Committed

by Velvet Vaughn

  "I am not going to hurt you," he gritted out. "It’s me, Ben Smith. I’m going to remove my hand, but if you start to scream, I’ll gag you. Nod if you understand." She nodded. He eased his hand away.

  "Ben?"

  She spun around, catching him off guard. Her maneuvering lined them up face to face. He couldn’t resist lowering himself until their bodies touched, his eyes closing on a groan.

  She inhaled sharply and her hands shot to his chest. She didn’t push him away. Instead, her fingers raked across his pecs, her eyes darkening with unmistakable desire.

  Before he did something really stupid, like tasting her lush mouth, sanity returned and he recalled his surroundings.

  He shot to his feet, willing his body to cool. "What the hell are you doing breaking into this office in the middle of the night?" His voice came out gruffer than he intended but dammit, she affected him in ways he’d rather not think about.

  She wiggled to a sitting position and looked up at him warily. Lifting her chin, she said primly, "Technically, it’s not breaking and entering since the door wasn’t locked."

  Damn. Unlocked door. Rookie mistake. And he was no rookie. Pissed at himself for the oversight, he ground out, "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

  She chewed a fingernail, her brows dipped in thought. He could practically see a light pop on in her head and she met his gaze triumphantly. "I must have been sleepwalking. I tend to do that sometimes and if you would just excuse me—"

  His hand shot out and clamped on her shoulder when she started to stand.

  "Try again."

  "I was hungry and wanted a midnight snack?"

  He had to fight a smile when her excuse came out as a question. "Nu-uh."

  "Got lost on the way to the bathroom?"

  He lifted his brows.

  Her whole body sagged with a deep sigh. "Okay fine." Her hand slashed out. "Busted. I was snooping, but you caught me," she confessed. "Just go ahead and report me or put me in a straightjacket or the padded room or whatever it is you do to rule-breakers like me."

  At her mention of the padded room, his lower body tightened. An image of what he could do to her in that small comfy space flashed through his brain and just like that, he became instantly and painfully aroused. He spun around so she wouldn’t notice the obvious direction of his thoughts.

  "Is that a file in your pants?" She sputtered in outrage. "You were snooping, too!"

  He whirled back around and pinned her with his meanest glare, the one known to induce many a suspect into singing like a canary. "I am an employee," he reminded her through clenched teeth, pissed at making another crucial mistake. "I have access to anywhere and everywhere."

  A lie but she didn’t need to know that.

  "Then why are you hiding the file in your pants?"

  Ben swallowed hard, trying to control his anger. "I’m doing the questioning here. You have some explaining to do."

  "Uhm…" Her eyes darted around as she frantically attempted to conjure another lie.

  His frustration peaked. "Tell you what, why don’t we start with an easy one." He ripped the words out with impatience. "Where are you from, Ms. Mead?"

  "Long Islan…er, uh, don’t uh, have a home. Right now. I, I used to live on Long Island, er, years ago."

  He shook his head, his anger easing marginally. She was the most pathetic liar. "So you are currently homeless?"

  "No."

  Ah ha, he caught her in a lie, according to the information on her chart.

  "I’m living here at the Institute now so I couldn’t be classified as homeless."

  He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. She infuriated the hell out of him and he didn’t have time for this. She eyed the door, probably trying to figure out if she could get to it before he caught her. That would be a no. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet.

  "What are you doing? Where are you taking me?"

  She tried to dig in her heels but her nylon slippers slid easily across the floor. He tugged her along, ignoring her outraged sputtering. Picking up her flashlight, he handed it to her. "We need to get out of here or you will be busted."

  "What about you," she whispered harshly. "You broke and entered before I did."

  "Ah, but that is your word against mine. The way I see it, I was taking a leisurely stroll and came across you, a hospital patient," he carefully avoided calling her mental, "snooping, as you so helpfully called it. Me, being the loyal employee, nabbed you red-handed in the act."

  "What about the file."

