by C. J. Duggan
I wanted to go to him, comfort him and reassure him that everything would be okay, even if I wasn’t certain it would be. That he didn’t have to tell me anything but if he wanted to, I would listen. I wanted to say all the right things, and more than that, I wanted to touch him, let him feel the consolation of my hand. Maybe I wouldn’t need to say anything at all, maybe I could show him just by touching his shoulder, by rubbing my hand across his shoulder blades in a soothing way or placing my hand over his. Turning on the light was the worst thing Ben could have done, but not nearly as bad as what happened next. Like some out-of-body experience where I could hear the words escaping from my mouth but was unable to stop them, I broke all the rules.
I asked the biggest question of all.
‘Where is your wife?’ My voice was low, shaky. Ben’s eyes looked into mine, harsher and darker than I had ever seen them before. I almost shied away from them. He was clearly distraught, and how I wished I could take back my words.
‘Caroline,’ he said.
I swallowed. ‘Caroline,’ I repeated. I swear my heart stopped. Caroline.
Knowing her name made it real, and I wished almost immediately that Ben would take it back, that I could wipe it from my memory, because as much as I’d thought I’d wanted to know, now I realised I didn’t; ignorance really was bliss and I didn’t want what was an already complicated existence to be muddied further.
‘Caroline … she …’ For the first time, Ben seemed unsure about what to say. ‘She died, Sarah. My wife is dead.’ He turned away from me and gripped the edge of the counter so hard I thought the marble might shatter.
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, my horrified eyes boring into Ben’s slumped shoulders. I had never hated myself more. Oh God, why did I have to ask, why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut? I had suspected a broken home, a wayward wife, but not this, never this.
I could see the rise and fall of Ben’s shoulders as he took deep, measured breaths. Before, I had fantasised about going to him, comforting him, but this time I didn’t think, I just did. I placed my palm on his shoulder, rubbing the soft fabric.
‘Ben,’ I whispered, hot tears welling in my eyes as I wished that the arrogant man would return. ‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
Ben shook his head. ‘It should never have been a secret.’
I could feel the warmth of him, and I wasn’t sure if my touch was helping him but it was helping me, calming me, as I concentrated on the slow movements of my hand over his shirt.
‘Grace was born,’ he said, and I gripped his forearm.
‘It’s okay, you don’t have to.’
‘But I want to.’ He straightened and turned to me. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he was summoning the patience to continue, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t sad, it was something else; an emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I stepped away a little, waiting for him to tell me about her, about Caroline.
He stilled himself as he began. ‘Grace was a few weeks old when Caroline had the accident. Car accident,’ he added. There was a faraway look in his eyes again as he remembered. ‘We were just starting to get our lives back together. Our relationship was on the rocks – with the fighting, the arguing, there didn’t seem to be anything worth salvaging, but then there was Grace: a beautiful surprise.’
A suggestion of a smile appeared as his finger absent-mindedly traced the marble of the countertop. ‘You see, Caroline never wanted to have children, but when she found out she was pregnant, it changed everything. It took what was broken, and seemingly irreparable, in our relationship and it pieced it all together. There was purpose in our lives, a reason for trying.’ He glanced at me and I saw the rawness in him had resurfaced. I found myself being drawn into him once more.
‘And it’s all broken again, and Grace is the memory of a piece of my life I don’t want to remember.’ His voice broke a little but his words were heavy like thunder. ‘And as much as I try, I can’t forget, and I so desperately want to forget.’ He swallowed, shaking his head, torturing himself with an inner turmoil that made me want to just fall into him, plead for him to forgive me for judging him. It was no wonder he hadn’t bonded with Grace, had kept his distance from her, from this house. He was haunted by a time and a life he hoped for and now it was gone.
‘Ben, I am so sorry.’ I was sorry: sorry I’d asked; sorry I knew. I was beyond sorry to see this vulnerable side to him. I stepped closer, taking his hand and squeezing it, my heart spiking as the gesture freed him from the memory that pained him. He had wanted to forget, but he was tortured by it, so palpable I could feel it through his fingertips as I ran mine over the back of his hand, along the roughened ridges of his knuckles. I turned his palm as I traced his jagged heart line, marvelling at how strong it was.
Ben closed his hand around mine, stilling my fingers. I caught myself, realising how intimate the action was, how inappropriate, even if I was intending to comfort him. I looked into his serious, ever-watchful eyes.
‘I don’t want to forget Grace, that’s not what I mean, I just want to forget the past. I’m trying, I am, but no matter what I do I just …’ His words fell away and his hand squeezed mine, as if with pure frustration at the inadequacy of his words.
I placed my hand on the side of his face. ‘I know you love Grace, I know it. And it’s going to take time and that’s okay. You might not forget, but you’ll learn to live with it, I promise you that.’
He was thinking so deeply, looking at his hand holding mine, that I stood frozen, my hip digging into the cool marble counter. I didn’t feel cold, far from it. I felt flushed, my cheeks aflame at the way he was examining my fingers, making me have to concentrate on breathing. In and out; I had to put conscious thought into the action as long as he kept his hand where it was.
