Witched at Birth--A Paris, Texas Romance

by Dakota Cassidy

  But Ben wasn’t letting her go so quickly. He put his hands on either side of her head, now pressed against the wall. “Winnie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for tonight,” he grumbled, deep and low.

  “For tonight?”

  His bronzed throat worked when he swallowed, as though the words were hard for him. “For caring about Moira’s gardens, for cooking that amazing meal, for reading to Lola on the porch. Moira did that often…”

  Putting a hand on his chest, she looked up at him and smiled. “You’re welcome. I figured you needed a break. Most housewives and mother’s do, I hear,” she teased, trying to keep the moment light, to escape what he was doing to her.

  But Ben’s eyes were anything but light. The blue orbs swirled with something dark, something hot, something that made her breath catch in her throat. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, nipping her fingertips and making her nipples tighten.

  “What is it about you, Winnie Foster? Why the hell can’t I stop thinking about you?” he asked, his teeth clenched, his enormous body emanating heat.

  Her mouth grew dry, her legs weak. “I don’t know, but you should stop thinking about me. Right away. I’m bad news. Ask anyone who knows me.”

  “Don’t make jokes right now, Winnie.”

  His demand made her squirm. “But I’m so good at them. Especially when tensions are high.”

  The tic above his right eye pulsed, and it was all she could do not to smooth her hand over it to ease whatever was troubling him, the way she once had. “Don’t say another word or—”

  “Or what?” she challenged, her body on fire.

  “Or this.” He wrapped a long arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, so tight, she melted into every rigid line and muscle he possessed before he let his lips lie on hers. Simply resting, unmoving.

  Her throat grew tight, the slam of her heart against her ribs almost painful. Their harsh breathing echoed down the long hallway.

  And then his tongue swiped hers, and Winnie Foster forgot everything. Forgot that Ben had all but forgotten she’d existed after they’d made love. Forgot that he’d done nothing but take his licks out on her since she’d come to Paris. Forgot everything but his hot, deliciously silken tongue.

  She drove her hands into his hair, whimpering when her tongue met his, pulling him closer until she remembered that intoxicating exhilaration his body pressed to hers brought.

  Ben groaned into her mouth, pulling her closer, driving his tongue against hers, making her nipples ache for him.

  Using her arms, she hiked herself up, wrapping her legs tight around his waist.

  His hand cupped her ass, squeezing it, the rigid line of his cock hard and thick against her. “Not here,” he said, tearing his mouth from hers.

  Winnie didn’t care where—she didn’t care that when his lips pressed to hers, she forgot everything.

  She wanted him inside her. Now.

  “Your room?” she moaned when he cupped her breast, thumbing a hard nipple.

  Without saying another word, he walked them down the hall toward his bedroom as she buried her face in his neck, pushing the door open with his foot and setting her on the bed.

  His clothes fell to the floor as he stripped off each piece one by one, leaving her a moment to admire his wide shoulders, his tapered waist, his thick thighs sprinkled with dark hair.

  Ben’s cock, wide and hard, jutted upward as he pulled off his boxer briefs and stood in front of her. His bed was enormous; the sheets cool against her back when Ben pressed her into them, putting his full weight on her body.

  She sighed, remembering the feel of him, remembering how complete she’d felt when their bodies aligned. And then she closed her eyes as his lips trailed over the column of her neck, nipping and kissing his way down to the first snap on the ugly nightgown she wore.

  Ben’s hands popped the snaps apart, leaving her naked from the waist up. She shivered when he leaning on his elbow, his eyes roaming over her flesh. They were hot, hungry, consuming her before he dipped his head and pulled a nipple into her mouth.

  She almost screamed her pleasure when his tongue swirled over it, her hands reaching for his shoulders, gripping them, digging her nails into his flesh when he moved lower.

  His mouth slid over her belly, grazing her hipbone, tugging at her panties until he’d pulled them off. When his fingers spread her swollen flesh, she became dizzy, gripping the sheets on either side of her to keep herself grounded.

