Getting It Right! (4 page)

Furthermore, Carrie needed the break. Chicks In Charge had given her an outlet of sorts, but the perpetual grind of working at a thankless job was beginning to wear on her. She’d worked hard for this, dammit. She deserved it.

“God, I hope this works out for her,” April told her.

Frankie sighed. “Yeah. Me, too. I’ve got a call coming in,” she said. “Keep me posted. I want details—the hot, the heaving and the horny. Call me as soon as you get home. Provided you come home,” she added.

“Duly noted.” With a soft chuckle, April disconnected, then made her way back to her home office. That was one of the benefits of her line of work.

Aside from the necessary legwork she liked to put into a project, ninety percent of her job was accomplished in the small gatehouse located at the rear of her property. She’d fallen in love with the main house, a stately Victorian in the Garden District, the instant she’d seen it. Between the money she’d managed to save and the trust fund she’d inherited at twenty-one, April had managed to pay cash in order to avoid a mortgage.

Her father’s accountant had counseled against the move, had cited numerous investments she could have made in order to make the most of her money, but buying the house—owning her own place without fear of ever losing it—had been too important to her. If she never heard, “So long as
you’re living in my house…” or “My house, my rules,” again, she’d die a happy woman. Frankly, she’d always hated living with her mother and from the time she was a little girl, she’d wanted her own place. Something that was solely hers.

Thankfully, in recent years her business had done well and thanks to the popularity of Chicks In Charge, she currently had more work that she could handle alone. She’d hired a couple of capable women from her local CHiC chapter to help out part-time. Aside from her estranged relationship with her father and the lengthy absence of an orgasm, her life was going remarkably well.

She was doing all she could do in regards to her father. When he was ready to share this new chapter of his life with her, he would. Did it hurt? Hell yeah. But apart from trying to maintain a presence in his life, what could she do?

Frankie had suggested hiring a private detective. For a few hundred dollars she could identify the significant someone in her father’s life, but April couldn’t bring herself to do it. It smacked too much of what her mother would do, and April purposely avoided any reason for comparison.

Undoubtedly her mother knew who her father was seeing—precious little escaped her ever-
observant eye and if it did, her private detective kept her abreast of goings-on—but something about her mother’s smug smile when the subject came up indicated to April that, for whatever reason, Morgana would take entirely too much glee in sharing her father’s secret. And evidently, the only thing she’d enjoy more was her dad telling her himself.

But clearly her father didn’t want her to know, and finding out by any other means seemed entirely too sneaky. She preferred the direct approach.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. As evidenced by this morning’s behavior.
Hi, Ben. My orgasm is broken and I need you to fix it for me.
Not verbatim, of course, but the meaning couldn’t have been any more clear. Odd how their familiarity had both terrified and liberated her. Ben knew her, which had been both a pro and a con.

On the pro side, he knew what to expect from her. He knew that she didn’t pull any punches, that she abhorred all methods of manipulation. That had given her the freedom to walk into his office and lay everything out on the line.

Then again, he
knew
her. It was like having your gyno and your ex being one in the same.
Talk about awkward. Hell, all that had been missing this morning was the paper dress and pair of stirrups.

At any rate, given the woeful twinge in her sex and the pleasant tingling sensation in her nipples, seeing
The Vagina Whisperer
had definitely been the right choice. She hadn’t felt that much tension in her hot spots in over a year…and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

April pulled into her driveway, shifted into park, then let her gaze turn inward. All he’d done was sit there and stare at her with those brooding, rock-your-world eyes. He’d calmly assessed her, trailed that compelling gaze over her body like warm honey over a biscuit and something inside her had wriggled to life once more. She was starving and, though it might be unreasonable, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ben was the only person who could feed her. April released a stuttering breath.

And the feast was at seven.

A
T PRECISELY SEVEN O’CLOCK
—she’d circled the block three times first in order to avoid being early—April pulled into Ben’s driveway and tried to summon the courage to get out of her car. It was bad enough having to ask for an orgasm, but she had absolutely no intention of appearing too eager by preempting their prescribed meeting time. He knew she was desperate—she’d come to him, hadn’t she?—but there was no need to look downright pathetic.

