Melting Into You (Due South Book 2) (28 page)

“You’ll walk away from this”—Ben traced a finger along the curve of her breast and over the puckered nipple—“now?”

And there it was in a nutshell—the cause of the ache cramping her chest. She’d walk, she had to. Because the more layers she peeled away, the more she saw the man beneath. Scales had dropped from her eyes, revealing her position on the edge of a dangerous precipice. The way to pull back and prevent herself from falling in love with him was to keep it sex only. Forgo any em
otional and intimate connection. At all.

“We had a deal.”

“Deals change.”

“We weren’t looking for anything more serious than a weekend…thing.” But she hadn’t counted on Ben b
eing as addictive as crack. He’d flown under her radar as a harmless substance until it was too late. Until she was hooked.

“No, we weren’t.”

“So, what’s changed?” Was the breathy, hopeful catch in her voice noticeable?

“We’re not done. One night’s not enough for me.” He picked her hand off his chest and kissed her knuc
kles. “Is it enough for you?”

She started to argue, and he pressed his lips to hers, cajoling, sipping at her mouth until she opened to him. He took her under, her head swimming with each stroke of his tongue. A broken moan filled her ears as he pulled back,
the vibration raw in her chest.

“Ben—”

“Don’t answer yet,” he said. “Let me show you.”

He tugged her into a sitting position and stripped off the nightdress. Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, Ben lowered her down, claiming her wi
th his body and then his mouth.

Her legs parted automatically, as hard, hot muscle crushed her into the sheet, deliciously squishing her breasts into the wall of his chest until he propped hi
mself up on his forearms. Instead of his kisses growing fiercer with the combustible heat arcing between them, they softened, teasing her with unexpected gentleness.

She needed fire to scorch away the ache of needing him so badly, but he wouldn’t give her fire. He ran the tip of his tongue down the curve of her neck, placed gentle kisses along her collarbone. Apparently, haste
was not on his agenda tonight.

Ben shifted down, catching her gaze and giving a smile that curled her toes. He knew how amazingly good he could make her feel. Squeezing her breasts t
ogether, he flicked the sensitized peaks, causing blissful little quakes to ripple down to her core. He sucked a nipple into the warm depths of his mouth, the graze of his teeth as his tongue swirled circles around it unbearably sensual.

Sweet Mother, could she come from him playing with her breasts? Her hips jerked up, connecting with the hard ridges of his abs. She squirmed, biting her lower lip to muffle yet another groan. His hand skimmed down to her waist and along her thigh, pus
hing it gently to the side. Tormenting her by tracing light circles over her hipbone, he finally dipped into her wetness. His hand moved away and a needy whimper escaped her.

“So responsive.” He shifted higher off her, one long finger gliding between her folds, giving the tiny bundle of nerves at the apex a firm caress that made her arch as if someone p
lugged her into a power socket.

Her womb gripped tight with pleasurable sensations. So close…and he’d barely touched her. His name was the only thing her brain could seize onto, and she gasped it, helpless to fight the rush of blood thrumming faster and faster with ea
ch slick stroke of his fingers.

Ben drove her relentlessly past her inhibitions and into the sheer trust that he’d catch her. She came—powerfully, raw, desperate for an anchor when her body blasted into the stratosphere. Ben kissed her, drawing her cries deep into his mouth while she rode the tu
mbling waves.

He pulled away for a short moment, the tear of foil cutting through the haze. When he rolled back, she reached for him before he could sheath himself, nulling his protests by closing her mouth over his thick length. Silky-smooth skin stretched tight over such delectable hardness. She devoured him inch by inch, loving the feel of his hands fisting her hair, the twitch of his thigh muscles as she swept her tongue around him. Her body throbbed in the rhythm of her lips, but she wanted him groveling
and helpless. Like she’d been.

“Sweetheart, you
gotta stop—I need to be inside you.”

Drawing him out slowly, she nodded.
She needed him inside her too.

Moments later, he gathered her into his arms, gui
ding her onto her back. He stretched her wrists above her head, Kezia’s fingers locking around his as he nuzzled her throat and the sensitive spot below her ear. Ben rocked his hips and she whimpered, opening her legs wider so the length of him slid intimately between her slick folds.

“Yes?” He nudged again, so full against her the slightest push inside had her writhing.

Not fair.

“Yes. Please yes.”

And she thought she’d never beg.

“Look at me then.”

He drew back, eyes so dark in the moonlight they looked black. They stared at each other, and for the first time since she arrived in Queenstown she was naked. Truly naked. Not just because she felt the hair on his thighs prickling, or his hard body throbbing above her, ready to stake his claim. Ben had touched every part of her, made love with exquisite attention to detail, and she denied him nothing.

But this—this unblinking gaze of his stripped her bare, each imperfection real or imagined, laid before him. She wanted to hide, run away, weep. Scream at him.
Don’t look at me and make me think you mean forever.

“Is one night enough, Kezia?”

Her breathing hitched, and she blinked away hot tears. Not enough. Not one night, nor a thousand.

He dipped into her, not all the way, just enough to give a parched woman a sample of sweet fullness. “Is it?”

She licked her lips, tasted him there too, and her resistance crumbled. “No.”

Ben was everywhere, all around her—the scent of their lovemaking in her nose, his salty-sweet taste in her mouth, the perfection of their bodies joined together.

Rocking forward, he entered her with one hard thrust. “Let me love you then.”

The hidden place in her soul flared like a butterfly’s wings. She wanted him to love her, not only with his body but with every part of him, because it was already too late to
pull back from the cliff edge.

The joy of the physical warred with the stoma
ch-plummeting of the emotional.

Crazy, stupid woman—what have you done? And what will it cost?

