Ben took a quick glance around the spacious loft that contained a squishy-looking sofa, an oversized, equally comfy armchair, a computer workstation, and a long, low table that was piled high with books, photographs – framed and unframed – and a variety of camera equipment. He noticed at least half a dozen camera bags stashed in various corners, as well as three tripods of various dimensions. The computer workstation was an untidy mess of papers, books, DVDs, an oversized mug half-full of heavily creamed coffee, and a bowl that contained the remnants of some sort of breakfast cereal. A closer inspection of the loft revealed a huge, half-empty plastic tub of red licorice, a variety of dog toys, an enormous bag of Cheetos that also looked half-empty, several articles of clothing strewn about, and at least three pairs of rubber flip flops that had been carelessly left lying about.
He shrugged, not in the least bothered by her obvious untidiness. “I’ve seen much worse. The house I lived in my junior year of college looked like someplace they’d feature on an episode of Hoarders.”
Lauren pulled out her desk chair, tossing aside a furry squeak toy as she sat down. “Where did you go to college?”
“I started at a community college near Cincinnati, and then transferred to Northwestern.”
She nodded in acknowledgment as she attached a USB cable to the camera and plugged the other end into her computer. “They have a great journalism program from what I’ve read. It was actually one of the schools I considered for a time, but I knew I’d never be able to handle the winters there. I could never be away from the beach for months at a time.”
“Where did you end up then?” he asked.
“UCLA.” Lauren tapped a few keystrokes and then the photos began to load. “Best decision I ever made. I’ll actually miss the place when I graduate next year, and that’s not something I thought I’d ever say about school.”
“You’re still in school?” Ben frowned at this revelation. “How, uh, old are you?”
She smirked knowingly. “You know it’s really not polite to ask a lady her age, don’t you? But since I’ve never pretended to be a lady, I guess those rules don’t apply. So to answer your question, Blue Eyes, I’m twenty, twenty-one come October. How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-nine in January.”
“Ah, that old, huh?” she teased. “Now that I think of it, you seemed to be having a tough time of it walking back up that hill. I think we might have a walking stick around here somewhere if you need it. Good thing for you I happen to like older men.”
Ben felt his cheeks grow warm again, nowhere near skilled enough at the art of conversation to think of a clever reply to her obvious flirting. He was saved from having to do so by the rows of tiled photo icons that filled the computer screen. “Is this all of them?”
Lauren grinned as though well aware of his discomfort. “Nice way to change the subject, Blue Eyes. And yes, they’ve all been uploaded. Let’s take a look at what we’ve got.”
As Lauren set up the photos to display in slide show format, Ben had to force himself to drag his gaze back up to the computer screen instead of “taking a look” at the tempting display of her abundant cleavage. She seemed completely unconcerned about how much bare skin the skimpy bikini top was revealing, and if she was aware of his ogling it evidently didn’t bother her in the least. As he stood just behind her desk chair, his palm literally tingled with the urge to slide down the side of her throat and then to keep on going until he was cupping the warm, soft globe of her breast in his hand. He belatedly became aware of Lauren’s voice as she pointed out various flaws with the camera angle, the lighting, or the framing of certain photos, and he guiltily dragged his gaze back up to the computer screen.
With rapid fire keystrokes, Lauren deleted several of the shots and made adjustments to a number of others. Then, after scanning through the remaining ones several times, she pointed to the screen.
“This one,” she declared. “This should be your shot for the article.”
Ben studied the photo she’d selected, unable to find a single flaw, and nodded. “I agree. You’re incredibly talented, Lauren. That’s a professional quality shot for sure.”
She snickered. “Yeah, I know. However, this happens to be one of the shots you took. Not bad for a rank amateur who’s never used a decent camera before today.”
He didn’t smile often, was by nature a serious, largely undemonstrative man, but resisting a force of nature like Lauren McKinnon was proving to be impossible. He returned her grin with enthusiasm. “Maybe it’s beginner’s luck. Or maybe it’s just the camera.”
