The One Who Got Away (10 page)

“Oh? How rough?” He nipped her lip again, this time making her cry out.

“Hey.”

“Too rough?”

She smiled. “Am I bleeding?”

“No.”

She didn't say anything else. Let him figure it out for himself. Ben was quite clever, and she didn't want to restrict his behavior in any way, although of course she reserved the right to say no if she felt like it. Today, feeling as wild as she did, he'd have to go pretty damn far for her to throw in the towel.

“You know what?” he said, just before he circled her lips with the tip of his tongue. “Foreplay is great. I mean it. Right up there with hot dogs at Dodger Stadium and swimming naked. But you know what's even better?”

She knew, but she shook her head anyway.

He held her up against the wall with his lower body, squared himself with her eyes and gave her the most commanding look she'd ever seen. “Do not move until I tell you to,” he whispered, his voice somewhere between a promise and a threat.

She obeyed, holding still, holding her breath, almost stopping her heart, anticipating what was to come.

It became clearer as he released her wrists. Her instinct was to lower her arms, but his cocked brow stopped her dead still. It felt a bit silly to hold her hands up like that, but she didn't particularly care.

His hands moved on to much more useful tasks. Lifting her dress, for one. Slowly, the material rose,
exposing more of her thigh, then the crotch of her panties, and still he kept lifting until he'd raised her dress past her chest, her head, her arms. He tossed it behind him, and she didn't give a damn where it landed. Next he reached behind her and undid the catch on her bra. That was discarded somewhere, and as he reached to do the same with her panties he bent his knees until his lips where level with her breasts, quite perky with her hands up in the air.

He kissed each nipple, then used his tongue to make her moan. She felt his fingers grab the edges of her silk thong and rip it away from her body.

There. She was naked right in front of him, standing up against the wall, once again with him fully dressed. She had to do something about this. Next time, dammit, she was going to strip him first, and not get herself into this situation.

Oh, who was she kidding? She didn't care one whit who got naked first as long as both of them ended up there.

Taking her by surprise, he lifted her straight up, his hands under her thighs. Her legs wrapped around him, and she'd been so busy being annoyed that he was dressed, she hadn't realized he'd actually lost his pants. Or maybe just lowered them. Whatever. Because what he did then stole her breath.

He lifted her onto himself.

Just. Like. That.

One second she was standing there, and the next he was inside her, fully, unbelievably. Her head rolled back as she cried out, as her hands flew down from the wall to hold on to him for dear life. She probably
didn't have to, as he held her completely steady, but this wasn't exactly a position she was very practiced in, so dammit, she was hanging on.

Balancing her weight on the wall, he was able to pull almost all the way out, then thrust back in to the hilt. She gasped, cried, swooned as he entered her over and over, rubbing her in the most perfect way. Faster than she could have ever imagined, she felt the shiver and tightness that was the beginning of an orgasm. Maybe because so much was happening all at once, maybe because it was Ben and she could practically come just by looking at him, but holy cow, she was on the runway speeding toward takeoff.

“Oh, God,” he said as he found her mouth.

The kiss was desperate, just like her own, and she guessed he was riding right next to her on the express to heaven.

“Jeeze, Taylor, what are you doing to me?”

“The same thing you're doing to me.”

He buried his head in the crook of her shoulder, bit her flesh and kept on riding.

Then his face shifted to a grimace, but there was no pain involved. Just intensity that she knew too well. He cried out and their voices mingled as she peaked, her hands tearing at his hair, her feet banging on his back.

She had no idea how he was doing for at least a couple of minutes. Then she felt his strength wane as he struggled to regain his breath.

He let her down gently, and while she staggered to the bedroom, he followed close behind.

As she flopped on the gold comforter, she flashed on something uncomfortable. “Uh, Ben?”

He grunted, which she took for a response. He'd flopped down next to her, and somewhere along the way he'd taken off his shirt and his pants, and was as naked as she was.

“We got a little carried away there, didn't we?”

He grunted again.

“Except that we didn't…I didn't…I'm on the pill, but that isn't…”

“I got it covered.”

