Ben called back over his shoulder, “Are you all right?”
The wind swallowed her reply. Leaning forward, she repeated the words directly against his ear, “Yes, I’m fine. This is wonderful.” His hair curled slightly, brushing softly against her cheek. They went over a bump and her lips dragged against the side of his throat. Jessie felt a deep shudder go through him and knew he wasn’t totally immune to her.
The knowledge quivered inside her, humming; a soft sensation of delight that threatened to overwhelm her. Swallowing the urge to test her effect, she drew back and felt his breath release. She smiled, wondering why she no longer felt a sense of alarm. Perhaps it was her imagination, wishful thinking, moon madness. Yet, it felt right to ride into the night with him.
On the way home, they crested a hill. Ben stopped at the sound of her pleased sigh over the display of lights below. Henderson lay snug in a valley between the surrounding hills.
“Seen enough?” he asked. When she nodded, he revved the motor. “The road’s rough in places.” He placed her hands more firmly around him. His foot rammed the gas pedal; they took off, dirt flying. The night felt sticky with a sultry heat.
Lightning chased from cloud to cloud. On an open bike the air rushed by, cooling him, even as his body burned. His body clenched as her breasts pressed against his back, her soft breath brushing his neck. The feel of her sent a pang of hunger shooting through him. He heard her laugh and felt her tighten her hold on him. The sound of her laughter rippled over him. She should laugh more often. She sounded young, free, on the edge of womanhood, free to give herself to a man.
When they reached the familiar markings of Stone’s End, the sky felt closer somehow. At the house, they climbed the stairs in silence. When Bandit growled a low warning, he ignored it.
At the top, Ben hesitated.
Jessie felt a rush of recklessness. She turned and leaned her back against her closed door. His smile was wry as he flattened the palms of his hands on either side of her head.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Ben murmured, staring at her mouth.
Her mouth felt dry—he was going to kiss her! “No, it isn’t,” she said solemnly, agreeing but unable to stop what was happening between them. She had chosen him, back there on that long lonely road. He just didn’t know it yet.
Whatever happened, now or never, she’d made the choice. Perhaps she could make it happen; perhaps she could make him love her. What did she have to lose?
Ben smiled. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
Heaven help her, yes, she did. Jessie couldn’t deny it, didn’t even try. She wanted him to kiss her—more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Once, just once, she promised herself. Slowly he drew her into his arms. She’d waited for this moment; she wanted to hold on to the sensation.
Her silence drew him.
His hands moved from her shoulders to her waist, gathering her against him, and she went, like a new leaf toward the sun, seeking warmth, seeking life. Her body felt curiously light and boneless, inexplicably drawn toward his. New to physical displays of affection, she felt overwhelmed by the instant hunger at the slow slide of his hands. She tilted her head and watched his descend.
“Jessie,” he rasped. He pressed his mouth against hers. His hands curved into her waist, urging her tight against him. Slowly she closed her eyes. A probe of his tongue opened her lips. She tasted him and felt the stamp of his possession—a gentle taking, and a giving. He did nothing to alarm her, perhaps sensing it was her first real kiss. Sensations filtered into her consciousness—the taste of his breath, the heat of his mouth, the hunger. Her hands awkwardly frozen at her sides, she could only feel, she couldn’t respond.
When he slowly withdrew, she wanted to cling, but forced herself to rock back on her heels. “Good night, Jessie.” A smile lingered on his lips.
“Night, Ben,” she whispered, flushing because she could read the knowledge in his eyes. He knew he’d aroused her.
In the morning, Ben waited until Jessie came out of the bathroom after her shower. She smiled when she saw him, and he hated himself for what he was about to do. Surrounded in some lemon scent, she didn’t speak but gazed at him in silence, a question in her smoky pale eyes. A flush rose up her cheeks and he knew she was recalling what had passed between them—in reality a pale imitation of a kiss.
However, he suspected it had been her first real kiss, and knowing that, he had to handle this carefully. “I don’t know how to say it, Jessie, but we can’t repeat last night.” He smiled, hoping to soften his words. “I’m not saying I’m sorry, but let’s forget it. All right?”
