by Holley Trent
Clara rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry.
He put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Sorry, what I meant to say is she understands English and can read it, but isn’t as good at speaking it.”
“Oh,” Daisy remarked. “Well, I bet you both speak a bunch of languages, so you’re ahead of the game.”
He shrugged. “Product of necessity. I learned French as my second language, German when I started school, and English when I started swimming. Moeder started learning English when she met my father, but she gave up.”
Clara rolled her eyes again.
Daisy smiled at her. “I only know two languages. English and Redneck. Fluent, though.”
Clara lifted both eyebrows in confusion, and Ben covered his face as he laughed.
Daisy grinned. “What? I’m serious.”
“You’ll have to demonstrate for me sometime, liefje. Come on.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her toward the hallway. “Good night, Moeder.”
Clara waved them off and resumed her scanning of the refrigerator contents.
Ben guided Daisy down a corridor and led her into a guest bedroom which containing few furnishings besides the queen-sized bed and dresser. He shut the door and heeled off his shoes.
She cleared her throat and hooked her thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “Um…does your mother think…”
He sat on the edge of the bed and cocked his head to the side. “Think what? That we’re going to have sex?”
His expression was so flat—unreadable—all she could manage was a small nod.
He shrugged. “I don’t know what she thinks. I’m over thirty. We have a don’t ask, don’t tell sort of relationship when it comes to these things.”
Blood rushed to her head so fast, the dizziness made her reach for the doorframe. “You do these sorts of things often?”
“Bringing women home?” He peeled his T-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor as he locked his gaze on her.
She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.
The barest grin quirked up his lips. “Why do you ask?”
Good question. Why did I ask? She tracked across the room to the picture window and stared out it. He didn’t seem like the innocent virginal sort to her. He had to have gotten his practice somehow and with someone. “Just curious.”
“Fair enough, but if I answer that, you have to answer a question for me in return.”
Some animal—a hunting dog, probably—made a white bolt past the window and toward the woods. She tracked it with her eyes until it disappeared into the dark, and jumped a bit when Ben’s warm hands grasped her waist beneath her shirt.
He pressed his lips against the crook of her neck and kissed. “Why did that scare you?”
As he dragged his lips up her neck, she put her head back and savored the caress of his hands, moving slowly up her torso toward her breasts. “Trouble zone for me,” she said when she’d managed to catch her breath.
“What do you mean?”
She sniffed and squirmed free of his grasp, crossing her arms over her chest once more and leaning her rear end against the window ledge. “You’re probably used to really athletic women, seeing as how you’re around swimmers all the time. The only exercise I get lately is running out of the rain.”
He braced his hands against the window ledge on either side of her and planted one foot between the two of hers. His expression went flat again—dark, even—as he nudged her feet a bit further apart. He leaned in close to her right ear and dragged his tongue along the lobe before pulling the lobe between his teeth.
Her body bowed toward his at the sensation, her hardened nipples pressing against his chest at the tiny pain he caused.
He whispered, “If I didn’t like the way you look, you wouldn’t be standing here.” One of his hands left the window ledge, and his fingers gripped the front waistband of her shorts, giving her a yank forward.
It wasn’t an angry yank or even a possessive one. It was a pull that said, “Pay attention.”
So she did. Blood thrummed in her ears as his deft fingers unfastened her button and lowered her fly. He pulled her shorts down in one easy yank, sending her panties following quickly after and never breaking their eye contact.
“Step out,” he said in a commanding tone not much louder than a whisper.
Even at that volume, her compulsion was to obey, though she had no idea why. She just picked one foot up, then the other, and nudged her bottoms aside.
He raised her shirt hem just over her navel and paused there. “Lift your arms, please.”
She raised them high over her head and shuddered as the cool air from the nearby air register tickled the skin of her torso. Feeling very exposed all of a sudden, she looked down to find her bra had shifted and provided no cover for her tormented nipples.
Cheap bra. Gramma Boudreaux was right. Buy cheap, sag by twenty.
He shored up her chin with his hand, angling her face so her eyes met his once more. Strong, warm hands kneaded her shoulders and edged down her goosebump-mottled arms, pulling her chest against his. “Are you going to answer my question?”
She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with air, hoping it’d calm her nervous core. Truth or lie? What lie could she possibly tell? She was a human being with human feelings and a whole lot of estrogen steering them. Her fingers tightened their grip on the window ledge as she forced herself to lock on his blue gaze.
“I don’t want to think about you with other women.”
There. The truth. Self-esteem was a very fragile thing, so even for a fling, she didn’t want to think about what he’d had before and what he’d likely be returning to in Belgium.
She forced herself to be brave and studied every inch of his face for signs of revulsion. There were none. No narrowing of his eyes. No clenching of his jaw. No flaring of his nostrils. The only movement he made was to hook the top of her bra cups further down so the fabric was hidden beneath her breasts and bunched with her underwires. He flicked his thumbs over her nipples and she moaned.
Standing there against the window, she suddenly felt a lot like the whore Barry always accused her of being on all those evenings she’d returned home from a night out with friends or late from work.
