Against the Edge (The Raines of Wind Canyon) (17 page)

Eighteen

“I
’m taking you to dinner.” Ben walked out of his bedroom at six o’clock that evening, looking gorgeous in beige pants, a soft blue sweater that set off his eyes and a navy blue sport coat. “If you don’t have something pretty to wear, we’ll buy you something on the way.”

Claire ignored the little tug of heat that slid into her stomach. She stood up from the kitchen table, where she had been working on her iPad, catching up on email and checking with her friend Mary Wilson on the boy Ben had rescued.

Mary’s last email had said that Ryan was living with a family she had personally chosen and so far he was doing great. She had copied the email to Ben, who had also been checking on him.

“I went shopping yesterday,” she said. “If you remember, I lost my heels in El Paso. I didn’t expect to be gone from home quite so long so I needed a couple of other things, too.” She’d bought a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts for Sam. He was bound to need clean clothes by now. “Are you sure you feel well enough to go out?”

“I’ll feel the same whether I’m here or somewhere else, and the house is beginning to feel like a prison. I need to get back on my feet and this is a good way to start.”

“It isn’t my cooking, is it? I know I’m not great, but I thought I made a pretty decent spaghetti dinner last night.”

He walked over, set his hands at her waist, bent his head and lightly kissed her. “You’re cooking’s fine, angel. I’m just not used to staying cooped up.”

“What about Sam?” She felt guilty for even thinking of doing something that might be fun. It wasn’t fair when Sam was in so much danger.

Ben clenched his jaw. “We’re doing everything in our power to find him. Going out for something to eat isn’t going to change that.”

“I know, but—”

“If we don’t come up with something concrete by tomorrow night, I’m taking the photo of the brothers down to Converse and showing it around. It’s not much of a town, but maybe somebody there will know who they are.”

“Aryan Nations—white supremacists. That’s a good idea.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high. They’re not a particularly friendly bunch. Even if we can get them to talk to us, they might not tell us the brothers’ name.”

“If they know, they’ll tell you. I saw you with Eddie Jeffries, remember?”

His lips twitched. “I guess that means you’re coming along.”

“You bet.”

“So then, how about dinner?”

What could it hurt? And the truth was, she was feeling cooped up, too. “All right, if you’re sure. Where are we going?”

“Capital Grill. It’s a nice place. I’ll think you’ll like it.”

“Okay, then I’d better go change.”

She was ready half an hour later in a little black sheath dress and a new pair of black high heels. The dress had cap sleeves and a low back, and she was wearing it with thigh-high black stockings. She told herself she hadn’t bought the outfit with Ben in mind, but she knew it wasn’t true.

She made a slow turn, showing off the dress, enjoying the way his eyes went from blue ice to hot flame.

“Maybe we don’t need supper,” he said a little gruffly. “You look good enough to eat.” Sliding a muscled arm around her waist, he drew her close, bent his head and kissed her. For an instant, Claire thought maybe he was right and dinner could wait.

Then she came to her senses. “I thought you wanted to get out of the house.”

“I do.” He kissed her lightly one last time. Claire collected her sweater just in case. Ben took her hand and led her out to his Denali.

* * *

The Capital Grill was an upscale restaurant done in an elegant forties-style with dark wood-paneled walls, black-and-white tile floors and huge frosted-glass lamps suspended from the high ceilings.

“Good evening, Mr. Slocum.” In a black tuxedo, the maître d’, a thin man with silver-tinged dark brown hair and glasses, seemed well acquainted with Ben. “It’s good to see you. I have your table ready.”

“Thanks, Tommy.”

As the man seated them at a linen-draped table in a quiet area of the restaurant, Claire tried to hide her surprise that Ben would be a regular in a place like this.

Ben cast her a glance. “What? You didn’t think I liked nice places? Or maybe you thought all I owned were jeans and T-shirts.”

Her face went warm. “I saw you in a tuxedo, but I figured it was rented. I think of you more as the rugged he-man type. Not Mr.
GQ,
though I have to say you look amazing.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. The tuxedo is actually mine. There are times my job requires formal dress. But the truth is, I don’t come here that often. Mostly just special occasions.”

