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Ben needed food.He needed a shower. And he needed a bed for the night.
More importantly, Ben needed electricity and a desk and someplace with actualheatand internet where he could work. Mostly, heat.
And, well, if Dusty didn’t get out of his head, he probably needed a lobotomy.
Ben knew there was one place he could get all of that. Well, minus the lobotomy. Hecouldhave headed to his brother Gil’s, but that would mean intruding on Sage, who now lived there—she had his cousin Maggie and Maggie’s kids there tonight. He didn’t want to interrupt their girl party or anything. There had been mention ofweddingplanning in family circles. Ben did not do romance—he was the mystery kind of guy.
He’d leave the wedding planning to them, thank you very much.
He still had nightmares about helping with Nikki’s wedding, and with his uncle Phil’s, which had happened shortly after. And his uncle Nick’s, too. Weddings were kind of scary to Ben Tylers. Of that he was one hundred percent certain.
That left only one place he wanted to go.
He’d known that since the moment he’d stepped out of his building.
He walked. All he really needed was his bag with a change of clothing, his keys, his winter coat, and hat, and his wallet. And his laptop. As long as he had his laptop, he was good, honestly. Ben was accustomed to years of traveling light. And he used the walk to shore up his Dusty-defenses.
To remind himself that she was completely, totally, utterly, forever off limits.
He would be able to get back to the repairs on his building soon. After his uncle could check the wiring. Ben bit back the irritation at the setback.
The wiring could wait.
The writing most certainly could not. He had a damned deadline, damn it. He was falling more and more behind every day.
Destiny Marie had kept distractinghim.
It was driving Ben insane.
He did not write romance.
He most certainly did not writeerotic romance.But it was starting to feel that way. When he was working, and in his dreams at night.
His editor was already booked, and expecting his manuscript in ten days. He would not miss his deadline, no matter what. He had more than ten days’ worth of writing to do on the damned thing now.
He pushed open the hand-carved antique wooden doors. He’d been to the inn thousands of times through the years—mostly to pick up his pest of a sister. And her equally annoying bestest friend.
Dusty, Dusty, Dusty.The woman just keptgettinghim.
So many of his memories of his sister’s childhood were tied up in Dusty’s as well. She’d always just been there with Nikki. Eight years separated him from his baby sister. He’d always had to look out for her. He adored her, and always would.
Even if he was inclined to figure this thing out the physical way, it wouldn’t be best for Dusty. He had come to that conclusionlast week.Had told himself he was good with that decision.
Ben wasn’t exactly the kind of guy a woman like Dusty needed. He was too rough, too dark, and not sophisticated enough for a woman like Dusty, for one thing. He was a Tyler—used to fixing things with his hands, his back, and sometimes, his fists.
The military had taught him some serious self-control, though. He hadn’t brawled with someone in years. There was that. Hurting himself on base and being on medical leave for twelve weeks—and not being able to afford to comehome—eight years ago had taught him self-discipline.
He’d written his first book then out of sheer, unadulterated boredom—and he’d wanted to fulfill the promise he’d made to his dad before his dad had died. Ben had always wanted to write a book, and his father had known that—his dad had dared him to.
His dad had said Ben was too imaginative not to.
His dad had wanted him to.
So when he was stuck in a hospital bed with nothing else to do, he finally had. People had liked it, as rough and unsophisticated as it was. So he’d written more. And more. And when his enlistment was up, he’d come home.
He could afford to, then. And after the last six books he’d released had performed better than the fifteen that had come before, he was a wealthy one, too. He could afford to buy the entire block his building sat on now—ten times over.
Ben Tyler was never going to be a poor man again. He would never let that happen. He had created something, using just his mind and his ability to learn. And he was just going to keep going.
