by Lisa Childs
“Why did you come back down here?” she asked. “You look like you need your sleep.” But in all the time she’d known him, he’d never gotten enough rest. The man did not know how to take it easy.
His mouth shifted into a sideways grin, as if he was too tired to curve his lips into a complete smile. “Is that a nice way of saying I look like hell?”
She laughed. “Don’t pretend I’ve wounded your pride. I’m sure there are plenty of females down at the hospital—staff and patients—who stroke your ego quite enough.”
“Now you’re calling me conceited.”
“Conceited?” She paused as if considering and then shook her head. “Arrogant, yes.” But not without damn good reason. The man had all kinds of talents. Thinking about the one he’d shown her in her office just hours before had heat flushing her skin.
He chuckled, as if he’d read her mind. Why hadn’t he been able to do that when they’d been married?
Embarrassed and frustrated at her weakness, she glanced away from him. Her gaze landed on the door at the end of the hall.
“You’ve done it again,” she said.
“What?”
“Avoided answering my question.” Maybe the divorce had been more his fault than hers. “Why did you come back down here, Ben?”
Anger replaced the flare of desire in his eyes. “Sebastian wanted me to see that opening-night gift you got.”
Damn him. And damn Ben for coming. “And here I thought you’d developed such a drinking problem that you can’t get enough.”
“I can’t seem to get enough of something, but it isn’t alcohol,” he admitted, his fingers stroking over her skin before he released her wrist. But he took the bottle, turning his attention to the label. “The hard stuff, huh?”
“If you’re going to bean someone over the head, you better use the hard stuff.” She stepped away from him, just resisting the urge to rub her wrist where his touch still burned her skin.
“You didn’t think I was a desperate drunk,” he scoffed at her claim, “you thought I was whoever left those flowers in your office.”
“And the stake,” she reminded him as she walked over to her desk where the hideous arrangement remained, despite Sebastian’s offer to get rid of it. Heck, he’d done more than offer; he’d insisted. She was surprised he’d listened to her when she’d explained that she wanted to hang on to it. “You know…all those years as a lawyer and the first time I’m called a vampire is after I’m no longer practicing law.”
“You’ll always be a lawyer, Paige,” Ben insisted. “It’s being a bar owner that you should probably rethink.”
“Why are you so against my owning this place?” she asked, remembering that earlier he had seemed to have a problem with it.
His lips curved into that half grin again. “And see, more questions. You’re a lawyer through and through, Paige. I don’t understand why you would give that up now….”
“When I hadn’t before when you wanted me to?” Regret and resentment overwhelmed her. She couldn’t deal with him…or the flowers…not without losing it.
Chapter 5
Paige pushed past him and ran out in the hall. This time Ben didn’t just watch as she walked away; he hurried after her. “I never wanted you to quit, Paige. I only wanted you to take it easy…to take care of yourself.”
She’d had to take care of herself because he’d been too busy taking care of everyone—and everything—else. As he followed her into the bar area, he glanced at the blood on the dance floor and the wall.
That patient was a member of the secret society. His girlfriend, also a society member, had gotten a little too passionate and nicked his carotid. While he wouldn’t have died, necessarily, the blood loss had weakened him to the point of helplessness. Stitching the wound and administering a transfusion had brought back his strength—so much so that Sebastian had already taken him home and left Ben to clean up the mess.
Along with the blood, he’d been supposed to dispose of the flowers before Paige saw them again and followed through on her inclination to call the police. Hell, maybe she should; Ben hadn’t protected her before. He didn’t trust himself to protect her this time, either.
“I take care of myself,” Paige insisted. “What happened…it was…”
Something they’d never talked about before. Even now, he couldn’t find the words to express his regret and loss and pain. Instead he glanced down at the bottle he still held—the one with which she’d nearly clocked him. As softly and gently as he liked to caress Paige’s naked skin, he ran his fingers over the label on the Dewar’s bottle. Hello, old friend…
Scotch had brought him comfort many a night after Paige had left him. Too many nights.
If he’d had a little less control, he might have become dependent on alcohol. But he’d had too many people—both living and undead—depending on him. So he had fought off the temptation then, and he would do so now because Paige needed him. He had to stick close to her, to protect her without her realizing what he was doing.
God, sticking close to Paige…
His body hardened at the thought of being close to her again—as close as they’d been earlier in her office, him buried inside her. So that he didn’t reach for her, he stepped behind the bar to place the bottle next to all the others. He’d been in Club Underground so many times—too many times—but he had never really noticed how elegant the club was. Appreciatively he ran his hand over the sparkling granite surface of the polished mahogany bar.
“If you’re thinking about a career change, too, I could use another bartender,” Paige offered.
“I could no more stop being a doctor than you could stop being a lawyer.” Yet there had been times, since he’d learned of the secret society, that he’d wanted to quit. But they’d made it clear to him that the only way out for him was death.
She lifted and spread out her arms to encompass the darkened lounge. “Look around. No law books, not a contract in sight. I’m not a lawyer anymore.”
