by Brenna Zinn
Now as she guided him to his bedroom, her soft, steady hands so warm on his skin, he questioned his judgment. Not only for allowing her to spend the night in his home. No. That poor decision simply topped his list of bad calls. He should have listened to his internal voice long ago and avoided being around Tatum altogether.
How could he, in good conscience, continue to be with her, to want her so badly, when he knew in the pit of his blackened soul he wasn’t ready to let her in emotionally? He couldn’t risk being hurt again. Better to have sex with and then leave dozens of beautiful women than to have his bleeding heart served to him on a platter yet again.
Tatum deserved more. More than what he could give. Why wouldn’t his heart obey the directives from his more rational head?
“Listen, Tatum,” he began after she led him to his bed. “I appreciate you volunteering for Bennett duty tonight, but I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Don’t be silly. You’ve been hurt while coming to my rescue. Staying to make sure you’re okay is the very least I can do,” she replied, her Southern accent sounding so soothing and sweet.
She switched on one of the bedside lamps, illuminating the spacious room with a pleasant golden glow. The lighting and her presence seemed to alter the cool whites and straight lines of his modernly decorated bedroom. The place had never felt so warm and inviting.
“You may have noticed,” she added, “I smell to high heaven. As soon as I get you out of your things and tuck you into bed, I’m going to run along for a quick shower. But I’ll be back to check on you in a jiffy.”
He caught a whiff of her scent and couldn’t disagree with her more. Her personal musk perfumed her skin and wafted up from the pale locks of her long hair. He wanted to tell her she smelled wonderful. Possibly the most breathtaking fragrances he’d ever taken in. He’d gladly savor her unique aroma all night, if he could.
Bennett held his tongue. He didn’t need to encourage her. He truly needed her to leave before things progressed too far. Before she chiseled another brick from his protective wall.
She latched on to his undershirt and started to tug it from his slacks when he placed his hands on hers.
“That’s not necessary. I can take off my own clothes,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
Though she stood only inches shorter, when she stared up at him with her big green eyes, she looked small and fragile, as well as wounded.
She nodded and took several steps back. “I’d still like to take a shower, if that’s all right.”
He felt like an absolute shithead. Here she was, trying to be helpful and he refused her assistance and pushed her away.
Just like what used to happen to you when you were a kid. Remember?
The realization smacked him so hard, his knees nearly buckled.
He reached out, trying to stop her from leaving the room. “Tatum, I’m so—”
“It’s okay, Bennett,” she softly cut him off. “I’ll give you some privacy while you get undressed. As soon as I’m clean, I’ll check in on you.”
Her gentle voice suggested she was unaffected by his rudeness, but he knew better. After years of similar treatment, he understood exactly how she felt at that moment, which caused his gut to twist into painful knots.
The minute her long frame passed through the doorway and he heard the guest room shower running, the familiar coolness of his bedroom returned. Perhaps the chill prickling his skin after he’d carefully pulled off his undershirt and slacks had nothing to do with the temperature of the room at all. Perhaps it had everything to do with the fact that he was, indeed, a huge shithead.
A fool.
An emotionally crippled freak.
Any normal man would charge into the guest bathroom, rip every stitch of clothing from her long, graceful body, then toss her onto the bed in the adjoining room. Any normal man would take her in his arms and tell her how amazing, brilliant and beautiful she was. Any normal man would do these things and beg her to never leave his side.
Why, oh fucking why, couldn’t he be a normal man?
Releasing years of pent-up frustration, Bennett slammed his right hand onto the white lacquered top of his chest of drawers. Powerful reverberations jolted up his arm and spread through his body, finding their way to his bruised ribs and injured biceps. A shock of horrific pain gripped him. He doubled over and fell to his knees as a howl ripped from his throat.
Before he could find his feet, Tatum was by his side, dripping water on the marble floor.
“What happened?” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”
Anger flooded his bloodstream. He’d acted out and look what he got in return—a sharp pain in both his side and his arm, and a solid hit to his pride. Tatum was seeing him when he was at his most vulnerable. On his damn knees, even.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, then instantly regretted his brusqueness. He sounded just like his father and grandfather. All cruel bark and cutting bite.
“I’m fine,” he repeated using a calmer tone. Glancing up, he saw her standing barefoot before him, wrapped tightly in a white towel, hair in long, soaked tendrils. Freshly clean and without a hint of makeup on her face, Tatum was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Another chip flew from the wall around his heart.
“No you’re not, Slick. Let’s get you into bed.”
She slipped her hands under his armpits and hauled him to his feet. The motion jarred his ribs. Another bright burst of fireworks exploded in his head. He gritted his teeth, refusing to moan, groan or say anything to give his discomfort away. The last thing he wanted from Tatum Reynolds was her pity.
“I see you managed to get your clothes off by yourself. That’s good,” she grunted as she strained to hold him upright while turning down the bedspread. With evident care, she eased him onto the bed, adjusted his pillow and pulled the covers up to his chin. “Now where did you put your pain pills? I think you were supposed to take two of them already.”
