By the time he got his long legs untangled and climbed into the back of the SUV, she had already solved the mystery of how they were going to proceed. On her hands and knees, she undid her zipper and lowered her pants, exposing her sweetly rounded bottom, covered only by a pair of very brief, very sheer, blue panties.
Giving him a hot, hesitant glance over her shoulder, she dropped those, too.
Ben was floored by the erotic sight. He knew how aroused she was; he could smell her tangy scent and see the proof on her glistening slit. He wanted to have that moisture on his bare cock, to test it with his fingertips and taste it on his lips.
Wracked by lust, he stared at her, frozen in place.
“Take off your shirt,” she said.
God, he loved it when she bossed him around. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside, enjoying the feel of her eyes on his naked skin. He wasn’t cold, but his muscles were tense with longing, his nipples tight and hard.
She moistened her lips. He wanted her mouth on him, too, but her gaze dropped to his distended fly and she said, “Hurry,” ruining him for foreplay. He didn’t know why the pressure had escalated to such an agonizing degree, but if he didn’t get a condom on right now he was going to come, with or without her.
With trembling hands, he took the package out of his wallet and unzipped his fly. She was watching him intently, arching her spine in anticipation, and even the process of stretching latex over taut skin, a sensation that was always more awkward than pleasurable, threatened to send him off.
He positioned himself behind her, slipping the tip of his cock between the plump folds of her sex. She made a breathy little sound and backed into him, wanting more, and he couldn’t help but push forward, all the way to the hilt, plunging deep into her sleek heat.
“Oh!” she gasped, digging her nails into his upper thigh.
He closed his eyes, savoring the unparalleled ecstasy of being inside her. She was so smooth and slick, he gritted his teeth against the urge to start pumping.
For most of his adult life, Ben had been as selfish in the bedroom as he had been everywhere else. He’d learned more about pleasing a woman during his brief marriage than in too many years of indiscriminate sex.
He regretted that he’d never taken his time with Sonny and probably never would. Doing her hard against a wall and taking her from behind in the back of his truck didn’t exactly showcase his level of maturity.
The least he could do, this last time, was get her off first.
He flattened his palm over her belly, his heart knocking hard against his ribs, his breath rasping against the back of her neck. She jerked and moaned, trying to move, but he held her in place, knowing he had only a few moments before he exploded. Stomach muscles quivering under the effort of restraint, he reached up with one hand and down with the other, brushing his fingertips over her stiff nipples and parting the damp curls at the top of her sex.
A few quick strokes and she was flying apart, crying out as her snug sheath gripped him like a silky fist.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, unable to stay still a second longer. Moving his hands to her hips, he drew back and lunged forward, thrusting into her again and again. He was locked in, driving hard and deep, riding the wave of her orgasm as his own slammed into him. It hit like a white hot crusher, closing out on the back of his skull and washing over his entire body, rushing from the base of his balls to the tip of his cock.
When it was over, he collapsed on her back, his legs quaking as if he’d just come in from a marathon session.
She didn’t complain about his weight, but he slid off her, vaguely aware that while he was struggling to recover, she was setting her clothes to rights. Embarrassed by how roughly he’d handled her, he got rid of the condom and jerked up his pants, casting a guilty look toward the front windshield to make sure no one had caught a glimpse of them.
He considered apologizing, because he knew she’d been honest about her past. Underneath her tough-girl exterior, she wasn’t that experienced with men.
“I have to get home,” she said. “I’ve got a meeting with Grant.”
He stared back at her for a moment, disliking her carefully composed expression. “You’re lying.”
Her brows rose. “Why would I bother?”
“Because you’re going to do something dangerous, and you don’t want me to worry.”
“Why would you worry?” she asked lightly. “You hate me.”
Anger flared in his belly. Those words had been closer to a confession of love than hate, and she damned well knew it. “If you think you know who murdered my wife,” he said, gripping her upper arms, “I want you to tell me.”
Her cool blue gaze met his. “Why would I do that?”
So I can protect you, he wanted to shout. So I can do for you what I couldn’t do for her. “So I can kill him,” he said, because he wanted to do that, too.
She laughed in his face. Her gaiety was forced, but it still made him furious. “Ben,” she said, cupping her hand over his cheek. “Catching bad guys is what I’m good at. Why don’t you stick with what you’re good at?” Slowly, insolently, she rubbed her thumb across his mouth, tracing the scar he’d had, compliments of a surfboard fin, since he was seventeen.
By implying that he was just another dumb surfer with a soft head and a hard dick, she was trying to make him mad, and it worked. But what really got to him was the feeling of helplessness. She would do whatever she wanted, no matter what he said.
He pulled away from her and climbed back behind the wheel, driving her home in silence. After he dropped her off, he watched her ascend the stairs to her apartment, wondering if he’d ever see her again. At that moment, he decided karma was a real bitch.
Now he knew exactly how Olivia must have felt every time he walked away.
CHAPTER 22
James approached Carly’s front door, a lump in his throat and a package under one arm. Taking a deep breath, he raised his left hand, the one that wasn’t covered with angry red scabs and ugly black sutures, to knock.
Ben answered the door, his face set in criticism. “Yeah?”
James cleared his throat. “Is Carly home?”
“Yes.”
They stared each other down for a moment.
“Can I see her?”
Ben widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. The movement emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his biceps. James felt puny in comparison, as he was assuredly meant to. “What for?”
He paused, searching for the right words. “To apologize for yesterday,” he said, glancing back at his dad’s old blue junker. Stephen was slouched in the passenger seat, offering nothing by way of encouragement. “And to, uh, give her back the watch she gave me. It’s too expensive, and…” He started to say that he wasn’t worth such a gift, but that sounded pathetic. “And I wanted to ask if she would go with me to distribute my mom’s ashes.” There, that was better. Still pathetic, but more to the point.
Ben considered him for a moment. “Do you remember how you felt when I dragged Carly across the parking lot by the arm? When you said I was hurting her?”
James nodded miserably.
“That’s how I felt yesterday. Do you get me?”
“Yessir,” he replied. He held out the box containing the watch he’d never worn. “Just give this back to her for me, and I won’t bother her anymore.”
The watch was probably worth more than the truck James was driving, but Ben didn’t bother to take it from him. “Carly,” he yelled, turning toward the stairs. “James is here.” With that, he cast an averse glance over his shoulder and walked away. It wasn’t a good-luck wish, but it was better than getting a door slammed in his face.
Carly came down the stairs, looking so fantastically beautiful that James’ heart threatened to burst from his chest. Her black eyes flashed with defiance and her hair bounced jauntily with each step. She was wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt with gold lettering across the front. TRIUMPH, it said. Even James knew it was some kind of motorcycle, but that detail paled in comparison to the way her breasts moved beneath the soft cotton.