An Irresistible Impulse (10 page)

It seemed an eon ago that Nicholas Abbott had delivered a similar message to Abby. Then it had been Sean parading as her fiancé. He too had said it was important. Now…a call for Ben. Was this the same person with whom he spoke each night? Somehow it really didn’t matter. Innocently
or not, Alexandra Stokes had given Abby her best argument against Ben’s proposal.

Ben apparently disagreed. Standing with an oath of frustration, he eyed her sharply. “I’ll be back.” And he turned.

“No, Ben. It’s better this way,” she protested, but he wouldn’t listen.

Three irate strides took him to the door. “At least she didn’t call herself my fiancé!” he barked in sarcasm, then was gone.

Abby’s insides quaked when the door slammed. Then she stared at it as though hoping to find a solution written on its blank expanse. There was nothing.

Turning inward, she tried to imagine what would have happened had the phone not rung at that particular moment. It didn’t take much trying. She cast a knowing eye over her shoulder at the bed, the roomy king-size bed with faint indentations in its quilt where she and Ben had sat moments before. The indentations would have certainly spread by now, had the phone not rung. But then, the quilt would have quickly been drawn back and the sheets would have borne the brunt of their passion.

Angry at herself for the crudeness of her thoughts, she paced the room in search of distraction. One distraction. Any distraction. Even the slightest diversion would do. A
newspaper…she didn’t have one. A book…she wasn’t in the mood. Her radio…not allowed. Her journal…no escape at all; she’d only write about
him
. Inevitably her gaze returned to the bed.

Was
it crude? When Ben had kissed her, there’d been nothing crude about it. When he’d held her and touched her this afternoon, she’d sensed something wild and beautiful. Was it crudeness that made her insides ache, that made her breasts throb now in testimony to his gentleness then?

Was it crude…this image of the two of them lying in one another’s arms? Or was it beautiful? Everything in her cried out for that beauty…everything but the quiet voice of reason that pointed to the different lives to which they’d return at the trial’s end.

“Abby!” The sound was accompanied by the sharp rapping of his knuckles. Then she heard the doorknob turn…and turn again in vain. “Abby! Open up!”

Lest he alert the entire inn to his intent, she ran to the door. “Enough, Ben,” she pleaded, both hands flat against the sturdy wood. “Let it be.”

“We have a decision to make.”

“It’s already made.”

“Then you can tell me to my face.”

He must have known how the very sight of
him affected her. “No. Please. I’m…tired. I’m going to bed.”

His voice came through more softly as he leaned closer to the edge of the door. “That was what I had in mind.” Pure seduction.

“Good night, Ben.”

“Abby?”

She sighed and leaned closer herself. “What?” she murmured.

“Let’s talk.” He paused. “Just talk.”

“
Just
talk? Where have I heard
that
line before? It’s second only to ‘let me show you my etchings.’ ”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Coward,” he taunted her.

“That’s right.” She admitted it readily.

For a minute neither spoke. Abby sensed that Ben hadn’t given up but was simply rethinking his game plan. She could argue as long as he wanted, she told herself. But she wasn’t going to open the door.

“Abby?”

“Yes, Ben?”

“I’ll make a scene.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean…a scene?”

“I could
really
bang on the door. That would cause a stir.”

“You wouldn’t….” She’d tried hard to get
off on the right foot with her fellow jurors, and she’d succeeded. She couldn’t believe that Ben would go out of his way to embarrass her—and himself—in front of them. The episode in the canoe was suspicious enough, she reflected with dismay. A…lover’s spat…would be downright condemning in the eyes of her more conservative peers. Did she really want to call his bluff?

“I’ll do it,” he answered her silent query in a tone of such confidence that she had to believe him.

“That’s blackmail.”

“I prefer to call it…friendly persuasion.”

“You’re being difficult, Ben.”

“I want to talk with you. And when I want something badly enough, I’m willing to go to extremes.”

“I’ve never seen you ‘go to extremes,’ ” she chided, then caught herself short when she realized she’d only known the man for four days. Nothing in what she’d seen had suggested a violent streak. As for stubbornness…

“Shall I give you a sample?” he drawled softly.

She reached for the knob and slowly opened the door. Ben had one arm indolently slung against the doorjamb on a level with his chin. “You can wipe that smug grin right
off your face, Ben Wyeth. Don’t forget,
I
can make a scene, too. And so help me, if you do anything
other
than talk, I will. How would you feel if it came out that the dignified professor attacked one of his fellow jurors?”

If she’d expected to sober him, she failed miserably. His grin was as broad as before. “Spunky lady, aren’t you,” he quipped as he strode back into the room. It was when he turned to face her that the grin vanished. “Close the door, Abby. I’d rather not make a public announcement.”

Fearful of exactly what such a ‘public announcement’ might contain, she closed the door. “All right, Ben. Talk.”

When she leaned back against the wood, he returned to stand before her. “Well…will you?” he probed.

“Will I what?”

“Will you let me stay?”

“Just like that?” she cried in disbelief.

“Just like this—” He reached to touch her but when she held up both hands to ward him off, he paused. Then he sighed in resignation. “Okay. We do it your way.” Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he paced toward the bed, then turned. Abby had expected that he’d launch a rehash of their earlier discussion. She wasn’t prepared for the curve he threw.

“What do
you
want, Abby? Honestly. I
know you feel something, that you respond to me. But what is it you want?”

What
was
it she wanted? It was no easy question to answer. One part of her wanted to kiss the prince and have him turn into a frog; that would certainly solve her problem. The other part…honestly…it was hard to say.

“I want…I need…more time.”

“Time?” Ben burst out. “We haven’t got time.”

