A Matter of Trust (10 page)

She took another sip of wine and blushed
again. It was adorable that she couldn’t hide her feelings. He
couldn’t remember when he’d last been around a woman who
blushed.

“You still have some unpacking to do?” he
asked.

Carrie glanced at the boxes before sitting
on the loveseat, brushing her hair back with her hand. She patted
the seat beside her, and he wondered if she had any clue what she
was doing. She was small, close to him, and his legs brushed hers
when he sat. She tucked her feet under her butt as if she wasn’t
wearing a dress, and it rode up higher, letting him see her amazing
thighs.

“My mother’s stuff. Alice thought I might
want it,” she said, staring down into her wine. She didn’t have a
clue what she was doing to Ben as he leaned back, putting his hand
on the back of the sofa. He was so close to Carrie that they were
almost touching, and he couldn’t take his eyes from her creamy,
silky skin. He wondered what she’d do if he reached down and slid
his hand up, moving the material higher.

He had to clear his throat. “So why haven’t
you opened the boxes?” he asked. A stillness came over her, along
with a sadness he had seen once before.

“I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself
to. All those memories of Mom…” She shrugged her shoulders and ran
her finger around the rim of the wine glass. “Maybe it’s time,
though.” She took another sip of wine, glancing up at him
shyly.

God help him, when she ran the tip of her
tongue over her lower lip, he wanted to lean in and taste her. Her
lips were not too plump, just enough there that they were made to
kiss—and kiss well. By the way she was holding her wine glass in
front of her so tightly, he questioned whether she’d welcome it,
though. He took in her expression, her nervous energy. She bit her
lower lip again, and he couldn’t help himself. He reached for her
chin, sliding his hand under and running his fingers over her silky
skin. “Don’t do that,” he murmured.

Her eyes seemed to widen a bit. For a
minute, as he watched the blush deepening on her face, he wondered
whether she was scared.

“Do what?” Her voice squeaked, but he knew
she understood what he was talking about.

“Bite your lip.”

Her eyes widened, and a soft gasp escaped
her as he kept his hand where it was on her jaw. “Why?”

As he leaned closer, taking in the very
faint freckles that dotted her nose, she was absolutely lovely. Her
face was free of heavy makeup, not even a hint of mascara. “Because
I want to be the one to do it,” he said, and he didn’t give her a
chance to say anything. He leaned in and kissed her.

Carrie thought she’d died and gone to heaven
as soon as Ben touched his lips to hers. She’d never imagined a man
could kiss as deeply and sensually as he did. She wanted to crawl
closer to him and into that kiss, but that damn smoke detector
started beeping again, startling her, and she pulled back, dumping
her wine all down the front of the only nice dress she owned.

“Ah, no!” She leaped up and raced into the
kitchen. “No, not again!”

It was the potatoes. They had boiled over,
and the starch was smoking on the burner. She set her wineglass on
the counter and then slid the pot off the burner just as the smoke
detector stopped.

“You all right?”

Ben was beside her, and she couldn’t look up
at him. She was reeling over the fact that she was making a fool of
herself while trying to make a simple dinner. All she was doing was
messing it up. And Ben, that kiss…she still felt as if she was ten
feet off the ground. The man definitely had a way of scrambling her
senses.

She lifted the lid off the pot. “Guess
that’s what happens when I don’t pay attention. I think they’re
salvageable,” she said. She could feel him watching her. He was so
close, leaning against the counter, and she wondered what he’d do
if she said to hell with dinner and stepped closer to him, letting
him kiss her again. She wanted him to, and she started biting her
lip.

Ben reached out and put his hand on her chin
again, and she was forced to look up at him and the intensity
burning in his brilliant, blue eyes, which seemed to darken just a
bit. For a moment, she was terrified of what would happen between
them, at the same time worried he’d step back and walk away. Her
heart was thudding as he ran his thumb over her lower lip, and she
stopped biting, softening her mouth, hoping he’d lean down and kiss
her again. He blinked and took a breath, and she felt him pull away
and drop his hand.