“Why not?”
“You know,” she scoffed. “You’re too thick with my brother for him to have kept his mouth shut.”
“He said it was your secret.”
She arched a dark blond brow. “And you couldn’t have gotten it out of him?”
He probably could have, but he wanted her to tell him. He wanted her to share her life with him. Shame washed over him at his selfishness. How could he expect her to share her life when he couldn’t share his?
“I can’t believe Sebastian dragged you down here over those flowers,” she said, neatly avoiding his question as he had so many of hers over the years. “He was the one who told me they were nothing—that they’d probably been delivered to the wrong place.”
It might have been what he’d said, but it wasn’t what Sebastian believed. He hadn’t wanted her to call the police because an investigation might uncover the secret society and put everyone at risk. Ben would have preferred that to having Paige at risk. He uttered a sigh of frustration. “He’s probably right.”
She nodded. “There is no other logical explanation.”
Even if she learned the secret, she would never understand it. Paige had never been able to accept that some things defied logic.
“I’m sorry that you came down here for nothing,” she said.
“How could I not?” he asked. “If you need me, I’ll always be here for you.”
Liar. She refrained from shouting at him, from letting all her resentment and pain spill out. He hadn’t been there for her…when she’d needed him most. When she’d left the office earlier, she should have kept running; she shouldn’t have let him stop her. “We both know better than that, Ben,” she gently reminded him.
He flinched as if she had screamed at him. “You’re right. You were right to leave me, too.”
“Oh, Ben…” God, they weren’t good for each other. They had nothing between them anymore but guilt and pain…and a crazy, irresistible attraction.
“I’m not Ben,” he said, with a luminescent gleam in his big, brown eyes.
“Oh, you’re not?”
He shook his head. “Who was I last night?”
“Stranger in a bar,” she said, as if reading a role from a playbill.
“So today,” he said as he ran his fingertips across the granite again, “I’m the lonely bartender.”
Somehow she suspected “lonely” wasn’t part of the role he wanted to assume, but already part of who he was.
“So who am I?” she asked him.
“Last night you were the sexy bar owner.”
“Still am,” she quipped, no matter that no one—including him—thought she belonged at the club.
His mouth lifted into a little grin. “No, today you’re a patron who left her purse here and came back after hours to pick it up.”
“I have a feeling that my purse is not the only thing I’m supposed to pick up,” she said, her pulse quickening with excitement.
“I have your bag back here,” he said, lifting the hinged counter so she could join him, “behind the bar.”
She smiled now. “Did you get this scenario from a country song? I didn’t think you listened to country.”
“I listen to everything.”
Even her? She shook her head. No, she would have had to talk for him to listen; he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t shared all his feelings during their marriage. She hung on to her smile, with an effort. “I thought you were just into that boring elevator music.”
“Come here,” he urged her, “and I’ll show you how boring I am.”
Weren’t they fighting because he thought it was crazy that she’d bought the bar? She’d rather not remind him of their argument. Better to distract him or herself from her fear that he was right.
“You know you should be wearing the uniform,” she said as she stepped behind the bar and walked toward him. She’d love to see him in the black pants and a pleated tuxedo shirt.
“I already changed out of uniform,” he said, gesturing toward the black pants and sweater he wore. The ones that had lain on her office floor just hours before.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing anything at all,” she suggested, reaching for the hem of his sweater. She dragged it up and over his head, tossing it onto the bar.
His chest was bare, except for the light mat of black hair covering the sculpted muscles. Despite his hectic schedule, he somehow found time to work out.
Paige put her hands on her hips. She probably needed to start working out herself, or she’d look as out of place among the club patrons as she’d felt the night before.
“You’re not playing,” Ben admonished her. “You’re thinking.”
Something she didn’t manage very well around him, especially when he had his shirt off. “I’m trying to remember where I left my purse,” she said, slipping into the role he’d chosen for her.
Passion leaped, lighting up his dark eyes. “I have it.” He lifted her purse strap from her shoulder and claimed her bag.
“Yes, you do.” She reached out for the brown leather, but he pulled back. “So, are you going to give it to me?”
“Oh, I’m going to give it to you,” he promised. “What’s my reward for keeping your purse safe?”
She pursed her lips as if considering how much he was worth. “Ten dollars?”
“You’re cheap.”
Smiling, she nodded. “Yes.”
“How about a kiss?”
“Just a kiss?” she asked a bit breathlessly, as she stepped closer to his bare chest. To steady herself, as passion rushed through her head, getting her dizzy, she reached out, bracing a hand against his chest. His heart pounded madly beneath her palm.
“Can we stop at just a kiss?” he asked, dipping his head until his lips were only a breath from hers.
“We haven’t been able to yet.” She wished they could; she wished they could stop before the kiss. But she couldn’t resist him. She rose up on tiptoe and closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his.
He opened his mouth, deepening the kiss until he stole her breath away. His tongue mated with hers, sliding in and out of her mouth. His hands were busy, too, pushing her coat off her shoulders so it dropped to the tiled floor along with her purse. Then he slid his fingers up under her sweatshirt, over her bare rib cage.