“What?”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “I had it covered. Literally. That's why I went to the bathroom first.”

“Oh. Good. But, just in case, I have a couple of condoms in my purse.”

His head flopped down on the pillow, his chuckle low and rueful. “Wish I'd known that yesterday. Anyway, sleep now. Thank me later.”

“Okay,” she said, but she sneaked in a kiss to his cheek anyway.

T
HE EARLY MORNING LIGHT
hit Taylor right in the eyes. She turned over, but the damage was done—she was awake. Sore and awake.

Ben slept soundly, his breathing deep and even, his face unlined and perfect even with the dark shadow of beard. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, and watching him made her heart ache. Odd, that tenderness could hurt so, but there it was. She was amazed at this man, at his thoughtfulness, his energy, his incredible sexuality. At the way he made her feel.

She closed her eyes, remembering the night, especially the second time they'd made love. He'd awakened her with a kiss, very gentle and sweet, and she'd opened her eyes to the sight of him leaning on one elbow, staring at her as if she were a thing of wonder.

“What time is it?” Her voice had been gruff with sleep, and Ben reached over her to the bedside table where he picked up the bottled water, gave her a sip, then put the bottle back.

“I don't know. Late.”

“How long have you been awake?”

He shrugged his one free shoulder.

“And you've been watching me for how long?”

“As long as I could stand it.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughed. “I'm not sure how long I've been staring, and then the temptation was too strong, and I had to kiss you. Even though I knew it wasn't a very nice thing to do.”

“Kissing is always nice.”

“But you looked so peaceful.”

“I'll sleep again. Trust me.” She rose until her lips found his. “Just remember, whenever the urge to kiss strikes, you have my permission.”

His slow grin made her blush. “Does it matter where I have the urge to kiss you?”

She shook her head.

“Even if it's…” He threw back the covers and leaned over her chest, kissing the tip of her nipple.

She laughed. “Well, that probably wouldn't go over too well in say a restaurant or at the blackjack table.”

He kissed her other nipple before coming back up to eye level. “Oh, sure. Just spoil it all, why don't you?”

She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Don't you go giving me any trouble, Ben Bowman.”

“Or what?”

“Or things could get ugly.”

He looked up at her. “No possible way. You and ugly don't mix.”

She threw her arms back and spread her legs wide. “Take me. Take me now.”

“Is that it? The secret to having my way with you? A compliment?”

“Not just any compliment, no. I mean, I probably won't lay down after you've said my chicken casserole is yummy.”

“You sure about that?”

She shook her head.

He stroked her side as his head lowered to her neck. She felt his warm breath first, then the edges of his teeth as he nibbled. “I'll have to experiment with this. Try different kinds of compliments and see the various reactions.”

“It won't work if I know you're trying to get some.”

His head came up again. “I'm always gonna be trying to get some. Who do you think I am, for God's sake? A superhero?”

“There's trying, and then there's
trying.
”

“Explain.”

“If the compliment is heartfelt with no ulterior motives, then the points are quite high. If the compliment is heartfelt and you're groping me under the table, then the points lower proportionately.”

“Lower, but don't get cancelled out.”

“No. Not always.”

“And what if the compliment is completely bogus, and I'm groping you right out in front of God and everyone?”

“Then there are absolutely no points whatsoever.”

“And I don't get any?”

“Depends on how you're groping.”

He grinned. “Interesting system you have there, Ms. Hanson.”

“It's my playground, I get to set the rules.”

“And the same goes for me, right? I get to set the rules?”

She blinked a few times, stared him straight in the eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that any form of compliment, heartfelt or otherwise, would have the least effect on your libido while I was in the process of groping you?”

“No. You're right. You grope, I'm yours. You could even call me names, say rude things about my goldfish, disparage my heritage, and if you're groping, there's no contest.”

“The difference,” she said, “between the sexes.”

“Oh, there are lots more differences than that.” His hand moved down her tummy until his fingers trailed through her soft curls to the folds of her sex. “See, you go in…” He demonstrated the principle using two fingers in just the right way. “…while I go out.” He guided her hand to his very erect and insistent cock. “Big difference. Huge.”