  Ben settled between her thighs, hooking her legs over his shoulders. His hot breath against her made her squirm, ache with agonizing need. “Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

  He dipped his head low, taking his first swipe of her, flattening his tongue then swirling it around the swollen bud of her clit.

  Winnie’s mouth went dry as color exploded behind her eyelids. No one had ever made her feel the way Ben did, and this served as a reminder. She clenched her hands in his hair, taking fistfuls of it and bucking up against his silky tongue.

  The heat he created in her belly began that slow path, making her nipples sharp and tight. When he slid his hands under her ass, pushing her flush to his mouth, Winnie came so suddenly, she gasped out loud, shuddering against him.

  Her hands found his shoulders, tugging on them, drawing him upward, hissing when his cock scraped against her and she reached down to envelope him between both hands.

  She stroked him, slow, easy, before rolling him to his back and straddling his lean hips. She let her hands roam over his chest, pinching his nipples, running her fingers through the hair between his pecs, rolling her hips against his shaft.

  Leaning forward, Winnie nipped at his skin, soothing the sting by swiping it with her tongue until she had followed the path to the sharp cut of his hipbone.

  Ben’s cock was hot against the palm of her hand when she enveloped it again. He bucked upward, his thigh muscles tensing.

  She didn’t waste any time, she was too hungry to taste him. Instead, she wrapped her lips around him and took all of him in her mouth, sliding down his hot shaft then rolling her tongue up over it.

  “Christ, Winnie,” he ground out from above her, pushing his fingers through her hair and clutching the strands in his fists.

  Her mouth slid back down once more, rising up, swirling her tongue over him until he pulled her away, gripping her shoulders and dragging her up to him, where he took her mouth. Consumed it. Lifted her hips with strong hands and drove her down on his cock.

  She bit her lip to keep from screaming when he entered her then flattened his hand on her ass and held her against him. Her clit scraped his crisp pubic hair with delicious friction as he kept her tight to him, grinding against her.

  Their flesh was connected at all points, their breathing was harsh as their lips devoured one another’s and their bodies rocked.

  Sweet tendrils of heat wound in a tight coil in her belly as she slipped her arms under Ben’s and reveled at the scrape of her breasts against his skin.

  Winnie tightened first, her toes curling at his hot tongue in her mouth and his thick cock deep inside her. She couldn’t hold back anymore when the first wave of orgasm tore at her. She didn’t even try.

  Instead, she inhaled his sharp breaths, clung to him, let the white-hot heat drag her upward until she came, sweet and hard, pushing harder against him.

  Ben rose up, too, the ripples in his abs rigid and tight until he groaned into her mouth, clutching the flesh of her ass, rolling beneath her as he came.

  Winnie sucked air into her lungs as Ben’s hands smoothed over her back, easing her tension until she became boneless in his arms.

  Upon her return, reality doused her in its cold water.

  Her head popped up and she tried to roll off him. But Ben wouldn’t let her go. “This shouldn’t have happened, Ben.”

  Instead of releasing her, he rolled her to her back and asked, “Why not?”

  The nerve. Why no
t? Because he’d dumped her without a word. That’s why not. Still, she didn’t say the words out loud because they still hurt. “Because it shouldn’t have.”

  “Not a good enough reason, Winnie. There’s something else. Something I can’t figure. So how about we just air this thing between us now. You’ve been bent out of shape with me since you got here. But that makes no sense. I mean, if I’m not mistaken, it was you who blew my warehouse to smithereens, wasn’t it? So who should be bent out of shape?”

  She gave him her best look of disbelief. “Are you for real?”

  “Damn right I am. So why don’t you explain it to me if you know something I don’t know.”

  All of those months in prison, all of her anger, the ridiculous shame she felt right now for having slept with the man who’d discarded her, exploded. “I blew up your stupid warehouse because you dumped me, you jerk! We had what I thought was an amazing night together, after three months of waiting, and then you never called me again. I tried calling you, but you were conveniently and suspiciously unavailable. So you can take your explanations and shove them up your well-muscled ass!”

