Brushing aside her attempt to pay her half, he sat back a moment to consider her. She blushed lightly under his regard, and that didn't bother him one bit.
"Thank you for meeting me, Allison. I enjoyed the lunch."
When she smiled, her whole face seemed to light from within, and her blue eyes glowed. "Me, too."
"I'd like to call you," he said, "if that's all right."
The words fell from his mouth without conscious thought, but once uttered, he discovered they felt right. He couldn't be sorry. Maybe another practice session wasn't such a bad idea.
Her smile grew. They exchanged numbers, and Ben entered hers into his brand new cell phone, already overflowing with business contacts. She was his only personal one, other than Sally and Sally's two daughters, Megan and Marissa. He'd been so busy setting up his official plans, he'd yet to enter his other friends' and family members' information.
Rising from the table, he put his hand to the small of her narrow back and said, "I'll walk you to your car."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They strolled out of the restaurant in companionable silence. Allison looked him over again out of the corner of her eye. There was such a lot of him to appreciate, and oh, she did love big men. Especially ones who knew how to dress and how to manage their size the way he did—he moved well, with authority and athleticism, not like a lumbering giant.
A flash of him moving above her, sweaty and straining, made the muscles in her thighs spasm. All that strength, all that skin and heat. . .
Whew.
She needed a feathered hand fan. She'd finally gotten her sexual cravings and weirdly rollicking emotions locked down over burgers and fries, thank God, but his long fingers burned against her back and his somehow familiar scent played havoc with her senses. When she brushed against him, her heart pounded and her breaths went short. She'd need a cold shower when she got home.
And her vibrator.
She loved his height. Even in her high-heeled boots, she barely came to his chin, and his width—all muscle—dwarfed her body. She liked that he made her feel small and delicate, as she so rarely did at her height, and protected somehow, even though she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. She liked that he escorted her with his hand at her back, and that he opened the door for her. So many guys their age had forgotten how to act like gentlemen, or had been bred out of the habit by confident, independent women determined to do it all for themselves. She considered herself both confident and independent, a modern woman, but she still enjoyed being treated like a lady.
Ben was a bit older, though, closer to thirty, and ex-military. Chivalry seemed to come naturally to him. She liked that about him. She liked the way he talked, and the way he listened to her, the way his eyes warmed when he looked at her. She liked the way he filled out his clothes and the way his hair glinted in the sunlight. He was too serious by half, not her usual type at all, yet his scent made her hungry in ways that couldn't be satisfied by food. Her body craved. Saliva pooled in her mouth.
His scent. . . there was something about his scent. A memory niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn't grab the fragment. It flittered away.
Instinct said he could take her to new heights in the bedroom—or anywhere else—and her instincts were rarely wrong on that score. If sexual attraction was all she felt for him, she'd drag him back to her lair right now and pounce. But much as she wanted to deny it, it wasn't all.
He was handsome, but she was used to dating handsome men. There was something more to Benjamin Turner she didn't quite want to put her finger on. Not yet. Something beyond mere attraction. Something the women in her family had described all too well. Something dangerous to her heart.
Those crazy images threatened to return in a rush. Images of Ben holding their child or brushing aside a strand of her hair, gone grey with the years, to whisper in her ear. She squashed the pictures under the heel of her firm grasp on reality.
Keep it casual, she reminded her inner match-maker.
"So, Ben," she said, her voice only slightly shaky as they rounded the corner of the building toward the parking lot, "why Cupid's Cavalry?"
He looked down at her with a bashful grin she found way too adorable. "I could ask you the same."
Shrugging lightly, Allison kicked a pebble off the palm-tree lined sidewalk with the toe of her boot. "DeeDee—the owner—is a friend of mine. We do business together. Plus, it's fun to meet new people."
"I doubt you need a dating service to meet people."
"And you do?"
"I've been away. A lot."
Matching her casual shrug, Ben kept his gaze forward, making her think there was more to it than that, but she didn't question his statement. Despite their lunch conversation, and her rioting emotions, she hadn't really learned much about him on a personal level. His reticence intrigued her. She didn't think he was trying to be deliberately mysterious, more that he was a little shy, or maybe just careful with his confidences. That was okay. She'd enjoy digging beneath the surface over time.
Allison gestured to her siren-red late-model BMW. "This is me. Thanks again for lunch."
Playing it cool, she unlocked the car and reached to open the door. His eyes intent on hers, Ben placed his fingers on her wrist, holding her in place the way she'd hoped he would. The skin-to-skin touch, even on such a small scale, seared her like a brand.
He shifted closer to her slowly, stopping just short of pressing his powerful body against her own. Subtle scents, masculine flavors—heady enticements—hovered at the edge of her awareness, beckoning her closer. The space between them throbbed with pent up desires and the urge to tip forward, to complete the full-body contact, whistled along her spine. Every tiny hair on her body stood straight up, electrified and yearning toward him. Could he feel her trembling?
So much rode on a first kiss. Soft and sweet, wild and hard—either way, they would learn something about each other with the first touch of their lips.
