In Love Again (15 page)

Claire’s eyebrows pulled together in anticipation of him saying he was sorry he had kissed her. But he certainly looked like he wanted to kiss her now, the way he stared at her lips when she talked, the way his thumbs and fingers enclosed her hands and soothed her while simultaneously ratcheting up her heartbeat. She felt saner and crazier all at once.

“I don’t know if I can eat,” Claire whispered with newfound, thrilling honesty, “if I’m thinking about you kissing me again.” Ben made her believe that maybe it wasn’t so forward or wrong or crass to simply say what she felt, what she wanted.

The waiter came back, starting to look a bit arrogant and impatient. “Are you ready to order?”

Ben turned to him slowly, and Claire saw a hint of that ragged temper that he wasn’t always able to control. It was somehow woven into his passion, and he didn’t want that passion to be interrupted. “We’d like your best bottle of champagne, whatever you have.”

Claire nearly burst out laughing at the waiter’s immediate and unabashed enthusiasm, which had been bordering on snippy impatience only moments before.

“Of course,” the waiter agreed. “Right away.”

“Hold on, sorry.” Ben stopped him before he walked away. “Ice it down for a few minutes, will you? We forgot something in the cab, and he’s just coming back around the block to return it. We’ll be back at the table in a few minutes. Okay?”

“Of course, I’ll ice it down and have it waiting for you when you return. May I suggest a few appeti—”

“No.” Ben cut him off without further ceremony. Then he stood up and pulled Claire behind him. She practically danced along, and in a few seconds they were back out on the sidewalk. Neither of them had retrieved their coats, and Claire was confused about the taxi and wondering what Ben had meant—

Ben slammed into her, cradling the back of her head a second before she would have hit her skull against the brick side of the building—and not have cared a jot. They stood huddled into each other, around the corner from the plate glass windows of the restaurant and out of sight of the other diners who’d just watched them stumble out. His other hand was at the small of her back, pulling the lower half of her body flush up against him. The tilting, whirling sensation of her head pushed back and her hips straining forward while teetering on the too-high Sarah James shoes all made her feel completely off balance.

His kiss made her feel…everything. She felt the cold air against her cheeks, the hot press of his lips against hers, the tender, inquisitive touch of his fingers as they found their way beneath her blouse and trailed across her belly just above the waist of her jeans. Claire felt an electric snap, like a transformer blowing.

She gasped his name like a starving person. She wanted to nip and bite at him. He made her feel fierce.

Ben gradually slowed the kiss and removed his hands from against her supple skin, trying to take a few breaths between lighter kisses. He began to smooth her hair where his hand had clutched the loose curls at the nape of her neck. “So lovely,” he whispered.

Claire blushed. “Thank you.”

Ben laughed loud and it rang down the street. “Come, my little polite sexpot. You’re divine.”

Claire liked the idea of being a polite sexpot. The kiss had served its purpose and the nearly intolerable tension that had been hovering between them was temporarily tamped. Slightly. Claire felt like she glided back through the restaurant, a couple of people looking up and furrowing their brows in confusion about their coming and going and coming back again so quickly. Claire laughed and sat back down in the seat along the banquette that she’d taken a few moments before. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Well, now that we have that all settled.”

Ben smiled in a way that made Claire’s stomach flip and her heart sputter and drop.

“You’d best not smile at me like that if you intend to have supper,” she said. “I’m not certain I’ll make it through a proper meal.” She looked down, blushing, and pulled the neatly folded napkin into her lap. She kept her head down, looking to make sure she had opened it and refolded it neatly across her thighs. When she looked up, Ben was staring at her and shaking his head in the tiniest way.

“How did you ever get away from me?”

“Oh.” Claire’s brow pulled together and she pressed her lips. “Must we really go through all that?”

“Yes.”

“Did your wife put up with that sort of monosyllabic nonsense?”

“She’s the one who trained me in it. So, yes.”

Claire twisted her mouth as she contemplated her reply. Luckily, the waiter arrived with the champagne just then, so she didn’t need to launch into a tedious reenactment of her mother and her betrothal and how unalterable it had seemed to her seventeen-year-old self. “Oh! Champagne!”

“Saved by the bell,” Ben added with a hint of sarcasm.

As the waiter poured the champagne, Claire opened the menu and made hard work of deciding what she was going to have. She settled on the oysters to start and the crispy pork belly for her main. When she looked up from the menu, Ben was holding his champagne flute aloft and staring at Claire.

