My Everything (4 page)

Her nose was straight. Her mouth was wide, generous and open, her lips a lovely natural rose color, her teeth straight and white. She had a very slight overbite and a delicate but determined line to her chin and jaw.

The young woman’s breasts were small and perfect. Round, high and perky, exactly the way Ben thought a woman’s breasts should be. He imagined how her nipples would taste if he took one into his mouth. She would be sweet, he knew it. And from the shy aura she projected, he guessed she was a virgin. He also guessed she was an athlete, probably a runner.

The muscles of her legs gave it away; they were long and lean, her buttocks nicely round, her hips slender and she had that appealing line running down between the muscles of her abdomen. There wasn’t an ounce of superfluous fat on her. But neither did she look starved. She looked like she’d go down smooth, like a mocha milkshake.

Even the café au lait spot on her upper thigh reminded him of chocolate. It had a memorable shape. It was shaped like Africa.

He learned later her name was Gracia, but she went by Grace. Grace Rafael.

Ben sat on
the bed, staring at her leg, hard as a rock. He realized he could still remember her taste; she’d tasted like star thistle honey.

It had been ten years since he’d seen Grace.

When she groaned and burrowed her head deeper into the pillows, Ben’s eyes were drawn once more to her back. His fingers reached for that hint of a tattoo, but he stopped himself and slid off the bed. He removed his leather jacket and his holster and gun, setting them out of her sight but within easy reach. Then he went into the bathroom and washed his hands with ice cold water. When Julie had suffered a bad migraine, a massage with cold hands seemed to help.

Ben returned to the bed and ran his hands over her shoulders. Grace flinched, but he kept his touch light, just brushing her back, her shoulders and her neck, and he felt the tightness in her muscles begin to dissipate. Ben carefully applied a little more pressure until he was kneading her shoulders, running his cool fingers along the sides of her neck and massaging the base of her scalp. Soon his hands were buried in her hair, rubbing her entire scalp and massaging her temples.

Ben closed his eyes and savored the sensation, the way her silky tresses curled around his hands and fingers. He inhaled the flavor of her hair. It was vanilla and brown sugar. Those were the two fragrances he smelled. It’s what he remembered.

Grace groaned in appreciation, and Ben wondered at her helplessness. If he were ever this helpless, he’d be very dead, very quickly.

When he felt her drift off, Ben withdrew his hands and covered her with the sheet and blanket. As he slid off the bed, Grace surprised him by lifting her head and turning in his direction. Her light brown eyes, still only half open, looked him up and down. They widened briefly in surprise then she asked in a lilting voice, “Ben?” before she buried her head back into the pillow and promptly fell asleep.

Ben stared down at her. He wanted to laugh out loud. Talk about that thing he didn’t believe in‍—‌coincidence. What were the chances of something like this happening, a million to one, ten million to one, a billion?

Grace Rafael.

He didn’t believe for a minute, not for a single minute, that she was part of whatever was happening with Tom.

But why was she here? The larger question was what the hell was he going to do with her?

Ben shook his head, trying to clear it. He’d been traveling for nearly thirty-six hours and if he was going to think clearly, he needed some sleep.

He set two motion-activated alarms, one on the door to the room and one on the slider that opened onto the balcony. Then he took a quick shower and got ready for bed. He stood for a moment at the bedside clad in his own boxers, making up his mind. He checked to make sure the safety was on before sliding the gun under his pillow, and he climbed in beside Grace. She felt warm and soft beside him, and it had been two long years since he’d slept with someone he actually cared about. To his surprise, she turned in her sleep and snuggled against him, sighing softly as she did so. Ben was even more surprised to find himself slipping an arm around her and pulling her closer.

Grace automatically molded her body to his, throwing a long leg over his thigh. He hoped she didn’t move it any higher; his erection was already big enough. He didn’t know what he would do if she touched him, but he didn’t intend to take advantage of her.

Ben realized he hadn’t given this much thought to a woman since Julie died. He felt a pang of guilt, as if he were betraying his late wife. But the guilt didn’t make his hard-on go away and it didn’t make Grace’s body any less soft and sweet. As he began to drift off to sleep, lulled by Grace’s quiet, even breathing, Ben remembered he’d once imagined a future for the two of them, but just now he was too tired to think about it.

After one last glance around the dark room, he fell fast asleep.

Grace woke just
before dawn. She felt a body pressed against her back, a warm, very male body. His prominent maleness was evident along her behind. His arm curled possessively around her waist, tucking her closely against him.

Grace lay perfectly still, her heart pounding, fighting panic, struggling to remember where, when, why, and most of all, who.

Please God let me not have done something stupid.

The body didn’t move, and she could tell from the even breathing against the back of her neck the man was still asleep.

Grace retraced her steps after she’d left the lecture hall. She remembered the club and the start of the headache. She vaguely recollected the cab ride and the drive to the hotel. After that things became a bit muddled. There was something about a vending machine.

Oh my God.

Grace remembered. She’d gotten locked out of her room, and she’d sat down on the floor in the hallway. She remembered leaning against a door. She heard a male voice playing in her head. He’d asked first if she was drunk and then if she was sick. Then he’d carried her into this room and put her into bed.

This must be his bed.

