The One Who Got Away (8 page)

Ben let go a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Wow.”

“I'll say. So has this been going on awhile?”

“You could say that.”

“No shit.”

“You said that already.”

“It bears repeating.”

The wings arrived along with a couple of beers. If
it had been anyone other than Steve, they would have talked about the situation for a long time. But Steve figured everyone was pretty much like him, that private was private. What was excellent was Steve's obvious approval. That made things a hell of a lot easier, because even if he'd insisted they stop, Ben wasn't at all sure he would have. Or could have.

After they finished the wings, Steve reached for his wallet, but Ben put a stop to that. Then they headed back to the hotel.

It was just past two when they got there, and Ben wanted to see Taylor. Now. Luckily, Steve wanted to see Lisa. They rode up the elevator together, and when it stopped on Steve's floor, he gave Ben a massive bear hug, then looked him straight in the eyes. “Thanks, man. Best bachelor party a guy could have. I'm glad you're here. And if you hurt my sister, I'll rip your heart out.”

Then he walked out and down the hall, whistling.

Ben cracked up, glad they'd been alone. At his floor, he looked at his watch. It was late. He had no business bothering Taylor at this hour.

But when he got to her room, he knocked anyway. Softly, so he wouldn't wake her. When she didn't answer, he knocked a little bit harder. He wouldn't bang on the door though. That would be rude.

 

H
E STOOD AT THE DOOR
looking so good she wondered if she was dreaming. Considering the last thing she remembered was hitting the pillow, maybe she was.

“You were sleeping,” he said, his voice curling inside her like sweet smoke.

“Yeah, I was.”

He turned. “I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow.”

She grabbed his arm. “Wait. It's okay. Come on in.”

He smiled, and it changed his face. He could look so tough, so rugged, and yet when he smiled, his eyes became welcoming and his lips promised wonders. “You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

He leaned forward and kissed her lightly before he stepped inside. She noticed he wasn't all that steady on his feet, and his breath gave her a clue as to how he'd spent his evening.

He made his way to the couch and sort of fell on it, expelling a big gust of air. “Whoa.”

“Rough night?”

“Great night. But a little too much of it, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.” She joined him, curling her feet under her, and spreading her robe demurely over her legs. She'd wished she'd had time to put on a little makeup, maybe brush her hair. “Did Steve say anything?”

“He said lots. Unfortunately, nothing that gave me any insight about his marriage.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. You know him, though. He doesn't believe in spitting it out until—”

“It's too late.”

“Maybe not. We still have time.”

She sighed. “I hope you're right.”

“What about you? What was the secret ‘girl thing' you all did?”

She groaned. “Oh, please. It was horrible. We went to a strip club.”

His brows rose.

“Guys. Mostly naked.”

“Oh?”

“Not my idea of a swell night. At least not while I'm sitting next to Mom, who looked like she was going to pass out from embarrassment.”

“Ouch.”

“But Lisa and her mom sure enjoyed themselves.”

“Well, I'm happy for them.”

“I could have lived quite happily without it, thank you. I just get more and more confused about the whole thing. I don't know. Maybe we should just be happy for him.”

“He's happy for us.”

“Pardon?”

“I kind of told him we were, uh, together.”

“You did?”

“He seemed pretty cool about it. Although he did warn me if I hurt you he'd kill me.”

“Good old Steve.”

Ben's mood seemed to shift as he studied her.

“What's wrong?”

He leaned over and kissed her, taking his time. Letting her get used to him once more. “You know what? I'm gonna go.”

“Why?”

He smiled and his eyes told her there was nothing
to worry about. “Because I'm tired and I've had too much to drink.”

“Okay.”

“It's not that I don't want to stay. It's that I want it to be perfect.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Disarm me with charm and romance. As if that's gonna work.”

He chuckled as he stood. “Go back to bed. Sleep well and dream about me.”

She followed him to the door. “As if I could dream about anything else.”

One last kiss, a gentle caress of her cheek, her chin, and then he was gone. She closed the door, leaned against the cool wood with her very warm forehead. No way she was going to get to sleep now. She should be furious that he woke her up. And that after he woke her up, he had the temerity to leave. But she wasn't.