She arched a brow. “So what’s the occasion tonight?”

Ben caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m going to seduce you tonight, Claire. All the way through supper, I want you to think about what I’m going to do to you when we get home.”

Her heart sputtered. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. “You...you aren’t well enough yet.”

“I’m well enough for what I’ve got in mind.”

“I haven’t said yes.”

“Not yet. I plan to change that.” He turned her hand over, pressed his mouth against the palm, and she felt a little quiver in her stomach.

Ben picked up his menu and opened it as casually as if they had been talking about the weather.

Claire squirmed in the seat. She was wearing red lace panties and a matching bra she had bought on her shopping excursion. Now as she thought of Ben’s words, every time she moved, the lacy cups chaffed her nipples and the panties rasped against intimate places.

“Red or white?” he asked, his head bent over the wine list.

“Wh...what?”

He closed the list and she realized with a surge of embarrassment he was talking about the wine.

He turned to the waiter. “I’ve got a better idea. Bring us a bottle of Dom Pérignon. It’s a special occasion.”

She tried to swallow, couldn’t. Ben Slocum was buying her expensive champagne. He was trying to seduce her. And it was working.

“What are you going to have?” Ben asked as the waiter arrived with a silver ice bucket and a bottle of French champagne. The tall, sandy-haired young man popped the cork and poured the bubbly golden liquid into two chilled flutes.

Ben’s words rushed back and Claire’s stomach lifted. “Fish, I guess. Something light.”

His eyes ran over her, paused on the soft swells of her breasts above the bodice of the dress. “Good idea.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to the evening ahead.”

Her hand shook. She didn’t return the toast, just took a long drink of champagne. When she raised the glass again, Ben’s hand caught her wrist.

“Take it easy, angel. I want you sober when I take you.” He smiled, making him look even more handsome. It was so rare, it always caught her by surprise. “In the meantime, I want you to relax and have a good time.”

She couldn’t miss the teasing glint in his incredible eyes. He was enjoying this—far too much. Well, two could play the game.

She set her champagne glass down on the table. “You’re right. There’s no need to hurry. But while we’re sitting here enjoying ourselves, I want you to know that under this dress I’m wearing a pair of teeny, tiny red bikini panties and thigh-high black stockings. I want you to think about how much you’re going to enjoy peeling them off me.”

Ben’s fingers tightened around the stem of his glass, spilling a little champagne onto the white linen tablecloth. “Lady, you don’t play fair.”

“Yes, well, neither do you.”

He signaled the waiter. “We need to order. I think this meal is going to be a lot shorter than I planned.”

Claire felt a moment of victory.

Then she looked into those hot blue eyes and remembered Ben’s words. She had issued a challenge, and there was no doubt it had just been accepted.

Oh, dear God, what had she done?

* * *

The rain was falling heavily when they left the restaurant, the storm revving up again. They were back at the house by ten o’clock. Not the evening Ben had in mind when he’d come up with the idea, a night that included a stop at a little jazz bar he knew for an after-dinner drink and listening to some music.

But the game had shifted the moment Claire had accepted his challenge and thrown down one of her own. He’d been hard all evening, thinking of those red bikini panties. Thinking of the passionate red-car woman he knew her to be.

They stepped through the garage door into the kitchen. Ben reset the alarm, reached for her and drew her into his arms. He kissed her softly and felt her tremble. Her fingers were stiff where they curled around the lapels of his coat.

He hadn’t expected her to be nervous. But maybe he should have. The first time they’d had sex was an impulse. Claire had sensed his need and responded, sharing the comfort of her body. That comfort had turned into something wild and erotic, something neither of them had expected.

He took her hand, led her toward the living room, where he’d left a lamp turned down low. “How about an after-dinner drink?”

Claire stopped and looked up at him. “Why don’t...don’t you just take me to bed.”

His body was already hard and aching. But he wanted this to be right. Wanted it to be good for Claire.

“Believe me, angel, that’s exactly what I’m planning to do. But we don’t have to hurry. We’ve got all night.”