“We’ve got three weeks.”

“Less than two and a half now. Abby, you don’t know what you’re saying. If you feel something
now
, to wait for tomorrow can be tragic. Things happen that are often beyond our control.”

There had been just a hint of pain this time, but she’d seen enough to understand his rush. It was the past…his wife’s death…his feeling that their happiness had been arbitrarily snatched from them. But those circumstances were different. That had been his wife. Abby was…nothing.

She shook her head sadly. “It’s not always that way, Ben. You were hurt once and maybe it’s understandable that you should feel this way. But there’s a danger the other way, too. Don’t you see that?”

“I don’t,” he growled. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

He was too close and she was all too aware
of him—his height, his breadth, the rugged masculinity of him. It would always be this way…and
that
was dangerous. It would be far too simple to forsake reason and succumb to the force of sheer physical attraction. And the consequences of such surrender…well, she wasn’t quite sure she could handle them.

Pushing away from the door and stepping around him, she moved to the far side of the room. Every bit of distance helped. “We both know that these circumstances are abnormal. It’s bad enough adjusting to captivity and the daily doings of the trial. But to jump into something…into an affair…” She faltered, seeking the right words. “We each have other lives, other people.” She’d been thinking of Alexandra Stokes. Not so Ben.

“Come off it, Abby,” he snapped. “You’re not in love with the guy. And you told me yourself that he didn’t turn you on!”

Abby stared at him in astonishment. “Sean? I’m not talking about Sean. I’m talking about
your
life! The one I know practically nothing about. The one with an Alexandra Stokes who seems to call you faithfully every night. Don’t tell me she’s your sister!”

As seemed to fit a pattern, her outburst quieted Ben. His expression grew less reproachful, more insightful, almost amused.
“She’s not,” he admitted gently. “So
that’s
what’s hanging you up? Alexandra?”

“That was an awful thing that just happened,” she argued in self-defense. “To be in a man’s arms with him trying to convince you to let him spend the night…and then be interrupted by a call from another woman…. You bet it’s hanging me up. Who
is
she?”

He eyed her askance. “You’re upset that I
took
it, aren’t you?”

“Of course not!” Yet she did wonder. “It was for the best,” she told herself aloud. “When I’m with you I sometimes forget that that other world exists. Her phone call was a timely reminder.” She caught her breath. “Who is she, Ben?”

Ben had listened to her argument with an undeniably satisfied look on his face.
He
knew that she’d been just a little bit jealous. He also knew not to dwell on the issue.

“
She
happens to be my Sean,” he indulged her quietly.

“Your Sean? What do you mean?”

Sighing, he dipped his head, then looked at her over the rims of nonexistent glasses. “Alexandra Stokes is a teaching assistant in the department. She’s working while she finishes her dissertation.”

“You mean, she’s strictly a colleague?” Abby cut in skeptically.

“Let me finish.” His patience was strengthened by clear determination. “No, she’s not strictly a colleague. We’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year.”

“You date.”

“Yes, we date.”

“Does she…does she…live with you?”

“No,” he answered with a knowing smile. “She has her own place.”

“Do you live with
her?
”

“Abby,” Ben sighed, “if you’re asking whether we sleep together, the answer is no. We’ve had our intimate times…but not lately.”

“Why not?” she heard herself ask and was promptly appalled. Was this really sweet Abby probing a man’s most private life?

His thoughts followed a similar train. “You’re direct,” he allowed with a crooked grin.

“So were you a few minutes ago,” she returned, stating her defense for them both to hear. “You’re asking me to share my…my…self with you. It’s only fair that I know what’s happening with your…self.”

When he laughed aloud, she blushed. “That’s what I love about you, Abby. You’re so warm and open and so much more sophisticated than most. But there’s still this shy side that intrigues me. There are words other
than ‘self’ that would express your thoughts more succinctly, you know.”

“I know,” she scowled. “But that brings it down to the most base physical level. And that’s what I’m trying to avoid! You understand what I’m saying; that’s all that counts. So now, what about Alexandra? Why does she call you every night?”

“Why does Sean call you?”

“Sean,” she sighed in exasperation, “calls because he assumes that I’m miserably lonesome. What about Alexandra?”

“Same reason, I suppose.”

“You suppose? But…what does she expect to get out of the relationship? I mean, Sean expects that I’ll turn around one day and fall madly in love with him. He just won’t give up. Don’t tell me that your Alexandra is doing the same?” Ben shrugged in a way that affirmed the situation. “You’re kidding! She’s
chasing
you?”

“Let’s just say that she’s looking for something far beyond anything I’ve ever promised her.”

“And just what
have
you promised her?” Abby asked, feeling a strange sympathy for the woman who’d fallen for this tawny-haired Adonis.

But the indignation of her question only evoked a smugness in Ben. “I’ll tell you…if you come sit with me.”

Her curiosity was piqued just enough for her to consider bowing to his suggestion. Then a furtive glance around the room convinced her that she couldn’t do that. The only place fit for two people was the bed and she wouldn’t make
that
mistake again.

“Shall we go downstairs?” she asked innocently, liking the idea instantly. In fact, she should have proposed it earlier. But then, she hadn’t exactly
invited
Ben to her room.

“That wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he answered, eyeing the bed suggestively. One glance back at Abby’s face though and he knew he didn’t have a chance. “Downstairs?” he repeated as if the word were punishment in itself. When she nodded her insistence, he sighed. “Downstairs.”

That was what
she
loved about
him
, she mused then. The way he could be strong one minute and humble the next…the way he could first rouse her spirit then tame it in the next breath. He was such a large, overpowering man, imposing in so many ways. To see him soften and give her a point here and there…it never failed to touch her.