“I'll say,” she said, giggling.

“See, now there's a compliment that works every time.”

She pulled him closer. “Why don't you show me how this works?”

 

T
HAT HAD BEEN
hours ago, when the night had been dark and the only light had come from the little lamp over the nightstand. She had no recollection of how
it had been turned off, so exhausted had she been by their slow, incredible lovemaking.

He'd known exactly how to touch every inch of her, how to make her wait, how to build the tension, how to tease and definitely how to pay off. The truth was, he was everything she'd ever thought he was, and more.

She turned to face the wall, away from the sleeping man, no longer caring if the light hit her eyes. No longer caring about much but the building realization that she was in deep, deep trouble.

Everything she'd believed about Ben was true, and that wasn't good at all. She'd been so sure that she'd exaggerated his prowess over the years, that she'd built him into an icon of romance and sex in the fertile fields of her mind. She'd never really considered the possibility that he was the most incredible lover on the planet. The thought was ludicrous. No one could be as good as she remembered Ben.

Except Ben.

And where the hell did that leave her? How was she supposed to go on from here? Settle for boring sex for the rest of her life? Try every man she could find in the desperate hope she'd find someone as wonderful? Give up sex completely? She wasn't Catholic, but maybe being a nun wasn't such a bad idea. No, she'd have to be a lot more saintly, and a completely different person, so that was out.

She'd loved last night. Every single second of it. Now, as she tried to analyze why, her skin started tingling as she recalled his every touch. That wouldn't do.

Instead she focused only on the facts, the empirical evidence. Why was he so much better than anyone else she'd been with? Better wasn't even the right word for it. Ben was to making love what the Mona Lisa was to art. Way the hell outside the box. But why?

She grabbed the almost empty water bottle from the side table and took a sip, wishing she had some coffee, but unwilling to wake Ben.

On the other hand, the water did nothing for her, barely even quenched her thirst. What she needed to do was get out of there, go somewhere alone to think. Somewhere she wouldn't feel Ben's heat next to her skin. Somewhere she didn't have the overwhelming urge to touch him and start the whole damn process over again.

Slipping out from between the covers, she began searching for her clothes, finding them more or less in the same area. She gathered them all and went into the bathroom. She'd shower in her room. Right now, all she wanted to do was make a clean getaway.

Once she was dressed and her hair would no longer scare anyone she met in the hallway, she opened the bathroom door. Listening hard, she waited a good minute until she was sure he was still asleep. Then she headed for the door. As her hand touched the knob, she realized she couldn't just sneak out without any kind of notice. That would be horrible and while she might not be worthy of nun status, she wasn't a complete rat.

She left the bedroom for the living room, and im
mediately found a piece of hotel stationary. Now, what on earth was she going to say?

No use overthinking the process. “Dear Ben, thank you for the most fabulous night. I've got a busy day ahead, so I snuck off to get it started. I'll catch up with you soon. Hope your dreams were sweet!”

She almost signed it, “Love, Taylor,” but she didn't. He'd figure out it was from her, and then the “L” word wouldn't come into play.

The “L” word. No, no, no. She could not go there. She was in enough trouble as it was.

 

T
HE POOL WAS
already crowded when she got there. Not as many kids as she'd have guessed, but then this was the Hard Rock, which wasn't really a kid-oriented hotel. But those that were there seemed to be having a really good time.

Mostly, though, there were a whole mess of beautiful women and handsome men, all of them wearing remarkably small bathing suits, some exposing more skin than she liked to show her doctor.

The expanse of flesh on display wasn't her concern at the moment. All she wanted was a quiet lounge chair, a cold beverage and time to write to her buddies while she decided whether she should shoot herself or not.

Because she clearly had wonderful luck when it came to pool chairs, she found a prime spot, spread her towel and made herself comfortable. Before she even had a chance to bemoan her fate once, a cocktail waitress came by. After several seconds of deep consideration, she ordered a Bloody Mary.

