Anything But Love (9 page)

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

T
he sun was way too bright—like supernova bright. Was it possible the earth’s star was expanding and would shortly explode?

Jessica rolled away from the glare and found herself face-to-face with Ben.

He was asleep, lying on his back with his head turned toward her, and for a moment all she could do was stare at him.

The shadow of stubble darkened his jaw, giving him a faintly piratical air. Without the warmth of his brown eyes to provide an intriguing contrast, the rough planes of his face seemed harsher than when he was awake.

His craggy features and well-muscled body projected hardness, power, and uncompromising determination. If you saw only what was on the outside, you’d think you were looking at a man who would take what he wanted without asking permission first. Only a glimpse of the soul behind that rough exterior would reveal the true story.

Ben Taggart was a gentleman.

Jessica squeezed her eyes shut, as though that could make the last twelve hours disappear.

Ben was a gentleman, all right. He’d proved it last night when she’d thrown herself at him . . . and he’d turned her down.

The more she tried not to remember, the more she remembered.

The two of them walking out into the ocean. The glory of the sea and the rain and the feeling of freedom surging through her veins.

And stronger than all of that, the pull she felt toward Ben.

He’d gone along with her crazy plan without hesitation, walking beside her through the pouring rain like a cheerful lunatic, and then following her into the ocean. His vigor and vitality seemed to flow into her until she felt as strong and fearless as he was.

Fearless enough to kiss him.

There’d been a time when she’d fantasized about kissing Ben Taggart. It came back to her now: the nights she’d lain awake thinking about him after days spent staying as far from him as she could.

You would have assumed from her behavior in school that she never wasted a thought on him. But at night she’d imagined his lips on hers, wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

Now, years later, she knew.

An explosion. Fireworks. A thousand sensations at once.

In the moments before he had pushed her away, she’d felt a wealth of carnal knowledge in his unerring touch. His mouth had fastened on hers with raw hunger.

When she felt the thick ridge of his erection pressed against her stomach, a thrill of excitement had set her nerve endings on fire. After spending the last few years thinking she was frigid and cold—maybe even asexual—the rush of erotic fire had been like a revelation.

Sober now and in the harsh light of day, she could hardly recognize the woman she’d been last night. She’d wrapped herself around Ben’s hard body and kissed him as though the world might end at any moment.

If it had been up to her, they would have done the deed. Instead of lying here fully clothed, the two of them could be tangled up together in sweaty, sex-smelling sheets.

She sat up, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her forehead on her knees.

A rogue part of her wished—oh, how she wished—that Ben wasn’t such a gentleman. That she could have experienced, just once, honest-to-God passion in bed. It had been years since she’d dated, and none of her boyfriends had ever made her a feel a fraction of what Ben did.

Last night something inside her had broken free. But it was back in its cage now—and it was impossible to imagine setting it loose again.

That was why she almost wished Ben had taken advantage of the situation. But the bigger part of her—the sane part—was grateful that he was who he was.

“Morning.”

She jerked her head up. Ben was on his side facing her, propped up on one elbow. His expression was quizzical, and he wore a slight smile.

Her mouth opened but she couldn’t seem to speak. After a moment Ben’s smile faded, replaced by a frown of concern.

“Are you okay?”

She had to answer. She couldn’t go on staring at him like an imbecile.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice came out a little raspy. Dehydration from the hangover, no doubt.

Deciding she could better cope with the situation if she weren’t in bed with him, she swung her legs toward the floor and started to get up. Unfortunately, her feet tangled in the covers and she went down on her butt.

“Jess?”

“I’m fine,” she said again, her face beet red. She started to rise, tripped herself up again, and this time carefully unwound the blanket from her left foot. Then, with what shreds of dignity she could muster, she managed to stand.

Ben was sitting up, his expression carefully neutral—but there was a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth that told a different story.

“Everything good?” he asked.

“Of course,” she replied stiffly. “Do you want the bathroom before me?”

“No, you can go first. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

The grin came out as Ben folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against his pillows. “I did promise that if you still lusted after me this morning, I’d do my best to satisfy you. How’s your libido? Anything you’d like me to take care of before you start your day?”

Okay, so he wasn’t a
perfect
gentleman. A perfect gentleman would have pretended last night had never happened.

“I’m all set, thanks,” she said primly. She glanced at the clock. “It’s after nine, so we should get a move on if we want breakfast. The buffet closes at ten.”

Then she fled into the bathroom.

She’d been half afraid Ben would tease her at breakfast, but he kept the conversation light. By the time she’d finished her coffee and egg-white omelet, order had been restored in the form of a mutual decision to put last night behind them.

She breathed a sigh of relief as they left the buffet room.

“What are your plans for the day?” Ben asked.

“My plans?”

“That’s right. You know, plans? The stuff you do in lieu of playing solitaire or staring off into space.”

“I just . . . I mean . . . you said
my
plans. As in, my plans without you.”

They pushed through the lobby doors to the porch, which reminded her of last night. This was where she’d stood watching the rain come down. Today, by contrast, was postcard beautiful—clean blue skies and a few puffy white clouds.

Ben grinned down at her. “Are you saying you want to spend the day with me?”

“I don’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .” She took a breath, wondering if her aplomb had deserted her forever or if it was a Ben-specific thing. “Of course you don’t have to spend the day with me. I just wondered if you had plans of your own? It sounded like maybe you did.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Since I’m deprived my regular sports, I thought I’d go check out some cricket.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? Apparently today and tomorrow are the Bermuda World Series of cricket. And the game—”

“It’s called a match.”