“Oh. A toast…” Claire set down her menu and picked up her glass.

Ben tapped his glass with a barely audible clink against hers. “To right now. I want to toast to this very instant with your lips just kissed and about to take a sip. And then, to later.”

Her heart began to pound with an unfamiliar, delectable force. “Yes,” she breathed. “To right now…and later.” Her cheeks must have shone bright red, and she should have been self-conscious, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She loved how he made her feel.

The food came, and Ben ordered a bottle of cabernet to go with it. By the time they’d finished, Claire was warm all over. The last of the wine was swirling in her glass as she twisted the stem and looked into Ben’s eyes.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“I take you home and devour you.”

Claire stopped twisting the stem of the glass and looked into Ben’s eyes; his irises had gone from pale, cool jade to hot, bright emerald during the course of the meal. “I think I’m going to like that,” Claire said.

The waiter brought the check, but it was merely a formality as Boppy had already called in the reservation and told the manager that she would be picking up the tab, regardless of the cost.

“I wouldn’t have ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne if I expected Boppy to pay for it—” Ben protested.

“You are effectively paying for the whole meal, Ben. You’re a client, remember? Boppy pays. No point in getting chivalrous now. She’s earned enough off you and your wife to warrant this.”

“Ex-wife,” Ben added.

Claire looked up and smiled. “Ex-wife. I like the sound of that.” She looked down to sign the bill, to make it official that she had in fact eaten there, then closed the leather case and left it on the table. She looked up into Ben’s penetrating green eyes. “I don’t think I can eat another bite. Shall we?” she asked.

He put his napkin on the table, then stood slowly and reached out a hand to help Claire up from her side of the banquette. “I’m starving,” Ben whispered hotly into the curve of Claire’s ear.

She stumbled, and Ben took the opportunity to wrap one strong arm around her waist.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better.” Claire slid her arm behind Ben’s back and pulled herself closer in to his hold. “Better and better,” she whispered.

They stopped at the coat check to retrieve their jackets and decided to walk the shorter distance to Claire’s apartment. The two of them swung their arms in long, wide strokes for a few blocks, then tucked close into each other when the cooler wind whipped down Fifth Avenue.

“So…this is it.” Claire gestured around to indicate the small, tidy one bedroom apartment, but when she put the single key on the kitchen counter and her gaze returned to Ben, she saw the way his eyes had darkened and his lips had quirked into the sexiest thing she had ever seen. “I mean…this is the apartment…”

Ben took off his jacket and hung it on the back of the kitchen stool to his right.

Claire walked slowly backward, taking off her jacket as she did. “I mean…” She smiled, loving the predatory way Ben was following her, step by delicious step. “I mean…”

He pulled the coat out of her hand and tossed it on top of his.

“Yes?” he asked, still pursuing her slowly. She looked quickly over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t trip over the coffee table, then paused.

“I mean…I guess I mean…this is it…” Claire changed direction and dove at Ben. The silky shirt, the high heels, the tight jeans—Claire realized with a rush of pleasure that all of that was for Ben
and
for herself. The smooth fabric of her shirt made her feel like she was skating across his hard, hot chest and stomach. The heels gave her just the right amount of added height to look him in the eye and kiss him outside the restaurant. The jeans…were suddenly quite annoying. Claire groaned through the kiss, or kisses. Then she felt something rumble through him and wasn’t sure if it was pleasure or frustration.

“What is it, darling?” she asked.

He reached up and moved a strand of her golden hair, so he could see her eyes clearly. He brought the hair to his nose and inhaled. His eyes closed. “God, when you were standing in my doorway in Connecticut, I almost slammed the door in your face—”

“You did slam the door in my face!” Claire laughed and kept kissing him wherever she could find skin: his neck, below his ear, along his jaw.

“I meant when you first walked up. I thought I was having some sort of hallucination. I just couldn’t believe it was really you.”

“Kiss me, Ben. Please.” Claire had never thought to
ask
Freddy to kiss her—and had certainly never
begged
—because a kiss from Freddy was a quite perfunctory business. Whereas Ben’s kisses were so…thorough. She would beg shamelessly for kisses from Ben.

