Talk Me Down (16 page)

“It’ll be fun.”

“The last thing I need is evidence of my sex life floating all over the Internet.”

Okay. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate her books after all. “You don’t have to e-mail them to me or anything. And you’re the one man in the world I’d trust with my nude photos.”

“Dream on.”

“Don’t you want to have a memento of our affair when it’s over?”

He spun on his heel and stalked to the kitchen, and Molly bit back her request for a picture of him as a keepsake. He didn’t seem in a modeling mood.

The thought of Ben modeling for nude photos was so hilarious though that she chuckled as she followed him into the kitchen. Her laughter died when she saw him, hands braced on either side of the sink, head bowed. His shoulders were tense and still; he definitely wasn’t doubled over with laughter.

She felt a moment’s panic when he turned around to watch her with eyes dark as a stormy night. She didn’t want to have a serious conversation, didn’t want to be forced to clarify exactly how she felt or what their future might be.

“Let me see this fancy bottled wine you’ve got,” she said, willing him to give in and let it go. She thought he wouldn’t. The lines on either side of his mouth deepened. He crossed his arms, hot gaze boring into her.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she tried not to look guilty, but in the end, he just pushed off the counter and went to take a bottle of white wine from the fridge, offering her a chance to flee the kitchen and begin a self-guided tour through the rest of the house. The short hallway held more photos between the doors leading to the one bathroom and three bedrooms. She stopped at the largest bedroom.

It was clean, but not perfect. His bed wasn’t made. A pair of sweatpants lay on the floor. The headboard of the bed was made of thick, polished pine logs in a simple ladderback pattern accented by a chocolate-colored bedspread.

The room fit him. It was simple, a little rough around the edges, and softened in surprising ways.

A photo graced the wall next to his bed, larger than the others she’d seen, and this one in color. The setting sun, glowing behind black-shadowed mountains under a lapis sky.

Ben’s hand snuck past her to offer the wineglass.

“Ben, you’re really gifted. You should—”

“I do it for myself. It’s one thing I never feel on guard about.”

“Well, I had no idea you were an artist. You just get sexier every day, Professor. Wanna go to bed?”

He raised an irritated eyebrow, not the reaction she’d been expecting. “I thought maybe we’d talk. Have a conversation.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him. But bed was definitely safer territory. Conversation with Ben was sincere and complicated and emotionally involved. Dangerous. She considered just whipping her shirt off, but he wandered back toward the living room and she had no choice but to follow.

He sat at one end of the couch, ankle on one knee, wineglass balanced on the other. She paused just to take him in, because there might not be another night like this and he was so handsome. Impossible as it seemed, she’d noticed earlier that his charcoal-gray slacks made his ass look even hotter than his jeans did, and the dusky-green button-down shirt set off his brown eyes perfectly.

He’d dressed up for her, and turned her on in the process. Like that was hard.

Seeming to pull himself from his troubling thoughts, Ben finally looked up at her and patted the couch beside him. “Come on. I promise I’m not going to fish for background information.”

She considered taking her shirt off for two more seconds, then decided she could employ that option at any time during the conversation if she had to. If he asked about Cameron, for instance, or her life in the sex trade.

“How’s your mom?” she asked as she plopped onto the cushions next to him.

“Good. She’s going to retire this year. She called to ask about you.”

“Is she keeping notes on the mystery?”

“Apparently I’m the last to know that the
Tribune
’s online. She saw the stories, and called to tell me how much she’s always liked you.”

The way her heart leapt was completely uncalled for in Molly’s opinion. “Your mom is such a sweetheart.”

“She’s been dating someone for a year,” he blurted, as if it was still a surprise to him.

“That’s great!” She laughed at his doubtful look. “Don’t tell me this is her first boyfriend since your father? Come on.”

“I think it is. She very unfortunately mentioned to me that she felt like a virgin again. So I think, you know…” He cleared his throat.

“Wow! Well, she’s overdue for fun then.”

“I guess. Hey, what did you mean about Ricky Nowell?”

After she choked on her wine, she managed to gasp, “Huh?”

“You said something about him being really horrible to you.”

“Oh, I…Nothing. Teenage stuff.”

He leaned back against the cushions and gave her the cop look. Shit. “You said you lost your virginity that night, Molly. Did you?”

“Oh, were you paying attention to that? Ha.”

“You lost your virginity that night and you came to talk to your brother about it?”

“No…”

“I was worried about you when you left. I couldn’t even come after you. My date…and I wasn’t dressed.”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Please tell me what happened.”

“I, uh…Right now?” He nodded. “Okay. I was fine. I just, I came by that night because I’d gotten in a fight with Ricky. We were on a date, and he said if I didn’t put out it was over. I was outraged and I came to your place because…I don’t know. I thought I’d tell you and you’d be outraged, too.”