His breath shuddered out. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
She wore a heavy sweatshirt and hadn’t thought she needed it. His hands closed over her breasts and she trembled. “Ben…”
“Shh…you don’t know my name,” he reminded her as he moved his mouth across her cheek and down her throat. His tongue lapped at her throbbing pulse.
“Then what do I call you?”
“Shh…” he murmured again as he moved his hands, sliding them up and down so that his palms teased her hardened nipples.
“Ooh…”
Her moan must have broken his control because his touch got rougher, more urgent. They began to shed the rest of their clothes, and he pulled the sweatshirt over her head and then dragged her jeans down over her hips.
“You’re wearing underwear,” he said, tsking, as if disappointed. But his eyes flared with passion as he studied the polka-dot satin panties. He dropped his pants and the black boxers he’d worn beneath them.
Her breath shuddered out now. “Ooh…”
“Your turn,” he said, hooking a thumb in the satin at her hip and dragging it down. Then he lifted her until her bottom settled onto the cold surface of the bar.
“Ben, it’s freezing,” she protested.
But she wasn’t cold for long, not as his mouth and hands moved over her body. Heat coursed through her, burning her up as he joined her on the bar. He rolled so his back was on the cold, glossy surface and she straddled him. She rose up, then settled down…onto him, taking him deep inside her.
His hands gripped her hips, helping her ride him until they both shouted out their release. Paige collapsed onto his chest; his heart raced beneath her damp cheek.
“Wow…” She kissed his shoulder, damp with perspiration. “I wouldn’t mind another round of that.”
His hands skimmed over her bare back, shaking slightly as he caressed her. “I can’t get enough of you, Paige.”
He didn’t sound pleased; he sounded resigned. Was that all they were to each other, a bad habit? When they’d started back up, with their stolen moments of passion, Paige had considered their sexual involvement light and uncomplicated. Because they trusted each other, because they knew each other, they felt safe to play these sexual games with each other. But she should have remembered nothing was ever light and uncomplicated with Ben.
“I’m worried about you,” he said. “Worried about you being here.”
She sighed, too tired—physically and emotionally—to argue with him. “I’m not going to be here much longer. I’m going home.” To her empty bed.
She scrambled off the bar and, too vulnerable to be naked with him, slipped into her discarded clothes. But it didn’t matter if she wore a parka and boots, she was still exposed to him. He had always been able to see right through her. But when she looked at him, as she did now as he pulled his clothes back on, she saw a stranger. A handsome, successful man with whom she’d lived for ten years and loved even longer, but who had never really let her get to know him the way that he knew her.
She turned away from him and walked toward the entry with the black slate floor and the long narrow couches. His shoes scraped across the floor as he followed her out. “How were you going to lock up for Sebastian?” she asked.
“I have a key.”
“Of course.” Sebastian would have given him one. Her brother was closer to her ex than she’d ever been. Her half brother hadn’t found her until ten years ago—their dad having deserted him and his mother just as he’d deserted Paige and hers. That should have been a bond that drew them close, but even though Paige had opened her home and her heart to Sebastian, he held something
of himself back from her. Just as her husband had.
Secrets. She was sick to death of them.
Ben reached around her to open the door. And as he did he leaned close enough that the morning light, streaming now through the window, illuminated his face and the spatter of blood across his cheek. She lifted her fingers to it and rubbed away the smear. “You’ve got blood on you.”
He covered her hand with his. “There must have been some on the bar.”
“Is there any on me?” she asked as she made a mental note to find out who had gotten hurt. These were her employees now. Even though Sebastian managed them, she was ultimately responsible for them.
Ben’s gaze slid over her face as thoroughly as his fingers had over her body just moments before. Her breath caught in her lungs as if he had caressed her, the way her fingers were now caressing his cheek. Touching him was never a good idea. She pulled her hand away and fisted it. Even after what they’d just done…she wanted him again. Still.
“I need to get some sleep,” she murmured, protesting her own need. She could inspect the flowers later—when she had enough energy to deal with them.
“Paige…” His eyes darkened with emotion, but he said nothing more, only opened the door, so she could step into the outside stairwell first. After turning the key in the lock, she hurried ahead of him up the cement stairs to where she’d parked Sebastian’s car. When she’d left earlier, with the night’s deposit, he’d insisted she drive his sports car instead of walking home at the late hour.
Dread gripped her as she noticed the glass broken on the pavement beside the red BMW. “Sebastian’s going to kill me,” she murmured as she stepped closer to the damaged vehicle.
The side window had been broken, and the air bag spilled out of the steering wheel—deflated now with a wooden stake protruding through it and the leather beneath it. She glanced around, but that eerie sensation had left her. No one watched her now, as they had earlier.
Perhaps they trusted that she would understand their message this time. Paige shivered as she realized that none of this had been a mistake. The voice in her head had told her the truth. She didn’t belong here; it was too dangerous.