The problem with his thoroughness was that when he stopped to make those tender little comments, Claire was left feeling half-done. She couldn’t concentrate on anything he was saying, because her eyes were focused on his mouth: the glistening lower lip, the way his tongue touched the edge when he spoke, the way his teeth flashed in promise. All she could do was wonder how long before his lips were going to be back on her body.

“Are you hearing anything I’m saying?” he asked abruptly, with more force.

“Not a single word,” Claire said on a sigh. “But I love watching your lips move when you talk, so it’s not a total loss.” She smiled shyly. “You’re turning me into something wanton.”

“God, Claire.” His voice was rough and strained. He trailed the pad of his thumb over Claire’s lower lip, and she let her tongue taste the salty hint of him. Her eyes closed in the pleasure of it: his smell, and the texture of that bit of skin, and all of him, in her arms, so close, so available. Finally.

“I don’t think I ever stopped wanting you either,” Claire said quietly into his neck, not opening her eyes as she let her hands rake through the short dark hair that just skimmed Ben’s collar. It was easier to be totally honest if she didn’t have to look right into those green, demanding eyes. “Maybe that’s why my marriage was doomed.”

“Oh dear.” Ben stood up straighter and set Claire back a few inches. “Let’s not spoil everything with talk of doomed marriages. I’m not sure I can take it.” Ben tried to laugh it off.

Claire opened her eyes. Her blood had cooled considerably. “Did you just tell me to stop talking about what I was talking about?”

“What?” Ben was trying to pull her close again, beginning to dip into the crook of her neck to whisper more of that unintelligible nonsense about how lovely and gorgeous she was. Claire tried to push him away.

“Did you just tell me not to talk about my doomed marriage?”

“Jesus, Claire. What the hell?” Ben released her and put his hands out in a show of innocence. “My marriage was doomed too. We can talk about whatever you want. But—” She narrowed her eyes skeptically and he lowered his voice. “The truth is, I want to get you into bed. So. Much. I want to feel your supple body all around mine and to touch you everywhere you will let me. I’ve dreamt of you for so many years.
Years, Claire
. Why in the hell would I want to talk about either of our doomed marriages?”

Claire stared at him. “I… My husband…I just meant that I never…” Claire felt the press of tears and the extent of her foolishness. She collapsed onto the sofa in a heap. “I’m just a mess, Ben. I want all that too.” She threw one hand up to encompass his whole existence in a quick flick of her wrist. “Well, who wouldn’t? Just look at you.” The tears got the best of her and started to fall. “I’m just a rickety old thing.”

Ben smiled slowly and knelt down on the floor. “Me too. Ow,” he said with dramatic exaggeration, “my arthritis!”

Claire smiled and wiped at her tears. “Seriously, though, don’t you feel old sometimes? Too old to be necking on a couch.”

“Of course I do,” he said. Then, eagerly, “So are we going to neck?”

Claire laughed and wiped away more tears.

“Look, Claire, sweetheart, I’m forty. My nieces think I’m ancient, a relic.” He reached out to touch her cheek where a stray tear sparkled in the gentle light of the table lamp. “May I?” he asked, before actually touching her.

Claire nodded.

Ben wiped away the tear and then stroked the edge of her cheekbone and traced her jaw and her chin. He didn’t look her in the eye. “I’m terrified, Claire. You broke my heart when you left like you did all those years ago. Just
poof
and you were gone—”

Claire swallowed and felt an entirely new and unanticipated wave of tears coming on. “Oh, Ben—”

“I’m not saying it to get you to forgive me for being an ass just now about the not-wanting-to-talk-about-the-doomed-marriages shutting-you-up comment.” He took a deep breath and continued. “You can talk about whatever you want. We can talk about anything. I really believe that.” He kept touching her in that gentling way, memorizing her, or reacquainting himself with the details, more like. “I just meant, I want to touch you, to really feel you, because I have wanted—I mean really
craved
—you…
us
, for so long.” He inhaled and leaned closer into her, spreading her legs apart so he could kneel in front of her and brush his lips across hers. “Why would I ever postpone what I’ve been wanting for so long?” His stray touches were beginning to have more purpose. He was tracing the turn of her breasts through the silky fabric. “This shirt is diabolical, by the way. All night I kept getting shadowy glimpses and then, nothing.” He cupped her breast fully and squeezed, and Claire gasped at the pleasure that crashed over her. “Come to bed with me, Claire. Please. Now.” His breath was hot and demanding between kisses.