“All right,” Jessie agreed, wrapping her robe tighter around her waist. She suddenly felt naked, her deepest feelings exposed. Who was she to argue with a man who had kissed her and insisted once was enough? Obviously, she didn’t affect him the way he did her. Of course, he’d probably kissed more experienced women who actually kissed him back. The fact that he wasn’t sorry was little consolation. Apparently, she was all too forgettable.
When her silence grew awkward, he said, “Well?”
She blinked, her lashes long and silky on her sunkissed cheeks. “Well what?” What did he expect her to say? That she’d hardly slept all night, that she’d anticipated seeing him this morning with a sense of longing that seemed foolish now?
A door slammed below. To her relief, her father’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Jess, where’s breakfast?”
Ben said grimly, “We’ll finish this later.” He hated the way his voice sounded threatening, but he was feeling desperate.
Later that morning, Fred didn’t help. “How’s Jessie?”
“Fine, I guess,” Ben said absently, his gaze scouring a length of road for any sign of an overdue delivery truck. He had no intention of satisfying Fred’s curiosity. The last thing he wanted was an inquisition.
Fred skirted a rut in the middle of the road. “Didn’t see her this morning. She sick or something?”
“She overslept.”
“She overslept?” Fred tilted his hat back. “That sure doesn’t sound like Jessie.”
“She stayed out late last night.”
The older man raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be!”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You and Jessie!” Fred grinned. “About time, too.”
“Don’t be an old fool!”
“Better than a young one. There’s an old saying here in Maine. You can be old and dumb, or young and smart. It’s the dumbness or smartness that counts.”
Grinning, Ben shook his head. “All right, you win.” He was in no position to argue the point. Fortunately for him, the delivery arrived to distract Fred.
The previous night had been a mistake. He shouldn’t have kissed Jessie. He didn’t know what he’d intended, how far he would have gone with her, although something along the lines of a bed had been very much part of the whole scenario. When he’d kissed her, her innocence had shocked him into sanity. He might be confused about a lot of things, but one thing was clear—he respected Jessie too much to lead her on.
At lunchtime, Ben went in search of Jessie.
He found her alone. She was chopping fresh vegetables and tossing them into a thick wooden salad bowl. She looked up when he entered. Before she could speak, he said, “Jessie, I don’t know exactly how to say this, except straight. Don’t get any ideas about last night.” He continued with determination, “You’re sweet and special, and I’d be a bastard to take advantage of you. We both know where this could lead.” He waited for her to comment. When she didn’t, he concluded, “I think we’d better stick to just being friends.”
“I thought we settled that earlier. But, yes, of course.” She bent back to her task—carving radishes, of all things. “If that’s what you want.”
Ben stared at the root vegetable in her hand as she deftly turned it into a delicate flower shape—a rose. “It’s not what I want. But since it’s all I’
m likely to get, I guess I’ll have to settle for it,” he blurted out, feeling driven when she added nothing. For some reason, he needed to spell it out in black and white so there would be no further misunderstandings. “I may be a lot of things, but I haven’t sunk low enough to go around seducing innocent virgins, then walking out on them. Besides…” He argued with himself, exasperated when she simply let him tie himself into knots and hang himself. “Jessie! Damn it! I’m too old for you!”
She didn’t even flinch. “Yes, I know.”
He felt like an absolute fool.
Ben was still standing there churning that over when Ira walked in. “Well, are we having lunch today?”
“Yes, coming right up.” Jessie tossed the last radish into the bowl and followed her father out.
Later, when Ben had time to think, he found her simple response a relief, but just then he’d wanted to wring her neck. While he stood there feeling like a crass pompous fool—an overage fool—she’d pricked his pride, then calmly returned to chopping radishes, turning them into works of art—roses.
Fred grabbed a seat at the table. “My, my, something smells mighty good, Jessie.”
Jessie smiled with something resembling relief. “I made chili. There’s fresh corn bread to go with it.”