It was a horrible sense of loss that she
felt.

“Hey, if I don’t stop, we’re never going to
eat,” he said.

She was shocked, noticing the hard set of
his jaw, as if he was fighting something. “Right, dinner.”

“What can I do to help?” He actually put his
hand on her lower back and rubbed, and she tossed him an easy
smile.

“You grab plates in that cupboard, and I’ll
finish getting dinner ready.” She glanced down at her ruined dress
and the red wine that had soaked in. “Um, let me quickly change,
and then we’ll eat.”

Ben didn’t say a word as she hurried to her
bedroom. She shut the door and leaned against it, taking a minute
to get her head together. Her conscience, that little voice that
had been drowned out by the charms of Ben Wilde, was now poking
her, asking what the hell she thought she was doing. Yup, as far as
Ben Wilde was concerned, she realized that this man could
definitely be her undoing.

Ben didn’t know what had happened to the
Carrie who had been in the kitchen when he first arrived, the one
who’d responded so passionately to his kiss. When she came out of
the bedroom, she was dressed in blue jeans and a baggy sweatshirt,
and the easy smile she had been wearing had been replaced with
awkwardness and distance. Before, she had pretty much been melting
at his feet, and the heat and chemistry had had them both touching
and reacting to the underlying currents zinging between them. It
was as if she was anticipating problems, and he wondered for a
moment whether the only thing she really understood, and continued
to fall back on, was how to be miserable.

“You’re right. You make the best meatloaf,”
Ben said, setting his fork on the side of the worn dinner plate.
She didn’t have fancy dishes or utensils. They were old, plain,
mismatched, and most likely hand-me-downs. It was something he was
familiar with, having grown up with it. Things had changed for him,
as being successful had allowed him to have the finer things, but
he realized those weren’t the sort of things that made life
better.

Carrie set her fork down. “Thank you,” she
said, squeezing her fist and then resting it beside her still
plate. She’d done nothing more than pick at her dinner.

“So what’s bothering you?” He reached for
the wine bottle, which was still half full, and topped up their
glasses. She went to stop him but dropped her hand.

Ben lifted his glass and watched. It was as
if she was struggling with conflicting emotions. She picked her
glass up and took a swallow of wine before looking over at him with
an expression so sad he wondered what was going through her
head.

“You’re going to leave, and I’ll never see
you again,” she said.

Oh, so that was it. “Carrie, you overthink
things. We’re having dinner, I like you. Why are you automatically
jumping to the conclusion that I’m leaving?”

“I’m a realist, that’s why.” She slid her
chair back and started clearing the table. When she reached for his
plate, he slid his hand around her wrist. That got her attention,
but she just wouldn’t look at him. She stood there beside him,
looking down with sadness.

“Hey.” He gave a gentle tug as he slid his
chair back and pulled her closer, and when she finally did look at
him, she couldn’t hide her expression, as if she had lost her best
friend. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Carrie—”

She cut him off but didn’t pull her arm
away. “Yes, you do. You have a job to do, and then you’re going to
leave here and go back to—”

Ben stood up without thinking, sliding his
hand around her waist and pulling her closer. He didn’t consider
what would happen next as he leaned down and kissed her, and she
didn’t push him away as he angled his lips over hers. She slid her
hands up his arms, fisting his shirtsleeves as if hanging on for
dear life. She allowed him to taste her as he stepped back, moving
her against the wall. He slid his hand to the small of her back and
then lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

The kiss was taking on a life of its own.
She slid her hands in his hair as if holding him to her. There was
a desperation in her kiss, and Ben had been with enough women to
know when he was going to lose control. She started pulling at his
shirt, trying to finger the buttons open, but she was fumbling. He
broke the kiss, sucking in a breath and resting his forehead
against hers.

“Carrie, is this what you want?” he said.
What was wrong with him, asking her? Her body was telling him she
wanted this as she squirmed against him.

