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She rolled over so she could face him, simply because she wanted to look at him so much. She’d taken her turn touching and exploring him just as he had her, learning the taut muscles of his belly and the curve of his hip. Enjoying the feel of him, of knowing he was hers to explore and pleasure—at least for tonight.
Now she ran her fingertip along a wicked-looking scar that started under his arm and ran the length of his side, all the way to his hip.
‘That looks like it was painful,’ she said softly, and Ben didn’t answer, just splayed his fingers along her belly. ‘How did you get it?’
‘Knife fight,’ he said after a moment, and Olivia glanced up at his face, thinking for a second that he must be joking. She could tell from the hard set of his mouth and eyes that he wasn’t.
‘Goodness,’ she said faintly. ‘When were you in a knife fight?’
‘When I first left home.’ He rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. ‘I ended up in the south of France, in a dodgy section of Marseille. A couple of sailors jumped me.’
‘That’s horrible.’ Ben just shrugged. ‘Why did they jump you?’ Olivia asked. ‘And how did you get away?’
‘They jumped me because I was an eighteen-year-old punk wandering around drunk in a bad neighbourhood. I got away because I fought back.’ He spoke flatly, his face completely closed, and Olivia had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t telling her something.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘That must have been terrible.’
‘Not one of my better life experiences,’ Ben agreed. ‘But it wised me up at least.’
‘No more wandering dark alleys?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Why did you leave home?’ she asked after a moment. She had a feeling these questions were semi-off-limits, although Ben hadn’t said as much. They’d both agreed to a fling, but did that mean no heart-to-hearts? No actually getting to know each other? Because with her body still buzzing with satisfaction, she knew she wanted more than just the sex. She wanted to know this man.
‘I didn’t feel like I could stay,’ Ben finally said. His tone was neither repressive nor particularly open; he was still staring at the ceiling.
‘Because of your mother and her deception?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why not?’
‘I know it doesn’t seem to make sense,’ he said after a moment. ‘And sometimes I wonder if leaving was the wrong thing to do. But it felt like the only choice at the time.’
‘I know how that feels,’ Olivia said quietly. Ben turned to glance at her curiously, but didn’t ask. And she was glad he didn’t. She might have been asking some soul-baring questions, but she wasn’t ready to answer her own, or explain how fourteen years after her mother’s death the guilt at having disappointed her so terribly still haunted her. Drove her to make life a performance rather than something real.
Except you’ve been real with Ben.
Not that real though. Never that real. But she was starting to want to be, which was a scary thought.
‘Come on,’ he said, nudging her bare shoulder. ‘This evening’s not over yet. And I want to try out that two-person shower.’ He raised his eyebrows in invitation and Olivia laughed, grateful for the change in subject. And yes, she wanted to try that shower out too.
They spent a leisurely half-hour in the shower, soaping each other up and teasing each other unbearably, until Ben finally pulled her to him and sank inside her. Bliss.
Afterwards they towelled each other, everything strangely intimate and yet also weirdly normal. Amazing how quickly that had happened. Did that happen with everyone you had sex with, Olivia wondered, knowing she was being terribly naive by even wondering, or just with her and Ben? Did they have the beginnings of something special, or was she delusional?
‘What is that?’ Ben asked sharply, and Olivia blinked, jerked out of her little reverie. So much for warm fuzzies.
‘What is what?’ she asked, and Ben pointed to a rather large bruise, just coming up purple, on her hip.
‘That.’ His voice came out flat and hard, all the playful gentleness he’d been showing her evaporated along with the steam from the shower.
‘Well.’ Olivia examined it in some bemusement. She supposed she wouldn’t be wearing her bikini any time soon. ‘It’s a bruise.’
‘I know it’s a bruise, Olivia,’ Ben bit out. ‘But how did you get it?’
‘I assume from our activities in the kitchen,’ she answered, trying to sound teasing. Why did he sound so...angry? ‘That counter was made of steel, you know. It was kind of hard, and you were pushing me into it kind of ferociously.’ She smiled, expecting him to smile back, to laugh about it, because bruise or not, it was kind of funny. Wasn’t it?