Tears spilled over her lashes as he moved steadily within her in a rhythm set for maximum pleasure. One hand let go of her wrists, and he gripped her knee, spreading her wider, angling himself to deepen their connection.

“Better?”

She could only nod, holding nothing back, keeping nothing hidden from his knowing eyes and lazy smile.

Ben kissed her again—each touch of his tongue ki
ndled a flash flood of emotion that swept her out of herself. When his control slipped and he pounded harder, she met each stroke, her impending climax gathering, engulfing, burning…

Words of love crowded her mouth as the orgasm broke her into glittering pieces, but he spared her the humiliation of unrequited emotions by drowning them out with his own hoarse cry of release.

Chapter 14

Hot groping in the school resource room. Lasagna and cannelloni miraculously appearing in his fridge. The girls sent to a movie with his mother, while he and Kezia went at it like horny teenagers. A guy should be happy with no-strings sex and home cooked meals for the last two weeks. Right?

Not so much. Ben grunted and slid a sour glance at Piper, who stood beside him in Due South’s kitchen. He sliced and quartered yet another spud and tossed the chunks into a pot. Piper looked up from her peeler, caught his eye and grinned.

“You’ve got circles under your eyes, Benny-boy—
Kez keep you up late again last night?”

He grunted, lips twisting in a dismissive curl, but the tips of his ears grew warm. Piper’s grin stretched wider, and she waved her peeler with a “tsk-tsk-tsk” before returning to the vegetables.

“I didn’t see her last night—not that it’s any of your business.”

Piper snatched up a potato from her pile and fired. He caught the spud with one hand before it connected with his
head, fumbled, and dropped it.

She scowled. “S
hit, you’re fast.”

“Because you throw like a girl.”

“Hah! And your head must be royally screwed if you’re dropping the ball—so to speak. Up half the night pining for her, eh?”

Close enough to the truth to rankle. She’d sent him a text at ten. Zoe was restless with a sore throat, so Kezia couldn’t risk an hour away, even though Shaye had r
eturned from the dinner shift. He’d gone to bed, tossed and turned, wanting to go to her, knowing he couldn’t leave Jade, concerned about Zoe, and irked that a normal night together seemed impossible. And all the clandestine hook ups and X-rated text messages back and forth? Nothing good about that situation.

Suddenly
he
didn’t want Kezia to leave his bed at midnight like goddamned Cinderella.
He
didn’t want to sneak around.
He
didn’t want unsatisfying text-sex. Because
he
wanted to be with her all night—wanted to be with her, period.

Ben swore under his breath and rolled the potato back along the counter to Piper. “I don’t pine over women—over any woman.”

Shaye jabbed her wooden spoon in his direction. “Kezia’s different.”

“And it’s different with her, isn’t it?” Piper’s voice
contained no teasing note now.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, it is. Di
fferent and harder.” Picking up the knife, he turned a baleful eye on Piper. “And it’d be a helluva lot less hard if my baby sisters got on with their work instead of chapping my ass.”

Piper poked out her tongue and set
her peeler to the next potato.

“Point taken, Ben.” Shaye scooped a pan off the stove top. “Pipe, finish off those spuds and get onto the salad prep. Ben, get that pot on, pronto.”

The back door swung open, and West stepped inside.

“How’s Bill?” Shaye said.

West’s smile vanished faster than Donny-the-mad-mutt, who’d poked his head around the door, then headed for his bed. “Not so good still. You’ll have to go solo both services today, sorry.”

Shaye’s
shoulders sagged for a moment. “It’s fine, West. Vince can’t help being down with the flu. I can cope. It’s a slow night, and your dad trained me well.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s a slave driver,” Piper muttered, but
tension underscored her voice.

West had called Ben at eight and asked him to help with morning prep since they were short staffed. He’d slapped together Jade’s school lunch and bundled her off to Kezia’s. Zoe beamed at him, obviously recovered from her sore throat. Both girls giggled over him coo
king anything in Due South’s kitchen. He’d bore the brunt of their jokes, the whole time desperate to grab Kezia—dressed in those cute Donkey slippers and penguin pajamas—and kiss her until they both couldn’t breathe. She’d given him a dewy-eyed glance and a
what can I do baby
shrug on the way out.

“You can’t cont
inue doing these hours, Shaye.”

West’s v
oice interrupted Ben’s musings.

“I said it’s
fine
.”

“Burnout’s not a good look.” Piper transported the rest of the peeled potatoes to Ben’s end of the counter. “Maybe West should get someone else in to help. Call in some
cheffy back-up.”

Shaye’s
eyes narrowed to chips of green ice, skewering Piper as if she’d suggested serving chicken nuggets and battered hotdogs during lunch service.

“Piper’s right, Shaye.” West leaned a hip against a counter. “
Dad’ll continue to have more bad days than good. The dialysis is pretty rough. I think it’s time.”

Shaye’s
spine went flagpole straight.

Uh-oh. Had West forgotten the littlest Harland had
a temper like the rest of them?

“Two years,” Shaye said.

“Sorry—What?”

West
walked right into it. Dumbass.

Piper glanced over at Ben. He raised his eyebrows, and they both took a step out of firing range. There was a reason Shaye had been picked first to play cricket as kids.

“Two years to get my diploma at SIT.” Shaye’s bloodless lips pursed tighter than a dog’s ass. “Then nearly another two years working here with Bill.”

Be
n and Piper edged farther away.

West offered Shaye his most placating smile. “Li
sten, I wasn’t suggest—”

“Lips moving, still talking.” Shaye jabbed the woo
den spoon at him, and fat droplets of red sauce splattered on the floor. “Not to mention all the years I worked part-time. I’m not a housewife who makes a killer Sunday roast and thinks that qualifies her to be a sous chef. I am a fucking sous chef, Westlake, and I can handle this kitchen.”