She remembered his hands on her. He had marvelously strong hands, but they’d felt gentle on her shoulders, her neck, and the back of her head. She nearly groaned with pleasure as she remembered the relief his hands provided. No one had touched her like that since Josh.

Somehow she knew that was all he had done, relieved her pain. He hadn’t harmed her. She still wore her boxers and her tank top, although the tank had slid up to her shoulders, exposing her breasts. She wanted to pull it down, but she was afraid any movement would wake him.

It seemed to Grace she was missing something, something important. Right before she’d fallen asleep, she’d turned to him. She’d looked right at him. Yes, that was it, she’d looked right at him and she knew him. She’d said his name.

Ben.

It was not just any body, it was Ben McCall. She hadn’t seen him in ten long years.

She was wrapped in Ben’s arms. He was the one who had found her outside his door and brought her into his bed. Grace whistled softly. An angel must have been watching out for her. Anyone could have come along and found her in that helpless state, but it wasn’t anyone. It was Ben. The man she’d fallen in love with at first sight when she was eighteen years old, the man who’d made no promises and disappeared from her life after thirty glorious days.

She’d never forgotten him. No man could compare to Ben until she’d finally met Josh.

The memory of the day she met Ben was crystal clear in her mind. She’d moved to Austin two weeks earlier and quickly found a job as a waitress. One afternoon her friends had talked her into swimming and sun-bathing topless at Barton Springs. Everyone else had seemed comfortable with the idea. Grace didn’t want to appear prudish, after all, when in Rome… So she’d gone, wearing her favorite yellow bikini bottom and a tee shirt.

When the other girls removed their tops, well… Grace decided there was a first time for everything. Why not? She walked toward the spring, deciding she’d feel far less self-conscious if she could get into the water no matter how cold, when her friends called her back.

When she turned to look for them, well, that’s when Ben caught her eye. He watched her with interest, a specific kind of interest.

Without thinking, she moved to cover her chest but then stopped her hands. Grace reminded herself this was Austin. It was okay at Barton Springs. Lots of other women were topless.

And there was something about him. Something about the way he looked at her made her want him to look.

Grace deliberately turned towards him so he could see her half naked body.

No one, no man, had ever looked at her like that. For the first time in her life, Grace felt beautiful, perfect.

She remembered when she was fifteen and lying out by the community pool one summer afternoon. She’d overheard one of the boys say that she was so flat if she stuck out her tongue she’d look like a zipper. Funny, she didn’t feel like a zipper now.

But the young man looked like he wanted to taste her, and Grace’s knees went all wobbly. He trailed her to the pool where he introduced himself and joined her for a swim. The cold water didn’t seem to bother him although she sure experienced a shock with her first dip and her nipples showed it.

Grace nearly laughed out loud when she noticed how he’d tried not to stare.

Until that afternoon, Grace hadn’t really thought much about sex. She’d been pretty focused on her running, and in the last year, her health. Now she found herself thinking about it, wondering what it would be like to have her first sexual experience with the strong young man swimming at her side, matching her stroke for stroke.

Ben McCall was exactly the kind of guy she’d had always had a crush on. He was reserved but confident. He could make conversation, but it didn’t bother him if they simply sat quietly together. That was good because Grace had never been much of a talker. She enjoyed silence. It was what she appreciated about competitive running. She could be alone with her footfalls; live in her head.

Grace learned as a young child that her head was the only place she had privacy. Her parents couldn’t control her thoughts though they tried their best. That was why she took up running in the first place. Her mother wasn’t athletic enough to accompany her and her father was too busy. When Grace was out on a distance run, she could be by herself without their interference. Unfortunately the better she got and the farther she ran the more control they tried to wrest from her and the migraines got out of control. It was only because of her coach and her doctor that they were forced to back off. But Ben offered to run with her and she was more than willing.

He met her the very next day just after dawn and they ran along the Colorado River through the center of town. Grace thought he had the most fluid stride she’d ever seen. He ran effortlessly, as if he had springs in his legs. She was very impressed. They chatted as they ran through town, about techniques, shoes, stretches. He seemed to know a lot about training, and he helped her tweak her form a little.

God, he was an attractive man. Ben was just the right height, six feet or so, a perfect foil for her five feet seven inches. He was lean and built like a runner, but the muscles of his arms, shoulders, chest and back were well-defined, practically sculpted. There was nothing Grace admired more on a man than a pair of broad shoulders. Ben’s legs were long, his thighs solid. He had the greatest set of calf muscles she’d ever seen. Grace wished he’d run a little in front of her so she could watch them relax and contract with each step. Besides, she wanted a chance to admire his butt. Unfortunately, he matched his pace exactly to hers.

His dark brown hair was thick and wavy, cut short but not quite regulation military short. It was glossy in the sunlight and gave off red-brown highlights. His forehead was high, his brows arched, and beneath them, his dark brown eyes glowed with good humor. She loved the way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled and she noticed Ben smiled a lot.

In her estimation, Ben’s nose was the essence of masculinity, aquiline, Grecian, classic. His profile would rival that of Odysseus or Achilles. His lips were soft and pink and full, and his teeth straight and even except for one tooth on the bottom which was turned just slightly off center.