  His square jaw with the delicious dimple in it lifted then. “But I did call you, Winnie.” He held up a finger, his anger so clear it virtually set the air in the room to sizzling. “I take that back. I left strict instructions with one of the temps I’d hired to tell you where I was. I didn’t call personally, that’s true.”

  Oh, she couldn’t wait to hear this. “One of the temps you hired? You left a message with a temp for me?”

  “Do you know why I didn’t call you personally, you psychopath?”

  “I think I already explained that,” she said, slipping from the bed and rooting around for her muumuu.

  He grabbed her wrist, forcing her to look at him. “Look at me when I tell you this, Winnie. I didn’t call you because the night we first made love was the night my sister and her husband were killed. I had to fly out here to Paris the next day to take care of Lola, who was so distraught, I didn’t know what to do. And I know this sounds shitty but I didn’t think about anything—nothing—until the dust settled, and when I got back, I found my warehouse in ashes and you were in jail.”

  Her eyes went wide. She tried to open her mouth, but no words came out.

  “And before you wonder why I didn’t try to come see you? Don’t. Because I damn well did. I wanted my pound of your pretty flesh, but Yaga wouldn’t allow you visitors.”

  Oh shit.

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” she finally managed to ask, her legs shaking.

  Ben rose from the bed, pulling on his jeans with angry hands. “Why does Yaga do anything, Winnie? I don’t know why she didn’t tell you, and right now, I don’t care.”

  What could she say? How could she make what she’d done right? All this time she’d thought he was a jerk.

  And he was anything but.

  There was nothing left to do but apologize. She gripped his stiff wrist and said, “I’m sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

  But he remained rigid and angry.

  So she slipped the muumuu over her arms, absorbing her shitty-ness. Turning on her heel, she escaped his furious glare and ran to her bedroom, slipping inside and closing the door. She fell back against it for support, the horror of what a shitty person she was slamming her in the face.

  “Somebody made the wookie-wook,” Icabod said from the rocking chair in her room, laughter in his voice.

  Winnie couldn’t look at him. Her childhood doll knew what sex was. It was too much. “Shhh! You’ll wake Lola.”

  “She can’t hear me. Only you can.”

  “Then just be quiet altogether because I do not want to hear a Cabbage Patch doll talk about my sex life.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Winnie. I know all about sex.”

  “From Oprah, I suppose?”

  “No. Actually, it was Dr. Ruth. Your grandmother listened to her whenever she came over to babysit you when you were little. Listened like it was her religion.”

  Ugh. “I don’t care how you know about it, just shut up about it!”

  “Now, don’t be defensive, Pooh Bear. You’re angry with yourself, not me. Redirect, girlie.”

  Icabod was right. She was angry with herself. She had no one to blame her poor behavior on anymore. Ben’s sister had died the night they’d first made love and she’d blown up his warehouse. She was officially the bottom-of-the-barrel dregs of humanity.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tucked the muumuu around her and squeezed her eyes shut. “You’re right. I am angry with myself. I did something horrible to Ben when he was at his weakest. When he needed me the most.”

  “I heard,” Icabod said dryly. “And yes, what you did was awful, but in all fairness, you really didn’t know he wasn’t a scumbag, and Baba Yaga didn’t make any bones about how she felt concerning you dating Ben. And let’s not forget, he did rely on a temp to give you some very important information. You know temps. Couple that with your impulse control and anger issues and we have the makings of a disaster movie.”

  “Does that make what I did any better? I can’t go blowing up things just because someone’s a scumbag or because Baba Yaga had the nerve to tell me her opinon. After day two of being unable to reach him, I got frantic. Instead of rationalizing, I was ready to skewer him when I went to that warehouse. I didn’t once stop and think about the kind of man he’d been up until that point. And even though I didn’t mean for it to go as far as it did, I still had the nerve to blame everyone else for how I’d behaved.”

  Icabod gasped softly from the chair.

  “What?”