“Pictures don’t take themselves, no matter how awesome the camera is. You might have some untapped talent there, Blue Eyes. If you ever got yourself a halfway decent camera you might surprise yourself.”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards right now. More accurately, it’s not in the budget. I’m just assuming this baby of yours wasn’t cheap.”
Lauren nodded. “This is a Nikon D800. Retails for around $2500. Fortunately for me it was a hand-me-down from Uncle Mal. He has more cameras than the local Best Buy store.”
Ben shuddered. “Yeah, way out of my budget. But maybe this photo will help sell the article I’m writing and snag me a permanent job in the process.”
“Hmm.” Lauren plugged a bright orange flash drive into the CPU and began copying the photos over. “So you’re like a freelancer, something like that?”
He nodded. “But I’ve been trying like crazy to get a foot in the door with a magazine like Outdoor or Conde Nast.”
She handed him the flash drive. “Well, if you write as well as you take pictures this article should be an easy sell. Come on, let’s go grab a beer and drink a toast to your future success.”
Ben looked at her inquiringly. “Last time I checked it was barely eleven in the morning. I don’t know about you but it’s a little early for me to start, ah, celebrating.”
Lauren grinned impishly. “Don’t you know it’s five o’clock somewhere? But, hey, if you can’t handle a cervesa this early I’ll whip up some tequila sunrises instead. Or would your delicate tummy prefer a mug of hot cocoa instead? Fresh out of mini marshmallows, though.”
Her green eyes were sparkling with a truly evil twinkle and he couldn’t help laughing – something else he didn’t do very often. “Okay, you’ve talked – no, make that shamed – me into it. Beer it is. Just as long as it isn’t light beer,” he cautioned.
She gave him a look of horrified disbelief. “Two words that should never be uttered in the same sentence – light and beer,” she scoffed. “I’ve got Corona, Sierra Nevada, and Guinness. And fresh limes that I picked yesterday from my dad’s garden.”
“Well, then, can’t let those go to waste, can we? Corona it is.”
As they left the loft, Ben paused a moment to grab the blue and gold UCLA hoodie that had been carelessly flung over the back of the sofa. Once downstairs he tentatively held it out to Lauren.
“Um, do you think you could, uh, put this on maybe?” he stammered uncertainly.
Lauren glanced up at him with an odd expression. “Why? If I was cold I would have covered up as soon as I got back from surfing.”
“Surfing. Guess that explains this.” He gestured at her bikini clad torso.
She took two ice cold bottles of beer from the fridge, popped the caps off, and then pushed a lime wedge inside. “Is the sight of my cleavage disturbing you?” she drawled while handing him a beer. “Is that why you want me to bundle up like it’s thirty degrees outside?”
Ben, who also rarely blushed, once again felt his cheeks grow hot and he tried like hell not to stutter. “Um, disturbing isn’t the word I’d use. Distracting is more like it.”
Lauren laughed in delight. “Well, God forbid that I distract you. So, here, let me cover up the goods.”
She grabbed a T-shirt that had been draped over the back of a living room chair and pulled it on. “Is this a little less distracting?”
&nbs
p; The snug fitting white T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a popular alternative rock band was distracting in a whole different way than the polka dot bikini top. The worn, faded fabric clung to her breasts like a second skin, and the short, cropped hem bared half of her toned, tanned abs.
He gulped before taking a long drink of his beer. “Not really, no. Sure you won’t wear the sweatshirt? Or maybe a bathrobe?”
Lauren snickered, sauntering over to him, beer in hand. Then she shocked him by grabbing a handful of his own T-shirt and tugging him in close. “Or you could just loan me your shirt,” she murmured in a husky, suggestive voice. “Unlike you, I’m not the least bit bothered by a little bare skin. Come on, let’s sit out on the deck and drink these. It’s too nice a day to stay indoors.”
He followed her outside, propping his forearm against the deck railing, and gazing out once again at the jaw dropping view.
