Anything But Love (12 page)

And it had worked. Just like that night at the reception, she’d felt possibility ignite within her. That night, it had been the possibility of taking her honeymoon trip without Tom, of spending ten days doing things just because she wanted to. Today, it was the possibility that she might have something to contribute to the world. The possibility of a meaningful future. A future doing something she loved—even if she wasn’t quite sure what that would be.

But before she could tackle that enormous task, there was something else she wanted to do.

Because Ben was right. She could choose a different path. She could choose to live a life of passion.

Including sexual passion.

For too long she’d settled for relationships without it. Sex had always been something she’d done because it was expected, not because she enjoyed it.

It wasn’t that she hated it. It had always felt okay, if not spectacular. Sometimes she’d feel turned on and start to think that maybe, finally, she’d be able to experience the physical passion that her friends talked about. But inevitably, at some point, her excitement would fade into a kind of detachment.

She’d decided a while ago that sexual ecstasy would never be part of her life. But now, for the first time, the possibility of physical passion felt real.

And it was something she wanted. Not just when she was drunk and acting on impulse, when she could tell herself afterward that she wasn’t responsible for her actions. She could
choose
passion. She could choose to be with a man who made her feel alive.

She could choose to be with Ben.

She’d wanted him since before she understood what that meant, and tonight she was going to have him.

But the thought of seducing him felt impossible. The thought of kissing him when she was sober was terrifying. She had so much baggage when it came to sex . . . there was no way she could pretend she was a normal woman with a normal, healthy sexuality. Not without alcohol, anyway.

There was really only one solution. She would tell Ben what she needed in a clear, coherent way, and ask for his help. And while that approach might be completely unsexy, she was sure—say ninety percent sure—that he wouldn’t turn her down.

He had a savior complex, after all. He loved to fix people.

And she was a woman who needed fixing.

She thought about suggesting room service for dinner instead of the restaurant, but talking to Ben in a public setting might actually make the conversation easier. She’d be less inclined to give way to embarrassing emotion, and more likely to make her case in a straightforward manner.

She dressed in navy-blue slacks and a sleeveless white blouse. She put her hair up and kept her makeup simple, the way she would at a business meeting.

She asked the maître d’ if they could have a table in a quiet corner. Once they were seated, she glanced around, determining that the nearest diners weren’t close enough to hear their conversation. She waited until the waiter had taken their order, and then folded her hands on the table.

“So,” she said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

She kept her voice casual, even businesslike. It was all in the presentation, she’d decided. She would sound like a rational woman who’d come to a decision about solving a problem.

“So you said on the way here.” He imitated her posture, folding his hands and placing them on the table. “Are you looking for legal advice?”

She cleared her throat. “Neither of us has had any alcohol today.”

Ben nodded gravely. “That’s true. Does this mean you’re planning to seduce me?”

His tone was teasing, since nothing about the atmosphere or their dynamic resembled a seduction scenario. But that couldn’t be helped. She had to do it this way, at least in the beginning.

“Yes,” she said.

He blinked. “Okay, I think I’m missing something.”

“You are. Let me explain.”

She paused. She’d rehearsed this so carefully, planned what she would say and how she would say it. But now that it had come to the point, the words stuck in her throat.

“I have something to tell you, but I need to do this a certain way. Will you promise not to say anything until I’ve finished? I need you to just sit and listen. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” he said after a moment, looking puzzled. “Whatever you need.”

“Okay. Good.”

She couldn’t do this while looking at him, so she looked down at her hands instead.

“So.” She paused. “So.”

Her heart was pounding and her stomach was in knots. But somehow, some way, she had to get through this.

What happens in Bermuda stays in Bermuda, she reminded herself. After this trip, she and Ben never had to see each other again.

“Okay. So.” She squeezed her hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I have a problem with sex.”

Silence.

After a moment she risked a glance up. Ben’s brown eyes were opaque and his expression was neutral, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But he was listening and he wasn’t laughing at her. So far so good.

She looked down at the table again. “I’m not a virgin or anything. I mean, I’ve had sex, but it’s hard for me to . . . enjoy it. In fact, I don’t. At least, I never have.” She took a breath. “After a while I got tired of boyfriends calling me frigid or deciding I must be cheating on them or just losing interest, and I stopped dating. But when you don’t date, your friends and family wonder what’s wrong, and they try to fix you up with guys they think would be perfect for you, and . . . well, I got tired of that, too. So that’s why I . . .”

“Got engaged to Tom?”

She glanced up quickly, but Ben didn’t look or sound like he was judging her. She took a deep breath and went on, but this time she kept her eyes on his.

“Yes. Of course, there were a lot of other reasons for that decision. But one of them, for me, was this problem. With sex. I was tired of dealing with it, and the potential reward didn’t seem worth the investment, to be honest. So I was glad to be out of all that. But now . . . now that the marriage isn’t happening . . . I thought that maybe . . .”

Just get it out there. What’s the worst that can happen?

“I thought maybe it’s not too late. To have a normal sex life. When I get back to New York, you know? Since marrying a gay man didn’t work out for me,” she added, trying for a little humor. “I want . . . I just want . . . I want to know what it’s like. To have good sex. To feel what other women feel.”

She paused, searching Ben’s eyes to discern his reaction.

It was so hard to read what he was thinking. But he wasn’t judging her, and he wasn’t laughing at her. That would have to be enough to go on with.