“In my pants pocket.” Bennett sank his aching body into the welcome fluff of the mattress pad and closed his eyes. Never in the few months since he’d moved into the condo had his new bed felt this good.
When Tatum returned, she helped prop him up and gave him his meds, along with a glass of cool water. Afterward, she wiped his mouth, brushed back his hair from his face and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. Her nurturing ministrations were more of a snug comfort than his bed could ever be.
He sighed, longing for her to crawl into his bed and continue to fuss over him. How long had it been since someone cared for him in such a tender, loving manner? Too long. Way too long.
“Good night, Slick. If you need me, just give a shout. I’ll be by your side faster than a sixty-second waltz.”
He let out a drowsy snort. For some reason, her twangy comment struck him in the funny bone. “You have such a way with words.”
“Well, you have a way of saying things that makes me wonder what you really mean.” She tightened her towel with an indignant tug.
Ah, there she was. The perky Texan he was inexplicably drawn to. He’d give a million dollars to have her sleep next to him tonight if for nothing else than to feel the warmth of her body. He’d throw in a million more if she’d wrap her arms around him, hold him tight and never let him go.
If he asked her to do these things, she most likely would. But was feeling contentment in her loving embrace worth surrendering more mortar from the wall safeguarding his heart?
Chapter Eleven
Rivulets of water continued to run from the ends of Tatum’s soaking hair onto her bare shoulder and down her back and chest. As soon as she’d heard his howl, she’d rushed out of the shower without bothering to dry off. She undoubtedly looked like a drowned poodle. A rather large drowned poodle, but a drowned poodle all the same.
Here, in front of Bennett Truitt, the most handsome man she’d ever met, she stood wet, half-naked and embarrassed. For what felt like the hundredth time since meeting t
he slick New Yorker, she appeared utterly ridiculous, a feat she desperately had not wanted to repeat. Her self-esteem had dropped a few notches after Bennett caught her stripping and then swinging like a damn monkey on the pole at Iron Rods. Now, as she gripped the ends of the plush towel to prevent any further indecent exposure, her dignity nosedived yet again.
It was bad enough that she felt like a clumsy, lovesick schoolgirl when he was around. Did she have to look and act like one too?
Bennett rearranged his position in his big, ultramodern white bed and then tried to hide a grimace.
“Tatum,” he gritted out. “Why are you here babysitting me instead of doing something more important?”
Babysitting? More important? Everything in his question struck her as completely odd.
“I’m not babysitting. I’m making sure you…are…” She stumbled. She couldn’t tell him the truth about how gaga she had become for him.
Though he was the wrong man for her in so many ways, he’d become her John Wayne. Her big, bold and handsome fantasy cowboy come to life, even if he was a city slicker from New York. He challenged her. He excited and aroused her. And today he’d saved her from an attack from a deranged ex-stripper. How could she possibly tell him all these things when he obviously didn’t feel the same way or even want her in his condo?
“I’m making sure you’re comfortable and safe,” she finished matter-of-factly. “You’re hurt and taking pain pills. Someone needs to watch over you, at least for tonight. Plus I don’t have anything more important than you to worry about. Until you’re better, you are my one and only priority.”
She may have gone a step overboard with that last statement, but she couldn’t let him think that he was of no importance to her. She did care about him, very much. Perhaps there was a chance he felt the same way. And after what she’d heard from Dan Camden, it seemed as though Bennett had suffered through a lifetime of feeling insignificant. Regarding him now as the grown man he was, it was difficult time to perceive him as anything less than supremely confident and a force to be reckoned with.
“I’m your priority?” he asked, amused.
“Of course. Friends and family always come first.” She lifted her foot and, with her big toe, wiped off a drip of water running down her other leg. “I think people who are unhappy forget how to prioritize the important things in their lives. I mean, look at all those celebrities who make a lot of money and seem to have everything, then end up strung out on drugs or committing suicide. Aside from being clinically depressed or mentally ill, I bet you a dollar to a donut they weren’t close to their families or didn’t have anyone to love.”
Oh, she had really stepped over the line that time. When would she ever learn to keep her big trap shut?
“You’re tired and it’s late. Good night.” Tatum yanked her sagging towel and turned to escape before she managed to further humiliate herself.
“Wait. Don’t go,” Bennett called out, then let out a loud groan.
She glanced over her shoulder. He had once again repositioned himself on the mattress so he was resting on his good arm. His face held a smile so tight and forced it looked as though a clown had painted it on.
He was clearly hurting. Yet despite his pained expression, the handsome man pulled at her with his raw sexuality. She may have seen his exposed chest before, but seeing his washboard abs beneath firm, rounded pecs, and knowing full well what lay hidden beneath the covers kick-started a slew of erotic thoughts that were totally inappropriate. She was here to nurse him, not wreak illicit havoc on the poor guy.
“Would you stop moving around? You’re going to hurt yourself even more.” The aggravation tainting her voice was meant more for herself than for him. Just for ten minutes could she be around Mr. Perfect without wanting to live out every sexual fantasy she’d ever constructed in her sex-starved mind?