Ben shook his head in amazement. “You know, I’ve done a lot of traveling over the past ten years or so, seen some pretty incredible sights along the way. But this – ” he waved a hand, encompassing the trees, the ocean, the redwood and glass cabin – “is pretty much my idea of paradise. I think if this was mine I’d never want to leave.”
She smiled – really smiled – and he could tell how much pleasure his words had given her. “I feel exactly the same way. I’m already dreading going back to school in a few weeks, and I know I’ll be counting the days until I can come home. And this place – for me – has always been home, even though I’ve spent most of my life living up the road in Carmel.” She took a long swallow of her beer before setting it down on the railing. “I made my father promise to never sell this place, to always keep it in the family. And I know that no matter where I travel or work or might have to live on occasion, that I’ll always want to come back here. That it will always be home.”
“I envy you,” he admitted. “To have a place like this to come back to – you’re a lucky girl, Lauren.”
“What about you?” she inquired. “When you aren’t trespassing on private property, where do you call home?”
He shook his head, smiling. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you? And to answer your question, I don’t actually have a place of my own right now, not for more than a year. I’ve been traveling around, crashing with friends here and there, renting cheap motel rooms or camping. Believe it or not, I’m packing a tent and sleeping bag on my motorcycle. Fortunately, I tend to travel light so there’s room for them.”
“Hmm.” Lauren finished off her beer as she processed what he’d just told her. “So you’re just passing through here? What’s the next stop for you?”
“I’ll head further down the coast. I’ve been slowly working my way south from the Olympic Peninsula in Washington, plan to wind up the trip in San Diego. But I was figuring on staying in this area for a few days, maybe exploring Carmel and Monterey a bit.”
“Ah.” She nodded as she tossed the empty bottle into a plastic garbage can that had been appropriated for recycling. “Where are you staying?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t figured that out just yet. Any suggestions?”
Lauren gave a quick hoot of laughter. “Yeah. Go back in time about five or six months and make a reservation. Guess whatever research you did – or more likely, didn’t do – on this area didn’t cover the fact that summers are ridiculously crowded. Everything’s bound to have been booked solid for months, even the campgrounds.”
“Shit.” He ran a hand through his close-cropped dark blond hair. “You’re right. I didn’t do my research properly. But since I haven’t had any problems so far along the way, I guess I figured it wouldn’t be any different here.”
Lauren tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Tell you what. I’ll make a few calls, see if we can’t find you a room or campsite somewhere. I know every innkeeper and park ranger in the area.”
But five phone calls later, she was shaking her head. “Unless you’re willing to plunk down a thousand bucks for a room at the Ventana Inn, looks like you’re out of luck.”
Ben grimaced. “Yeah, that’s not likely to be in the budget. Ever. Guess I’ll just keep heading down the coast and maybe find a campground a little further south. Hey, thanks for trying at least. Not to mention the beer. And especially for the photo that’s going to sell that article.”
He placed his empty bottle in the recycling can just as a small but astonishingly firm hand clamped around his forearm.
“Wait. Look, I don’t know why I didn’t suggest this earlier,” said Lauren. “You’re welcome to crash here for a few days. This place is the perfect base if you want to explore Carmel and Monterey, plus there’s some great hidden spots just south of here. And no one knows this area better than I do, so I could be like your tour guide. What do you say?”
Ben was also not a man who was caught off guard very often, but Lauren’s unexpected, rather impulsive offer did just that. “Uh, that’s not necessary,” he stammered. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.”
She snorted, a decidedly unfeminine sound. “As if I’d let anyone impose on me, invited or not. Besides, you’ll be earning your keep – doing the dishes, helping me walk and feed the dogs, taking out the trash.”
He hesitated. “Why would you want to stick your neck out that way, Lauren? You don’t even know me, just met me an hour ago.”
Lauren squeezed his forearm. “I know enough. I know you’re drawn to this house the same way I am. So here’s your chance to hang out here for a few days. Or however long you want to stay.”