  “Is that remorse I hear? For so long you were defensive about what you’d done. When you were on the phone with your father from jail, you never budged. It was always, ‘Well, Ben’s a meathead. He deserved it.’”

  That had been her standard modus operandi for all her life. You did something to me, now I’m going to do something to you. Take that.

  “I think you finally get it, Winnie. For like, forever you’ve justified your poor behavior. You’ve always done that, even when you were a kid. You’ve always reacted to a problem with anger instead of using caution. This thing with Ben was your wakeup call.”

  Her shoulders sagged. How could she ever look him in the eye again? She wanted to crawl right out of her skin. “So is what I’m feeling now my payback? Because I feel worse than I ever did in the pokey.”

  “I think it is, Pooh Bear. But you have to experience the bad to appreciate the good. It’s all part of growing.”

  She lay back on the bed, pulling the covers over her legs, miserable. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she tried to quell the almost physical ache in her chest. “It hurts so much that I hurt him, Icabod.”

  “I know, Pooh Bear. I know. But now it’s what you do with that hurt that will make the difference. Go to sleep, Winnie. It’s all going to be okay,” he whispered into the dark room.

  Curling her hands under her chin, she hunkered down under the blankets and closed her eyes. She was beyond tears now. Now, her soul ached.

  But closing her eyes didn’t help block out the horrible things she’d done.

  She deserved to have those images haunt her every single time she closed her eyes.

  Forever.

  So she’d always have a reminder.

  Chapter Twelve

  A week later, the three of them had found a semblance of a routine, one where Winnie spent as much time as possible at school with the children and in the garden with Lola.

  She’d avoided Ben as often as she could except for at meal times, and thankfully, he hadn’t pressed her. Her deep shame clawed her from the inside out every time she saw him, making her more determined than ever to get this right.

  Getting it right meant accepting that she didn’t deserve someone as amazing and good as Ben Yagamawitz. It was going to take a long time before she earned the right to find a mate who was even half the man he was.

 
The morning after their lovemaking, she’d made another resolution. No more drifting. No more half-assing things. She was all the way in until Halloween, and then she was going to find her purpose. She was going to make up for all the pranks and shenanigans in the debris she called her life.

  She was going to call her father and apologize, and this time, it was going to be a real apology. Not just a sentiment that flew off her lips because she was taught it was the right thing to do when you wanted to get out of a sticky situation.

  She was damn well going to mean it.

  Pulling up to Daphne Martin’s sprawling home, filled with lush gardens and tinkling fountains, that resolve was stronger than ever.

  She and Lola had a play date for swimming and pumpkin carving, and Lola was a wiggly mass of excitement.

  Daphne opened her front door decorated with a glittery orange pumpkin and smiled wide at Lola and Winnie, her gorgeous figure stunning in a cute red pool wrap tied at her voluptuous breasts. “Miss Lola! I’m so glad to see you again, girl! You go ahead to the kitchen. Travis is there—he’s got some lemonade waiting on you before you hit the pool. Be sure and wait for the adults before you get in, little lady.”

  Lola looked to her for permission, something Winnie was coming to expect, the more time she spent with her. “No half-gainers off the back wall, got that, Greg Louganis? If you crack your head open, your Uncle Ben will kill me.”

  Lola made a face, her brow furrowing. “What’s a half-trainer?”

  Winnie laughed, wrapping a beach towel around her neck and tugging on the ends. “Gainer, and never mind. I just mean, be careful. Now go, before Travis drinks all the lemonade.”

  Lola took off, her short legs carrying her through the living room of Daphne’s amazing home and to the right, where the kitchen must be located.

  “Are you hoping to hitch a ride on the Soul Train?” she teased, flicking the collar of Winnie’s pantsuit.

  “Still just as funny as the first time we met,” she joked back, over the embarrassment of her clothes at this point.

  Daphne hitched her jaw and grinned. “C’mon in. I’m so glad you came. It’s been a long time since Lola and Travis have had the chance to have a play date.”