Wet bare feet slapping the marble floor, Tatum stomped back to the side of the bed to help him lie back. When she leaned in, he lifted his head and kissed her. His lips, so warm and inviting, drew her in. God, the man could kiss. Any thoughts of leaving him alone vanished. She angled herself closer and pressed her lips harder to his while she held on to the ends of the towel for dear life.
A tremor ripped down her legs, causing them to quiver uncontrollably. The inside of her belly whirled and twirled as though completing an endless ballet of dizzying pirouettes. Her gorgeous savior with hair as black as ink was responsible for all this new and bewildering physical stupefaction and emotional consternation.
Could this be love?
After a lifetime of refusing to fall for someone for fear of having to come and go while pursuing her professional dream, had she finally found someone worth contemplating settling down for? Someone to love and call her own? Or was this all lust? How could anyone ever tell the difference?
Bennett ended their kiss all too soon. Despite the fact her lips stopped touching his, her legs continued to shake. She rested her knees against the mattress to keep herself from slipping to the floor.
“Stay with me,” he implored huskily. The anguish haunting his eyes silently pled his case. “Don’t make me sleep by myself tonight. Please. I want you with me.”
Those magic words descended on her like fairy dust. Weightlessness overtook her body from her head down to her pink-painted toes. If she wished hard enough, she was certain she could fly.
The silly thought reminded her of one of her favorite quotes from the musical theatre production of Peter Pan she’d danced in during her sophomore year of high school.
Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.
She had repeated that line a thousand times as she sacrificed everything for her dancing career. Clearly that particular dream hadn’t come true. Although she’d never be a professional dancer, she might end up with a man she could love. Maybe they could have a future together. A very happy future. That was a dream worth pursuing. Wasn’t it?
“Only if you promise we’ll only sleep,” she insisted, knowing full well the statement was more a reminder for herself than a demand to him. “You’ve got bruised ribs and stitches in your arm. I don’t want to be responsible for sending you back to the emergency room.”
Bennett chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of confidence in your sexual abilities if you think you can send me back to the ER.”
“If you’re trying to charm me into that big bed of yours, I have to tell you, you might want to work on your technique.”
“Touché, Ms. Reynolds.” He tilted his head toward the empty half of the mattress. “I plan only to talk with you. Though, considering how you behaved the first time we were alone together, perhaps it is I who should be asking the promise from you.”
“You can talk as fancy as you like, Slick.” Tatum raised her nose and sniffed as she padded around the end of the bed to the other side. “But we both know who is responsible for the demolished door in the manager’s office.”
“Touché again,” he said, lowering himself back onto the mattress. “I surrender. Just be gentle with me. That’s all I ask.”
“Oh brother. You’re lucky you’re laid up. Otherwise I might just have to teach you a lesson.”
If only she could. Bennett had years of experience practicing and perfecting the art of sex. He’d shown his skills several times and caused her to nearly speak in tongues on more than one occasion. She, on the other side of the spectrum, was such a novice that her greenness made Kermit the Frog look pale.
Tatum pulled back the covers and realized she had to take off her wet towel before crawling into bed. Her gaze strayed to Bennett, who stared at her from beneath hooded eyes, a doped-up expression on his face. The meds he’d been given in the emergency room and the two he popped several minutes ago must have strong juju. No wonder he seemed more glib than usual.
Still, having to perform a second striptease before him made her feel terribly self-conscious. Whipping off the tow
el and diving in between the bedsheets would make her appear nervous. She was, but he didn’t have to know that.
A slow and sensual unveiling could only suggest she was in the mood for a little romance. She definitely was up for that, but now wasn’t the right time. He was sore from the fight and the knife wound. Trying to turn him on and have her way with him now could only be wrong. Right? She’d have another chance at a night of passion with the sex bomb after he healed, wouldn’t she? Surely she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to be alone and naked with him. She’d already pushed the limits of her patience.
She swallowed against the ball of anxiety that had formed in her throat. Why was the simple task of taking off her stupid towel causing her so much worry?
Because Mr. Perfect asked you into his bed. We aren’t exactly in some office or a hotel. This is his personal space. His home turf. His den of fornication.
Refusing to overanalyze the situation any further, she removed the towel, used it to dry her hair and eased herself onto the bed, careful not to disturb the patient. The instant her weary bones met the soft support of the mattress, she let out a sigh. After a full day of dancing and teaching Steele and Gangsta G, every muscle in her body ached.
She’d been away from her craft too long. Too much time had been spent brewing coffee and perfecting leaves in the foam of cappuccinos instead of dancing in a studio. Her body was no longer used to the brutal workouts.
“So tell me,” Bennett said, a lazy smile tugging at one corner of his full mouth. “Why is a pretty girl like you not seriously involved with someone?”
Luckily Tatum was already in bed. Had she not been, his blunt question would have bowled her right over.
His direct, no-bones-about-it question delving into her personal life could only be a side effect of the meds swirling in his system. He and she might have had great sex and a lot of fun conversations, but he had never tried to tap into anything quite so…intimate.
