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Ben just shook his head. ‘You don’t know...’
‘Then tell me. What are you angry about, Ben? What’s driving you still?’ He shook his head again. ‘You need to forgive yourself for being angry,’ Olivia insisted. ‘Whatever its source. And for beating up that guy.’
‘And how do you go about doing that?’ Ben asked after a moment. ‘How do you just let a feeling go? Because God knows if I could, I would.’
‘I don’t know,’ Olivia admitted honestly. ‘Maybe it’s a process.’
Ben closed his eyes. ‘I’m so tired of it all. Tired of being angry.’
‘If I could help you to let go of it, I would.’ Olivia slipped from the sofa to kneel in front of him. His head was lowered and she slid her hands through his hair, drawing his head up so he was facing her. Then she kissed him.
There was no wildness now. There was only gentleness and peace, a kiss of absolution. Ben brought his hands up to her shoulders, steadied hers as he kissed her back. And such a sweet, sweet kiss it was.
The gentleness turned to urgency, but still it wasn’t rough or wild. It was immediate and necessary and good, right there in the living room, as Ben peeled the dress from her body and she undid the buttons of his shirt. Carefully. Tenderly. Every movement telling him this was okay.
And it was more than okay; it was wonderful, overwhelmingly so, to have him touching her again. Loving her again. He lay her down on the rug right there in the living room and covered her body with his own, his face buried in her neck as Olivia wrapped herself around him and brought him into her body. Into her very self.
Afterwards they lay clinging together, their bodies completely entwined, their hearts thudding against each other. Slowly Ben eased off, gazed down at her. Gently he brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek.
‘Did I...?’
‘Hurt me?’ she finished. ‘No, of course not.’
He sighed and lightly rested his forehead against hers. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
Gazing up at him, at the tenderness in his eyes, Olivia felt her heart lurch. Her world shift. She loved this man. This fascinating, complex, tender, angry man.
And as he rolled off her, she had no idea if he felt anything back, or if what they’d just shared had been a moment of intensity brought on by all they’d shared, and nothing more.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEN WOKE UP to pale, winter sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Olivia’s bedroom. Memories of the night before sifted through his mind, the heart-wrenching conversation, the mind-blowing sex. And afterwards, the sweet companionship. He’d made them both pasta and they’d chatted and laughed, all of it amazingly easy after what had gone before. He’d asked if he could stay the night, and the smile that had bloomed across her face had been a balm to his soul.
He’d slept with her wrapped around him, their legs tangled together, her arm across his waist. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well.
He glanced down at her now, her hair spread across the white pillowcase, her lashes feathering her cheeks, her lips slightly pursed. She looked beautiful, of course, but he also saw a touching vulnerability in the roundness of her cheek, the sweep of her lashes. He ran his thumb gently down her cheek, thinking of all she’d shared, all the heartache she’d endured.
And wondering how on earth he could trust himself with her, with her heart, after that. Because he knew now he felt more for Olivia than he’d ever intended or wanted to feel. And never mind all the practical pitfalls of a possible relationship between them, such as the fact she was a Harrington and he was a Chatsfield, or that they lived on different continents and were intent on pursuing their separate careers.
He still was afraid to trust himself with her, with the care and well-being of another person.
Because he was still angry. He’d felt peace in her arms, in her healing touch, but he knew the emotions still churned under the surface.
Because you don’t want to admit what you’re angry about.
Olivia had probed and pressed about the source of his anger, and he still hadn’t told her. Hadn’t told anyone, because it shamed him. Because it revealed as much of his character as the anger itself.
But he didn’t want to think about that now. He wanted to enjoy what he had with Olivia, for however long it lasted. Smiling, he bent his head and brushed a kiss across her collarbone. She stirred, her eyelids fluttering, and Ben moved lower to her breast. She let out a breathy little sigh and rolled over to give him greater access.
‘Now this,’ she murmured, her eyes still closed as she hooked a leg around his and drew him to her, ‘is a fantastic way to wake up.’