  "You mean the one you filched? Evidence."

  "You bastard. That’s a lie."

  "Is it?"

  Carefully opening the door, he scanned the hall. The coast was clear so he hauled Kellie out and headed for the stairs.

  "My room is the other way," she reminded him impatiently.

  "So it is," he agreed, never breaking stride.

  "I swear if you don’t let go, I’m going to scream."

  "Try it, honey," he smirked over his shoulder. "I can guarantee you won’t like the consequences."

  She growled in frustration.

  He chuckled.

  Once he reached the stairwell, he spun her around and hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. At her swift intake of breath, he remembered her condition and froze. Reaching around her back, he slid her into his arms instead. "Sorry. I forgot. Are you okay?"

  "No, I’m not okay, you moron. You are kidnapping me!" She paused. "What did you forget?"

  "Your condition."

  "What condition?"

  Stabbing the key into the lock for the third floor, he toted her to his room. He checked the tape—still in place—and carried her inside, depositing her on the bed.

  Her jaw dropped open as her head swiveled around. "Are we in the same place?"

  "Yep."

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. He instantly dropped to his knees in front of her. "Did I hurt you?"

  "My pride, maybe," she grumbled.

  "No, I mean…you know?"

  "Oh, you mean my," she made air quotes, "condition."

  He nodded.

  "What freaking condition?"

  "Shhh."

  "Yeah, yeah," she jerked her head back and batted his hand away when he tried to cover her mouth. "What condition?" she repeated in a low voice.

  "Oh, I don’t know, maybe the one where you are having a baby?"

  "What?" she screeched, jumping to her feet.

  "We are not the only ones in this building you know."

  She stared at him wide eyed, color siphoning from her face. Boy she was good. He almost believed she didn’t know about her impending motherhood.

  Crossing his arms, his gaze raked her from head to toe before landing on her flat belly. No bump. She must not be very far along.

  Her eyes narrowed at his bold inspection, color slowly returning to her porcelain skin. "Why do you think that?" She tugged at her top. "If it’s this stupid shirt, well, it isn’t the most fashionable thing and I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it to wear but I don’t think it makes me look—"

  He’d had enough of her denials. He whipped the file from behind his back and slapped it into her hands. "Read."

  She glanced from the file to him and back again before slowly peeling the sides open. He whirled around, disgusted with himself for wanting to comfort her, gather her in his arms, knowing she carried another man’s child.

  He heard her sharp inhale and knew she had discovered the results of her test. The one word stuck out from all others on the page: Pregnant.

  Chapter Nine

  Rachel blinked and reread the results for the third time. Then she flipped the file over and checked the name again. No mistake. Dr. Bexley clearly marked her pregnancy test positive. As in with child.

  She couldn’t stop her reaction. Tears flowed and she doubled over.

  "Ms. Mead…Kellie, are you okay?"

  Ben rushed to her side, his strong hands gripping her shoul
ders. She lifted her head to him.

  "Please don’t cr…are you laughing?"

  He released her as if burned and crossed his thickly muscled arms over his equally muscled chest.

  She grabbed her side, the fit of laughter causing a stitch. Through water-filled eyes, she noted his thunderous scowl. He obviously didn’t grasp the humor in the situation.

  "What the hell is so funny?" he growled.

  So not amused. She jabbed a finger at the chart. "This."

  His icy glower put a damper on her laughter. Wiping moisture from her cheeks with her fingertips, she blew out a breath.

  "Granted, I’m no doctor, but I think, I think…you need to actually have sex to make a baby."

  He continued to stare at her in total confusion. She sighed again. Well, now, wasn’t this going to be fun: telling this gorgeous hunk about her love life, or lack thereof.

  "It’s not possible for me to be pregnant because I haven’t had sex recently."

  "How recently."

  "For…uh," she cleared her throat, "a few months."

  "How many months are a few?"

  Her shoulders sagged. There was no way to avoid it. "Forty-eight."

