so quickly, her teeth clacked together.
“Mal told me she was divorced. You’re not revealing some deep dark secret. Actually, I’d already figured it out.”
“Did she tell you her skunk bastard ex left her three days after her diagnosis?”
The news took a few moments to sink into his brain. “He left her because she had cancer?” That guy deserved the beating of his life, and Ben would be happy to deliver each and every blow.
What kind of cold-hearted bas
tard did that to his wife?
When Theresa was at her worst, which could be pretty damned bad, he’d never once considered breaking the vows he’d taken. He protected Amber at all costs, but he didn’t abandon Theresa. She’d walked out. Several times, actually. The difference was the last one stuck.
His heart went out to Mallory even more. Then and there, he took a new vow—to make her house the most beautiful one in Cloverleaf, no matter the cost.
Juliana nodded. “The Ladies Who Lunch helped her through her surgery and chemo.”
At this rate, he’d never stop feeling ignorant. “The what?”
“We have a group of friends who’ve eaten lunch together every day for years. Named ourselves after a song from the show Company. We all saw it once in Chicago and laughed about that song being so much like our crazy little group.”
Ben nodded toward the bar. “Let me buy you a drink, and we can talk.”
She hesitated when he took a step that direction. “I really shouldn’t… Mallory wouldn’t like—”
“Look, I like Mallory. I want to make this better, and I hope she still wants to get to know me as much as I’d like to know her. But I can’t do that without your help.” When she still hesitated, he closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, trying hard not to let his shoulders droop in defeat. Then he opened his eyes. “Please?”
With a curt nod, she led the way.
* * *
“What was I thinking?” Mallory asked Rascal when he jumped up on the bed and pawed at her hand until she petted him. “I’m not ready for this.”
She hadn’t gone on that date for any reason other than to get Jules off her back about reentering the world. Well, maybe a couple more reasons, one of which was to prove to herself that she could still interact with people.
For the last year, she’d been something of a hermit. Not that it was all her fault. A person sure as hell didn’t feel like socializing when she was in the midst of recovering from a mastectomy and suffering the side effects of chemotherapy.
Everything had happened so fast, she wasn’t sure she’d truly accepted all the ramifications. The loss of her breast. The early menopause brought on by the meds. The fear of what the future might or might not bring.