With one hand, Ben cupped her cheek. The warm slide of his palm, just a little rough, was a seductive caress against her skin. Resting his other hand oh-so-lightly atop her shoulder, he lowered his mouth to within a whisper of her lips. Her lids fluttered closed, and her breath caught. Every nerve in her body sparked with tension, begged for his heat.
Waiting. Weakening. Wild with wanting.
Cravings shimmered in her blood, and the suspense built, until finally, finally, he pressed his mouth to hers. She moaned against him, the desire that had been teasing her body with delicious little licks all through their date shooting suddenly to full boil.
Oh, God, yes.
Certainty flared, beyond all reason. Mine-mine-mine hummed inside her head. Taken over by the kiss, by sensation, she forgot to weigh and measure, to compare to other first kisses she'd received. There was no comparison, no scale. With the first brush of his mouth, the memories of every other kiss in her life vanished in puffs of smoke. There was only this moment. This kiss.
This man.
Strong, lean fingers flexed against her shoulder, raising goose bumps up and down her body. But before she could throw her arms around him and haul herself against his hard, muscular frame, fitting herself against him the way she desperately needed, Ben's wide palms skated down her arms. He drew her hands together between their bodies, holding her still. The brush of his knuckles against her belly speared electric shocks through the soft weave of her sweater and sent melting heat sliding over her limbs, weakening her knees.
He kissed lightly at the corner of her mouth, the firm, hot pressure of his lips making her shiver, then retreated. It took her a moment to force her eyes open to stare into the smoldering green of his hooded gaze.
"I'll call you," he whispered. Dropping another quick kiss upon her open mouth, he gave her hands a gentle squeeze, then turned and walked away.
Knees shaking, Allison leaned against her car, thankful for its support at her back. Dazed, she watched him stride down the row of multi-colo
red vehicles glinting dully beneath the overcast sky.
Pressing the back of her hand against her shaking mouth, the flavor of him still teasing her tongue, she battled back the flooding lust. She'd barely gotten started before he broke it off, leaving her in a needy, tingly mess of arousal.
Damn it.
Trying to shake off the sensual spell, Allison pinched her left thigh. Hard.
At least he'd answered one question. The man could kiss. Innumerable images, men from her past, swam through her consciousness, but not one had wrecked her as thoroughly as Ben's gentle assault on her still-vibrating mouth.
And here she stood, her eyes tracking his progress to his car when she made it a habit to be the one stared after hungrily at the end of a date. How had he flipped that around on her? The man had some skills.
Waving a hand in front of her face to fan the steam rising from her sensitized skin, she blew out a frustrated breath. If she were a less-confident woman, she might wonder what she'd done wrong. The last time she'd kissed a man like that and he'd walked away without following through was exactly. . . yeah, never.
Well.
No sense standing here like a hopeless female. She forced her knees to steady in preparation for turning to climb into her car, but then her passion-hazed brain finally caught up to her vision.
Wait.
She knew that van. What the hell was Ben doing, backing out of a parking space in her neighbor, Sally's, ancient VW bus? Why. . .?
Recognition hit like a salvo fired from a ship's cannon, and she nearly staggered. How could she have been so stupid? His size should have clued her in immediately. She was used to big men, but there weren't that many around who matched Ben's height and musculature, not even Jeff. Yet she'd supposedly seen two in just over a few weeks.
No, not two. One.
Ben—clean-cut, charmingly dangerous, well-dressed Ben of the magnetic eyes and skin-sizzling kiss—was somehow also Grizzly Adams, Sally's homeless hobo from New Year's Eve.
What a difference a shave and a haircut could make. Jesus.
Remembering the way he'd caught her ogling him, embarrassment wrapped its fingers around her throat. Who knew how long he'd been watching her that night.
And now he'd shared lunch with Allison as a supposed Cupid's Cavalry compatibility match—a site where Sally was also a member—and never once intimated he'd seen her before. It might have been a quick glance, but vanity aside, Allison knew her effect on the male of the species well enough to be certain he'd recognized her right off. Her appearance hadn't undergone a radical change in the last two weeks.
Allison's mind whirled with half-hatched possibilities. What kind of man drove one date's car to lunch with another? Yet there he was, driving off in her neighbor's distinctive daisy-covered, neon-orange hippie bus.
What the hell was going on?
Before her active imagination could take hold, spinning visions of poor Sally murdered in the back of her own vehicle while Ben trolled for his next victim, Allison strode forward, directly into the VW's oncoming path. She stood, one hand on her jutting left hip, the other held out before her, commanding him to stop.
Ben was smiling when he pulled to a halt beside her and cranked the ancient driver's side window down by hand.
"Allison—" he began, drawing her name out in a pleasurable purr with his rough, sexy voice, but she cut him off.
"Who are you? Really."
Ben frowned. "What—"
"Where's Sally? Why do you have her car?"
"I don't—"
"And why didn't you tell me we'd met before?"
"Ah. Okay."
Putting the bus in park in the middle of the row, he shut off the engine, hunching his shoulders against its rattling cough and kick of black-plumed exhaust. He swung out of the seat to stand towering over her. Allison took an automatic step back, wanting distance between them. Just in case.
Tapping a finger to his own chest, he said, "I'm Ben Turner."