Cal joined them for lunch. Conversation was general. All four men made fast work of the spicy, meat-filled dish served over mounds of brown rice. Jessie ate little, Ben noted. Why should he feel guilty, when she hadn’t bothered to argue the obvious fact—he was too old for her? She deserved someone young and strong who would fill her life with joy and laughter and her stomach with babies, not a battle-weary ex-soldier who jumped at loud noises and blanched at the sight of blood. But damn it—last night she’d made him feel again. He bit back a bitter smile. Well, she’d certainly put him in his place. He felt a spark of reluctant admiration.
Cal teased, “If I hadn’t already promised my heart to Mary Ellen O’Connor, I’d marry you, Jessie.” He blushed good-natured when everyone laughed…everyone but Ben.
Jessie, despite her forced smile, could find no humor in the subject of marriage, not with Ben staring at her with the same flinty look he’d worn the day he arrived. Back to square one.
After the men returned to their various chores, she sat there for a moment. Ben’s on-again, off-again moods were a trial of nerves. He had kissed her,—or had he conveniently forgotten that small detail? Even if it was her first kiss, he needn’t worry.
All right, so she’d underestimated the impact of two pairs of lips connecting. She might be young and she might be tempted to explore the sensations further, but she wasn’t silly enough to chase Ben if he wasn’t interested. She didn’t need a man.
Thus far, her experience with the male species hadn’t inspired her to go out and get one of her own.
As far as marriage went, the Carlisles didn’t have a good track record. No, that wasn’t accurate. She recalled her great-grandparents’ wedding portrait—Grandma, plump and pretty in a blue velvet dress, and Grandpa, stern and stoic in a blue serge suit…except for his eyes, stealing a look at his bride. And Gran wore that secret smile. Olivia Carlisle had pressed a rose from her wedding bouquet into the family Bible.
Jessie wondered what advice Gran would have given her now.
Was this feeling for Ben love? This emptiness that needed filling? This craving, this wanting? And what, if anything, did Ben want from her? She was glad Ben had given her her first kiss. Nothing could ever take that away from her. For a brief moment, they’d exchanged taste for taste, breath for breath—a tantalizing sample that had felt strange and wonderful. And brief. Too brief.
A few days later, Ben caught Ira preening in the mirror. “I see the uniform still fits.”
“Not bad.” Ira sucked in, ignoring the strained seams. He polished a brass button with his sleeve. The army uniform recalled Ben’s own pride in his West Point grays. Pride, duty, honor—he’d never questioned any of it.
Fred was impatient. “Come on, Ira. We’re late.”
Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Ben grinned at the pair of them in matching outdated uniforms. “What’s the occasion, Halloween?”
“Independence Day.” Fred bristled. “Let’s get going.” He had a final word for Ben. “You’ll have to bring Jessie.”
His grin wiped away, Ben straightened abruptly. To his relief, Ira objected. “We can wait.”
“Not if we’re going to make the lineup.” Fred grinned. “Parade starts at two sharp.” He’d gotten the last laugh.
A man didn’t stand a chance against the sneaky old codger. The door closed behind the pair. Ben turned at the sound of Jessie rushing down the stairs.
She stopped on the bottom step. “Did they leave?”
Ben slid his hands into his pockets, trying to ignore the way she affected him and failing badly. She was wearing her turquoise dress—the only dress she owned, apparently. The sun had streaked her hair to a paler shade. She was sleek and supple, graceful. If only he’d met her years ago, he could have swept her away and dressed her in silk and lace, even a diamond or two. But, no, he wouldn’t have seen past her lack of glamour back then. And besides, silk and diamonds were all wrong for her. She was too real, too genuine.
The color of her dress did strange things to her eyes, stranger things to his heart—not to mention other parts of his anatomy. What was it about Jessie in a feminine dress that made him aware of all he was missing? A woman. That’s all. Any woman would most likely do, as long as she had sun-streaked, flyaway hair and a smile that wreaked havoc with his hormones. She was gentle-hearted and sweet enough to tenderize the toughest hide, even his.