“Damn straight.”

“So I stormed in and, yowza! There you were. Naked. And very busy.”

“Right.”

“And I’d been thinking about you naked. I couldn’t really…I couldn’t look away. My heart was breaking and all I wanted to do was stay there and watch.”

“Oh, Molly.”

“I know! It was terrible!” She slapped his arm to break the tension. “But it also kind of freed me. I’d never consciously told myself I was waiting for you, but in that moment I realized I was. And seeing you with that other girl released me from that. It also totally turned me on, so I decided to do it.”

“With Ricky.”

Molly cringed. “Ugh. Yeah. Big mistake. Or little one, really. End of story.”

Ben arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one with communication issues? You’re a girl, Molly.”

“As far as you know. They can do amazing things with surgery these days.”

“Yeah? Well, it feels real, and that’s all that matters. Plus you swam naked in your kiddie pool until your were five. I’d have remembered any dangly parts.”

Unfortunately, that made her snort wine up her nose, and it burned like crazy as she coughed and blinked. Boy, she was sexy. Ben was probably rock hard now and finding it difficult to resist ripping off her jeans.

“So you said Ricky was horrible to you.”

“That was ten years ago, and I was so, so stupid. Why do you care now?”

“Because I do.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “I found Ricky hanging out outside The Bar. I told him I wanted to do it, and he was happy to oblige. Thankfully, he’s a member of the little boys’ club, so it was disappointing, but only slightly uncomfortable. I had a lot more fun once I got to college.”

“And he was an asshole?”

“Yeah, after one and a half minutes in heaven, he rolled off me and told me I had a whole lot to learn about pleasing a man.”

“No fucking way.”

“But it exempted me from any guilt I might have had about mocking him.”

Ben ran his hand down her hair and twirled a strand around his finger. “He comes home every year for Thanksgiving. I’ll set up a drunk-driving checkpoint just for him.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet.”

“I wish I’d caught up when you ran.”

She shook her head even as his sweetness relaxed her bones. “No.” She leaned into him and his arm curled around her. “I used to fantasize that maybe you’d have pushed that woman off you and come after me, but you’re not that guy, Ben. Regardless of what she was to you, a one-night stand or a girlfriend, you’d never have treated her like that. And if you had, I wouldn’t have wanted you to catch me.”

His fingers traced patterns over her shoulder. “You’re a sweet girl, Molly. You always have been.”

“You wish,” she murmured. “Are we done talking? Can we go to bed now?”

He sighed in exasperation. “I thought we’d—”

Molly shoved away from him. “I see I have no choice here,” she grumbled and finally gave in to the urge to whip off her shirt. Ben looked at her like she was crazy, so she took off the bra, too, and that did the job real good. Ben gave up his mission to talk, and Molly got just what she wanted.

She thought about sleeping in, then remembered that she was in Ben’s house, in Ben’s bed. That made her smile even wider. Last night had been slow and sensual, as if their chemistry were different here in his home. He’d been in charge, he’d set the pace. She hadn’t been able to do anything but hang on for the long, fantastically good ride.

And though she’d asked him twice more if he’d take dirty pictures of her—when would she have another lover who was both a photographer
and
an honorable man?—Ben had refused.

Meaning to hug her pillow to her chest, she started to roll to her side, but something crinkled under her arm. She blinked her eyes open to slits. The blinds were still closed, but the sun was high enough to brighten the room anyway. Apparently she’d already slept late.

Ben’s pillow was empty beside her, so she sat up to look around, which was when she found the source of the crinkle. A photo lay beside her elbow, a color photo that seemed abstract at first. She picked it up and turned it slowly until she recognized it as a close-up photo of a woman’s foot disappearing beneath a twist of white sheet. She flipped the paper over to find it blank on the back.

Frowning, she scooted farther up on the bed, and her hip touched another piece of stiff paper. She looked down, reaching for the photo even as her gaze caught on another one farther down the bed. Her eyes widened as she curled her legs beneath her and looked around, really looked around. Four, five, six…more than half a dozen pictures were scattered about. All of them close-ups of…
her.

Holding her breath, she snatched up the picture closest to her knees. Just her ear, the curve of her neck, and her blond hair spread across the pillow. She turned it over.
This is as naked as it’s going to get, so I hope you like it.—B.

Her pulse beat so hard that she felt the separate thumps of her heart muscle bringing blood in and sending it out. She grabbed another photo. This was her hand, curled in sleep against a crumpled fold of sheet. Another showed her shoulder curving down to her arm and just the faint swell of the top of her breast. The last one she gathered up showed the top of one hip and the curve of her belly, her navel dipping in just above the startling white of the sheet. Tears blurred her eyes as she turned over the picture.