“Don’t stop,” she said. She slid her tongue
over her lips, and he leaned in and kissed her again. Instead of
putting her down and talking like he should, he gripped her bottom
and kissed her as he walked them to her bedroom.

The room was dark, but Ben liked to watch
the women under him come apart. He wanted to watch her reaction and
where he could take her, but when he flicked her bedroom light on,
he could feel her panic before she said, “Please turn off the
light.”

He laid her on the bed and just watched her
as he leaned over her. Her legs were still wrapped around his
waist, and she had to feel how ready he was for her. “No,” he
said.

Her eyes widened, and he could see the
moment that uncertainty—or maybe fear of where he was taking
her—finally sank in.

“Last chance, Carrie. Say no, and we stop
now, but if we keep going, there’re no regrets. You
understand?”

She seemed to consider what he was saying.
She bit her lower lip again and nodded, and Ben leaned in and
kissed her, nipping her lower lip with his teeth, watching her eyes
widen and listening to her breath catch. She was so responsive as
he lifted her sweatshirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the
floor. She didn’t have a bra on, and her hands went instantly to
cover her small breasts. He had been right—she had nothing there.
He reached down and pulled her hands away.

“Ben…” She was blushing again, and it was so
darn cute.

He ran his hand over one of her nipples.
“Hey, look at me.”

She shut her eyes and arched her back,
pressing into his hand. He put his mouth to her nipple, taking it
in his mouth while running his hand over the other. She reached for
his shirt again, so this time he pulled away and quickly undid his
shirt, taking it off. She rose up on her elbows as if taking in his
chest, which was covered with hair. He kept himself in good shape,
so he knew what he was seeing was appreciation—and then something
else.

He reached down and undid her jeans,
starting to pull them off when she grabbed at them for a second
before letting go. She was fighting something as he slowly slid her
jeans down her legs and took in her flowered bikini underwear. It
was plain, not the fancy silk and lace he was used to in the women
he dated.

“Ben, the light.” Her eyes darted around the
room, and he could tell she was uncomfortable with her body.

He moved on the bed beside her, leaning over
her and running his fingers down from her collar bone over her
breasts, her flat stomach, down over her hipbone and along the edge
of her panties. He slipped his hand under the waistband and pulled
them down lower, pulling them off and taking in her light coloring.
When he touched her, there was something in her hesitation that
made him say, “Carrie, have you been with a man before?”

The way her eyes widened and her bush
deepened, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like her
answer.

She licked her lips and said, “No.”

She wanted to take it back, but it was too
late. Ben was off the bed, and he swore in an icy tone. She knew
well that he was angry. She was lying naked, exposed, a feeling
that had her sitting up and pulling her legs under her, reaching
for her shirt to cover herself.

Ben jammed his fingers in his short, dark
hair, rumpling it even more. “Why wouldn’t you say anything,
Carrie?”

She didn’t really understand why she needed
to. She’d never met the right man, even though she’d had
opportunities in school. There had been something about the
awkwardness and shallowness of those men—boys, actually, that had
stopped her from giving herself to them. This meant something to
her, but right now she wanted more than anything for Ben to come
back to bed and finish this. She wanted him inside her. She wanted
it to be him who filled her and finally made her understand what it
was like to really be a woman. She couldn’t explain why it had to
be Ben, but there was something about him. She craved his touch,
and she thought she’d go out of her mind if she never had the
chance to be with him.

“I wanted you to want me,” she said.

He stopped pacing and really looked at her,
then moved toward her like a predator. He reached for her hand and
pressed it over the bulge in his pants. She knew very well what
that was, and the size had her swallowing.

His expression took on a dark, possessive,
and very male look. “The first time won’t be comfortable for you,”
he said, and then he stepped back and reached for his shirt, her
hand falling away. She didn’t want him to stop, so she did
something she didn’t think she had the nerve to do: She dropped her
shirt and stood up, stepping toward him, naked.