Wild for Him

by Janelle Denison

"It's just one quick game." Nick added.

  Christine batted her lashes, taunting him in that affable way of hers. "Yeah, come on, Ben," she cajoled, her tone sugar-sweet. "Or are you afraid I might whoop your butt?"

  "Ooooo," the foursome chorused together, as if she'd just issued the ultimate challenge to his masculinity. Which she had.

  He pointed a finger toward her pert little nose. "You're so on." After that bold, nervy statement, he wasn't about to say no. "And don't expect me to go easy on you because you're a girl."

  She tossed her head back and laughed. "And don't whine like a little boy when you lose."

  God, she was too much, though he had to admit that her confidence was a huge turn-on.

  They divided up into teams, with two boys on each side. With a toss of the ball, the game began. Christine took the sport seriously, using exceptional skill when it came to playing with the kids, but she saved all her womanly wiles for when it came to dealing with him. Like when he came up behind her to steal the ball from her grasp, and she turned the move into a full, frontal body assault as she scooted back and pressed her curvy bottom against his groin, forcing him to retreat from the too-intimate position or risk embarrassing himself in front of the boys with a raging hard-on.

  But putting distance between himself and Christine on the court didn't stop him from noticing how a gradual pink flush suffused her face, or enjoying the fun-loving laughter that pierced the air as she managed to outwit her opponents. She played aggressively, and she was in it to win. She passed the ball to her teammates when the opportunity presented itself, made a few shots of her own, and didn't mind getting down and dirty for fear of breaking a nail or messing up her hair.

  Every time she got close to him, Ben caught a whiff of her signature scent-a warm, vanilla fragrance that made him want to take a big bite out of her. Or lick her skin to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. And the harder she played the game, the stronger the scent grew, combining with everything else about her to distract the hell out of him.

  He couldn't focus on the game, couldn't make a shot if his life depended on it. Because when he tried, she was right there in front of him, trying to take the ball away-and using everything in her feminine arsenal to do it.

  She didn't play fair, at least not with him.

  By the time the game ended, with his team losing by four points, he was sweating and breathing too hard, and it had little to do with the October sun overhead, and was more a result of Christine's frisky moves.

  As she celebrated with her teammates with high-fives and atta boys, all he could do was grin, shake his head, and take the loss like a man.

  His teammates, Jimmy and Andrew, weren't as benevolent.

  "I can't believe we lost to a girl," Jimmy grumbled.

  "Yeah, that totally sucks," Andrew added with a frown.

  "Come on, guys, don't be poor sports," Ben said as he clasped both Jimmy and Andrew on the shoulder in a small attempt to soothe their bruised egos. "They won fair and square, so let's go congratulate them."

  With a little push from Ben in the right direction, the boys headed toward the champions and issued a "good game" compliment. The foursome went back to playing basketball on their own, and Christine picked up her shoes and strolled toward Ben, glowing from the exertion of playing the game, and from her recent victory.

  She stopped in front of him and wrinkled her nose. "Well, well, well. It looks like you're the one who's all hot and sweaty."

  He dragged his fingers through his damp hair and laughed. It figured that she'd turn that comment back around on him, and he did the same thing.

  "It's nothing a quick shower can't take care of." But while he'd previously fantasized about her joining him, in reality he was all on his own.

  Chapter Three

  CHRISTINE followed Ben inside his apartment and waited as he locked and bolted the door after her. The extra bit of security was a direct reminder that it wasn't all fun and games between her and her bodyguard, even if she'd had a blast playing basketball and showing the boys, and Ben, that she wasn't the prissy girly-girl they'd thought she was.

  "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," Ben said, waving a hand toward the small living area of the apartment. "And help yourself to something to drink in the kitchen. I think there's some bottled water in the fridge, along with Gatorade and beer, if you feel like drinking and belching like one of the boys," he teased.

  "No beer for me," she said with a shake of her head. "That's where I draw the line and prefer a froufrou drink, like an apple martini or piña colada."