You, in morning light,
it read in his black, spiky writing.

Molly dropped the whole stack of photos and pressed her hands to her mouth. This was too serious. Too lovely. She’d wanted dirty pictures, not beautiful ones.

Frightened by the continued, panicked patter of her heart, Molly jumped from the bed to pull on her clothes. She needed coffee and a clear head, anything but this soft mushiness that wrapped her thoughts up in…in
feelings.

She couldn’t fall in love with Ben. Even if she wanted to she couldn’t.

Unable to find her shirt or bra, Molly covered her breasts with her hands and went to the living room to find them on the couch. Once she was decently covered, she went to raid the kitchen for caffeine.

She didn’t have far to look. There on the round kitchen table sat a thermal carafe. Next to it were a mug, a bowl, a spoon, a banana and a box of cereal. Ben had made her breakfast.

“Shit.” Molly collapsed into one of the sturdy chairs and stared in dismay at the box of Apple Jacks. Why did he have to do every single thing right? Not even in a creepy way. If Cameron had decided to lay breakfast out, he’d have gone with fresh-squeezed orange juice and croissants. Maybe some fresh berries and a quiche.

But Ben wasn’t trying to impress her; he was just taking care of her, because that was what he did. He was gruff and quiet. Serious. Private. And he took care of people.

And the horrible truth was that she
was
in love with him. Thinking they could just have fun sex had been idiotic. Of course she was in love with him. She’d been half in love with the man her whole life.

Damn it, if she’d never written that first story, if she hadn’t authored something so obviously about him, she could have just told him the truth up front, and let him decide if her career was too much to take. But now…she’d not only violated his annoying sense of privacy, she’d also hidden a problem that involved him.

Now what the hell was she supposed to do?

“Crap.” Maybe she wouldn’t have to do anything. Maybe Cameron would come up here and romance Ben, and it would be over anyway. They’d probably bond over cop talk, then shake their heads over Molly’s quirks and agree that she needed to work through her obvious intimacy issues before she got seriously involved with anyone. Ben would nod when Cameron said that she shouldn’t enter into one relationship until she’d put the last one behind her. And the angrier she got, the more obvious it would be that she wasn’t over Cameron.

Mad at just the thought of it, Molly peeled the banana and began to chomp it down as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

Men.
If she’d never written her first book, she’d be good enough for Ben, but she wouldn’t have this career she loved. She’d be slaving away in the back room of a marketing firm or working in sales at a big company. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to move back to Tumble Creek, so she wouldn’t have had this chance with Ben anyway.

God, she hated guilt. And she hated obligation and compromise and arguments. She’d figured out early on that she wasn’t really cut out for serious relationships, and that had worked fine for her until Cameron Kasten came along. Then she’d found herself suddenly swept up into a relationship with no idea how she’d gotten there. The man was good at trickery, but she’d clawed her way out of that black hole through sheer force of will.

Maybe she could do the same thing with this unfortunate well of sticky emotion she’d fallen into. Figure out a way to scramble out of it as quickly as possible. A great idea, except that she was hoping like crazy that Ben wouldn’t run into Cameron and she’d be able to keep this going for a while.

Shit, she was totally screwed.

Molly downed the rest of her coffee like a shot and hurried over to her bag. She dug out the boots she’d packed, tugged on her hat and grabbed her coat off the chair she’d tossed it over.

She had to get out of his house. It felt too personal hanging around here, like she was sinking into quicksand and not bothering to struggle. But regardless of her panic, she darted back to his bedroom to snatch up the photos. They were works of art, poetry he’d created for her, and she wanted them no matter what.

When she opened the door, she was glad she’d brought the boots. At least five inches of snow covered everything. Well, not Ben’s driveway, of course. He’d shoveled that. Old Mrs. Lantern’s drive was shoveled, too, and Molly didn’t have to think to know who’d done it.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and began to trudge home. She’d lose herself in her book, see if she couldn’t get all the way through the first draft today. She had work to do, and there were other important people in her life; she didn’t have to think about Ben Lawson 24/7.

“That’s right,” she muttered, watching her breath fall toward the white ground. “You’re independent. Educated. Well-rounded. A fascinating conversationalist. Financially comfortable.”

Thoughts of money prompted her to dig her phone out from the bag and turn it on. Her editor had promised to call with the numbers from her last release, and Molly was thrilled when she saw the message icon blink at her.

“Ooo. Money, money, money.”

Except that it wasn’t from her editor. The message was from her mother. All three messages were from her mother. Molly listened halfway through the second one, then deleted them all and called her mom.

“Molly!” her mother cried. “I was so worried about you last night!”

“Sorry, Mom. I was out with Ben and—”

“I know. He called me this morning to let me know you were fine.”

