Anything But Love

by Abigail Strom

  “I loved it,” he said. “Thank you for convincing me to do this. You showed me a whole new world today.”

  She was so used to thinking of Ben as the strong one, the one who had things to teach her. The reminder that she could give him something, too, was as heady as champagne.

  “It was my pleasure,” she said.

  Then she kissed him.

  It was like their first kiss that rainy night, except that this time the sun was shining and she was sober and she didn’t have to second-guess herself or hold back or wonder if Ben wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  The hard-on grinding against her was a pretty good indicator.

  It was only when another group of snorkelers floated past that she remembered they were in public . . . and that they didn’t have to be.

  She tore her mouth from his. “Back to the room?” she asked, panting.

  “Hell yes.”

  An hour later they lay curled up together in bed. Ben was spooning her from behind and she was thinking that she never wanted to move again, when her stomach growled.

  Ben chuckled. “Hungry?”

  She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh my God. How did it get to be so late? It’s lunchtime, and we haven’t even had breakfast yet. How did that happen?”

  He nuzzled the back of her neck. “Do you need a reminder of how we spent the morning? Because I’d be happy to give you the play-by-play. I’d be even happier to reenact it.”

  She turned in his arms to face him. “Would it be too decadent to order room service? I’m starving, but I don’t want to get up. Ever.”

  Ben hadn’t shaved yet, and the scruff of his beard made him look more rakish than usual. Between the look of satisfaction in his dark eyes and the lazy half smile on his face, he was the embodiment of male contentment.

  “I think that’s the best idea I’ve ever heard. Let’s do it.”

  They ended up ordering pizza and eating in bed, which made her feel even more decadent.

  “I have to take a shower,” she said afterward, dabbing at a drop of tomato sauce on her arm. “I’m disgusting. I’m covered in dried ocean water and pizza and—”

  Ben leaned over and kissed her, wet and sloppy and carnal.

  “Whatever you’re covered in, I like it,” he murmured afterward.

  She blinked, lost in an erotic haze. “I can’t have sex again. Not right now. I just ate, for one thing. And I really do want to take a shower.”

  He leaned back against the pillows and grinned at her. “That’s mighty presumptuous of you, ma’am. Who said anything about sex?”

  She gestured toward him. “Everything about you says sex. You’re sex incarnate.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Sex incarnate? Wow. Nobody’s ever called me that before.”

  “Well, now they have,” she said, forcing herself to get out of bed. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  But she saw him sooner than that. She’d only been standing under the spray a few moments when the bathroom door opened, and Ben stood there in all his naked glory.

  “I’m covered in ocean water and pizza too. Would you mind if I joined you?”

  She’d never showered with anyone before. The idea had never appealed to her . . . until now.

  “Okay,” she said.

  She’d never realized that an activity could be practical and sexy at the same time. Ben washed every inch of her, making her moan when he slipped the washcloth between her legs. Then he let her return the favor, and she appreciated the perfection of his body anew as she scrubbed his smooth skin and felt the bunch and release of his muscles under her hands.

  When they were both thoroughly clean, a crazy impulse made her drop to her knees, and Ben groaned when she took him into her mouth. His arm shot out as he braced himself against the shower wall, and she did all the things she knew he liked.

  He didn’t let her go all the way this time. He pulled her upright before he came, kissing her under the shower spray before turning off the water.

  “I honestly didn’t come in here for sex,” he said, stepping onto the bath mat and helping her out of the shower. “But now that you’ve gone and done that, I have to have you. Let’s get back into bed.”

  A wild idea came into her head. “There’s something I want,” she blurted as he was toweling her dry.

  He stopped what he was doing. “Anything,” he said. “I mean literally anything. You name it and I’ll do it.”

  She turned away from him to face the counter and the mirror behind it.

  “I want you to take me from behind,” she said quickly, before she could lose her nerve. “Right here, so I can see you.”

  His eyes met hers in the mirror. “Jesus,” he said.

  Self-doubt filled her. “Is that too weird?”

  He came up behind her and put his hands on her bare shoulders, kissing the crook of her neck.

  “Hell no. It’s just that you keep surprising me.” He paused. “In a really good way.”

  He straightened up and looked at her in the mirror again. “Wait here and don’t move. I’m going to get a condom.”

  A minute later she was bent at the waist, her hands splayed out on the counter, and Ben was positioning himself behind her. He entered her with one smooth stroke and she moaned, shaken to her core at the feel of his hard length inside her and the sight of him in the mirror, his eyes hooded and his face taut with pleasure.

  She stared at him, enthralled. She’d never seen anything so sexy. Ben was all need and passion and raw masculinity, driving into her with one hand on her back and one hand on her hip. It felt so good, so incredible, and yet—

  “I don’t think I can come like this,” she gasped out. “Maybe we should—”

  His eyes met hers in the mirror, and a pulse of desire rippled through her.