But, that wasn’t right. How could she be?
For once in her life, she needed to do something solely because it made her feel good, even if only for a little while. So, when Ben ceased fondling her breasts and dropped his shorts, she put her chin up a little higher and willed all the dark thoughts away. He picked up one of her legs and wrapped it around his waist. “Trust me, liefje.”
“Yes,” she whispered. She thought of pleasure once more when he scooped her up by the bottom and pressed her back against the window.
He wrapped her other leg around his waist and nudged her wet, waiting opening with his cock.
She thought of nothing at all when he pushed himself into her, beyond nothing the anticipatory intensity of his blue stare.
He wanted her, so she didn’t have to think.
Just feel.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Waking Daisy would have been the decent thing to do, but Ben didn’t give a shit at the moment about decency. He lay on his side, face propped onto his fist, watching the rise and fall of her back, bemused about her lips forming words that had no sound.
What must she have been dreaming?
Tap-tap-tuh-tap. The faint, rhythmic knock was Jerry’s calling card.
Ben said nothing, but after a moment—long enough for a person to cover himself, ostensibly—the door arced inward.
Jerry held up a wrist in the door opening, silently indicating his watch.
Ben shook his head. He wasn’t getting up. Wasn’t rousing sleeping beauty.
Jerry spread his right thumb and index finger wide and held them up to his ear. “I’ll call you,” he was saying.
Ben gave him a thumbs-up response, and he shut the door.
S
o, what now?
He smoothed hair away from Daisy’s face and let his hand rest on her naked shoulder.
Such a timid little thing, just like a rabbit or a deer. Afraid to let a man get too close. He could see her hesitation every time her eyes widened and cheeks flushed, but what could he do? Make promises?
No. He was a man of action, not empty words. She likely wouldn’t believe the words ticking through his mind, anyway—words like home, family, and love, if she’d let him.
Her loving him would make the prospect of him turning his life upside down—staging a trans-Atlantic move—seem so much more rewarding. Sure, being closer to his brother was enticing, but this woman—this quiet, mystery of a woman, made him want to plant roots. If she didn’t want him, no way could he take that job, because eventually she’d move on to someone else, and he didn’t want to see it.
She stirred, eyelids fluttering and lips closing. When she opened her eyes, she stared, seemingly unseeing, at him for a moment, then pushed up onto her forearms in a hurry.
“What time is it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nine. Ten. Later. Don’t know.”
She rolled over and rotated her body so her legs dangled off the bed. “I’ve got to go to work! Fuck. I don’t have time to shower.”
He rolled his eyes, wrapped his arms around her waist, and dragged her back to the center of the bed.
She didn’t fight it, nor did she complain when he rolled onto her and nudged her hair from her eyes.
“Liefje, I’d like you to be my date for the wedding, if you don’t already have one.”
Tentatively, she drew her fingertips along his jaw line, stopping at the base of his ear. “That sounds lovely, and I bet you’re gorgeous in a suit.” Her voice was tender. Reverent. Apologetic.
He wrapped his hand around her fingers and kissed them. “But? You were invited, so I know that isn’t it.”
“No. I hadn’t planned on going. My ex-husband works at the reception venue. I avoid him.”
Was that all? “He won’t bother you if you’re on my arm.”
That actually made her chuckle.
“What?”
She lifted her brows and sighed. “I think the opposite would be true. My mother has been encouraging him to try to reconcile.”
He loosened his grip on her fingers, but she grabbed his hand tighter. Her eyes narrowed, accusingly.
“I divorced him for a reason, Ben, and I want that divorce to stick.”
He wanted to believe her, but if it wasn’t her ex in the picture, why was she so cagey?
“Let me up, please. I’ve got a bunch of soap to finish for a scheduled shipment.”
“Okay.” He rolled off her and watched her walk nude to the window toward her. She was nuts if she thought there was anything wrong with that body. There wasn’t much spare about her. She was soft in all the places he liked, so touching her—exploring her curves and nooks—was a treat.
Stepping into her shorts, she called, “Ben?”
“Hmm?”
“Last night you said if I answered your question, I could ask you one.” She concentrated on her button and zipper, then raised her apprehensive gaze to him.
He’d have to teach her there was nothing to fear from him. What did she expect him to do? Yell, or…
Ah. Perhaps she’s quiet because she’s been repeatedly told not to talk.
He pushed himself more upright and nodded. “You can ask me anything, Daisy. Anytime.”
The twitch of her lips signaled she didn’t believe him, but he didn’t press. She needed proof. Action, not more words, no matter how sweet.
“You called me lie—” She furrowed her forehead. “Uh, lief…”
“Liefje,” he offered.
She repeated it. “Liefje. What does that mean?”
He grinned. “It’s a Dutch pet name. Uh…” He made a waffling motion with his hand. “A term of endearment that loosely translates to English as darling.”
“Darling?” Her cheeks glowed red.
“Mm-hmm.” He nodded. “Darling. Liefje. And before you ask—no, I don’t call everyone liefje.”