Though she’d gotten a good look at the classic Georgian on her numerous trips around the block, April leaned back in her seat and took a minute to really appreciate the old manor.

Painted a pale dove-gray and accented with crisp white shutters and trim, the house sat on an expertly manicured lawn surrounded by hundred-year-old live oaks dripping with Spanish moss
that swayed in the chilly evening breeze. Ivy wound its way around the central columns supporting the huge porch and created an evergreen arbor, one she suspected would be dressed in lazy purple wisteria blossoms come the spring.

An ornamental iron fence surrounded the property and accompanying accent pieces had been strategically placed around the yard. Vintage gas lamps showcased twin dancing flames on either side of the curiously forbidding door.

Despite the obvious majesty of the home, there was a slightly gothic feel—one she imagined Ben purposely cultivated. It conjured images of mint juleps and voodoo dolls, and would have been right at home in an Anne Rice novel. She paused, absorbing the sensual essence of the house and decided it suited its owner. It was beautiful yet dark and seductive…full of hidden secrets.

April let out an expectant breath. But she wasn’t here to explore hidden secrets. She was more interested in his hidden talents, ones she’d been fantasizing about for years and more recently,
today.

Since this morning’s conversation, every waking second had been consumed with the idea that Ben Hayes—the one guy that she’d always wanted—was going to make love to her.

Tonight.

For whatever reason, be it women’s intuition or just wishful thinking, she was absolutely certain that he was going to be able to “fix” her, that whatever had prompted her orgasmic hiatus would crumble under the expert skill of his lovemaking.

A hot thrilling kiss from that sexy mouth, the slide of those big warm hands over her bare back, his talented tongue curling around her nipple. That big hard body positioned between her legs, pushing into her until he coaxed that elusive climax out of her dormant libido
.

A sigh stuttered out of her lungs. All of it, hers for the taking the instant she drummed up the nerve to get out of the freaking car, she thought, annoyed with herself for dawdling. Asking for his help had been the hurdle, dammit. Walking through that door when she knew what awaited her should be a piece of cake.

And yet, she hesitated.

April didn’t know why, couldn’t pinpoint an exact cause for her anxiety, but for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, she knew—
knew—
that she was taking a huge risk. Knew that things couldn’t as be as simple as what she hoped they’d be. No matter how she tried to simplify things,
she’d invited Ben Hayes back into her life in one of the most intimate ways a woman could—into her body. There was nothing casual or commonplace about it and she didn’t take it lightly.

In her opinion, there was nothing casual about sex. She’d had several lovers over the years, but they’d been chosen carefully. She had too much self-respect to hand her body over to someone who wouldn’t appreciate it or be worthy of the gift. Despite their rocky past, if she hadn’t known beyond a shadow of a doubt that Ben would fit the bill on both counts, she could have never gone to him and asked for his help.

Somewhere beneath that brooding exterior lay the sexy bad boy with the irreverent smile and kind heart she used to know. Finding him after all these years would be a chore, but she didn’t doubt that he was still there. A faint smile curled her lips. She’d seen the briefest glimpse of him this morning.

With one last bracing breath, April snagged her purse and keys and got out of the car. It was door-die time, she thought, and, since she wasn’t trying to sell him a vacuum cleaner or invite him to church, this was no front-door visit. Rather than taking the front walk, April followed the winding
brick path alongside the house around to the back door. Another woeful twinge in her neglected sex prompted her to knock on the door.

Thirty seconds later, Ben appeared. Dressed in head-to-toe black, his dark hair still slightly damp and slicked away from his forehead, he looked sexy and dangerous, and completely capable of rocking her world. He smiled, just the merest quirk of his lips, and her toes curled.

“Come in.”

If he’d take her in the mudroom, she could
come
now, April thought, wondering if this was what it felt like to be held enthralled. One look and those two little words and she was utterly enchanted. Captivated. As a teenager he’d been addictive—as an adult, he was positively lethal.