  “You want to come, Jess?”

  She nodded, her heart thudding.

  “I’m on it.”

  The hand on her hip slid down between her thighs, and the pad of his middle finger found the place that ached for his touch.

  “Oh God.”

  Every time Ben thrust inside her she bumped against his hand, and as he started rubbing in hard, tight circles, her bones and muscles seemed to dissolve in pleasure, waves and ripples and arrows of pleasure that rose into a wild crescendo.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Should we order room service for dinner?” Ben asked.

  He was hoping the answer would be yes.

  They’d spent the afternoon cuddled up in bed, reading and talking and—incredibly—making love again. Afterward they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, waking up an hour later to find that it was almost dinnertime.

  “I’ve never spent a day like this in my life,” Jessica murmured.

  She was lying naked in the circle of his arms. She seemed to glow with vitality and contentment, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  “It suits you,” he said, and she tilted her head back to look at him.

  “You’re just saying that because you’re getting laid every few hours.”

  He grinned down at her. “Very possible. But I notice that you’re not complaining.”

  She shook her head slowly. “Nope. No complaints here.” She stretched, the movement making her look as lazy and graceful and sinuous as a cat, and then she rose to a sitting position. “But we can’t order room service again. Can we?”

  “Who’s going to stop us?”

  She blinked. “You know, you’re right.” She sat up straighter. “Let’s do it,” she said decisively. “Let’s order room service for dinner.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’ll get the menu.”

  He ordered a cheeseburger and fries while Jessica decided on a salad. A little while later they were digging into their food out on the patio as the sun sank into a bed of glory.

  He was thinking about other blissful moments in his life, wondering if any of them could compare with this one, when Jessica’s phone vibrated.


  She glanced at the screen and frowned. She hesitated a moment, her brow furrowed and her teeth sunk into her lower lip, before accepting the call.

  “Hi, Tom.”

  Her ex-fiancé was calling her?

  Jessica rose to her feet and wandered a short distance away, listening as the other man spoke. Ben grabbed his beer and went inside, wanting to give her privacy.

  A few minutes later she popped her head in. “You should come back out if you don’t want me to finish your fries,” she said.

  He joined her at the table again. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes.” She took a sip of water and leaned back in her chair, gazing out at the sunset over the ocean. “He wanted to be sure I was all right. He feels pretty guilty about everything.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s got reason to feel guilty.”

  Jessica shook her head. “I don’t blame him for anything that happened. We both made choices out of fear, and I’m glad he found the courage to make a better choice before it was too late.”

  It was a generous thing to say, but . . .

  “What about you?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “What about your choices? What are you going to do when we get back to New York?”

  Her face tensed a little, and he wondered if he should let it go.

  “I’m not sure.” She hesitated. “Although . . . Tom actually offered me a job. Or, well, conveyed an offer from Everett.”

  “From Everett?”

  She nodded. “He works for the Wildlife Foundation. That’s how we met.” She smiled faintly. “I introduced him to Tom a few years ago. Now he’s moving to New York to head up their office there, and he wants me to do some fund-raising work for them.”

  Huh. “I don’t have particularly friendly feelings for Tom or Everett, but I have to say, that’s actually a pretty good idea. Are you going to consider it?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I’m grateful to them for the suggestion, though. And I’m glad that Tom called. I don’t want to lose his friendship.”

  “He should be worried about losing your friendship.”

  She shook her head. “He won’t. There were times in my life when Tom was the only person I could stand to be around. He’s got a place in my heart forever.”

  If Ben hadn’t been so proud and so blind years ago, he could have been there for Jessica . . . and then maybe he would have a place in her heart, too.

  Guilt was followed by regret. As incredible as their time here was, it couldn’t grow into anything else once they left Bermuda. He was leaving for Chicago in two months.

  Given that reality, he supposed he should be glad that she had Tom in her life.

  “Does Tom know what happened with your uncle?” he asked.

  Jessica looked startled and wary. “No, of course not.”

  “Why of course not?”

  “Because nobody knows. It’s not something I talk about.” She paused. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  He’d decided last night that he would follow Jessica’s lead. Things might be different if he were staying in New York—if he could be a permanent part of her life going forward. But since he couldn’t, what right did he have to give her advice, or push her to talk about things she wasn’t ready to talk about?

  No right at all. And so he let it go—for the moment.

  But later that night, when he was holding Jessica in his arms and marveling at her beauty and sweetness and the strength she would never give herself credit for, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay silent. For better or worse, he had to tell her what he thought.

  His place in her life was a temporary one, and there wasn’t much he could give her. Great sex didn’t count—that was a gift they’d given each other.

  Other than that, there was really only one thing of value he had to offer.

  Honesty.

  “Jessica.”

