Getting It Right! (7 page)

He inhaled sharply. “No bra?”

“You said sexy,” she reminded him. “FYI, I’m not wearing any panties, either.”

“Christ.”

April laughed. “Be patient,” she mimicked, tossing the words back at him.

“Yeah, well, it’s a helluva lot harder when I know the only thing that separates you from me is my zipper.” He chuckled darkly. “FYI, I
never
wear underwear.”

April drew back, inadvertently forcing his hand from beneath her dress, and stared at him. Oh, now that really wasn’t fair. He was already torturing her, wasn’t he? Wasn’t she allowed any petty joy?

“They constrict,” he explained, smiling, no doubt as a result of her shocked expression. “I like the freedom.”

Freedom, hell. Now every time she looked at him she was going to know that he was going commando and it was going to drive her nuts. She’d be constantly scoping out his package—as if she didn’t do that enough already, for Pete’s sake.

“I’m liking it, too,” April said. “Usually I wear thongs—same effect, almost—but this is…” She shifted above him and had the pleasure of watching his jaw clench. “…nice,” she finished. “In fact, I like it so much, I’m going to propose a Rule Number Three.”

Ben smiled and chewed the corner of his lip. His amber eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Is that right?”

“It is. From this moment forward during Operation Orgasm, neither of us can wear underwear.”

A startled laugh broke up in his throat. “Operation Orgasm?”

April smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s what a friend of mine is calling this mercy mission of yours. She’s aware of my…problem, and has been hounding me for months to ask for your help.”

Ben’s head bobbed in a sanctimonious little nod. “Sounds like your friend is a smart woman.”

“She is,” April agreed.

His gaze tangled with hers. “But this is not a mercy mission.”

“It is,” she said. “But I don’t mind.” April’s lips quirked. “How shameless is that?”

Ben considered her a moment, seemed to be weighing a decision of sorts. “Oh, hell, April. It’s not shameless. The only difference between you and me is that you had the nerve to make the first move.” She detected the smallest hint of self-disgust in that otherwise sexy voice.

She’d known that he’d wanted her—those hot
stares at the pub could hardly imply anything less—but she had to admit having him finally come clean about it was particularly gratifying.

“What happened to your nerve?” she asked, curious as to why he hadn’t made a move.

Ben tensed, hesitated, then ultimately kissed the living hell out of her. She was out of breath, dazed and confused by the time he finally released her. “The answer to that would involve breaking Rule Number Two—”

Rule Number Two? Talking about their parents? April frowned. But—

“So, for the time being,” he continued, “why don’t we chalk it up to me being a perfect idiot and move on.” He planted a kiss on her nose, then carefully helped her off his lap and stood. “We should probably be heading in. Wouldn’t want to get hit by a barge.”

Stunned, April felt her eyes widen. “Er…no. That wouldn’t be a good thing.”

Ben laughed. “Not if we want to live, no.”

She nodded magnanimously, still bewildered by the Rule Number Two revelation and the abrupt subject change to barges and death. “I, personally, am in favor of living.”

He smiled at her. “Good. I happen to be in fa
vor of you living, too.” He looked away, passed a hand over his face, then found her gaze once more. “My world has been a pretty boring place without you in it.”

Since that was possibly one of the most beautiful things anyone had ever said to her, April decided to table the idea of pressing for more details about Rule Number Two. It could wait….

At least until the end of the week.

Until then she planned to make the most of rules one and three.

A
H…NOW THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL
,
Ben thought, pulling the old antebellum home into focus. Seated about a hundred and fifty yards off the road, although he doubted there’d been one here at the time this old lady was built, the Picaine mansion had long ago been abandoned. Hard times, poor management. Who knew? But the end result was the same.

Something that had once been strong and lovely had been left to the ravages of time, uncared for, unlived in and unkempt. It was sad, a tragedy really, that the time, effort and care that had gone into building something so exquisite could be forgotten by later generations.

But despite the broken panes and sagging shutters, rotten boards and vandalism, there was still a beauty in the vulnerability of the architecture. That was what Ben liked to capture on film—the
strength and nakedness of the old home. Left to their own devices, bushes, shrubs and trees had grown up around the old belle almost as if to embrace her, maybe hold her up.