  His smile was slow, deliberate, and combined with his still tousled, sweaty outdoor appearance made him look sexy as hell. "Sorry, but I'm fresh out of fruity umbrella drinks."

  "Ha-ha," she replied with a sassy grin of her own. "Go take your shower, smartaleck."

  He placed his keys on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. "I only need about twenty minutes to shower, dress, and pack a bag, so I shouldn't be long."

  "Ahhh, the joys of being a man." She sighed enviously. "A quick shower, no angsting over what to wear, and no preplanning what to pack for your stay."

  "Being a man does have its perks," he agreed. "By the way, what do I need to wear tonight? Does the club have a specific dress code?"

  "Jeans and a nice shirt are fine."

  He looked relieved that she hadn't asked him to don a suit and tie. "Perfect. That's just my style."

  She watched him head down the short hall and nearly groaned when he pulled his damp shirt off just before he turned into the bedroom. She caught a quick glimpse of his smooth, muscled back, and that was more than enough to make her stomach clench with the desire to see what all that hard, honed flesh felt like sliding against her fingertips.

  He didn't close the bedroom door, but a moment later she heard a different door shut, then the sound of running water, indicating he was about to get into the shower… completely naked.

  Realizing just how dry her mouth had become, she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There wasn't a whole lot inside-mainly take-out containers, a carton of milk, and the drinks he'd mentioned earlier. Definitely a sign of a bachelor. Bypassing the beer and Gatorade, she grabbed a bottle of water. Strolling back into the living room, she twisted the cap off the bottle and swallowed a good amount of the cool water as she took in his sparse furnishings.

  A single reclining chair in a dark brown leather material, worn from plenty of use, occupied one side of the room. An old, scarred wooden side table was situated nearby with a few Soldier of Fortune magazines stacked neatly on top. Against the opposite wall was what appeared to be Ben's one main indulgence-a large, flat-screen TV tucked inside a basic entertainment center.

  The apartment looked like he'd just moved in but hadn't had the time, or the inclination, to decorate or give the place any special touches of his own. The off-white walls were completely bare, and except for a clock on the wall there weren't any knickknacks anywhere to be seen. The only things she saw that she'd even consider remotely personal were two small framed photographs set on one of the shelves in the wall unit.

  She found herself gravitating toward those pictures to take a better, closer look. Surprisingly, they weren't snapshots of family. The first photo was a group of men standing together, surrounded by canvas tents in a desolate desert setting. All of them were dressed in military fatigues and sporting short buzz cuts, Ben included. The men looked tired and weary, but the comradery between them was a visible thing.

  She assumed the picture had been taken a few years ago, when he'd been in the service. She remembered her father mentioning that Ben was an ex-Marine who'd served in the Iraq War but she didn't know anything about his time in the military, or what his duties had entailed.

  Taking another drink of her water, she glanced at the second photograph of Ben and a pretty, dark-haired woman, completely unprepared for the depth of emotion so evident between the couple. Both of them were dressed i
n fatigues, with the same dry, barren stretch of desert as their background. The woman was hugging Ben around the waist, a wide smile on her lips as she looked up at him with a wealth of love and adoration shining in her eyes. Ben was laughing at something she must have said or done, but there was no denying that he was equally as smitten with her.

  "Oh, wow," Christine breathed, shocked at the realization that Ben might have a steady girlfriend. One who might even be living with him, though she doubted that by the lack of feminine presence in the apartment. But the fact that Ben openly displayed such an intimate picture of himself and the woman said a lot about his feelings for her.

  Not sure what to think, she dragged her fingers through her hair, wincing as a few tangled strands tugged on her scalp. All she knew was that if Ben was in a serious relationship, then she had absolutely no business flirting with him the way she had been, and vice versa.

  "You're awfully quiet out there," Ben called from the other room. "Are you doing okay?"

  He was obviously done with his shower. "I'm good." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "And you're down to about twelve minutes. Are you still on schedule?"