“—the match lasts all day, with food and rum and gambling and music. I’m definitely up for that.”

Jessica had dated an Australian businessman once who loved cricket, and who had persuaded her to sit through something he’d called the Ashes.

“Cricket makes no sense. Nothing at all happens for a long time, and then a ball gets hit and someone runs back and forth for no apparent reason. After three hours or so the score is 195 to zero and you think that’s it, stick a fork in it, but then the team that was at zero goes on to win. I don’t think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Are you kidding? It sounds great. Let’s go.”

The sun was in her eyes, and she lifted a hand to shade them as she looked up at Ben. “Let’s go? As in, both of us?”

“Unless you’ve got something else going on. It’s not dolphin day, is it?”

She shook her head. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Well, then, there you go. Why not come with me? It’s a gorgeous day, and it sounds like the cricket match is just an excuse for a big party. Let’s go check it out. The best way to learn about a culture is at its favorite sporting event. What do you say?”

“Well . . .”

He grinned. “Great. I’ll meet you out front in a few minutes, okay? There’s something I want to pick up at the gift shop.”

Should she go back to the room? She was wearing a pair of blue capri pants and a white shirt with spaghetti straps. Did she need to change? No—a cricket match wouldn’t require anything more formal.

She wandered back through the lobby, stopping at the cricket display the hotel staff had helpfully set up. Shaking her head at the oddly shaped bat and ball, it occurred to her that she could have opted to do something else—shop in Hamilton’s boutique district, wander through the four-hundred-year-old town of St. George, sit by the pool or swim in the ocean or—well, anything. But for some reason, in spite of last night’s embarrassing debacle, she still wanted to spend time with Ben more than she wanted to do any of those things.

Which, today, meant going to a cricket match.

She went out through the front doors and waited for Ben. He came out a few minutes later, carrying a bag from the gift shop.

“Here,” he said, pulling out two T-shirts. “Pick a team.”

“A team?”

“Somerset or St. George.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Those are the two teams playing today,” he explained patiently. “The St. George players are from the east side of the island, and the Somerset players are from the west. They play each other once a year.”

She looked at the T-shirts he was holding up. “Let me get this straight. You want us to wear the T-shirts of the two cricket teams?”

“Sure. The staff here at the hotel seem equally divided between the two, so they told me it was good that we’d be representing both sides.”

“The locals don’t mind when tourists wear these things? I mean, I know Yankees fans would absolutely hate it if a bunch of tourists from another country showed up at a game wearing pinstripes.”

“It happens all the time, and yeah, New Yorkers hate that. But in case you haven’t noticed, Bermudians are a lot more friendly. It’ll be fine, Jess. Just pick a shirt.”

The St. George colors were light blue and dark blue; the Somerset colors were dark blue and red.

“I guess I’ll go with this one,” she said, reaching for the St. George shirt.

“Perfect,” Ben said, exchanging his plain tee for the Somerset one.

Jessica pulled her new T-shirt on over what she was wearing. It was enormous, the sleeves down nearly to her elbows and the hem falling to the middle of her thighs.

“I can’t wear this,” she said. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look fine,” Ben said firmly, steering her across the driveway toward the main road. “They’re running low on shirts, and there aren’t any smaller sizes in stock.”

“You passed the taxi stand,” Jessica said, trying to stop.

Ben shook his head and kept going. “We’re taking the bus.”

“The bus?”

“Yep. It’ll be more fun.”

“What’ll be fun about it?”

That question was answered a few minutes later when they took their seats among the raucous locals riding to the cricket stadium.

Jessica had never seen such a happy group of people in her life. Most of them were wearing the dark blue and light blue of St. George, and they seemed to regard Jessica as a long-lost cousin.

“St. George!” they cried out when they saw her.

“Sit here by me,” an elderly woman said, patting the seat next to her. “Your husband can stand, since he’s for the wrong team.”

“He’s not my husband, and I’m not really a fan,” she said anxiously, feeling like she was receiving friendliness under false pretenses. “He only bought these shirts for us this morning. I don’t know anything about the team.”

The woman, who was dressed head to toe in the St. George colors—including an enormous straw hat bedecked in light and dark blue ribbons—just laughed. “Well, then. At least you’ve started by picking the right side.”

The bus ride took twenty minutes, which gave Jessica time to listen to the chatter of the people around her. They were engaged in passionate discussions about the minutiae of the match they were about to attend. Whenever she caught Ben’s eye, he was smiling, which made her realize she was smiling, too.

Even though she had little idea what they were talking about, she found herself caught up in the enthusiasm. Before the ride was over, she agreed to a young girl’s suggestion to tie back her hair with a St. George ribbon.

“Very nice,” Ben said as they got off the bus and went toward the line of people snaking out from the stadium ticket booth.

“I couldn’t say no. That little girl was so adorable.”

“You’re pretty adorable, too.”

She was taken off guard, but Ben reached the ticket booth just then, so she didn’t have to answer.

He thought she was adorable?

She was surprised at how good it felt to hear that. But was her pleasure because of the compliment, or the person who’d given it to her?

No. For once in her life, she wasn’t going to second-guess herself. She was going to follow Ben’s example and enjoy this beautiful day in the company of thousands of people doing the same thing.