Ben's Wife

by Charlotte Douglas

  “You don’t want to know.” Alert for signs of pursuit, he glanced at the still-empty street behind him and kept his pace.

  “No more secrets,” she pleaded, “please.”

  He threw her a somber look. “I told him a private detective had just come in the front door, looking for us.”

  Her eyes widened with astonishment. “You told him we were criminals?”

  “Not exactly. I told him my wife had hired the private eye.”

  “But I’m your wife!”

  Joy shot through him at the fierceness of her declaration. “That’s not what I told him.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “Who did you say I was?”

  He tried to look gloomy. “A fallen woman who, if my wife learns about you, will break up my happy home.”

  Her jaw dropped. “A home-wrecker, am I?”

  “With no morals,” he deadpanned. “And greedy, too.”

  Before she could react, shouts of angry male voices and pounding feet pierced the lazy silence of the neighborhood. Lashner’s thugs burst into the open a block behind them. Ben increased his speed and raced down the street with Morgan beside him. At the next intersection, he veered left and halted beside a cab parked at the curb, exactly where he’d told the driver to meet them.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  Morgan dove into the car and collapsed on the seat. Ben scrambled in and gave the driver directions to where they’d parked the Chevy earlier.

  Gasping for breath, she jabbed him with her elbow. “Called me a fallen woman, did you? Don’t think you can ruin my reputation and get away with it. I’ll have my revenge.”

  He checked the rear window. The cab had pulled away before Lashner’s thugs had reached the corner.

  He relaxed against the seat, smiled with satisfaction and reached for her hand. “So you plan to get even, do you? I look forward to it”

  MORGAN EYED the dilapidated bar on the riverbank with skepticism. “You’re certain this is the place?”

  Ben nodded. “William Holton’s best-kept secret. He hides here once a month until the members of his wife’s bridge club have left his house.”

  Conversation kept her reactions under control. After their escape from Lashner’s assassins, they’d returned to the cottage to shower and change clothes. The intimacy of that setting had increased the tension between them, tightening the bonds of their attrac tion.

  That morning, when Ben had revealed the scars from his injuries, her anger over his deception had disappeared. How could she remain hostile when the man had suffered so much to help her father? The extent of his charade still irritated her, but his motives, at least, had been honorable.

  This afternoon, after their run, when he had emerged from the bathroom smelling of soap, with a towel draped around his narrow hips and his hair slick with water, desire tinged with something deeper washed over her.

  She had rushed past him into the bathroom and let her shower run cold. She could forgive, but she couldn’t risk loving. If he had pulled such a whopping deception before, how could she judge whether he cared for her now?

  Oh, he wanted her safe, all right. She was sure of that. But whether because he cared for her or simply needed her help remained to be seen.

  Ben drove into a parking place behind a custom van that hid their car from the road. Dressed in pleated slacks that emphasized his flat stomach and a forest green madras shirt that turned the flecks in his eyes emerald, he looked more handsome than ever. He grasped her chin and pulled her toward him, skimming her lips with a butterfly kiss that left her aching for more.

  Shock waves rocked her body at his caress. Wishing for another cold shower to purge her mutinous longings, she drew back. “We’d better hurry.”

  The warmth in his eyes indicated he’d misinterpreted her haste. “You’re right. Let’s get this interview over with.”

  While he circled to open her door, she fought the emotion that buckled her knees. Catching her father’s killer and stopping the sale of the formula were paramount. She had to ignore the promise in Ben’s eyes that startled her even more than his kisses.

  “Do you think we’ll learn anything new from Holton?” Thankful her voice relayed none of her inner turmoil, she accompanied Ben to the door of the bar.

  “We won’t know until we ask.”

  Stepping from the bright sunlight into dimness, she beheld a room that contrasted with its run-down exterior. The polished oak bar, decorated with mounted sailfish and seashells tucked in draped fishnets, ran down the right side of the narrow but spotless space. Across from the bar, booths and wide windows, overlooking a tranquil river, filled the other wall.