Ben knew from experience that the odd clump of buttercups would bloom amid the underbrush in the spring, giving the lingering impression that someone had once cared enough to plant the bulbs. Other than a couple of woebegone cedar trees, there was nothing green, blooming or otherwise. It was bleak, melancholy, but still beautiful. It still reeked of
home,
even if it was a forgotten one. For whatever reason, Ben could identify with that. He could feel it, picking up certain vibes from older houses.

Working consistently, he framed a couple more shots, then made his way back to his car. A few detours later—he’d never been able to pass up an old dirt road since he’d found too many wonderful things waiting for him in the least likely of places—Ben finally arrived back at the office.

Hoping to avoid whatever business needed his immediate attention, he came in through the back entrance and quietly hurried into the lab. He wanted to develop these as soon as possible. He wouldn’t know until he saw the film, of course, but that tingling excitement that heralded good
work was whipping around his belly, spiking anticipation.

Unfortunately—hell, the woman had ears like a friggin’ bat, Ben thought uncharitably—he hadn’t even managed to take his camera out of the bag before Claudette knocked briskly at the door.

Ben muttered a curse. “I’m busy, Claudette,” he said. “Whatever it is will have to wait.”

“He’s been waiting awhile already.”

Ben tensed. Oh, shit. He knew who “he” was, but asked for confirmation anyway. “Who has been waiting?”

“Your father.”

A litany of expletives hissed between Ben’s teeth. He walked over and reluctantly opened the door. “How long has be been here?”

“An hour and a half.”

“An hour and a half?” he parroted, astonished. “Didn’t you tell him that you didn’t know how long I’d be?”

Claudette nodded imperiously. “Several times.”

“And he waited anyway?”

“He’s quite determined to see you. Says he hasn’t got anything else to do today.”

Shit.
Ben shoved his hand through his hair. “Does he know that I’m here now?”

She nodded. “He does. He saw you pull around back. When you didn’t come through the front door, I think he assumed you’d seen his car and were attempting to further avoid him.” Claudette paused, letting Ben fully absorb the guilt. “I corrected the assumption and made sure he understood your back-door entrance was a common occurrence.” She paused again. “I am not making up any more excuses, Ben. I won’t send him away. And I will not insulate you anymore. You’re a grown man, for Pete’s sake,” she said, exasperated. “Act like one.”

Ben shot her a stunned look. What the hell had happened to her? he wondered. Oh, he’d never had to wonder about her thoughts or opinions—particularly when it had come to his personal lifestyle or his father. A scowl of displeasure, a disapproving harrumph. But she’d never said anything so…So…honest, Ben realized.

Claudette shrugged. “From here on out, I’m speaking my mind. It’s all part and parcel of the new me. Fire me if you don’t like it. Otherwise, learn to cope.” With a smile that could only be described as smug, Claudette turned on her heel and walked away. “Your father is waiting in your office. How long you leave him there is up to you.”

Though he’d like nothing better than to go into his darkroom and explore his photos, or rethink every instant of last night with April—a frequent, make that constant occurrence since they’d parted ways at the riverfront—Ben pulled in a deep breath, let it go with a whoosh of dread, then slowly made his way down the hall to his office.

He opened the door and his father turned and stood. A ready smile, one that made a knot form in Ben’s throat, sprang to his dad’s lips. “Son,” he said warmly.

Ben swallowed, strolled into the room and tried to pretend he hadn’t been avoiding his father. He’d feel better behind his desk—needed the distance—but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was too disrespectful. “Sorry you had to wait so long. I was out at the old Picaine mansion today.”

His dad inclined his head. “Beautiful place.” He stroked his jaw. “Shame they let it fall to rack and ruin. Heart pine floors. No joints, either. If the room’s twenty feet long, so’s the board. Now that was craftsmanship.”