He looked at me, and it wasn’t out of anger, or sadness, or anything that I could define. He was seeing me in a new way, a silent question in his gaze as it dropped to my mouth. Beyond my control, my eyes copied his, but I couldn’t be sure if he was thinking what I was thinking: what would it be like to kiss those lips? To taste his tongue in my mouth? To have his hands on me? And it was wrong, so wrong to think, to feel that way. I had wanted to comfort him, but glimpsing the softer side of Ben Worthington made me want to do so much more. It was wrong but I wanted him to forget, to take away the anguish, even if for just one night. I wanted to be the one to help make him feel better, consequences be damned.
Blocking out every rational voice inside my head, I moved to him and I kissed him once, softly.
He didn’t kiss me back. I felt the firm lines of his shoulders and his confused eyes watch as I pulled away a little and then kissed him again, slowly enough for him to protest, to tell me to stop, but he didn’t. I pulled away again, my heart spiking with the knowledge that, from the heat in his eyes, he wasn’t trapped by memories of the past, he was in the here and now. I saw it in the way he watched my lips press together as if savouring the taste of him, and by the third time my mouth pressed against his, I felt his body melt. His arms circled my waist and he kissed me back, capturing my breaths with his kiss. He pressed into me, firm and fevered, as I opened myself to him, my hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt as his tongue teased me. His breath was warm and he tasted of wine and mint. I could hardly believe this was happening; as much as I was allowing myself to get lost in the throes of the moment there was one thing that my mind couldn’t stop repeating.
You’re kissing Ben Worthington. You’re kissing Ben Worthington!
Chapter Nineteen
I was an awful human being. I let the thought run fleetingly through my mind as Ben moved me around, edging me against the counter. I yelped when he lifted me onto it as if I weighed nothing. Once again I was above him, a vantage point of power, and I liked it. I offered a cocky smirk to tell him as much, but he hooked his finger in the neck of my T-shirt and pulled me down to meet his mouth. Oh, I was going to hell.
This
time he kissed me slower but deeper, hands cupping the sides of my face before they lowered, grabbing the backs of my knees and dragging me to the edge of the counter and against him. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his hips, the heat from his hardness pressing into the thin scrap of my panties. Ben’s hands moved slowly up my thighs, under the edge of my tee, and gripped my hips. My hands rested on his shoulders, feeling the power in the way his body moved and the taut muscles of his back. I didn’t know what to do; being face to face like this seemed so intimate – probably because we were touching and moving in the most intimate of ways. Seeing the change in my face as he ground against me and the pressure built between my thighs, Ben took my mouth again, capturing the whimper I had no control over. He felt good. His mouth, his breath, the smell of him so close, wedged between my thighs, pushing against me as if he wanted more, needed more. And then when he moved my hand and guided it lower, pressing against the firm outline in his pants, I swallowed. Dear God, I would follow him anywhere.
I wasn’t sure when reality sidled in; maybe it was when his tongue delved into my mouth again, or when his hand tugged my T-shirt up and I watched him take my nipple into his mouth, swirling and sucking it. Maybe it was then, watching the top of his thick hair, unruly from my fingers running through it, pressing him against me, encouraging him to keep going, that the words ran through my mind: He’s just using you. He let her go and you were there. He’ll let you into his bed but never his heart.
I knew Ben was using me, unleashing something within him that needed to alleviate whatever pent-up emotions his desperation to forget had created, and then my mind started playing tricks.
So what if he wants to use you, use your body, fuck you into next week, what’s wrong with that? A moment of pleasure doesn’t have to mean anything. How long has it been, Sarah? Hmm? Exactly. You will never land a man like this ever again, so if he wants to use you, then you use him right back!
That little devil on my shoulder made total sense, and it was all I needed to have the confidence to take it further. I sat up straight. Looking directly into his eyes, I reached for his belt, working to unloop the leather then undoing his button and gliding down his zip. Surprise flashed across Ben’s face, but if he wanted me to slow down, he never let on.
‘Touch me,’ I breathed, and it was all he needed, as his fingers delved past the sheer, now damp, fabric of my panties to press deep inside me.
‘Ben.’ I said his name like a plea, gasping, not knowing if I wanted more, or for him to stop. All my nerve endings were on the brink of explosion so when he took his hand away, I cried out in protest. It was short lived as he hooked his fingers into the elastic of my panties, drawing them down my thighs, his eyes so hungry, knowing the barrier was gone. He then did something I wasn’t expecting: he pulled me up, taking my mouth once again, kissing me slowly, tenderly, like a lover. If this was how he made me feel while using me, then I was okay with that; he made me feel so desired – not just for my body, but for me. Even if it was a lie to get what he wanted, I wanted it too.
Then Grace’s cries were broadcast through the baby monitor.
We froze, our only movements the barely controlled rhythm of our heart beats, the only sound the pant of our heavy breaths.
No, no, no, no, no – Grace, please go back to sleep!
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘She might settle.’ I kissed the side of his jaw, working my way to his mouth.
He kissed me, but his focus was solely on the green light on the monitor. We were so close, and I knew that once we started, there would be no going back. I just needed this, needed him inside me, to fuck me. And just as he readied himself once more to push inside me, he stopped.