“Oh,” she said quietly. She pulled her shirt over her head, and while loosening her hair from the neck, mouthed it again. “Liefje.”
When she left, Ben made up the bed in the guest room, showered, dressed, and walked across the side yard to the garage apartment. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and let himself in without knocking. “Moeder?”
No response.
He figured she was probably still sleeping, given her late night, and turned on his heel to depart.
“Wait, wait!” she called from the bedroom in Dutch. “I’m coming.”
He waited at the kitchenette table for her and sifted through the pile of paperbacks she’d toted all the way from Belgium.
She stepped into the great room wearing tan slacks and a peach sweater set, looking fresh as a daisy.
“Did you sleep?” he asked, hooking one eyebrow up at her.
“Nope. Been up all night catching up on books and watching television.”
“Television?”
She nodded. “Very interesting, the shows here.”
He’d have to take her word for it. He hadn’t spent much time in front of screens, including his computer’s, since arriving the US. His email inbox was probably in catastrophic straits. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Wired.”
“Why?”
She shrugged and flitted about the room, straightening up this thing and that. “Don’t know. Maybe it’s being somewhere new. Or maybe it’s the drugs wearing off and my brain won’t shut up. It’s all, yakyakyak.” She pantomimed two chattering mouths with her hands.
He put up his hands to bid her to be still—to wait. “You’re not taking the antidepressants anymore? Does your doctor know?”
“He’s been weaning me off. Went to zero last week.”
Shit. He couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t medicated. She’d usually be right around borderline, but sometimes sadder and harder to pull out of her funks than usual. He hadn’t seen her this manic ever. Weird.
“So, how are you feeling?”
She sat at the table and rested her hands atop the placemat. “Terrified.”
“About what?”
“That I won’t stay in control.”
“What’s so bad about falling apart if you need to?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“Do you want to go to Edenton? Do some sightseeing? Have lunch? Maybe you’ll nap in the car on the way there.”
“One could hope.”
They took Trinity’s sedan, and once secured beneath seatbelts and headed toward town, Moeder surprised him.
“I hope you’re not leading that woman on.”
“What?” He quickly righted the car from the grassy shoulder he’d driven onto and centered it in the lane. “Are you joking?”
“Daisy. I won’t stand for it.”
“Stand for what? What did I do?”
“I don’t know. You tell me. You’re going home next week. What’s going to happen after that?”
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, not answering.
“What are her expectations? Have you made her promises?” Her voice held an edge he’d never before heard from the retiring woman.
When he shifted his gaze from the roadway to look at her, the jaw hinge he could see was tightly coiled and her lips were pressed into a flat line.
He blew out a breath and focused on the road. “I haven’t made her any promises. I asked her to be my date to Jerry’s wedding and she refused me.”
That seemed to bring her relief. She slumped a bit in his peripheral vision.
“Moeder, I’m not going to break her and run away. I’m not that kind of man. I’m not like—”
He didn’t need to say it.
She turned her face toward her window and stared at the passing pine trees.
<
br /> They didn’t speak again until he parked the car on Broad Street and looped his arm around her shoulders.
“Sweet little place, isn’t it?” He gestured to the centuries-old storefronts. “It’s a Colonial town. One of the first areas the English settled in.”
“It is sweet. Quiet. I like the quiet.”
He pulled her toward a bakery/cafe he’d become quite attached to during his time in Chowan County. The owner made a different quiche every day and also offered a variety of soups and sandwiches. Ben had been there probably fifteen times in less than three months and hadn’t gotten bored with it yet.
This time, however, something gave him pause.
A tall man at the register turned at the sound of the door’s chiming bells and smiled at them both. “Hey.” He waved them over.
Ben stood frozen and tightened his grip around his mother’s shoulders.
“Come on!” Louis addressed the people in line behind him. “Sorry, mind if they cut? That’s my son.”
If Moeder had noticed the slight, she had no visceral reaction to it. Besides, what could he say? “There’s the woman I utterly screwed over thirty-something years ago. Isn’t she pretty in that color?”
“It’s all right, Ben,” she whispered, rubbing his spine with the flat of her palm. “Go on.”
They marched to the counter, and Ben gave the waiting patrons in line behind them a nod. “Sorry, we’ll be fast,” he told the woman who made a gap for them.
“Take your time, hon. I ain’t got nowhere else to be.”
He grinned at her all the same, put in an order for whatever the salad and quiche special was, and grabbed two drinks out of the cooler. He let his father pay.
They found a clean table in front of the café’s large storefront window.
Louis pulled out a chair for Moeder, and she sat, clutching her purse on her lap and giving Ben a wary flit of her gaze. He took the seat to her right. Louis sat across from her and to Ben’s right.
Louis warmed his hands around his paper coffee cup, and looked at Ben, then Moeder. He spoke in Dutch. “I, uh, come here most days for a light lunch. I work just down there.” He turned his body around and pointed toward the street corner where a mixed-use office building stood. “It’s temporary. I used to commute, then last year I started working from my home office. Recently I had to rent out some office space because where I’m living now doesn’t have the square footage for a desk.”
