The Proposal

by Jennifer Lewis

  “I can see that,” she returned flatly, sorry for her words as soon as they left her mouth.

  Benton arched his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  Jabbing her finger at him, she stalked closer. “Well, what do you expect when you walk around shirtless?”

  Benton stopped toweling his hair. “Are you saying my being shirtless bothers you?”

  “I...” She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. She knew exactly what he meant by her being bothered. The fact that it was true only made it worse. The man was built like a Greek God, all taut muscle and golden skin, even in the dead of winter. The scar at his side only made him all that much more appealing for what it meant.

  He tossed the towel on an empty lounge chair and closed the distance between them. Andrea automatically raised her hands, pressing them against his chest, only to regret her action at the way he felt beneath her fingers. They itched to trace the sculpted lines of his abdomen and the lean curve of his back.

  “Back off,” she told him, not truly meaning it and not trying to get away.

  He leaned down, lips a whisper from hers. “Are you sure?”

  “Why are you doing this?” She whispered, trying to keep the torment from her tone.

  “Because it makes sense. Because I want you, and I know you want me.”

  The way he was looking at her, all animalistic and heat, she felt the sweep of desire course through her, tightening her nipples to the point of near pain. He hadn’t even touched her, and her body was already primed to let him.

  “Tell me you don’t,” he demanded, still not touching her.

  “I... You know I can’t. Benton, please. This can’t end well. You know it.”

  Something dark and dangerous flashed through his eyes, and she felt a strange thrill mixed with a heady dose of fear. Only, not fear of him, but fear of what he could do to her and what he could make her feel.

  “You are so damned sure.”

  “You aren’t?” Was that her, sounding as if she ran a mile without stopping?

  “I can’t be sure about anything, Andrea. But that doesn’t stop me from trying.”

  Desire pooled low in her belly, tugging at her core and making her ache in a way she couldn’t remember ever aching before. Little stood between them now, only her reluctance and clothing, one of which was wavering and the other a paltry barrier.

  “Say the word, and I’ll turn around and leave you alone.”

  Her throat felt dry, her tongue paralyzed and her feet ground in stone.

  At her silence, he questioned, “Andrea?”

  Something broke loose and fell away, reminding her of all the times she watched him from afar, wondering if he saw her as anything more than Deacon’s secretary and Ashlyn’s friend. Now, here he stood, telling her he wanted her and she was on the verge of turning him away because she was afraid of breaking something in the fall.

  He released a breath, began to move away.

  “Please.”

  He froze, tense beneath her hands. “Please, what?”

  Her breath tore ragged from her chest. “Please, touch me.”

  It was all the permission he needed. His hands came around her waist, hauling her up so that she was forced to wind her legs around him. Then his lips were on hers, hot and demanding and taking, not asking for entrance, but pulling it from her. She moaned around his tongue, squirmed when his hands gripped her backside and squeezed. And then he was walking them into the bungalow, past the living room furniture, down the hall, and into the bedroom.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  His hands slid up the back of her blouse, imprinting in her skin as his fingers stroked her spine. Arching into his touch, she locked her arms tighter around his neck and took in all that he gave. The heat between them singed her nerves, and she didn’t know what to feel. Overwhelmed and shaken in a way she had never been before, she left the last of her restraint behind.

  Sliding down his body, her bare feet hit the floor, curling into the plush carpet. Her blouse came over her head, discarded, and he cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing across her nipples. Nothing had ever felt so good. She pushed into his hands and he trailed a path across the tops spilling from her bra. Every part of her sung with his ministrations, and she wondered why she waited so long to give in.

  Her hands gripped his shoulders to keep steady; his went to her waist to steer her toward the bed. They fell in a tangle of limbs. He slid his touch down her rib cage, across her stomach and slipped a finger into the waist band of her shorts. Though he only drew a line across the top of her skin, she found herself lifting to give him better access. With slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled them down her legs, throwing them somewhere behind him.

  Cupping the inside of her leg, he massaged, sending delicious tingles up her body and to the roots of her hair. The delicate lace of her panties seemed scratchy on her skin in comparison to lovely roughness of his fingers. They were hands that worked, hands that created and they gave her more pleasure for it.

  His lips replaced his touch. He started with her instep and rose, pressing a kiss behind her knee, up to the anticipating quiver of her thighs and through the barely-there fabric of her underwear. She sucked in a mouthful of air, feeling the warmth of his breath at her core. It took every ounce of control she had not to beg him to do more, to drive her to the heights he took her with only the touch of a finger.