This was the problem,
a little-heeded voice said.
You’ll care too much and he’ll break your heart again. And this time, you won’t get over it.

“Hi,” April said, too breathlessly, in her opinion, and determinedly ignored the sound voice of reason. “I hope I’m not early.”

“Right on time,” he told her, eyes twinkling with perceptive humor. Undoubtedly he’d seen her driving around the block, she thought, mortified. Before she could dwell on it, though, he
calmly laced his fingers through hers, causing a tingle to race up her arm, and tugged her gently toward the parlor. He released her hand and made his way to an ornate bar stationed in the corner of the room. “Can I get you something to drink?”

April nodded, glanced idly around the room, pretending to look at anything but him. “Sure. A beer would be nice.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Abita golden, right?”

Surprised that he’d paid that close attention to her beverage of choice—and that he’d obviously gone to the trouble to get it—April’s anxiety lessened considerably.

A cozy fire burned in the grate, the intimate flames casting eerie shadows on the hand-painted, most likely imported, wallpaper. Genuine antiques and excellent reproductions anchored the room, and a beautiful Oriental rug lay over the dark-stained hardwood floors. Whoever had decorated for him—and who knows, April thought, he could have done it himself—had done an excellent job marrying masculine colors to heavy furnishings with distinctive feminine curves. No hard lines. Just lots of rounded edges and scrollwork. Very evocative. Very sensual.

Very Ben.

No decorator, April decided. There’d been too much attention to detail for anyone else to have captured his particular style.

He ambled over and she accepted her beer. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” he told her. “Getting it right has been a process, but it’s coming along.”

She smiled. Ah. So she’d been right. “How long have you lived here?”

“Six years.” He sipped his wine, unwittingly wetting his lips. “What about you? You’re still in the Garden District, too, right?”

“I am,” she said cautiously. He’d kept up with her that well, had he? Her internal temperature jumped another degree as a pleasant warmth moved into her belly.

Ben easily settled himself onto a serpentine sofa, took another drink of his wine and regarded her over the rim. “I’ve been thinking about your problem,” he said.

A shiver arced up her spine. “You have?”

“Yes.” He paused. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to have a little more information.”

Though she could have sat in any number of places in the room, April chose the spot next to him
on the other end of the sofa. His plan, she knew. He’d purposely sat first, forcing her to make the choice to come to him. Testing her? she wondered. Or reinforcing the idea? “Er…what kind of information?”

Quite frankly, she never dreamed that he’d think past sleeping with her. She couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or offended. Ultimately, she decided to reserve judgment until she knew precisely what sort of information he was interested in.

“The personal sort. Tell me again when your problem started?”

She supposed that was a fair question. “About eighteen months ago.”

“Any mitigating circumstances?”

April quirked a questioning brow. “Mitigating circumstances?”

Ben cleared his throat. “A bad experience.”

What was he talking about? “Bad sex?”

“Rough sex,” he corrected. “That sort of thing.”

April’s eyes widened. “No, no. Nothing like that.” Though, quite honestly, it damned sure hadn’t been anything to write home about. Her last relationship had ended when her boyfriend of more than a year had dumped her when she’d sud
denly lost the ability to climax. His ego had been too fragile, she supposed, though she had to admit, if the situation had been reversed, she would have been a wee bit intimidated, as well.

Nevertheless, she damned well wouldn’t have quit trying after a measly two-week dry spell. A real fighter he’d turned out to be, April thought with a mental eye roll. Better to find out now rather than later, she supposed. Still…

“Good,” Ben replied, seemingly relieved. He turned to look at her. “So what you’re saying is that, for no obvious reason, you suddenly couldn’t—”

“That’s right.”

He frowned, apparently puzzling over her unique problem. “Were you in a relationship at the time?”

“Several,” she deadpanned, just to rattle him.

His startled gaze swung to hers.

