Author: Jill Shalvis

Ben, who’d showed up after work, changed into jeans, and gotten busy on the back shelves, poked his head around the corner. He was covered in a layer of sawdust. “What?”

“I broke even,” she marveled.

He flashed her a smile. “Congratulations.” He held out a hand. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

They went to the Love Shack.

Aubrey was halfway through a tall, cold beer when Pastor Mike walked in the front door and headed to a table. He stopped short at the sight of Aubrey at the bar and then changed direction and headed straight for her.

Crap. She shoved her beer so that it was in front of Ben and lifted her hands the way a basketball player did when he’d just fouled but was trying to pretend he hadn’t.

“Aubrey,” Pastor Mike said, calm and quiet as ever, but the concern and worry were there in his eyes as he took in the two beers in front of Ben. He glanced at Ben, nodded, and then his attention came back to her. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Really,” she added.

He nodded. “And you know you can call me.”

“Yes,” she said emphatically. “I know I can call you.”

“Anytime.”

“Anytime,” she repeated, adding what she hoped was a confidence-boosting nod. “Thank you.”

When he’d walked way, she blew out a breath, belatedly realizing Ben was looking at her. “What?” she asked.

“Anything you want to tell me?”

“Such as…?”

“Well, either you’re having a fling with Pastor Mike or he thinks you’re an alcoholic.”

Aubrey grimaced. She wasn’t sure which excuse to go with. “Maybe I found God.”

Ben just looked at her.

She racked her brain, but there really wasn’t a good option. “Okay, I didn’t know how to tell you, but Pastor Mike and I are madly in love.”

Ben shook his head. “Don’t ever play poker.”

Damn it. “Okay, so he thinks I’m an alcoholic.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than your sleeping with him,” Ben said.

Interesting that that would bug him.

“Why would he think you’re an alcoholic?” he asked.

“It’s…complicated.”

A laugh gusted out of him. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“Oh, like you’re a piece of cake,” she said, and crossed her arms, insulted. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you ever?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not exactly Mr. Talkative yourself, you know. You’re always sticking your nose in my business about the list and all, but you’re holding on to plenty of secrets yourself.”

He tossed back his drink and set it down. Then he stood up and held out his hand. “Come on.”

She looked at him, suddenly wary. “Where to?”

“Chicken?” he asked quietly.

How was it that he knew all her buttons? “Of course not.”

“So then…” He waggled his fingers.

She stared at them and then, with a sigh, let him pull her up.

He brought her to his place. Jack’s side of the duplex was dark. So was Ben’s, until he unlocked and opened the front door, reached in, and turned on a light.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, hesitating on the front step. Nothing good was going to come of stepping inside.

Okay, scratch that. Everything good would come of it, but—

“I want to show you something.”

“Oh, boy, I know this game,” she said with a lightness she didn’t feel.

He smiled. “Something else.”

“What?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Okay, but after I show you, I don’t want you to get all weird and try to close yourself off.”

“I don’t do that.”

He gave her a long look.

“Fine,” she said, caving. “I totally do that. It’s my thing.”

“Don’t do it to me,” he said very seriously, very solemnly.

She stared into his eyes, butterflies bouncing around inside her now. “All right.”

“Promise.”

“Seriously?” She sighed when he didn’t budge. “Okay, I promise not to shut you out. Jeez, I didn’t know you had such tender feelings.”

He out-and-out laughed at that, and then pulled her through the living room to the kitchen. There, he shoved open a door that led to his garage.

He gave her a look that made an odd feeling begin to course through her. Nerves. Then he flipped on the light, and she gasped at the beautiful handmade wooden dollhouse.

Chapter 23

Heart pounding, Aubrey walked to the dollhouse and ran her fingers over the meticulously handcrafted wood. It was beautiful. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she felt Ben’s hand run down her back.

“I don’t have any tissues,” he said, “but you can use my shirt if you want.”

She let out a laugh to hide her sob. “Why? Why did you do this?”

His hand was still on her. He was stroking her as though he just liked the feel of her beneath his hand, but it didn’t escape her notice that he didn’t answer.

With an unsteady breath, she touched the dollhouse again. It was a three-story Victorian, as hers had been when she was a child. Unlike that one, however, this dollhouse was made entirely of wood—no plastic or cardboard anywhere—and it was of heirloom quality. If she’d been a child, she’d have spent hours having her dolls run up and down the spiral staircase, peek out the numerous windows, and swing open the front door. “Thank you,” she whispered. Ali and Leah were right. Her gut was right. She needed to tell him why he was on the list.

But she wasn’t ready to lose him.

A little voice deep inside her warned that the longer she waited, the worse the consequences would be, but she told that voice to shut up. She arched a little so that Ben’s hand pressed harder against her back. “Ben…”

He stroked her again, slowly this time, more purposefully. She waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. His silence was loaded now, weighted with hunger and desire. Her heart kicked into a fast, heavy beat, and everything within her tightened with need.