She seemed more nervous than before. Ben plugged his iPad into the stereo system and soft jazz poured out of the speakers. Strains of Kenny G floated into the living room. Making his way to the kitchen, he took down a bottle of Kahlua, poured the sweet coffee liqueur into a pair of lowball glasses, added ice and some of the half-and-half Claire kept in the fridge for her morning coffee.

He carried the glasses into the living room. “We missed dessert. I figure this should do.” He set the drinks down on the coffee table, sat down on the sofa next to Claire. “A nice slow dance would be good, but I’m pushing my luck a little, as it is.” His side was aching, but only a little. Outside, the storm was building. The windows rattled, and he heard the roll of thunder.

Claire didn’t touch the drink.

“What, you don’t like Kahlua?”

Her pretty lips thinned and her chin went up. “Is this your usual seduction routine, Ben? You take a woman out to a swanky restaurant and buy her champagne, then bring her home and put on soft music. You fix her a drink and dance with her and then—”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.” His jaw flexed in anger. “I don’t have a seduction
routine.
And I rarely bring women home. Mostly I go to their place so I don’t have to wake up with them in the morning. I wanted this night to be special. I wanted you to know how special you are to me. I should have known better. Fuck it.” Ben shot up from the sofa, but Claire was also on her feet.

“Oh, God, Ben, I’m sorry.”

He stood rigid, a muscle clenched in his jaw.

Claire reached up and touched his cheek. “That time in Arizona...it was...it was easy. Nothing was planned, you know? It just happened. Everything just seemed right.”

“But not tonight,” he said darkly.

“Tonight...I wanted you to make love to me. But when we got here, I started worrying. I was afraid it wouldn’t be as good as it was before. I was afraid you’d compare me to your other women and find me lacking.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

She thought he would find her lacking? No way in hell.

Cupping his face between her hands, she kissed him softly, planted tiny little butterfly kisses on the corners of his mouth, kissed him until his fierce expression softened and he couldn’t hold out any longer.

Deep kisses followed, soft and coaxing, then fierce and taking.

“I’d never compare you to another woman, Claire,” he whispered against the side of her neck. “If I did, she wouldn’t stand a chance.”

He caught the surprise in her eyes, along with the glitter of tears. “Ben...”

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her. The physical attraction they felt for each other was strong. Tonight would be good. He knew it even if she didn’t. Ben kissed her one way and then another, kissed her until her body softened and her nervousness slid away.

“Let me make it up to you,” she said, kissing him one last time. The next thing he knew, she was reaching behind her back, sliding down her zipper, letting her little black dress fall in a heap at her feet. He watched as she unfastened the clasp on her lacy red bra and slid it off her shoulders, stood in front of him in only her tiny red lace panties, sheer black man-killer stockings and high black heels.

“You’re beautiful, Claire. No man could ask for more.”

“Make love to me, Ben. Make me feel the way you did the last time.”

Screw the ache in his side. He’d make it good for both of them. Sliding his hands into her hair, he hauled her against him, held her in place while he ravished her mouth.

Claire shoved his jacket off his shoulders, pulled his sweater off over his head, then ran her hands over his bare chest. “You have the most beautiful body.”

She pressed her mouth against his pecs, curled her tongue around a flat copper nipple and made him groan. Going up on her toes, she kissed him, slid her tongue into his mouth.

The kisses went deeper, wetter, hotter. The bedroom seemed a million miles away. They stumbled and kissed their way down the hall, through the door and over to the bed.

“We have...have to be careful of your side,” she said breathlessly, and he kissed her fiercely once more.

Kneeling, she helped him out of his dress shoes and socks. He wore only his slacks and briefs, and seconds later, those were gone. Drawing her back to her feet, he cupped her breasts, took the fullness into his mouth, suckled, brought the tips to hard little crests.

“I want to look at you.” Easing back a little, he let his gaze roam over the glossy dark hair spilling around her shoulders, her long legs and delicate curves, let her see in his eyes how much she pleased him.

“Leave the stockings on,” he said, taking charge, unable to resist any longer. “Get rid of the panties.” Deciding he liked them enough to save them from ruin, he watched her slide them down to her legs and step out of them. “Get up on the bed.”