Ben nodded. “It’s a gorgeous place. I’m thinking I got several good shots out of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” his father readily agreed. He stared at some of the photos lining the
walls. “You have a unique way of looking at things and an even better talent for capturing it.” His dad glanced over at him. “I’m proud of you, Ben, even if you aren’t of me.”

Oh, hell. Ben passed a hand over his face. “Dad—”

“I heard that you’re seeing April again,” he said, swiftly interrupting him before he’d have the chance to deny it. Evidently Davy didn’t want to force his son to lie, a fact that made Ben all the more uncomfortable.

“I’m glad to hear it,” his father continued. “I’ve always thought she was the one for you, and I’ve always been sorry that I screwed it up for you.”

“You didn’t screw it up for me.”

Davy smiled sadly. “I did, but it looks like you’ve got a second chance. Make the most of it.”

Ben nodded, felt a smile twist his lips. “Morgana still got her spies in place?”

His father grinned. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots. But the woman doesn’t have the teeth or claws she used to have. She’s on the rampage and she’s bitter, but don’t let her stop you. She certainly hasn’t stopped April from being who she wants to be.” A troubled frown pulled at his lips. “I wish Marcus would—” He stopped and drew up short.

Ben’s senses hit red alert. “You wish Marcus would what?” he asked gravely.

Davy considered him, then with the relief of taking another into his confidence, he sighed. “I wish Marcus would tell her about me,” he confided.

The floor beneath his feet might as well have rocked. “What do you mean tell her about you?” His eyes felt as if they were about to burst from their sockets. “You mean she doesn’t know?”

“Not about me, no.”

Ben swallowed uncomfortably. “But she knows that Marcus is—”

“—gay,” Davy supplied with a small smile. “Yes. She saw him at a club we sometimes frequent last summer. Apparently she was hired to design their Web site and wanted to inspect it first.”

So she’d found her father at a gay bar. That must have been awkward, Ben thought. “Wow,” he said, for lack of anything better.

Davy’s brows knitted. “She hasn’t mentioned any of this to you?”

No. She couldn’t because of Rule Number Two. He suddenly felt like a selfish ass. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Distracted, Ben shook his head.
“It hasn’t come up, no.” He glanced at his father. “I can’t believe Morgana hasn’t told her.”

Davy smiled. “Oh, don’t think she wouldn’t if April asked. But she’s not going to as long as she can hold it over Marcus’s head.”

That sounded in character, Ben thought.

“No doubt you’ll be hearing from her,” his father commented. “I’m sure she’s afraid that you’ll tell her. And that would ruin her fun. She’d like nothing better than to come between April and her dad.”

“If Marcus is avoiding her, then it sounds like she’s already getting her wish.”

Davy nodded. “I’ve pointed that out.” He sighed. “For someone so smart, the man is certainly underestimating his daughter.”

No doubt that was true, Ben silently concurred. Marcus ought to know that April wouldn’t give a rip about who he was with. And frankly, unlike Ben, she’d probably be delighted that it was his father. She’d always adored him, had always talked about how lucky he was to have a dad who was good at “tinkering.”

When he was growing up, his dad had helped them build tree houses and forts, had made spinning wheels out of old box fans. He’d shown them
how to bait a hook, properly nurse a baby bird and plant a garden. He’d had a heart of gold and the patience of Job.

Ben glanced up at his father and for the first time in years, he noted the lines etched across his once-smooth face. And he saw more, as well. Worry and the fear of rejection.

His father wasn’t weak at all, Ben realized. It took a helluva lot of courage to keep trying to love him when Ben had made it so damned hard.

“Well,” his dad said. “I’ve taken enough of your time. I should let you get back to work.” He turned and started toward the door.

“Dad.”

Davy tensed and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, son?”

“Thanks for coming by.” Ben cleared his throat. “It—It was good to see you.”

A heartbreakingly hopeful smile tugged his father’s lips. “You, too. Bring her by sometime, would you? I’d love to see her.” He paused. “And I suspect someone else would, as well.”