Their gazes locked and held – dark blue staring down into emerald green – and in her eyes Ben recognized the exact same sort of physical awareness, the undeniable sexual attraction that he’d been experiencing from the moment he’d first met her.
His voice was rough as he tried to ignore the rapid hardening of his body, how his erection was pressing insistently against the snug crotch of his faded jeans. Her scent – an oddly beguiling combination of the ocean, fresh lime juice, and the clean, fresh fragrance that was Lauren’s own unique essence – only made his awareness of her that much more pronounced.
“Didn’t your parents warn you not to invite strangers into the house?” he asked half-jokingly, desperate to lighten up the sexual tension that was beginning to seep into his very bones. “What if I’m some sort of serial killer who preys on hot young college girls? That sort of thing doesn’t worry you?”
Ben never saw it coming, admittedly hadn’t really believed her earlier claims of being a martial arts aficionado. But when he found himself sprawled flat on his back, and Lauren smiling down at him triumphantly, he quickly revised his opinion.
“My parents know I can take care of myself,” she declared matter-of-factly. “Not to mention the fact that I keep an undisclosed number of knives stashed in various places around the cabin that I can get to very easily. So, no, honey. I’m not the least bit worried about having a house guest for a few days. Come on, let’s go get your stuff.”
He scowled as she extended a hand to help him up, ignoring her gesture as he scrambled to his feet. “I studied martial arts myself, you know,” he told her in a sullen voice as they ambled up the steep driveway to where he’d parked his motorcycle. “Muay Thai and kickboxing mostly, but some judo and karate as well. Not sure I ever saw a move quite like that before.”
“That’s because I didn’t take you down using judo or karate or even capoeira – my newest little hobby. No, honey, that was just good old dirty street fighting. This your bike?”
“Yeah.” Ben tried to feign nonchalance, well aware that the older model bike had seen better days and was certainly nothing to boast about. But Lauren didn’t seem to notice as she took one of his bags.
“I want to get a bike one day,” she told him. “But I want a Ducati. A black one. And, yes, I know they cost big bucks so I’ll have to wait until I’m a big name photographer before I can get one. But a girl can dream, you know? Until then, my p
ick-up gets me around just fine.”
She inclined her head in the direction of the older model truck that was parked rather haphazardly on the far side of the driveway. The faded yellow paint was liberally caked with dried dirt and sand, and the truck bed was nearly as cluttered up with stuff as the loft had been. Including the surf board sticking out the back end that Lauren had apparently just used earlier today.
Once they were back inside the cabin, Ben glanced around the great room uncertainly. “Where should I leave my bags? I didn’t notice a second bedroom so should I crash on this sofa or the one in the loft?”
And then Lauren caught him by surprise for the second time in less than five minutes by sliding her hands up his chest to clasp around his neck, pressing her curvy little body flush against his as she murmured suggestively, “Actually, I was sort of figuring you could bunk in with me. After all, I’ve never been the kind of person who keeps things bottled up inside, and it was only going to be a matter of time anyway before I jumped your bones. So let’s stop wasting time, hmm?”
She pulled his head down to meet her kiss, and even though he remained standing, Ben once again felt like he’d just been knocked on his ass.
Chapter Two
He gave a long, low groan as Lauren pressed herself even closer against him, the firm mounds of her breasts crushed against his chest. His hands were splayed on either side of her slim hips, as though he hadn’t yet decided whether to push her away or pull her in even closer. Her tongue traced over the outline of his lips persuasively, until they parted as if with a will of their own.
It took the briefest sweep of her tongue inside his mouth to snap whatever control he’d been struggling to hold onto, and then he was kissing her back fiercely, his hands sliding up the sides of her ribcage and into the thick tangle of her hair. He kept her head immobile as the kiss went on and on, their tongues tangling almost as though they were doing battle with each other, as her arms remained wrapped tightly around his neck.
Sensational Page 2