  A few customers occupied bar stools, and in the far booth, a man was huddled with his back to them, nursing a tall dnnk. Ben led the way and slid onto the bench across from the him. Morgan scooted beside Ben.

  William Holton glanced up, his mouth dropped open and a wide grin split his face. He pushed his drink aside and reached across the table to pump Ben’s hand. “I thought you were a goner. You’re the best news I’ve had in a month.”

  A display of such genuine affection would be hard to fake, especially at short notice. When Ben introduced her and she received the same response, Morgan warmed to the short, rotund board member with the balding head and beaming smile.

  Holton’s smile disappeared when he spoke of her father. “Frank and I had lunch together the day he died. ‘Billy,’ he told me, ‘I enjoy my work, but the best days of my life are the ones I spend with my daughter.’ Your father loved you very much, young lady.”

  The gentle man with kind eyes had given her a priceless gift. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Now, Ben, what brings you here? Just passing through, like the time you first discovered my hidey-hole, or business?”

  “Business.” Ben’s expression turned grim. “I understand Rob Lashner’s talked with you.”

  Holton’s mouth puckered, and his eyes squinted behind his wire-rimmed glasses, as if he’d tasted something sour. “Lashner’s a damned liar. If you’re crazy, I’m Mel Gibson. And as for Morgan being greedy, a man like Frank couldn’t raise a greedy daughter.”

  Morgan leaned toward him. “Did Lashner tell you anything else?”

  Holton jutted his receding chin in the air and closed his eyes as if remembering. Morgan held her breath, hoping he’d give them information to use against her father’s killer.

  The older man opened his eyes and shook his head. “No, just those slanderous accusations against you and Ben.”

  Her shoulders drooped with her spirits. Their search had hit a dead end.

  “But Frank said something,” Holton added.

  “What?” she and Ben exclaimed in unison.

  Guilt stole over Holton’s round face. “I would have told you before, Morgan, but I couldn’t find you. I saw you at the funeral, but that wasn’t the appropriate time—”

  “What did Frank tell you?” Ben asked.

  “That day at lunch, before the fire, Frank was worried about something. He wouldn’t say what. But he said if anything unusual happened, I should tell Morgan to talk to Esther, that Esther has something for her.” His look was apologetic. “I couldn’t find Morgan, and I have no idea who Esther is. I’m sorry. I had another problem on my mind, so I didn’t take time to ask the right questions.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I know who Esther is.”

  He sighed. “That’s good. I was afraid I’d let Frank down.”

  Morgan thanked him, but wondered if Holton had misunderstood her father’s request. She’d already met Esther Clark, and her father’s elderly neighbor hadn’t mentioned any last messages from him.

  They’d reached the dead end she’d dreaded.

  “I’m counting on you,” Ben said to Holton, “to help us keep Frank’s formula off the market”

  “You’ve got my vote,” he promised.

  “So long. We’ll see you at the board meeting,” Ben said.

  At th
e entrance, Morgan spied a pay phone. “Wait. I’ll call Esther and ask what Dad gave her.”

  The phone book chained to the wall yielded Esther’s number, but voice mail answered in Esther’s chirpy voice. “I’ll be visiting my daughter in Sarasota until Saturday, but leave your name and number and I’ll call when I return.”

  “She’s away until day after tomorrow,” Morgan told Ben.

  “I’ll have Mrs. Denny make some inquiries. Maybe she can find out the daughter’s name and number and we can contact Esther there.”

  Morgan shrugged, afraid to get her hopes up. “If Dad had left Esther anything important, wouldn’t she have told us that night at his condo?”

  Ben placed his arm around her shoulder. “Not necessarily. You caught her by surprise.”

  “Okay, maybe Esther does have something for me from Dad, and she just forgot.” Her small ray of hope dimmed. “But whatever it is might have nothing to do with Lashner.”