  Trailing a finger across the top of her pubic bone, he drifted lower, lightly pulling his thumb down until he met the awaiting wetness at the junction of her thighs. The one movement had her bucking her hips, releasing a shaky breath, and then sighing in relief when he discarded her panties.

  He spread her legs wider, and blew gently, murmuring, “So beautiful.”

  Pressing his lips to the inside of her thigh again, he slid his tongue along her and swirled it around the most sensitive spot. She gripped the blankets, hissing out a breath of surprise. He pulled gently, sucking and teasing and she felt herself begin to rise, hovering along the edge of release. He whispered words of encouragement and increased the pace. The need spiked, cresting and tumbling her down, shattering her as her body stiffened and let go.

  Panting, shocked at how quickly he made her orgasm, she shivered and reached for him as he rose up. He quickly tossed away her bra and slipped out of his own clothing. Turning his attention to her breasts, he made slow work of kissing around each nipple before taking one into his mouth and rubbing his tongue against the aching point.

  Threading her fingers in his hair, she sighed his name.

  He lifted his head, eyes dark and glittering with desire. They held hers fast, driving a spike of lust into her center and up her spine. Greedy to touch, she ran her hands along the shifting muscles of his back, down his sides and gripped his backside, pulling him against her. The hard length of him fit perfect at her core, and the need to have him inside of her grew.

  Their lips met, and she gave and took and drowned in him. She smoothed her hands across his chest and gripped his sides, squirming against him. How many times had she dreamed of this, only to never have imagined the reality would be far better than the fantasy?

  He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, and drew them up her neck, his breath sending a thrill through her, shivers rolling down her back. She clung to him, helpless to do little else. He shifted, the tip of him pressing against her opening. She sucked in a breath, anticipation building in her chest until it felt so tight she couldn’t move.

  Her eyes drifted shut as he slowly gained entrance, one torturous push at a time. When he was fully seated in her, she felt gloriously full and stretched and complete. They stayed that way for a second, breaths mingling.

  “Look at me.”

  Obeying, she stared into his eyes as he pulled back and filled her once again. An unbidden moan tore from her throat and she felt passion cloud her vision. She saw his jaw clench, as if he were struggling to hold himself back. Each thrust was excruciatin
gly slow, but exquisitely rendered, and she rose up to meet him, legs winding around his torso.

  On a half-breath, half-whimper, she started, “I need...”

  “Shh...” He quieted, rocking his hips to hit a spot deep inside that left his face blurring before her eyes.

  Her head fell back, breathing coming in short, gasping pants. His own breathing was ragged, a testimony to how affected he felt. Together, they moved, skin to skin, not a whisper of air between them, so that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

  He drove her higher and higher, until she felt the need growing in her like a great bubble that would burst and leave her feeling as if she were dying. She couldn’t fight it, could only ride out the wave, scrambling to catch hold of something, anything. But he pulled her along, shifting, changing rhythm, and making it feel impossibly better each time.

  “Come on, baby, let go.”

  “I...”

  He pushed forward again and she splintered, unfurling like a flower from her center on out. Her climax consumed her so that she froze, riding out wave after wave of pleasure until she thought she would simply cease to exist. Contracting around him, she felt him quiver and plunge, losing the battle against control. He buried his face against her neck, and spasmed. She felt her womb shiver in response, pulling him in and together they spiraled down.

  Slick with sweat, they held onto one another as their breathing quieted in the silent space around them. Benton rolled, pulling her with him and tucking her against his side. She could barely feel her legs and couldn’t imagine standing anytime soon.

  She felt the pounding of his heart against her cheek, and enjoyed the sound of the calming rhythm as it lulled her back to Earth. But as reality began to rear its ugly head, she realized they both crossed the line, leaving behind their agreement and becoming close in a way they both hoped to avoid.

  Conflicted, she remained in his arms, knowing that if they continued down this path, both could be hurt. Yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to regret the moment or abandon him in the aftermath.

  They lay in silence for a while, and she didn’t want to be so comfortable like this, but she couldn’t fight it. At least, not yet. They shared something that neither of them could step back from. Whatever the outcome, things between them would never be the same. Andrea wasn’t certain how she felt about that.

  “Do you regret it?” Came Benton’s quiet voice.

  “I...” Did she? Could she? “I don’t know.”

  “I suppose that’s better than ‘yes’.”

  Staring at a stop on the wall, she shrugged. “We weren’t supposed to go here.”

  “Says who?”

  “We did, Benton. We agreed.”

  “You can’t stop what’s supposed to happen.”

  Spreading her palm on his chest, she wondered. “Was it? Or did we just make it happen?”

  His sigh echoed in her ear. “Why examine it that damn closely?”