  She stretched luxuriously and smiled up at him. “Yes?”

  There was probably a way to approach this subject that wouldn’t make Jessica feel defensive. But if he waited until he could figure it out, he would never say anything.

  Better to say it bluntly than not to say it at all.

  “I think you should see a therapist when you get back to New York.”

  She froze, just as he’d feared she would. “I said I don’t want to talk about that.”

  She was lying on her back and he was on his side, facing her. He reached out, very gently, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, either,” he said. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you sad or angry or uncomfortable. If you want the truth, all I want to do is kiss every inch of your body from now until we have to leave this island.”

  Her face softened a little. “That sounds good to me.” She paused. “I told you before, Ben—you don’t have to fix me.” She reached out a hand and caressed the side of his face. “Well, except for that one thing. And, you know, mission seriously accomplished.”

  By which she meant sex.

  He was glad they’d been able to go there together. He’d never been happier to help a friend with a problem.

  But as he phrased it that way to himself, he remembered something she’d said last night.

  I thought maybe it’s not too late. To have a normal sex life. When I get back to New York . . .

  When she got back to New York.

  She’d wanted his help so she could have a healthy, sexually fulfilling relationship . . . with someone who wasn’t him.

  As soon as he thought that, he realized how much he hated the idea of Jessica moving on from him to some other guy. How much he hated imagining her sharing herself with someone else the way she’d shared herself with him.

  It made him jealous as hell.

  And that realization, as much as anything else, strengthened his determination to tell Jessica the truth. Because if he was feeling jealous of guys Jessica hadn’t even met yet, then he had his own selfish impulses where she was concerned—including the impulse to let things ride, to lose himself in the incredible sexual haze they’d created and leave her to face difficult realities some other time . . . if she ever did.

  Jessica had enough people in her life who put their own needs before hers. He wasn’t going to be one of them—even if he paid a price for honesty.

  He leaned over and kissed her. “But the fact that I don’t want to talk about it doesn’t mean I won’t. Because I care about you. And I think you need to find a therapist you can trust. Someone who can help you work through some things.”

  She moved away from him a little, shifting onto her side and pulling the blankets up to her chin. It was a defensive posture, but she hadn’t left the bed yet, and he took that as a good sign.

  “I don’t need help. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Why not?”

  Her eyes searched his. “Because I’ve spent years learning how not to think about it. Because it’s ugly. Because it’s dark and twisted and shameful.”

  He wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms. Instead he said, “What your uncle did was shameful. But there’s no reason for you to feel ashamed. There’s nothing ugly or dark or twisted about you, Jess.”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me understand.”

  Her expression was half angry, half miserable. “He used to come into my bedroom. You remember all those posters I had?” She swallowed. “I used to lie there in my bed while he touched me. I thought if I looked hard enough at the animals on my walls that they would save me, somehow. In the beginning I used to fantasize that they would come to life and attack him.” She paused. “When I got older, though, I stopped imagining that. I stopped thinking at all. I just stared at those posters and wished I could disappear.”

  It took every ounce of his strength
to rein in the feelings of rage and helplessness at what she had gone through. The feelings of guilt because he hadn’t known. Hadn’t protected her. Hadn’t saved her.

  But his own feelings didn’t matter. Only Jessica mattered. And if she was strong enough now to lance some of this poison, he was strong enough to listen.

  “When I was thirteen, his company transferred him to China. The day he left, I tore down all those posters I’d loved so much. I threw away my dolphin necklace because I’d worn it some of the times he was with me. I got rid of everything I’d loved, because he’d ruined all of it. He’d taken everything I had, everything that felt like a part of me, and twisted it into ugliness. So I decided that I wouldn’t love anything anymore. I decided I’d rather be empty than full of things that meant something to me, things someone else could corrupt and destroy. I bought new posters for my walls. Posters of bands I didn’t know and movies I hadn’t seen and things that didn’t mean anything to me. I made friends who didn’t mean anything to me. I lived a life that didn’t mean anything to me.”

  Tears were slipping down her cheeks, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “And now that I’m starting to feel like something good might be possible . . . like it might be safe to love something again . . . I’m terrified that he still has the power to destroy it, somehow.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And that’s why I don’t want to talk about it, or find a therapist, or think about it ever again.”

  She pressed her lips tight, but she couldn’t stop them from trembling. And then, with a wrenching shudder, she began to sob.

  Ben pulled her into his arms and held her tight. And as she cried and shook, he willed love into her as though it were something tangible, a weapon he could use to drive out the fear and darkness she’d carried with her for so long—the burden she should never have had to bear.

  Eventually her sobs slowed. She took a few deep breaths and then pulled away from him, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding hopeless. “This is what I didn’t want to happen. This is why I didn’t want to talk about this. Now you’ll think—” She stopped.

  “Now I’ll think what?”