  “You’re so stressed out, everything looks grim.” He tugged her closer and pressed his lips against the top of her head. “For a few hours, let’s forget Lashner. After some dinner and a good night’s sleep, you’ll feel more optimistic. You’re tired, that’s all.”

  She yearned to return his embrace, to lose herself in the warmth of his arms, the fire of his kisses. But she didn’t dare. Feeling vulnerable and confused, she pushed away.

  “You’re right,” she said. “We’ll uncover something to make Lashner pay.”

  But she didn’t really believe it.

  “DON’T GET UP,” Ben ordered. “I’ll take care of these.”

  He rose from the table in the cottage kitchen and began removing plates and glasses to the sink.

  Morgan relaxed and watched him work. The irony of Benjamin J. Wells, CEO of Chemco and multimillionaire, clearing the table and scraping dishes wasn’t lost on her, but he approached the task as if he’d done it every day of his life.

  In fact, Ben had pampered her from the moment they’d walked in the door. He’d tuned soft music on the radio, guided her into an easy chair and propped her feet on the ottoman. Before covering her with an afghan, he’d removed her shoes and drawn the shades.

  Exhausted, she had drifted off to sleep. The living room had been dark when she awoke and wandered to the kitchen to discover the linen-draped table set for dinner with lighted candles and a centerpiece of long-stemmed red roses. As if by magic, but more likely with Harper’s and Mrs. Denny’s help, Ben had produced a full-course Italian meal.

  Throughout dinner, she had experienced the strange sensation of being split in half. One part of her enjoyed the food and conversation, while her other half focused totally on Ben. He had sheltered her, saved her life and now stirred her senses as no man ever had, filling her with longing that affected her like a delicious madness.

  Had he guessed how much she wanted him? While part of her discussed favorite movies and tastes in music, another desired him in more ways than she’d ever imagined. Her heightened emotions put a whole new spin on her purpose. In addition to avenging her father, stopping Lashner meant keeping Ben alive.

  Outwardly composed, she trembled at the thought of losing him. How could she live without him, without the rugged beauty of his smile, the comfort of his companionship, the excitement of his touch, the thrill of his kisses? And if he intended to make love to her, how could she not give in?

  From the heated looks he’d given her through dinner, the deliberate way his hands had brushed hers, and the ticking muscle at the base of his jaw, she gathered his need was as great as her own.

  Once he’d removed the dishes and only roses and candles remained on the table, an expectant stillness hovered in the room.

  “Morgan.” He caressed her with his voice.

  She rose to face him in the candlelight, and the intensity of his need burned in his eyes.

  He grasped her hands and, with excruciating slowness, glided his fingers over her wrists, up her arms and around her shoulders, as if he were a blind man, taking in the shape of her.

  But he wasn’t blind. His dark, passion-filled gaze explored her face, holding her spellbound. He dropped his hands to her back and skimmed her waist and hips before cupping her bottom, clutching her against him and claiming her lips. She yielded to him like clay to a potter.

  Twining her fingers through his thick hair, she opened her lips to him. He tasted of wine and chocolate and burning need. Through three layers of clothes, her breasts, tense and aching, rubbed against his chest.

  In one fluid movement, without breaking their kiss, Ben lifted her, carried her into his bedroom to the double bed and lay beside her. Soft light cast a subdued glow, and the scent of frangipani blossomed on the air. When she pulled her gaze from his, she discovered the source of the perfume. Beneath her, soft petals of fragrant frangipani in white and pink were scattered across the sheets. On the nightstand, a grouping of pillar candles threw shimmering light across the bed.

  The profusion of candles and petals, revealing the romantic nature of the commanding and pragmatic man, delighted her.

  Ben cradled her face in his hands. “Are you sure this is what you want? If not, I’ll stop whenever you say.”

  She closed her eyes against the passion flaring in his. Was she sure? Without question, her body wanted him. And her heart loved him beyond reason. But her head tormented her with doubts about loving a man who had once deceived her.

  The two-thirds majority won.