‘Ben, please …’ I begged.
But he stepped away, leaving me lying on the bench, feeling suddenly cold and exposed. I sat up, pulling my T-shirt down, watching him buckle and zip himself up.
‘What the fuck are we doing?’
‘Ben. She’s okay, we’ll check on her,’ I said quietly.
‘I’ll check on her. Jesus, you’re supposed to be the one reacting to her cries.’ He went to the sink to wash his hands.
I straightened, angered by his harsh words. ‘I do, all the time.’
‘Well, that’s why I pay you,’ he said quietly, but I heard him.
I slid off the bench, straightening my panties, feeling the fury swirl in the pit of my stomach. ‘That’s right, you do pay me to look after your child,’ I snapped, thinking I had gone too far, but if my words hit a nerve, Ben didn’t show it. He dried his hands on a paper towel and left the kitchen.
My legs felt weak, and I was flushed and flustered, a little sexual frustration and a whole lot of deep-seated anger. How dare he imply I didn’t care about Grace, that I was incompetent in looking after a daughter he hardly even saw through the week? One day of caring for her and he was suddenly Father of the Year? If he had decided to use me then he had gone the right way about it. I had never felt so stupid, so utterly ashamed. I had crossed the biggest line of all, breached professionalism and all sanity. I was suddenly thankful for Grace’s cries, for stopping us from doing something we would no doubt regret in the morning – if not instantly.
I washed my hands, splashing the cool water against my cheeks in a bid to calm down. I could hear Ben speaking softly and reassuringly to Grace through the baby monitor as she still cried. And like a robot, I went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle and took it to the microwave, heating the formula. I carried the bottle upstairs, feeling numb. I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t a bad person, just a severely misguided one. Sleep would clear my mind, give me time to know what to do in the morning.
I crossed the landing toward Grace’s opened door. Ben was sitting in his chair nursing her, rocking her. His head lifted as I stepped inside. I held out the baby bottle to him before he could say a word. His confused eyes lowered to the bottle and only then did the harsh edges of his face soften a little. I could see his resolve thaw in the frame of his shoulders as he took the bottle from my hand.
‘Listen, Sarah I —’
‘Goodnight, Ben.’ I turned to the door, making sure I held my head high. This time saying goodnight wasn’t about being a coward, or running away. It was about not wanting to hear his reasons or excuses. I didn’t need his patronising speech; if I had a job come morning, I would lay down the law and gain some semblance of power back because, above all else, I knew it would be the only way to repair my damaged ego.
Chapter Twenty
‘Listen, Ben, about last night …’
‘Whoa, what was the alcohol percentage in that wine, Ben? I don’t remember a thing!’
‘Ben, I think sleep deprivation can do strange things to the mind.’
‘Ben, I think we need to disinfect the kitchen benchtop.’
‘Ben, we have unfinished business.’ Okay, no, that sounded bad – way too suggestive.
Try as I might, nothing seemed to sound right, no matter how many times I rehearsed in the bathroom mirror. I had never wished for a weekend to be over so much in my life; at least if it had been a Monday, Ben would be off to work and I wouldn’t have to worry about how I was never going to be able to look him in the face again. A memory of him kissing and licking my nipple rushed into my mind and I buried my face in my hands. Oh god, how the hell had this happened? Oh, that’s right; I wanted him to forget about his dead wife. Jesus, Sarah, who are you?
After all my failed ideas to fix this situation, there was only one way to tackle it, and that was with a blank mind and no expectations. I had crossed a line last night, we both knew it, and more than anything else, Ben Worthington was a businessman. And now the deal to care for his most prized possession had been compromised. Despite his early inner turmoil and reluctance to show any emotion or spend time with her, he was getting better; I could see the change in him, even over the last few days. So if there was going to be a complication in his life that might jeopardise his relationship with Grace in any way, I
knew he would cut ties if he had to. I was likely to go downstairs and find a cheque sitting on the kitchen bench and a car waiting to take me to the airport.
By the time I left my room, I had all but convinced myself that was exactly what was going to happen, and had psyched myself up for it. So when I turned the corner into the kitchen to find Penny Worthington sitting at the kitchen counter opposite Ben, all my preparations and expectations fell away. Maybe Penny had the place rigged up with nanny cams and had seen what happened last night. Maybe she was here to fire me.
‘Good morning, Sarah, or should I say afternoon?’ she quipped. It was barely ten am. Not that I had gotten much sleep, and I knew Ben hadn’t either. Even if I hadn’t heard Grace’s cries throughout the night, the way he nursed his coffee, the circles under his eyes and the light dusting of stubble were dead giveaways. The only person who looked like a million dollars was the fossil-like Penny. With her bright grey eyes, her pearl necklace and impressively coiffed hairstyle, Penny looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon.
‘Sarah, Grace needs changing; can you be a love and see to it?’ Penny passed a squirming, unsettled Grace over with pursed lips, as if she found babies disgusting. Yeah, they sure could be, but Penny’s reaction said more about her lack of maternal instinct than it did about Grace’s dirty nappy. Maybe I had been too harsh on Ben’s parenting abilities, considering his role model.