  "Forty-eight?" he croaked. "You haven’t had sex in four years?"

  "Yeah, so," she groused, turning her back to him. "Not like I’m missing anything."

  No, after her disastrous relationship with Hugo Wentworth, "Huey" to his friends, she just didn’t get what the fascination was with sex. Huey barely managed to get his pants down, let alone inside her before he erupted. And when he did last long enough for penetration, it was painful and awkward. Plus, he had no idea how to turn a woman on. After he pinched her nipples too hard one too many times, she flat asked him not to touch them.

  Huey had been her first college boyfriend. They were both young so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. She tried again a few years later with an older, more experienced partner but for her, the results were the same. She just wasn’t very sexual. Besides, Ms. Pennycote, the etiquette coach her parents hired to prepare her for her debutante ball, drilled into her head that well-bred women were not supposed to enjoy sex. They were to suffer through it simply as a means to produce children.

  "Tame that bird’s nest you call hair and maybe you’d get more action."

  Ben’s voice jarred her from her thoughts and her mouth dropped open in outrage, her hand flying to her head. He was making fun of her hair?

  He stroked his chin with a thumb and forefinger. "Now I’m not saying I’m one of them, but some men like a little make-up on a woman, you know, cover up those splotchy freckles on your nose."

  Indignantly, she covered her nose. "My freckles?" she garbled behind her hand.

  "And then there’s that wardrobe." He uncrossed one arm long enough to rake a hand in front of her body. "What was it you wore the first day I met you? Flannel?"

  That’s it. She was going to kill him. No one made fun of her wardrobe.

  "And you are on the skinny side. A guy likes a little meat on the bones, you know, something to grab onto when he—"

  He just didn’t know when to stop. "You over-muscled Neanderthal." Her hand whipped back but he blocked her, shackling her wrist as he spun her around, trapping her arms with her back plastered against his front.

  Her damn traitorous nipples stiffened when his warm breath fanned her ear.

  "Course, that on again, off again mental thing you’ve got going on doesn’t help matters, I’m sure."

  Ah well, he did have a point there, she conceded in defeat. If it weren’t for the steel bands he called arms, she would slither to the floor.

  "Are you laughing again?"

  "Uh, no. I don’t see anything funny about being manhandled."

  "Then your hip is really happy to see me."

  Before she could figure out his comment, a big hand palmed her side and whipped out her cell phone while the other arm kept hers pinned to her sides.

  Oh God, Ari. She completely forgot to check in with her sister, let her know she was okay. "Give me that—don’t you dare answer."

  "Hello?"

  Rachel twisted and kicked, trying to break free so she could grab the phone. She experienced a small burst of satisfaction when her foot connected with his shin and he grunted.

  "Hold on a second."

  He was a decent guy, handing her the phone. She stopped fighting.

  Caught off guard, she didn’t have time to prepare as he flung them to the bed. She landed with her head buried in the pillow and his over two-hundred pound body crushing her to the mattress.

  Well, crap.

  "Who is this?" He held the phone where she could listen.

  There was a pause before Ari responded, "Who is this?"

  "I asked first," the brute said.

  "Well I’m asking now."

  You go, Ari.

  The jerk pulled the phone away and said in her ear, "Let me guess, sister?"

  She twitched involuntarily. Of course he picked up on it.

  "So you are the sister?"

  "Who is this and where the heck is Rachel…oops, shit, I mean Kellie?"

  "Watch your language, Ari," she admonished. But with ten pounds of down-filled bedspread crammed in her mouth, it came out as nothing more than a grunt.

  "So her name is Rachel, is it? Does Rachel have a last name, ‘cause I’m guessing it ain’t Mead?"

  "Oh, hell."

  Rachel heard the loud bleat of a dial tone. Now Ari would be even more worried and she would tell Dad and he would call in the National Guard and storm the place. All of her plans were shot and she would never find out what happened to Molly.

  She had been so close.