Ben watched him go, then settled behind his desk and tried to absorb everything that had just happened here. He’d learned that April didn’t know about Marcus and his father—mind-bog
gling, that, he thought, still stunned—and, after all these years, he and his father had reached some sort of common ground. He didn’t think he’d ever understand why his dad had made the decisions he’d made, but at least he could respect him for all the little things he’d taken for granted and, most importantly, never giving up on him.

Nevertheless, with this new information came a new problem—to tell or not to tell April. Clearly his father hoped he would, but Ben had trouble making it his place to do so, when clearly, Marcus wasn’t ready for April to know. Did he think Marcus was wrong? Hell, yes. But that still didn’t make it his place. Given that, he didn’t know—

Claudette’s knock sounded once more. “I really hate to bother you…”

“Ha!” Ben interrupted.

“…but there’s a very unpleasant woman breathing down my neck who insists on seeing you,” his secretary continued through uncustomarily gritted teeth.

Ben smiled. “Does she have horns and cloven hooves?”

White-faced and furious, Morgana Wilson nudged Claudette aside and stormed into his office. She planted her fists on his desk and leaned
forward menacingly. “I thought I told you to stay away from my daughter.”

“You did,” Ben returned smoothly.

“Then what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she quietly screeched.

Ben summoned a dark grin, one he knew would infuriate her. “Whatever the hell I want to.”

“S
AILING, EH
?” Frankie asked. “Sounds romantic.”

Seated at a corner table in Mama MoJo’s, April smiled and filled her fork full of salad. “It was. I had no idea he was into sailing.” Or into playing her body like a fine instrument, then finishing with a reverent kiss as the final note, as opposed to rocking her world with a hard orgasm.

But she knew it was coming and, after last night, looked forward to what he had in store for her next.

“Now tell me about these rules.” Frankie grimaced. “Ugh. You know I detest rules.”

Ordinarily, April did, too, but she was okay with his. She quickly filled her in and waited for her friend’s response.

“I like the beck-and-call rule,” she said, arching an interested brow—no doubt filing it away
for her and Ross, April thought. “And the no-underwear rule is positively wicked. It means both of you are always ready, easily accessible. Open to one another.” Frankie mulled it over. “That takes trust, more of it than you’ve probably realized.” She aimed another shrewd look at her. “Are you sure you’re not getting in over your head? I thought you just wanted him to fix your orgasm, then move on. This doesn’t sound like a moving-on kind of relationship to me.”

Honestly, April didn’t know where she wanted it to lead. She hadn’t thought that far in advance and purposely didn’t want to—it wasn’t part of her fantasy. Right now, Ben had been everything she could have possibly hoped for. Kind, enigmatic, sexy…and totally into her, which was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. She told as much to Frankie.

“What makes you think it’s too personal?” she asked. Frankie had a way of seeing things that other people didn’t necessarily. She was very perceptive, a trait April frequently envied.

Her friend smiled. “The combination of rules one and three attests to comfort levels and intimacy—but Rule Number Two suggests history.” She cocked her head. “Wanna tell me the truth now, April?”

Trust Frankie to see past all the sex and seduction and get right to the heart of the matter. Ultimately, April summoned the nerve to confide in her, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about sharing teenage heartbreak that made her feel juvenile and pathetic. Lots of people had teenage loves. They got over them. Clearly there was something wrong with her, because she’d just never been able to let it go. The wound had scabbed over, but it had never fully healed.

When she was finished spilling the whole sordid tale, Frankie sat in speculative silence for several minutes before speaking. “Your mother’s a bitch.”

April chuckled. “She is that.”

Frankie hesitated, seeming to carefully weigh her words. “What you need to be asking yourself is why, babe,” Frankie told her. “A woman doesn’t get that bitter for no reason.”

April snorted. “She doesn’t need a reason to be bitter,” she told her friend. “She’s just…evil. Seriously. I can’t imagine what my father ever saw in her that would propel him into marriage, much less how he ever got close enough to her to plant me.” April paused. “I asked him about it when they divorced and he just shook his head and
chalked it up to temporary insanity. Me, I think he knocked her up. I did the math,” April said quickly, noticing Frankie’s surprised expression. “I came seven months into their marriage. I guess he just couldn’t
not
do the ‘right’ thing.”