  He chuckled, and she felt a slice of guilt for enjoying the low, husky sound when there was a chance of him having a girlfriend.

  "I'm way ahead of schedule," he said as she heard a shuffling sound coming from the bedroom. "All I have to do is finish getting dressed and pack a few things, and I'll be ready to go."

  Still troubled by that picture, she finished her water, tossed the bottle in the kitchen trash, and gave Ben another two full minutes before wandering down the hallway to his bedroom. She had to know if he had a significant other in his life, and if he did, she needed to change her behavior toward him drastically. She'd never poached on another woman's territory, and she wasn't about to start now. She'd been on the other side of that scenario, and it hadn't felt good at all.

  She stopped in the bedroom doorway and leaned a shoulder against the frame. As good as her intentions were, she wasn't prepared to find Ben looking so gorgeous and sexy. He had his back to her as he stuffed a few items into a duffle bag, giving her a few quick moments to take in his appearance. Fresh from his shower, his hair was still damp, though he had run a comb through the strands. He'd pulled on a pair of new looking jeans, but he hadn't gotten around to putting on a shirt yet, and tearing her gaze away from the mesmerizing ripple and flow of his incredible muscles as he moved was a difficult thing to do.

  He zipped up his bag, then reached for a blue chambray shirt he'd laid out on the bed. As he shrugged into the garment, he turned around, saw her standing in the doorway, and gave her a half-grin.

  "Did you come to check up on me?" he asked as he strolled toward the only dresser in the room.

  He'd left the shirt open and unbuttoned, treating her to a delectable view of his abs, which were just as toned as the rest of his body.

  "I just wanted to make sure you weren't wasting time."

  "Trust me, I'm a very efficient, no fuss kind of guy."

  She watched him open a drawer and withdraw a semiautomatic and a black holster. Even though she didn't like the thought of him carrying a weapon, she knew and understood that it was all part of the job. She was also grateful that he preferred to dress casually, rather than wear what seemed like the prerequisite suit and tie that most of the security agents in her father's employ wore while on duty-which also made their presence as bodyguards openly known.

  As Ben clipped the holster onto the waistband of his jeans and tucked the actual holder just inside his pants to conceal the fact that he was armed and dangerous despite his laid-back appearance, she cast a quick glance around his bedroom. The furnishings were just as meager as the rest of the apartment, with a bed and the single dresser, leading her to believe, once again, that he'd just recently moved in. It was the only explanation that made sense for the lack of all those personal, intimate trappings that made a house a real home.

  She brought her gaze back to Ben, both disappointed and relieved to find him buttoning up his shirt and covering up that magnificent chest of his so she was no longer tempted to stare at all that bare, naked flesh.

  "I take it you haven't lived here long," she commented.

  He lifted a dark brown brow. "What makes you say that?"

  She shrugged. "The place looks deserted, like you just moved in."

  "Actually, I've lived in this apartment for almost two years." Leaving the tails of his shirt untucked, he sat on the edge of his bed, pulled on a pair of socks, then slid his feet into brown leather loafers. "As for the place looking deserted, I've never needed much. That, and the military has a way of making your life as compact as possible. Most of the time, all your personal effects are what you can fit into a duffle or backpack, and I guess I just got used to living that way."

  That made sense, yet in a way it made him seem so detached and a bit of a loner, as though he could pick up and move at any time with little effort. "Does your family live nearby?"

  He hesitated, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "No."

  His tone of voice didn't encourage further questions, but there was something about the sudden change in his entire demeanor that prompted Christine to ask, "Where does the rest of your family live?"

  "Like you, I'm an only child," he said, his tone holding a shade of impatience. "My father passed away a few years ago, and as for my mother… I have no idea where she is, nor do I care."

  He was so matter-of-fact about his parents, and while she was curious to know more about his past and what had caused that twinge of bitterness she'd detected toward his mother, he stood up, grabbed his duffle and what appeared to be a computer carry case, then glanced at his wristwatch.