For him. “Ben.”

His hand moved on her again, stroking her hair, then softly sweeping it aside. She felt his mouth against the nape of her neck and was working at drawing in a desperate breath when he turned her around to face him. Cupping her jaw, he kissed her, stealing away the air she’d managed to drag in. His mouth was firm, just like the rest of his hard, warm body, and so male that she melted into him. By the time he finally lifted his head and met her gaze, she’d wrapped herself around him like a pretzel.

“Your choice,” he said.

There was no choice. She needed him more than she needed air. And she needed air pretty damn bad. There were a lot of reasons why she should still take the closing-herself-off option, but she knew she wasn’t going to. She wanted him to put his hands and his mouth on her. She wanted him to work his magic, and he was magic. He was a masterful lover, intuitive and shockingly sensitive. She wanted him to do all the things his eyes were promising, and she wanted that now. “My choice is you,” she said.

She’d barely gotten the words out before his mouth was back on hers. He kissed her hard and then pulled back to look at her for a beat before he kissed her again.

And then again.

And then he lifted her up so that her legs wrapped around him. He carried her from the garage to his bedroom, letting her down by his bed, slowly sliding her along his body. Then he stripped her with slow care, groaning as he bared her to his satisfaction. Lowering his head, he splayed his hands on her bare back, drawing her close. Opening his mouth on first one breast, and then the other, he teased her with his tongue, sucking and nibbling.

She moaned—a low, desperately hungry sound—as she slid her fingers into his hair, holding his head to her. She couldn’t help it. She was trying to climb his body as though it were a tree when he stepped back and pulled off his own clothes in a few smooth, economical movements.

She just stared at him. His body was incredible, and she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of looking at it.

He still hadn’t spoken a word.

She might have thought he was entirely unmoved, except he was sporting an impressive erection that made her mouth water. She was still staring at it in awe, thinking In me now, when he gave her a nudge and she fell backward onto the bed.

He followed her down, and she moaned again when he kissed her, long and deep. And then he kissed every inch of her, slowly and thoroughly, until she came. Exploded, really.

He put on a condom and entered her, and she came again. Instantly. She cried out in surprise and shock as it went on and on, endless shudders and ripples of pleasure. She was vaguely aware of the sounds she was making and might have been horrified, but she realized she wasn’t the only one. When her senses returned, Ben was still over her, muscles quaking, breathing as harshly as she.

After a moment, he rolled off the bed and went into the bathroom.

She told herself to get up and get dressed and then get out. She needed to do so before her heart got any more invested than it already was. Trembling like a leaf, she took a long moment to even sit up, and by then Ben was back. He stood at the side of the bed, voice low, eyes dark and direct. “Stay,” he said. And then he slid in beside her, pulling the covers over the top of them, dragging her in against him.

Oh, God. God, he felt so good. But this wasn’t real. She needed to remind them both of that and set some boundaries. For his sake. “Ben—”

“Sleep,” he said, voice gruff.

“But—”

He tightened his grip. Her cheek was on his chest, her thigh between his. She was breathing in his scent with every breath and couldn’t remember ever feeling so content in her life. She didn’t close her eyes, she didn’t want to miss a second of this, because it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Unable to resist, she let her hand drift over his chest. It was a beautiful chest, broad and sculpted and spattered with light hair from pec to pec. He was warm and hard, and he hummed his pleasure at her touch. “Okay?” he asked quietly in the dark, tightening his grip.

She nodded against him. She was so far more than okay that it was terrifying.

They slept some then, and she woke up in the gray light of dawn, violently aroused. Ben was between her legs, working his magic with his tongue. She came before she had all her faculties working, and then he rose over her and kissed her, slow and unrushed.

Their joining was much more leisurely this time, but no less hot. Maybe it was because they knew each other’s bodies now, or maybe it was just sheer animal magnetism, but when he finally slid into her and began a series of driving thrusts, she went out of her mind. And when she climaxed, she nearly burst out of her skin as well.

Afterward, he held her for a long time, and Aubrey reveled in it, afraid of what might happen when full daylight came.

“Shh,” he murmured, sounding sleepy.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking so hard you’re making me tired.” He stroked a big hand down her back to possessively cup her ass, holding her close. “Sleep.”

She didn’t. Couldn’t.

He made a noise like that of a rumbling lion and rolled her beneath him, pinning her to the mattress.

“What are you doing?” she asked, already breathless.

“Wearing you out so you can sleep.” He kissed her mouth, her chin, her throat, her shoulder. A nipple. And as he headed further south, she gasped and arched, sliding her fingers into his hair. “Omigod.”

“No,” he said. “Just Ben.”