“So I wondered if you might . . . be willing . . . to help me.”

A quick spasm went through her, but it was out. It was out, damn it, and the world hadn’t ended.

She took a deep breath. “The other night, when we kissed, I felt . . . I mean . . . I don’t usually feel like that. I’ve never wanted someone like I wanted you.”

Her cheeks burned. But she needed to think about this clinically, like a conversation with a doctor. If this was going to work, Ben had to have all the information.

“Of course I’ve felt desire before, but . . . there’s always been this disconnect. Once things start heating up I always freeze, or something. So I thought . . . this time . . . maybe I could take a more direct approach. If you know I have a problem, then you won’t expect . . . that is, you won’t be disappointed if . . . if things don’t go well.”

She cleared her throat. “You said I can figure out who I am by figuring out what I like. That’s what I want to do. With you. With sex. And since you’re moving to Chicago in the fall, there won’t be any, you know, emotional fallout. You don’t have to worry that I’m going to expect anything from you or get my heart broken or . . .”

She trailed off, seeing the waiter approaching with her salad and Ben’s soup.

Maybe having this conversation in the restaurant had been a mistake. How was she supposed to eat?

She looked down at her plate. They’d put the dressing on the side. She focused on picking up the little silver pitcher and pouring the vinaigrette over her greens, and then she speared a bite and brought it to her mouth.

“Jessica?”

She choked on a slice of cucumber.

Oh God. She was coughing like she’d never stop.

Ben started to rise from his seat, but she waved him off. She gulped down some water, took a few deep breaths, and looked up.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were saying something?”

God, what a disaster. What in the world had she been thinking?

“My answer is yes.”

She stared at him for a long moment. His brown eyes were warm and alive, and the slight smile he wore didn’t seem to be mocking her.

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

Okay, then.

As she continued to sit there, her face getting hotter and hotter, it occurred to her that she hadn’t thought past this point.

“What happens now?” she blurted.

Smooth, Jessica. Very smooth. All in all, this had to be the strangest—and least sexy—proposition a woman had ever made to a man.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to eat dinner.” He took a sip of his seafood chowder and made an appreciative noise. “Wow, that’s good. Do you want to try this?”

He looked completely at ease, which was more than she could say for herself.

“You don’t think it’s weird to just sit here having dinner?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And we’re not just having dinner. We’re on a date, and it’s my job to entertain you, to charm you, to give you the impression that I’m a responsible adult, and, hopefully, convince you to make out with me at the end of the night.”

“But we’re not really on a date. And you already know I want to make out.”

Ben leaned toward her. “Do you trust me, Jess?”

Something in his expression told her that this was a serious question—one that could define the events going forward. So instead of answering quickly—
yes, of course I trust you
—she took a moment to think about it.

“I would trust you with my life.”

He looked startled.

After a moment he cleared his throat. “Well, then. Will you trust me tonight? Enough to put yourself in my hands?”

This time she didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Good. Then we’re on a date, which means I’m doing all the work. Your job is to enjoy yourself and let me know how I’m doing.” He paused. “I’m going to start with something easy. How’s your salad?”

She’d spit out the only bite she’d taken so far. Now she took another one. “It’s very good.”

“Excellent. You already know my soup is good. Are you ready for my next dating move?”

She was starting to relax a little. How could she not, when Ben was narrating the evening so disarmingly?

“I’m ready.”

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Well, thank you. But I didn’t do anything special. I mean . . . I didn’t dress up or anything.”

“You don’t have to. You’re Grace Kelly beautiful, Jess. You’d be gorgeous in a burlap sack.”

She blushed deeper. “Okay, that’s pretty good. I give you high marks for your dating moves so far.” She took another bite of salad. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It might be a bad date question.”

“One of the rules for the evening is that you can do no wrong. Ask me whatever you want.”

“All right.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a pretty nice guy, and not exactly hard to look at. How is it that you’re still single?”

His eyebrows went up. “You’re saying I’m easy on the eyes?”

Considering she’d been on the point of dissolving in embarrassment a few minutes ago, it was hard to believe they were actually joking now. “I’m not going to repeat it, if that’s what you’re angling for. Your ego doesn’t need any stroking.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I guess that’s true. After all, I’m the one you turned to when you needed a sex god.”

“A sex god? Wow. You’re setting the bar pretty high, aren’t you? Most men would fold under that kind of pressure.”

“I’m not most men.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you going to answer the question, or what?”

He paused as a waiter cleared their dishes and another set down their main course. “I was in a long-term relationship until about a year ago. I’ve dated since, but nothing too serious.”

“Oh.” Jessica took a bite of her chicken and watched Ben dig into his mahimahi. She wanted to ask about the relationship that had ended. Who was the woman? What was she like? And how could she have been crazy enough to let a man like Ben go?

Instead, she asked about his meal. “How is your fish?”

He looked up and grinned. “Delicious. Would you like to try it?”

“Sure.”

He prepared a bite for her, dipping a piece of mahimahi into the sauce and extending the fork across the table. She leaned forward and closed her mouth over the tines, making a sound of pleasure at the delicate flavor of the fish.

“Wow, that’s good,” she said.

Ben’s expression was intent as he reached toward her and captured a drop of sauce from her upper lip. “You missed some,” he said, and without stopping to think she licked the lemony goodness from his finger.