“With Mike, my mechanic,” she confided. “Man, the things he could do with a socket wrench and a can of WD-40,” she lamented with a dramatic sigh, thoroughly enjoying the slight choking noise Ben made. She resisted the urge to smile. “He hung around until he realized that no amount of elbow grease was going to get the job done.”
She paused, seemingly trying to remember her vast cache of lovers. “Then there was Allen, my UPS guy.
Mmm.Mmm.Mmm. What can brown do for you?
” She manufactured another woebegone sigh. “The instant my delivery confirmation went AWOL, it was over between us.” April cocked her head. “Only Beth had the balls to hang around—figuratively speaking, of course,” she added, throwing in a lesbian relationship just for the hell of it. “She works for the Audubon Zoo, but even she couldn’t get past the misery of continually failing to give me release when my Big O went the way of the buffalo.” She smiled and bit her lip. “I’m banking on you having a bit more fortitude.”

Ben’s lips slid into a grin and those compelling amber eyes twinkled with humor. “The way of the buffalo, eh?”

“Or the dodo. Whatever analogy works best for you.” She grinned. “I
was
in a relationship when it happened,” she finally told him. “I’d been in one for more than a year, as a matter of fact.”

His gaze sharpened. “So it was serious then?”

April thought about it. “It was getting there, I suppose. We’d considered moving in together.” Actually, come to think of it, her orgasm had vanished shortly after they’d started making tentative
plans for him to move in with her. Could that have had something to do with it? April wondered now, considering the connection.

Ben studied her. “Could have been your body’s way of telling you that you were with the wrong guy.”

“Could be,” she conceded. “But that doesn’t explain why I haven’t been able to take care of business myself.” April stilled. Did she really just tell Ben Hayes about her failed masturbation attempts? she wondered, blushing to the roots of her hair. Granted, it was something she didn’t mind discussing with other women, but it was the first time she’d ever made a confession of that nature to a guy, for heaven’s sake. Especially a hot one, whom she couldn’t wait to get into bed.

Geez. Would her humiliation never end?

A slow grin rolled across Ben’s lips and, for whatever reason, she got the distinct impression that he was imagining her stretched out naked on cool sheets,
taking care of business
. His lids dropped to half-mast and those amber orbs darkened a shade. “No,” he murmured softly. “It doesn’t, does it?” He paused. “I am certain that I have the
fortitude—
” he lingered suggestively over the words “—to take care of you, but I’m going to ask that you have patience.”

Oh, hell. That didn’t sound good. She’d run out of patience, dammit. That’s why she’d finally come to him. “Patience?”

Ben’s compelling gaze tangled with hers and held. “I think that your problem is more in your head than in your sex.”

April felt her hackles rise. “You think I need to see a shrink?”

“No,” he said smoothly. “If I can’t make you come, then I think you need to see a doctor.”

It’s not as if she hadn’t heard that before, April thought. Frankie had given her the same sort of advice. Still, she didn’t get it. Had he changed his mind? Did he, God forbid,
not
want to have sex with her? Had those smoldering looks been a figment of her imagination? Had she been that far off base assuming that he wanted her, too? Oh, God. Her stomach rolled and every ounce of moisture evaporated from her mouth.

She abruptly stood, looked for a coaster to leave her beer on and, not finding one, decided to take it with her. “You know, I’m not altogether sure this was such a good idea after all. I—”

Ben set his drink aside and calmly found his feet. He chuckled softly, the sound intimate like the rustle of sheets. “Oh, it’s definitely a good idea.”

“But—”

He stalked toward her. “It’s not that I don’t want you, April,” he said, correctly—disturbingly—guessing her fears. “You know I do. That’s why you came to me.” His hands framed her face and he angled her mouth up toward his. “Here,” he murmured huskily, skimming his thumb over her bottom lip. “Let me prove it.”

Slowly, reverently, as though he had all the time in the world, Ben searched her face—really looked at her—then lowered his lips until they touched hers, sparking a reaction in her body that for all intents and purposes made New Orleans’s famed Mardi Gras celebration look like a pathetic little party with a single sparkler and a broken piñata.