  Her skin began to cool, and she rose up on one elbow. She didn’t want to look at him, so she did it anyway. “Because this marriage isn’t real.”

  “If we both enjoy this, if we’re not hurting anything...?”

  Pushing up to sit, her arms coming around her knees, Andrea let her hair fall like a curtain to hide her expression. “That’s just it, Benton. We could both end up hurt from this.”

  “You could end up hurt walking down a sidewalk, Andrea. But you still do it.”

  Her head swiveled toward him. “That’s not the same thing.”

  “All a matter of opinion.”

  She shoved at him. “You’re frustrating.”

  “So I’ve been told a time or two.”

  Holding in an answering sigh, she spread her arms across her knees, fiddling with her toes to distract herself. She wanted to be able to separate her heart from her libido. When it came to some men, that wasn’t difficult. But Benton wasn’t just some man. He was decent, honorable and would do the right thing no matter how much it cost him. What would this cost them?

  Dropping her arms, she scooted down the bed and off, gathering up her clothing. “I wish it was that easy.”

  “It can be.”

  Heat coming into her cheeks, she spun, clothing clutched to her chest. “Maybe for you!”

  Those steady gray eyes never left her face. “Do you really think that?”

  Staring a beat, she rolled her shoulders and felt the anger fade. “I know that’s not what you mean.”

  He sat up, smiled. “But it’s easier to be angry.”

  Lifting her chin, she dropped her clothing on the end of the bed. “Of course it is.”

  He watched her get dressed, making no motion to move. “I don’t regret a damn thing.”

  A thrill tore through her, though she didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to make more of his words than taking them at face value.

  Wishing she didn’t feel the need to think so much, she finished dressing and left Benton in the bedroom, needing to put space between them. Their moment of passion marked her, and she knew she wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. It would stalk her dreams, taunting her, reminding her of what she could have, but probably never would.

  Going onto the patio, she pulled her hair above her head and let the warm air blow across her neck. What had she been thinking?

  “Not at all,” she told herself, walking to the edge of the pool.

  The water looked inviting. And she needed to cool off in more ways than one.

  Without a second thought, she dove in. Like the air, the water was warm and comfortable. She swam from one end to the other multiple times before coming up for air and bobbing at the edge. When she did, she saw Benton in one of the lounge chairs, watching her.

  He indicated to her shirt, plastered to her chest. “That does little to keep me away from you.”

  “That wasn’t the point. I needed a swim.”

  He grinned in that way he had that stopped her heart. “I see that.”

  She knew it wasn’t like her to jump into a pool fully clothed. This last month she found herself doing a lot of things that weren’t normal for her. She wanted to blame Benton.

  Climbing out of the pool, she walked, dripping, past him and grabbed one of the pool towels sitting handily on a second lounge chair. Beginning to dry her hair first, she grudgingly appreciated Benton’s forethought.

  “Thank you,” she told him quietly.

  He only nodded.

  “I’ll change. We should get something to eat.”

  He shrugged. “Alright.”

  Considering he was being very agreeable, she shook her head and went to do as she stated. Despite her trepidation over their actions, she could feel excitement stirring at the thought of exploring the island. If anything, she needed to make the most of this week here. Ashlyn and Deacon were kind enough to pay for it, she wasn’t going to be rude and waste it.

  If only she could say no more sex.

  “I can say it all I want,” she muttered. That didn’t mean it would happen.

  Now that she had a taste, succumbing to more was going to be a fight she didn’t think she had in her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Andrea discovered a Farmer’s Market and insisted they go explore it. She danced ahead of him a few booths, arms laden with bags carrying her purchases. Catching up, he extricated the bags, adding them to the other two he held in his hands. Watching her, he felt a sudden, sharp pang. For the first time in weeks, she looked carefree and fairly glowed with the freedom. It left him unable to take his eyes off her.

  It hardly helped that he recalled with vivid clarity how her skin felt beneath his hands or how perfectly formed her naked body was. When she looked back at him and smiled, he didn’t like the way his stomach tightened or his chest constricted. He tried keeping his distance from her. Everything he attempted failed; everything he thought he should do, he did the opposite. The woman was bewitching.

  She shone like a bright star, and the force of her gravity p
ulled him in. She made him realize what came up missing in his life. Work, nights alone, and an empty house. She carved a spot into his world he wasn’t certain he wanted to do without. But this was dangerous, and he found he would rather be in the middle of an ambush in the desert with only one clip. He knew what to do there. Things made sense there.

  “Look!” Andrea held up a necklace. “What do you think?”

  Benton shrugged. “It’s a necklace.”

  She made a face at him. “You’re not helpful. Do you think it’ll look good on me?”

  “I think, everything looks good on you.”