  "I'm ready to go with four minutes to spare," he said. "Even after your little interrogation."

  There was just enough humor in his voice to let her know that he wasn't upset with her, even if her questions had brought back what seemed like some unpleasant memories for him.

  He passed by her on the way out the bedroom door to the living room, smelling like soap and warm male essence. She followed behind, then waited as he checked the answering machine on the kitchen counter for messages. Again, her gaze strayed to the pictures in the wall unit, specifically the one with Ben and the smiling, happy brunette.

  God, she was such a glutton for punishment today. After their exchange in the bedroom about his parents, she ought to leave well enough alone, but she just couldn't walk out of his apartment without knowing about the woman in the photo.

  "Ben?"

  He grabbed his car keys from the counter and turned toward her, clearly ready to leave. "Yeah?"

  She bit her bottom lip, her stomach suddenly churning with a bout of nerves. "I'm sorry, but I really need to ask you something."

  Shifting his stance, he adjusted the strap of the computer case over his shoulder. "Okay."

  She exhaled a deep breath and let the words out before her fortitude deserted her. "That woman in the picture with you." she said, indicating the shelf with the two separate photographs, "is she your girlfriend?"

  His gaze slid past her to the framed print, a distinct pang of sadness etching his features. "She was my fiancée."

  His answer, said in the past tense, confused her. If he was no longer engaged, then why did he have such a loving, affectionate photo of the two of them so openly displayed? "Was your fiancée?"

  Those golden brown eyes, when they met hers again, were filled with a barely perceptible grief that made him appear, for the very briefest of seconds, raw and exposed. "She died in the Iraq War four years ago."

  Startled by such an unexpected reply, her eyes widened and it took her a moment to shake off her shock and respond. "I'm so sorry, Ben," she breathed, her heart hurting for him.

  "Yeah, me, too," he said gruffly.

  He glanced away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a deeper torment and guilt she didn't fully understand. In the span of just a half an hour, she'd seen a
whole different side to Ben, a man with many facets and a past devastated with loss on many levels. Beneath his charming smiles and easygoing nature, there was a wealth of personal pain and secrets he kept to himself, and was very reluctant to share. Not that she could blame him.

  She wondered what had happened in Iraq, and how his fiancée had died, but didn't dare ask.

  He started toward the door. "Come on," he said, sounding tired and worn out, as if she'd put him through an emotional wringer in a very short span of time. "Let's hit the road. We wouldn't want you to be late for your date tonight."

  He was back to teasing her, and she smiled, grateful that he hadn't held her inquisitive questions against her.

  CHRISTINE was nearly finished getting dressed to leave for her evening out when her cell phone rang. Still in her bedroom with Ben waiting for her out in the living room, she dug her BlackBerry from her purse. Recognizing the name on the ID display as Craig Crosby, the owner of Envy, she answered the call.

  "Hey, Craig," she said as she padded over to her dresser in her bare feet. She still had a few more things to do before she was completely ready, and they were easy enough to finish while she talked on the phone.

  "Hi, Christy." His greeting was, as always, spoken in a low, husky tone that made her all too aware of his interest in her. "I'm just calling to see if you're still planning on coming to Envy tonight?"

  "Absolutely." She rummaged through her jewelry box until she found the pair of gold chandelier earrings she wanted to wear with her outfit. "I'm meeting Ronnie and Madison for drinks in about an hour," she said of her two best friends.

  "Great. I'll make sure to let the bartender know that I'll be picking up the tab for you and your friends for the evening."

  She pushed one of the French wire earrings into her lobes, then switched the phone to the other ear to repeat the process. The gold, shimmering links brushed her bared shoulders in a cool, sensual caress that made her feel sexy and flirty.

  "Craig, that really isn't necessary." In fact, she preferred that he didn't pay for her drinks, because he did it way too often and it was beginning to make her feel a bit awkward.