The feeling was familiar, even though she hadn't felt it for a long, long time. Her crush on Ben was back. With a vengeance.

To: Eve's Apple

From: Taylor

EvesApple.com

Subject: Arghhh!

 

Here's the latest, kiddies: Ben is the most amazing man in the universe. And, no, I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. When we walk together in the hotel, women stop and stare, and I swear I actually see jaws drop. Of course, men look, too, which kind of makes me a wee bit self-conscious, but I can't blame them. He's just so…

Okay, so we fooled around a little this morning. No we didn't go all the way, but I went far enough to see stars. Oh, mamma. He was so intense. God, I get the shivers just thinking about it. Too, too incredible. And then I went shopping with my mom, which was fun. After that, I got roped into this horrible evening at a male strip club, which might have been fun with you guys, but with my mother sitting beside me, I swear I would have rather been at the dentist.

I came home, thought about calling Ben, figured it was too late, went to bed. Then I was awakened
by a knock at the door. You guessed it. Mr. Gorgeous himself. He was so sweet! He told my brother that we were an item. Or item-lite, I guess. Which was amazing, as I didn't think he thought—well, you know. And so I'm all jazzed and ready to continue where we'd left off, and what does Ben do? He tells me he's going to bed. In his room. Alone. Because he's had too much to drink with my brother and he wants our first, uh, I mean second time to be perfect.

Which melted me, of course, but on the other hand, here I am at 2:30 a.m. typing when I should have been having an out-of-mind experience with Mr. Bowman.

What I can't figure out is why he left. Was he telling the truth? Did he get scared? Was I so hideous without my makeup that he's rethought this whole item thing? I have no clues. Any objective comments would be deeply appreciated.

Also, and this is kind of scary, I have to admit to you, and to myself, that the crush of old is back. Only, in the past ten years it's had time to ripen. While this week looks to be one of the best (please, please, please) of my life, I think leaving is going to be hell.

Okay, hope you're all doing wonderfully, and that some of you at least have picked out your MTD! Write me back. Soon.

Love, Taylor

 

B
EN TURNED OVER
and looked at the bedside clock—three-forty-five. Just great.

He punched his pillow a few times, but it still
didn't come close to his pillow at home. He'd meant to bring it, but then he'd have looked like a perfect ass carrying it all over the airport. Not that he gave a damn.

Sighing, he closed his eyes once more, and his thoughts went right back to where they'd been a minute ago. Why had he left Taylor's room? He could have stayed. Should have stayed. So what the hell had he been thinking?

She'd bought the line about wanting things to be perfect. Which was partially true. He didn't care for the idea of being toasted when they made love. Not with her. But was that really it? It's not as if they couldn't have had a great, albeit woozy evening, then done it again when he was stone sober.

Something else was going on here and he wasn't sure what. This was a dream week for him, aside from worrying about Steve. No obligations, no commitments, no having to get to know her from scratch. It was ideal in every way, and he was nuts not to take advantage of every second.

And yet, here he was in his own room, way the hell down the hall from hers.

Was it fear? Of what? That she'd get attached? That he'd get attached? That was just nuts. Not in a week. Maybe a few months, but a week? Couldn't happen.

So if it wasn't fear, then what? Performance anxiety? Jeez, he hoped not. Prayed not, but truth be told, since Alyson, he hadn't exactly been at the top of his game. Not that he hadn't been successful with the few women he'd seen, but something lingered. Why
hadn't he seen it? Yeah, yeah, she'd told him a dozen times she hadn't known herself, but that information wasn't helpful. So she'd been in denial. Obviously, so had he. And if he'd been in denial with Alyson, why not with Taylor? Not that she was secretly gay, he didn't think that for a moment. But what if there was something else? Something he should see, but didn't?

Most days he realized Alyson's sexual preference was her own business, and had nothing to do with him. This wasn't most days.

Maybe his anxiety had a completely different origin. Taylor had no way of knowing it, but that long ago weekend had been spectacular. The clouds had parted, the angels wept. They'd been magic together, and from his brief foray into the mystery of Taylor this morning, they probably would be again. Only it wouldn't be the same. Couldn't be. They were both older. Him, especially. And time has a way of changing even the best of things.