  The weight of her failure overwhelmed her. Suddenly it was all too much and Rachel began to sob.

  #

  "Hey." Ben rolled off the woman he now knew to be Rachel when she started to weep. There was no mistaking it for laughter this time. Sobs racked her body and as soon as he moved, she curled into a fetal position.

  "Ah, damn, don’t cry. Here." He held out the phone so she could ring her sister back. She ignored it and bawled harder.

  "Do you want me to call her?"

  Her head moved from side to side.

  "What is her name?"

  She couldn’t answer at first. After a few moments, she sniffed, "Ari."

  Hell, he couldn’t stand to see any woman cry but watching this one weep impacted him like a sledgehammer to the gut. He brushed the hair off her face with one hand while he hit redial. Ari picked up immediately.

  "Rachel? Oh God, is that you? I’ve been worried sick. Why haven’t you called and who was that man that answered your phone?"

  "Ari? No, please don’t hang up," Ben inserted after the harsh intake of breath. "Kell…I mean Rachel is right here with me and she’s fine."

  "Can I please talk to her," Ari pleaded in a small voice.

  "Sure, just a second."

  He clutched the phone against his shoulder and tucked a strand of hair behind Rachel’s ear. She stopped sobbing and eyed him warily through swollen eyes.

  "Your sister wants to talk to you."

  He held the phone to her again. She wiped her red nose with the back of her hand and pushed upright, scooting against the headboard. Snatching a tissue from the box on the nightstand, he handed it to her. She smiled weakly and put the phone to her ear.

  "Hi, Ari. No, no, I’m fine. What? Oh, just allergies."

  Ben dragged the chair from the desk and flipped it around to straddle it. Crossing his arms over the top, he watched her reassure her sister. Rosy nose and cheeks, bloodshot eyes, hair a wild tangle of black curls, and he still felt that same spark of attraction that shocked him every time he saw her.

  "No, I haven’t found out anything yet." She peeked at him under her lashes, cupped her hand around the phone and turned away to whisper, "No, please don’t tell Dad. I swear I’ll keep you posted. Really, I’m fine and I’ll be home soon, I promise. Love you, too.
Bye."

  She blew her nose and regarded him thoughtfully. When the silence stretched she heaved a sigh. "Guess you want to know what’s going on."

  Ya think? He didn’t push, just waited for her to explain on her own.

  She chewed her bottom lip and eyed him warily. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  He quirked an amused brow. "Do you have a choice?"

  "Well, there is that."

  Lifting her legs, she slid them beneath the covers, tucking the quilt under her arms. His body reacted to her relaxing in his bed. He swallowed roughly and concentrated on her words.

  "I’m not really mentally unstable." She rubbed her forehead. "I’m just the worst undercover detective ever."

  "You don’t say." Wait a minute. He bolted upright. Did she just admit she was a detective?

  "I could get through this much easier without the sarcasm," she chastised.

  "Sorry," he mumbled. "Go on."

  "A friend of mine was admitted to Bexley a couple of months ago. I didn’t know it at the time. She called late one night, frantic and scared but got cut off before she finished and then I couldn’t reach her. I kept getting the run-around but finally talked to someone who told me she signed herself out and left the facility voluntarily. I stupidly assumed she would show up on my doorstep. But when she didn’t, I began to worry. I tried everything I could think of to find her but she just disappeared."

  She dabbed at her nose. "My friend is a bit of a troublemaker, so the authorities wouldn’t take me seriously. I started ruffling feathers but word got around to my father. He ordered me to stop…that Moll, er, my friend had pulled stunts like this before, just up and disappeared. But she always came back. This time she didn’t."

  Her friend must be Molly Miller, one of the girls the anonymous tipster mentioned to the FBI.

  "After time passed and still no word from her, I had to do something."

  "So you decided to get yourself committed."

  She nodded ruefully. "A trip to Goodwill, a perm, box of hair color, fake contacts, and a few bucks to pay someone to drop me off, and here I am."