“He what?”

“Oh, I left a message at the police station.”

“Mom. You are kidding me, right?”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

Molly took a deep breath and told herself not to yell at her mom. “Are we quite clear on all the trouble you caused by talking with Cameron about me?”

“Ben Lawson is a good man. I wiped his nose when he was little.”

Grateful there hadn’t been any talk of wiping his ass, Molly made a face of sheer relief. “Yeah, well you loved Cameron like a son, or that’s what you said when I broke up with him.”

“I didn’t appreciate it when he invited your father on that fishing trip. I’d planned a nice anniversary dinner.”

Oh, Cameron had misstepped with that one. Hard to believe he hadn’t memorized an important date like her parents’ anniversary. He’d been the golden boy for weeks after their breakup, but he’d turned into persona non grata once he’d stolen her dad away for an impromptu fly-fishing trip. Mom had been deeply peeved, finally owning up to the truth. “He’s not even your boyfriend anymore!” she’d screeched.

Molly smiled at the memory.

“I’ve been thinking…” her mom offered in an ominously quiet voice. “It could be Cameron spying on you. You said—”

“Tell me you did not say anything to Ben.”

“Molly, he’s the police. If—”

“Tell me!”

Her mom huffed, clearly outraged. “I didn’t even think of it until half an hour ago. So, no, I didn’t tell him.”

Thank the sweet Lord. She did not need Ben participating in a long, drawn out, intense discussion with Cameron, especially when there wasn’t any chance he was the stalker.

Her mom was still silent, broadcasting invisible rays of hurt across the phone. When Molly rolled her eyes, she caught sight of Wilhelm Smythe walking in the opposite direction on the other side of the street.

“Morning, Ms. Jennings,” he called out.

Molly waved to him, then finally gave in to her mom’s silent treatment. “I’m sorry, Mom. It’s just…This Cameron thing has been a living nightmare. And it’s not him. It’s not. So…”

“Well…” Her mom’s sigh echoed through the phone. “I’m sorry I kept taking Cameron’s calls—”

“And a visit,” Molly interrupted.

Another sigh. “Okay, and a visit. I’m sorry I was friendly with him after you two broke up. It wasn’t right.”

Molly didn’t realize how angry she’d been until her mom said those words, but half of that anger was self-directed. She shook her head and kicked at a chunk of snow on the road. “It’s all right. The man is a force of nature. I understand.”

“Good. So why don’t you think about moving in with Quinn for a little while? There’s no reason—”

“No.”

“With Ben, then.”

“Mom, we’ve been seeing each other for a week. Surely you’re not suggesting I move on to living in sin so quickly.”

“Oh, you’ve been sinning enough from what I hear.”

“Yeah, we’ve been going at it like rabbits from the moment I hit town.” Actually, they had been, which made it kind of funny when her mom gasped.

“When was the last time you went to church, Molly Jennings?”

Her smile faded. “I love you, Mom. Don’t keep trying to call. I leave my cell off most of the time and you’ll just worry.”

Molly hung up just as she reached Main and paused at the edge of the newer blacktop.

What the hell was Wilhelm Smythe doing strolling down Ben’s street anyway? She spun around, thinking she might catch him watching her, but no…Wilhelm was shuffling along, paying no attention to Molly at all. Just to be safe, she watched him for a full thirty seconds, but aside from scratching his butt, he didn’t make any sneaky moves. Still, she had been slightly creeped out by him when she’d dated his son for two weeks in high school, but the cause of that had been Wilhelm’s constant whiskey smell.

Or maybe she’d been picking up on some sleazy vibes. Maybe he liked to look through women’s windows at night.

Molly watched suspiciously until he disappeared around the curve of the street. He didn’t really look healthy enough to hike the ridge behind her house in the middle of the night. Actually, he looked like he’d come close to liver failure sometime in the next few years, and that made Molly wonder if his son had followed in his footsteps.

The hushed rumble of the river crept into her sad thoughts, and Molly glanced to the narrow, rutted lane to her left. The access ramp led to the deepest part of the river, and she considered following the road down instead of heading straight home. She wanted to stand on the bank and watch the swift, tumbling crystal of the water and think, think, think. But she was scared to go down there by herself. Someone might push her into the icy water and nobody would even know.

That pissed her off so much that she stomped across Main Street and up her hill in record time, and barely even paused when she saw the note taped to her front door.

Get out of Tumble Creek or die,
it demanded in dark, ugly writing.

Molly was furious when sick fear iced through the pit of her stomach. So enraged that she ignored the note as she twisted the key in the new lock and stormed inside. She left the ragged paper where it was and slammed the door; Ben would want to see it and check for finger prints, and she couldn’t deal with that right now.