“They’ve gone ahead,” Ben said huskily. “Looks like you’ll have to come with me.”
While she didn’t look thrilled, he was practically salivating. A few moments later, he was telling her to hang on, as she climbed on the bike behind him.
As the motorcycle roared to life, Ben turned it onto the road in a widening curve that made her clutch him tighter. At the added pressure, his heart knocked in his chest. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of tanned, rounded thigh before she pulled her skirt down and anchored it beneath her knees. Henderson was fifteen miles away, all downhill. By the time he got there, Ben felt as if he’d challenged Mount Everest.
With a feeling of release, he welcomed the sight of the first building. This was insanity. How could he remain immune when her warmth kindled a yearning he’d thought was long dead? “Where to?” he asked.
“The park is in the middle of town.”
Flags were waving. For once, Ben welcomed a crowd, hoping to lose himself in it—after he delivered Jessie to her father. There was no room in his life for a woman— not even one as undemanding as Jessie. Main Street was roped off to through traffic and clogged with locals who had come out for the parade. A few outsiders, like him, stood apart.
For the first time in a long while, Ben felt the need to belong. He took Jessie’s hand, unwilling to lose her in the crush. He didn’t want to lose her. The silent words sent a shudder through him. A drumbeat started to pound.
Chapter Six
Slightly off-key, a band started to play. With the sun burning down on his head, Ben watched the small-town parade. It was standard fare—the floats, the band, the marching unit, the beauty queens. And then, a ragtag unit of army veterans marched into view. The crowd grew silent. Young and old marched in uniform to the drummer’s beat—the crisp tan camouflage of Desert Storm, the motley jungle green of Vietnam, the faded blues, olives and browns of Korea and World War II.
Struck by an array of emotions too numerous to name, Ben tried to ignore a knee-jerk response. But it was too late. Once started, he couldn’t stop the chain of memories. At twenty-one, he’d proudly graduated from West Point. Ten years later, he’d resigned his officer’s commission, put his uniform in storage and his emotions on ice. Since coming to Maine, his feelings had started to thaw.
Ira marched by, head
held high with pride. Fred saw Jessie and winked; he gave a thumbs-up to Ben. The parade route wound up at the veteran’s memorial. Ben tensed at the twenty-one gun salute; his body braced as the rifle shots cracked into the air. When the trumpet played taps, his eyes filled. Unbearably sweet and clear, the notes rose in the stillness.
Jessie shivered. The lone haunting trumpet sent chills down her spine. Her gaze strayed to Ben. His decision to attend the parade had surprised her, even more than his insistence on bringing her with him. As the sounds of the trumpet slowly faded and died, she watched his face contort with some sort of deep, hidden sentiment.
When he became aware of her, a shutter came down over his face. He stayed till the end, then turned and walked away. Filled with an unexpected urge to follow, she stared after him. He’d looked haunted. She’d seen that expression of grief on his face before, and had felt helpless then.
After all these weeks, she still knew so little about him. At first, she hadn’t cared. Caring for Ben would only invite more hurt. She took a step, and then another. “Ben,” she called softly, half hoping he wouldn’t hear.
When she repeated it, he turned abruptly, his body rigid, his mouth set and impatient. “What is it?”
Not knowing quite what she was offering, she stifled the urge to snap back. “There’s a picnic barbecue. I wondered if you’d care to join us.”
His expression didn’t soften. Without a flicker, he muttered, “No, thanks,” and walked crossed the street.
Jessie stared at him in stunned disbelief. He’d cut her off without a hint of regret. She bit her lip. Had he caught the note of pity in her voice? All right, so she should have known pity was the last thing he would accept from her. It was all she had to offer. She should have known better than to tangle with a loner, a stray.
Moments later, she lost sight of Ben in the crowd.
The picnic barbecue tasted like sawdust. Her father and Fred ate the chicken and pasta salad and washed it down with lemonade while she pretended to eat. Her father threw her a worried frown but didn’t comment on her preoccupation. The day passed in a flurry of speeches and demonstrations.
Just Jessie Page 7