  She opened her eyes and gazed directly into his, experiencing again the sensation of falling forever into their mahogany depths. “This is what I want.”

  He kicked off his shoes and drew her against the length of him with a low moan of satisfaction. She could feel how much he wanted her as his body pressed against hers. With a deep, shuddering sigh, she pulled back enough to undo his buttons and remove his shirt. She traced the outline of his scars.

  “Not a very pretty sight,” he murmured in a matter-of-fact, if breathless, voice.

  “There’s beauty in selflessness and courage.” She dropped a light kiss on the puckered skin over his heart. “That’s what these remind me of.”

  With deft fingers, he undressed her, and a wave of giddiness spiraled in her, rising like vapor from a hot street after a midday summer rain. Dazed, she watched him enjoying the sight of her.

  “Do you have any idea how unbelievably beautiful you are?” he said with awe as his fingers brushed her cheek. “Your skin is as smooth and soft as these.”

  He scooped pink and white petals in his palms and rained the fragrant blossoms across her bare flesh. Lowering his head, he breathed in the sweet scent and nuzzled her breasts, tracing the edge of one nipple, then the other, with his tongue. As shivering sensations shot through her, she dug her fingers into his back until the need to be closer overpowered her. Slipping her hands between them, she unsnapped his slacks and tugged off his remaining clothes.

  The euphoria of lying skin to skin, unhampered by cloth or modesty, brought back her dizziness with a vengeance, and when he slid his fingers between her legs, agonizing pleasure detonated through every cell of her body.

  When she gasped with delight, he nibbled her ear. “That’s only the beginning.”

  Although the length of their bodies joined, she longed for him inside her. “Now,” she begged.

  He kissed her again, deeply, positioning himself above her and gently parting her thighs.

  When he entered her, her heart leaped, faltered, then matched the pulsing beat of his movements. He drove her higher and higher until her entire body was inflamed by the feel of him, by his voice calling her name and the stark and sensuous pleasure mirrored on his face.

  Instinctively, she angled her hips toward him, awed at how perfectly their bodies conformed, as if in some distant, primeval past, they had been one, then broken, and now at last were fused to their original state.

  His gaze never left hers as she whirled into dizzying heights, battered by responses that flung
her weightless, timeless, over the edge of reality into star-studded space, where nothing existed but the two of them. His cry at climax, ringing in her ears, was her last conscious thought as she yielded to pure sensation.

  Back to earth, she nestled, sated but weak, in the crook of his arm. His even breathing fanned her ear, and for the first time in her life, she felt complete.

  He propped on one elbow, regarding her with half-closed lids while his hand traced lazy circles on her breast. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and the handsome lines of the face she’d come to love transformed into a smile filled with promise.

  Before she could voice her love, he reached for her again. “I told you this was only the beginning.”

  Talk could wait.

  She rolled willingly into his arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben turned the Chevy off the highway onto a sandy road overgrown with wild grasses and littered with pinecones from the overhanging trees. After a few hundred feet, out of sight of the main road, he eased the car behind a stand of palmettos and shut off the engine.

  Beside him, Morgan peered through the windshield into the deepening twilight. “Is it far?”

  “Less than half a mile, but we’ll wait until dark before making our move.”

  “Right.” Despite her jeans and dark jacket, she shivered.

  “Cold?” He gathered her in his arms and rubbed her icy hands.

  Snuggling against him, she shook her head. “Scared.”

  He tightened his embrace. Making love to her last night, sleeping with her body nestled in the curve of his, awakening to more lovemaking, a shared shower and a lazy breakfast had provided a small island of contentment in the frenzied nightmare of the last few weeks.

  Their reprieve had been all too brief.

  After breakfast, they had planned a daring and dangerous scheme, a last-ditch effort to stop Lashner before he could sell the flawed gasoline substitute.

  They’d sat in the cottage living room, and Morgan, her lips still swollen from his kisses, had confronted him. “I want Lashner to pay for killing my father, but…”