When she stared at him blankly, he shook his head and waved a hand between himself and the van.
"Turner," he repeated, and the name clicked.
Ben Turner.
Sally Turner.
Okay.
But. . . long-lost brother? He was too young to be an uncle. Secret third husband?
"Then who—" she began.
"Sally's my cousin, I'm staying with her until I get my own place. She loaned me her car for today."
Sally's cousin.
Oh, God.
Realization crashed over her like an avalanche. She knew about that cousin—about Ben. What he'd suffered, how he'd left everything behind. Pity and compassion warred with the remains of her confusion.
This man—in the space of a few short weeks—had gone from a derelict, homeless-looking mountain of questionable fashion sense to the leading-man contender standing before her, starring in her increasingly crazy fantasies and making her vibrate with sexual tension despite her doubts.
How? Why?
"I didn't tell you we'd met because we hadn't," he continued. "I was conscious for about eight minutes at that party, after traveling nonstop for four days to get to Sally's place, and the day I arrived—New Year's Eve—she insisted on dragging me along."
Ben swiped a hand over his smoothly shaved cheeks, and she realized suddenly why they looked sunburned, yet paler than the rest of his face. No more beard.
"Did I recognize you?" he asked. "Yeah. I didn't figure you'd recognize me, nor that it was relevant."
Allison stood silent, her heart still beating uncomfortably fast, trying to reconcile his words with what she knew about Sally's cousin. Trying to merge her image of that long-absent cousin with the Hagrid-wannabe Ben had been mere days ago, and to add the sum of those disparate parts and somehow get to this handsome, dynamic man her body was still reacting to against her better judgment.
"Okay," she said, huffing out a breath, her mind churning. "Okay, I get that. I think. But then why all this?" Waving a hand, she encompassed his change in appearance. Her pulse gave a lovely spin through her veins. God, he was hot. But. . . Focus, Allison! "Why Cupid's Cavalry and this elaborate scheme? If you wanted to ask me out, why didn't you just walk down the street and ask?"
Now it was Ben's turn to take a step back. Leaning against the van with his head tilted against its side, he closed his eyes, as though searching for the right words to say. She tried to ignore the way the meager sun picked out all the highlights in his silky hair. It made her want to fist her hands in it and hold on while she kissed him brainless.
Relevant or not, maybe it all came down to shyness. He'd suffered before, had been out of the loop for a long time. Maybe he'd needed the front of a dating service to get up his nerve. And that could be sort of cute. Even flattering, instead of weird and stalkerish. She could work with cute.
And oh, he was cute. If she had her camera with her, she'd photograph him this way, all frustrated, masculine energy and movie-star handsomeness. He flexed the muscles in his arms. She licked her lips.
"Ben?" she asked, her voice huskier than she'd intended.
Coming down off the adrenaline spike of her confusion, Allison drew a deep breath. Knowing who he was created a small sense of security, despite the needs torching her common sense to ash. As though they actually knew each other. It increased her trust in him as a person—no more visions of bodies in the trunk—and yet new questions arose.
Good questions, like whether she should or could—or even wanted to—take on a potential relationship with a man so damaged by his past that he'd willingly walked away from his entire life for years. Good, solid questions, which were ignored entirely by the raving nut job running through her mental landscape, already planning their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Ben stuffed his hands in his front pockets and dropped his head forward, scuffing the gritty pavement with the toe of his shoe. A nice new shoe, she noted inconsequentially. No more trashy hiking boots.
They both ignore
d the irritated horn blast from the driver squeaking his car past Sally's van on his way to exit the parking lot.
Really, whatever this was, whatever Ben's past, she just wanted to get through it so they could go back to getting to know each other. On several levels, most of them sexy.
Finally, he said, "I didn't."
Apology rang in his voice, but with her thoughts far afield, she'd lost the thread of the conversation. Allison frowned at him. "Didn't what?"
"Want to ask you out."
Visions of Ben naked and flat on his back ground to a halt, all her imaginings altered in one breath. All men wanted to ask her out. All straight men, anyway. What the hell was he talking about?
Eyes narrowed, challenge vibrating from every fiber in her body, she drew herself up to her full height. "I beg your pardon?"
CHAPTER FIVE
Frustrated, Ben stared into her slitted gaze, wishing he knew how to say the words without coming off like an idiot, or worse, a total pussy. He'd already offended her, and kissing her had been a monumental mistake, because all he wanted to do was kiss her again. Probably the idiot avenue was safest, gauging by the slow-rising flush of anger in her porcelain cheeks.
When in doubt, play dumb.
"Look, the Cupid thing was Sally's idea—"
"You mean she forced you? Put a gun to your head to make you ask me out?"
"—I didn't even know who I was meeting today."
Allison drew back another step. If he'd thought her big blue eyes were narrowed before, that was nothing to the tiny, feral slashes of color they shrank to now. Her long, silky black lashes cast shadows across her cheekbones, all but concealing the dangerous gleam of her eyes. He'd seen a jaguar do that in the jungle once. Right before it pounced.
"Are you complaining?" she asked, the steel in her tone sharp enough to run him through.
Cupid's Mistake Page 5
