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He was shocked when, instead of scooting off the bed away from him, Thea reached out and touched his face.
‘Don’t, Thea. It’s not a good idea.’ He gripped her wrist, stilling it and moving it away from him as he opened his eyes and came face to face with her direct gaze.
She still looked pale, drained; but there was a glint in her eyes which he hadn’t been expecting—something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.
It held him in her bed, motionless. Part of him knew he should leave. He had promised her this was a marriage on paper only, assured her she could trust him. Still, part of him wanted to stay. He couldn’t deny his attraction to her, and all their talk last night had only made it harder to put his feelings for her safely away in their box.
‘Why isn’t it a good idea?’ she whispered, gently twisting her wrist from his loosened grip, slowly returning it to his face.
She traced the outline of the scar which pulled at the corner of his eye. ‘Some war wound, huh?’ Her voice shook as she spoke,
Memories punched into him. The last time she’d asked that exact question had been on their one and only date, moments before they’d shared their first kiss. Could it only have been six weeks ago? It had been a gentle yet powerful kiss which had rocked him to his foundations in a way he’d never suspected a mere kiss ever could. It was the moment he’d realised he wanted more, so much more, from this woman.
She’d asked him how he’d got it—assuming, as others had done in the past, that it was something to do with the Army. Ben had always been happy to go along with their assumption—not that he’d dated a lot since his career had begun to come first. But instead he’d found himself telling Thea how the scar was a result of running into an open kitchen drawer when he was boy.
In fifteen years he’d barely even spoken to anyone about his mother. But that night he’d regaled Thea with the story of how he’d been running away from his half-furious, half-scared mum, having been found blown halfway across the room after jamming a kitchen knife into an electrical socket, trying to retrieve his wedged-in toy soldier.
Thea had been shocked and amused in equal measure, with no idea of the enormity of what Ben had just done in telling her something so personal. And now she was tracing his scar and asking him the same question again. Deliberately reminding him of that night.
He felt his willpower slipping.
He snatched his head away, jackknifing his body upright to slide her off him and launching himself sideways out of the bed. But she slipped her arms around him, stopping him from leaving the bed completely.
‘We can’t do this, Thea,’ he repeated.
If he didn’t stop this his self-control would crumble, and at some point she would come to hate him for letting this happen She would never forgive him for not staying strong enough for both of them.
‘I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight,’ she whispered hoarsely.
Grief was still etched into her expression. He felt torn. He was supposed to be here to look after her, to support her—how could he walk out on her now?
He had to get things back to where they’d been a couple of hours earlier. He could hold her, comfort her, but nothing more was going to happen.
He moved back to the bed and sat down to pull her into his arms and soothe her, as he had a few hours earlier, but Thea had other ideas.
Turning her head to his, she pressed her warm mouth to his skin, kissing his temple, his cheek, the skin inches from his mouth.
He moved his hand to stay her. ‘Stop, Thea. Neither of us are thinking straight.’
‘You’re wrong...’
Her shaky voice should have told him more, but he didn’t want to hear.
‘I know you still want me. And it’s precisely because we aren’t thinking straight that we can do this. We need this. I need this. I need oblivion. Take me away from all this. Make me forget the last three weeks. Make me forget everything. If only for a short while.’
‘It will still be there afterwards,’ he said.
Resisting her touch was taking all his willpower. She was right—he did still want her. Despite the promise he’d made to himself six weeks ago, never to go near Thea again, he hadn’t stopped wanting her or thinking about her. She had haunted his dreams.
‘Just make me forget for a moment. Please, Ben, can you do that?’
She touched him again and his mental grip slipped further. He shouldn’t give in, but he was losing control, his head was spinning. Grief, guilt, lust—all mingled together with his lack of sleep over the last month, and Ben struggled to pick his way through the tangle of emotions.
As if sensing his weakening resolve, Thea slid hesitant fingers under the waistband of his boxer shorts, looking to him as if for compliance. He should stand his ground, tell her that she was still grieving and scared and confused, that she didn’t know what she was doing.
Except it seemed as if she knew exactly what she was doing. She seemed to know what she wanted and just what effect she was having on him. And, as she’d already pointed out, she knew only too well how much he wanted her.
With a slight dip of his head he conveyed his acquiescence, sucking in deep breath as Thea slid his boxers off him and surveyed every inch of him. Then, almost shyly, she took his hand and moved it to her breast. Her nipple was hard against his palm.