So, all right, he was being a dick. It wouldn't be the same, and so what? It would still be great. Because it would be with Taylor. She was terrific. He felt comfortable with her. More comfortable than he'd been in a long, long time.

He turned over, kicked off the blankets. Enough of this Dr. Phil crap. Tomorrow night, Taylor was his. He didn't give a damn what else happened, he just knew there was no way he was going to spend another night alone while he could be with her.

No more excuses. He'd watch his liquor intake, keep himself sharp and alert. He'd even catch a nap
tomorrow, seeing as he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

And then all bets were off. She wanted no mercy? That's just what he'd give her.

 

T
AYLOR HAD TO ADMIT
, the pale pink dress was beautiful. She turned in front of the three-way mirror, scrutinizing her butt in the tight sheath. She also had to admit that Lisa had been really nice all day. Solicitous, sweet and kind. She and her mother, Mimi, had taken her to breakfast at the buffet where Taylor had eaten too much to be trying on dresses, but if she watched herself over the next few days the pooch would be gone. There was a gym at the hotel, and she'd use it. Yeah. Right.

Well, at least she could swim. She liked to swim. The pool at the hotel was so beautiful. Did Ben like to swim?

Thinking about Ben, dripping wet, the water shimmying down his chest inch by slow inch gave Taylor a whole new reason to live.

She laughed at herself. What was she, thirteen? Yeah, that's just how she felt. Like a teenager in love. Lust. Just lust. Lust was okay. Fine and dandy. Nothing more.

What was it with women? She wasn't the only one who did this, that was for sure. See a nice guy, he shows a little interest, and it's straight to wedding invitations and planning the bedroom suite.

The whole purpose of this trip, aside from the obvious, was to play with Ben Bowman. Play like a cat with a ball of yarn. The cat didn't want to set up
house with the yarn. And she didn't want to set up house with Ben.

All she wanted was to get the hell past him. Enjoy, yes, but with clear vision and a clear head. Not the rich fantasy life of an eighteen-year-old with a bad case of Ben-itis. She was a grown-up now, with a responsible job, friends, an apartment, a motorcycle.

“Taylor? Are you decent?”

She turned to the curtain. “Sure, Lisa, come on in.”

The curtain squealed as it slid on the rod, and Lisa's gasp could be heard throughout the dressing room. “Oh, my God! You look fantastic! That is the most gorgeous dress I've ever seen. You simply have to buy it. I'm totally jealous, and everyone's going to be looking at you instead of me.”

Taylor couldn't help but smile. “Oh, please, Lisa, that's crazy talk. You're a total babe, and in that dress of yours, your gonna be a knockout.”

Lisa returned her smile, looked at herself in the mirror. She wasn't in the wedding dress, which was white, on the short side, and yet oddly conservative. It had a beautiful pearled bodice and a slightly flared skirt, and she truly was a picture in it. Now, though, she was wearing a little black number. Smart. Expensive. And it made her look like she was built like a brick house.

“For the honeymoon?”

Lisa shook her head. “Dinner, tomorrow night. Didn't Steve tell you? We're going to Picasso's at the Bellagio.”

“That's like the best restaurant in Vegas.”

“I know. You can wear the gray dress, right? Or do you want to look at something else?”

“No, I'll be fine. But thanks.”

“Honestly, you look stunning in that. Maybe with your hair up?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“We have an appointment for you at the spa, if you want it. We can cancel if you don't, but Mom thought it would be nice to set you and your mom up for hair and nails. I would be grateful for the company.”

God, why was she making this so difficult? If Lisa had been a flat-out bitch, no problem. But this nice crap? How was she supposed to combat that? “Sure. It'll be fun.”

“So tell me about you and Ben.”

Taylor's gaze swung from her own reflection to Lisa's. “Pardon?”

“Steve told me you and he are, um, exploring the possibilities?”

She laughed. “I'll bet fifty bucks that's exactly what Steve said.”

“How'd you know?”

