Ben muttered a low curse and shook his head, and Rose felt momentary relief and disappointment to have been released from his intense gaze. “Come on, then.”
Billy darted ahead with a grin as Ben motioned for Rose to walk in front of him. She could feel his presence behind her and wanted to spin around, to finish what she had started.
But what had she started?
“You are limping,” he growled, as though her boots had personally offended him.
“My boot is hurting my heel.” Her voice sounded breathy, and she mentally chastised herself for talking about herfeetwhen she was certain something profound was about to happen, even if she could not identify what.
“I’ll fix it,” he grumbled as she ascended the stairs and entered through the front doors of 138 Willow. Billy called his farewell as they entered the tiled vestibule. She felt weightless, dizzy, as though she’d been holding her breath the entire time. Perhaps she had been; all the air between them had been pushed away and replaced by heat, some unidentifiable electricity that crackled in their midst.
Ben had turned towards the door to his apartment, but Rose wasn’t finished, not yet. She pushed past him and leaned against his door, blocking his advance. He couldn’t ignore her now. “Tell me what you want,” she blurted, immediately regretting the words when he froze.
His dark eyes washed over her, his jaw set. “I shouldn’t.”
He crowded her against the door, his palms pressed against the wood on either side of her head. His chest heaved as he held her gaze. Rose shivered, curled her fingers into the panels of the door behind her, paralyzed but desperate for his touch.
“Tell me to stop, Rose,” he grumbled through clenched teeth. “Tell me.”
A thousand words raced through her head, a rattling buzz competing with the fire burning low in her belly. “No,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting over her face before settling on her lips. His nails scraped against the wood beside her as he fisted his hands. “You’re dangerous to me.” His voice was ragged, as though he tried to hold the words back, but they escaped despite his best efforts. “You’re—”
Rose lifted one hand from the door, her fingertip finding the nearly healed cut on his chin, the tiny crack in his armor, and his eyelashes fluttered as his breath caught. “Ben…”
His lips crashed down on hers and the world disappeared beneath her feet. She clung to his shirt, wanting him even closer, wanting to drown herself in him. His movements lacked finesse as his tongue lapped against her lips, and she opened to him, welcomed his sensual invasion. Flames shot through her as his hand dropped from the door and buried itself in the mass of her hair, angling her head so he could deepen the kiss, possess her more fully.
Rose reached behind her and fumbled for the door knob. Desire, unlike anything she’d experienced or even imagined, overruled every other need in her body. She had to be with Ben, in his room, his bed, anywhere with him—
Heavy footfalls pounded down the stairway. Ben pushed back and stared at Rose with bewildered eyes as Cass and Abby descended the last few stairs.
“Ben,” Abby gasped, her palm to her chest. Cass’s eyes darted between Ben and Rose and widened, but Abby paid them no notice as she continued. “Something horrible has happened.”
Abby’s flair for the dramatic meant she had overstated the situation, but not by much. The hour was well past midnight by the time Ben emerged from Mrs. Thurgood’s apartment on the top floor, soaked and exhausted.
“She was pouring grease down the sink,” Ben muttered to Cass as he stumbled into their apartment, looking up at the widening spot where the plaster had fallen in sodden chunks on the sofa and floor. “It hardened and backed up, hence the spill into your ceiling.”
“Can you fix it?” Cass asked, and he heard the tension in her voice. She was Abby’s perfect counterpoint, calm where Abby was anxious, so the nervous edge to her words made Ben even more concerned.
“I can, but it’ll take time.” He wiped his hands on his now-ruined trousers. He’d long since abandoned his jacket and waistcoat, and he feared his shirt was bound for the rag heap as well. “I don’t trust the ceiling in this state. With this humidity, the plaster will need days to dry, and only then can I make repairs.”
Rose moved in the periphery of his vision and Ben averted his gaze, looking at the sofa—Rose’s bed—covered in debris. He’d not yet come to terms with what happened at his door, nor could he even think about it until he solved the most recent crisis.
He exhaled on a huff and looked at the ceiling once more. “Mrs. Thurgood’s brother is coming to take her to his home until I’ve made the repairs. I’m afraid it’s not safe for you to stay in your apartment, either.”
“Why not?”
Ben’s eyes closed at Rose’s words. He hadn’t been able to look at her without forgetting what he was supposed to be doing; he’d nearly tripped over his own feet when she cleared her throat.
“Because the ceiling is continuing to fall.” Ben directed his comment at Cass and Abby, who stood huddled together in their robes. He did not know what Rose was wearing, if she still had on the delightful jacket that hugged her trim waist and flared around her hips, hips that he—
“We can go to Miss Restell’s,” Cass said. “She has an extra bed we can use.”
“Good.” The tightness in Ben’s chest released slightly knowing Abby and Cass would be taken care of.
“She only has the one bed, though.” Abby turned to Cass with plaintive eyes. “What about Rose?”
Silence hung, the only interruption a faint, repetitive drip from the apartment above.