Soon enough she was left to her thoughts, and it wasn't pretty. She brought her computer to her lap and opened it up. She had enough battery power for a couple of hours. She couldn't log in, but that was okay because she'd downloaded her emails before she came to the pool.

She had just enough shade from a nearby umbrella to read comfortably. The first e-mail she opened was from Angel, one of the sharpest of the women in her Eve's Apple group.

 

To: Taylor

From: Angel

EveApple.com

Subject: Re: Arghhh!

 

Dear Taylor,

Sounds like you might be facing some trouble in paradise. Not that your plan wasn't wonderful, but if you're anything like me, the best laid plans have a way of turning into big, fat, hairy messes before you can say Viva Las Vegas.

So Ben is fantastico, eh? He sure sounds like it. Just don't get carried away, okay? Because from what you've said, this is one week of fun and games. One week. Not forever, not the rest of your life, not even the rest of the year. And, my girl, you have to go home and face the rest of your life, and um, sorry, but didn't you say that wouldn't include Ben?

Maybe I'm crazy, but if you can just look at this thing for what it is—great sex with a gorgeous
man—and realize it's like Vegas itself, cool vacation, but not sustainable—then maybe you can nip the obsession in the bud, and just enjoy yourself! That's the point. Enjoyment. Pleasure. Bliss.

Also, in my experience, true supreme happiness with the opposite sex is meant to be temporary. Oh, yeah, they say it's forever in the books and the movies and stuff, but come on. We all know better. So isn't it more sensible to have one incredible, mind-blowing, world-rocking week than to go on forever wondering what could have been?

So you have to come back to reality. Face it, honey, we all do. Life isn't a fairy tale, but if you're lucky, you can be a princess at least for a little bit. And it sounds to me like you certainly have found your (short-term) prince. So enjoy. ‘Til it's time to say goodbye.

Love, Angel

 

The cocktail waitress came with her drink, and Taylor had to mask the tears in her eyes with a hand up for shade, even though she was already under the umbrella. The sympathetic smile as she signed her tab signaled her failure at faking it.

“It's okay, honey,” the waitress said. “Been there, done that. There's other fish in the sea.”

“Thanks,” she said, but all she really wanted was to be alone. To weep. Because she knew that while Angel's advice was right on the money, there wasn't a chance in hell she could take heed.

It was too late. Way too late. She'd gone back ten years, right back to the moment she'd first been with
Ben. To the magic that had been that weekend. To the revelation that she would never, as long as she lived, find anyone remotely as special or wonderful as him.

Only this time, it was worse. Because she knew what else was out there. And she knew there wasn't going to be another man for her.

She went on to the next e-mail, this one from Kelly, a biochemist from Seattle who also happened to have been a model who'd graced the covers of
Seventeen, Cosmo
and
Vogue.
Kelly was less hopeful than Angel, which was a real pisser, because if someone as brilliant and beautiful as Kelly didn't believe in fate, or true romance, what chance did Taylor have?

Depressed beyond measure, she shut the computer and slid it under her chair. She sipped her drink, perfectly chilled and spicy, and watched the soap opera all around her. Men flirting with women, women flirting with men; giggling, blushing, flaunting. She felt as if she were watching the mating rituals of the flat-bellied sun worshipper.

Everyone seemed hungry and desperate for a connection. The women laughed too brightly, the men smiled with friendliness on their lips and lust in their eyes. Arms were touched, shoulders brushed naked torsos. It made her long for Ben's comforting presence, and horribly sad that what she'd found was so fleeting.

Ben didn't want to get married. He'd made that very clear. Steve had told her, twice no less, that Ben had sworn to never marry again. Steve hadn't said why, but she imagined it had a lot to do with his
divorce. She doubted very much he would be interested in living together. His attitude was closed and final, even though she knew he liked her a great deal.

She wasn't even sure she wanted marriage. The way she was drawn to him was unlike anything she'd ever experienced with anyone else. No one made her come alive like Ben, and no one sent her to the moon like he did. But even she wasn't foolish enough to think it was love. It was sex. Fantastic, fabulous, incredible sex. Nothing more. So why the big deal?