“One thing you're going to have to get used to about Steve. He's the worst gossip ever. I mean it. It's as if he missed the whole human interest portion of knowing people. He talks to them, and unless the conversation is about fishing, it's gone. Out of there. It's amazing.”

Lisa ran her hand down her hip, eyeing herself critically. “You know, I think I'm going to sneak over
to the shoe department at Neiman's and see if I can't get something a little more kicky for this dress.”

Taylor realized her faux pas. “Of course, now that he's going to be in sales, it'll be the same thing. If it's not about the business, you can forget it. He won't know if someone's married, of if they're getting a divorce. Nothing juicy whatsoever.”

Lisa smiled again. “That's okay. I gossip enough for the both of us. And I really think you should get that dress.”

“All right,” Taylor said, reaching for the zipper. “I'll get it. But I have to join you over at the shoe department, because I have nothing to go with this. White sandals, what do you think?”

“Perfect. Let me call Mom and tell her we'll be another hour.”

“Great.”

Lisa stepped out of the room while Taylor changed back into her sundress. It was pale yellow with little squiggles of green. No bra, but in this dress, it didn't matter—God bless built-ins. She slipped on her flip-flops and grabbed her purse. A quick moment with her hair brush and her lip gloss, and it was off to buy shoes with the woman her brother was going to marry. A marriage that she was supposed to stop. Only, she was having a pretty hard time putting her finger on the reason why.

 

B
EN'S HEAD NEEDED HELP
, and the pain medication he'd brought with him wasn't going to do the trick. It was past noon, and somehow he'd managed to shower, shave and dress. Higher thought was out of
the question. Luckily, he was in a large hotel with a large gift and sundry shop. He padded across the nice thick carpet to where he'd left his sandals, put them on, then grabbed his key card and headed for relief.

Once he got to the lobby, he realized the Hard Rock wasn't the ideal place to nurse a hangover. Normally, he liked Elvis Costello, but right now it felt like a hammer to the skull.

In the gift shop, he found a bounty of headache cures. He bought three different kinds, not sure which would prove the most beneficial. Now, the key was to get coffee and quiet. The first part was no sweat, but the second? He asked the nice young lady behind the counter.

“Quiet? Sure. You got a room?”

He nodded.

She smiled.

He understood. “Thanks.”

“Hope you feel better.”

“Me, too.” He stopped at a hotel phone halfway to the elevator and asked for room service. He ordered a large pot of coffee, a couple of eggs and some toast. “There's a nice tip if you can get it there in five minutes.”

Ben wasn't encouraged by the laughter on the other end of the phone, but at least he had water in the room. He'd start with the fizzy kind of pain reliever and go from there.

Back on his floor, he slowed down as he passed Taylor's room. He thought about knocking, but that was already happening in his head, so he let it go.

His breakfast got there twenty-seven minutes later,
and when the last bite was eaten and the last cup drunk, he picked up the phone. Taylor wasn't in. He left what he thought was a witty message, but on reflection, he thought about breaking into her room and ripping out the phone. Oh, well. She'd known him for too long to blow him off over a lousy joke. He hoped.

He walked over to the window, and took a look at Sin City during the day. Man, he could see heat waves from all the way up here. What did he expect for July? It was supposed to be around 110 degrees today. But at least it was a dry heat, right? Actually, as far as he was concerned, an oven was an oven.

It was pretty damn hot in New York now, too. Which had some pluses. A lot of people left town, and a less congested Manhattan was a better Manhattan. Despite the heat, the humidity, all the crap about New York, he missed it when he wasn't there. The rhythm of the city suited him. He hadn't even guessed at that until he got there, and now he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Of course a summer house in the mountains wouldn't hurt his feelings. Someday.

He sighed, turned, noticed that his head wasn't pounding quite so intensely. He wondered how old Steve was hangin'. Nothing made a hangover more bearable than someone else's misery.

He called Steve's room, and on the fourth ring the man himself picked up. At least he assumed it was Steve and not a bear.

“Feeling chipper, are we, Steve?” Ben laughed at the very succinct reply. “Get in the shower and get
some coffee. I'll come get you in a half hour. We'll go terrorize the casino.”