“I’ll be fine,” Rose said, her voice tremulous. “I can stay here and—”
“You can’t stay here,” Ben interrupted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t allow himself to look at Rose, knowing he had barely been able to break from her kiss. Knowing how badly he wanted to have her again.
“Why don’t you stay with Ben?”
Ben swung to face Cass, ready to object. The woman’s dark eyes met his and held in a silent dare. “You have the space,” Cass continued. “The two of you are already working together, so it would be convenient as well.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” Ben stammered, keeping his gaze fixed on Cass. “Her reputation—”
“I have no objection,” Rose interrupted. “And I have no reputation to speak of, at least not here. As long as I’m not imposing…”
“You won’t be,” Cass finished for her. “Ben, what do you think?”
He was thinking a million things, all of them raising mental alarms. He wanted to send Rose back to London on the first boat he could find while simultaneously wanting to throw her into his bed and keep her there. Kissing Rose felt like the time he shocked himself when installing electrical wiring, the sudden full-body gasp that forced him to lie on the floor for ten minutes to recover. But unlike that event, he wanted to repeat the experience and kiss her again, immediately.
But kissing her went against all of his principles and represented a complete lack of judgment and control. Worse yet, Rose had made himwantagain, and as soon as he wanted something, he would have to acknowledge he could lose it. And his heart was not ready to lose again. Rose was not destined to be his in any permanent manner; she would marry a wealthy, titled man and return to her ivory tower in England, where she belonged. And Ben would stay here, in Brooklyn. Alone.
He had only recently regained his footing and started to feel whole again. Not whole, perhaps, but functional, able to see beyond the constant gloom of his past. Rose was poking holes in his defenses, exposing parts of his heart that had not seen the light of day for years. If she kept breaking him open, he might fall apart, back into the uncertainty and impotence he felt after Aiko’s death.
His wife had given her life for him, for their family. Every time he considered moving on from the pain, as he’d done far too often since Rose’s arrival, he reminded himself that it was his fault she was no longer on this earth, and he resolved to wait. To be better than a man who could not control his baser urges, better than his father. He would maintain his poise, keep his walls high enough to protect himself from her onslaught.
“I have no objection,” he said, burying his hands in his trouser pockets. Rose boldly met his gaze, and the moment he saw her swollen lips, his cock twitched.
Ben clenched his jaw.It absolutely would not happen again.
Chapter 13
Benstoodinthedoorway to his kitchen and watched as Rose sat back on her haunches to survey her new “bed.” Cass and Abby had carried piles of blankets and pillows from their apartment, as the soaked plaster ceiling had destroyed Rose’s belongings, while he did his best to minimize any additional damage.
“Miss Restell has plenty of spare linens,” Cass had insisted as she passed Ben in the hallway.
“She wouldn’t need them at all,” Abby’d interjected, trailing behind, “if she slept in the bed with you—”
But Cass yanked on Abby’s elbow then, dislodging a quilt and sending it tumbling down the stairs, causing enough distraction for Ben to hide his crimson cheeks.
Now she washere, not to write letters but tostay, and nothing about her presence indicated he would sleep a minute that night. Several locks of hair had fallen and stuck to her neck, presumably when he lost his damn mind and grabbed her,kissedher, like the worst type of scoundrel.
“Will your cat be angry that I’m taking his bed?”
Ben stared at her, the words taking several beats to make sense in his mind. “What? No.”
Her lips pulled into a wan smile. “I was joking. I don’t think you actually have a cat. It’s an elaborate hoax, like Harvey the ghost.”
“Harvey isn’t real.” Ben held a quilt—a gift from Mrs. Korzakowski after he watched her son while she was ill last winter—to his chest, the world’s least-effective weapon against the power of Rose. “Wig is real.”
She stood and crossed to the window, looking out onto the street. “Then why have I never seen him?”
“He doesn’t like people.”
“But he likes you.”
The simple words should not have affected him so, should not have soothed something deep in his soul that ached. Ben knew the people in his world—the suffrage society, the residents of his building—appreciated what he did, but he made miserable company and preferred to be alone. Even Wig only saw him as a source of food and a warm bed on frigid nights.
Of course, Rose would make it something more. She wanted to see the beauty in everyone and everything.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” He laid the quilt over the back of a kitchen chair, then poured a cup of water from an earthenware jug to keep his hands busy. “I’ll have Abby’s ceiling repaired as soon as I can.”
“There’s no rush.”
