The Street Where She Lives (15 page)

And so would she. Suddenly, she felt lighter and less angry than she'd felt since the accident. Gritting her teeth, she used her last bit of energy to stand up. She'd done it, all on her own, and was a wobbly, shaky but grinning mess when Ben appeared.

With the sun behind him, all she could see was his dark outline towering over her, and he did tower. His hands were on his lean hips, his hair wild.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Well, I fell, and—”

“Are you all right?”

“Besides bruised pride and a sore butt? Yes.”

“You just can't accept your own limitations, can you?” He reached for her. “No, not you. You have to go out and prove they don't exist, because heaven for-goddamn-bid you allow yourself to lean on someone once in a while.”

“Gee, I guess you're not going to kiss my boo-boos all better.”

He didn't bother to respond to that as he checked her over. His face was utterly impassive, but she had a hard time feeling the same. His fingers checked her ribs—each and every one. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breasts and apparently her libido was in full working order because her nipples hardened. She looked at his face to see if he'd notice. “I said I'm fine.”

He might as well have been a stone wall for all he responded as he brushed dirt from her clothes. Then his eyes met hers. At the inferno of heat she saw there, she swallowed hard. Had she thought he hadn't noticed her?

He'd noticed. And he was barely holding back. “Guess I owe you a thank-you—”

This ended in a gasp as he bent and lifted her in his arms.

“Ben, don't be ridiculous, I can walk, it just took me a while to get—
Ben.
”

Ignoring her, he headed toward the house.

“Okay, listen. I—”

“You're bleeding.”

She looked down at the abrasions that were minor in comparison to her other problems and had to laugh. “Just scrapes.” They were almost at the house now. “Ben, for God's sake, I'm fine.”

He didn't stop until he'd carried her into her bathroom and set her butt on the counter. Rifling through her cabinets, he wet a washcloth and proceeded to clean the dirt out of her cut knee.

“Ouch!”

Still silent, he hit the spots with first-aid spray.

Gritting her teeth, she glared at him. “Double ouch.”

He didn't speak as he covered the abrasions with bandages, but his fingers lingered on her skin, her first real sign of any softening in him. She stared up at his granite features and remembered what Melanie had said about Ben resenting being here. His anger would certainly reflect that, she supposed…but in spite of his intense silence, she didn't feel his resentment. No, what she felt was far more devastating. She felt his fear, his palatable fear. And guilt. The last broke her heart. “Ben…thank you.”

His thumb stroked over her jaw, removing a smudge of dirt there, and something in his eyes softened. “You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, you know that?”

“You've mentioned.” And suddenly, she felt his searing hunger as well, an unfed passion.

From deep within her came an answering hunger, an answering passion. Even knowing this was temporary, that he'd be gone soon enough, she felt it. It consumed her, even as it terrified her. “If I'm the most stubborn person ever, where does that leave you?”

In a move that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. “It leaves me frustrated as hell, babe.” He scooped her up again and carried her to her bed, where he stood back and shoved his hands in his pockets as if he didn't quite trust them. “Now, be good and stay there. Stay right there while I walk away.”

“Ben—”

“I'm walking away, Rachel,” he said hoarsely. “No matter what I see in your eyes. I have to.” And without another word, he turned and did exactly that.

 

F
OR A WEEK
, Ben felt like he was on pins and needles. It was too busy in the city, too crowded. He was angry at his own inability to keep his emotions in check, but he couldn't admit that to anyone, especially the woman who hadn't chosen to have him here in the first place.

Being with Rachel was breaking his resolve to keep an emotional distance. Watching her struggle to put meaning to her life, seeing her be a mom to his daughter, it was bringing it all back, why he'd fallen for her in the first place. She'd always made him want to be a better man, and that hadn't changed.

God, he needed to go. The desperation to do just that was nearly as strong as when he'd been a young boy trapped in this same town.

Eventually, he promised himself. Eventually it would end. The authorities had assured him just today that they honestly believed Asada had gone underground and
didn't plan to resurface. If that was true, Ben could go, and soon. Knowing that, he spent time with Emily, taking her to breakfast every morning before personally dropping her off at school, before making her promise to get directly on the bus afterward, where he'd be waiting for her at home. This always made her roll her eyes, but he could tell it pleased her. It pleased him too, oddly enough, doing what he'd imagined were mundane things with his own flesh and blood. But he truly enjoyed her company and, while Emily appeared to feel the same, she still carried her laptop everywhere, still referred to her online buddy Alicia as her only real friend.

When he wasn't writing, he took pictures, mostly to entertain himself. He continued to play basketball every day at lunch, keeping one eye on the house where he knew Rachel sat in her studio, chasing her own demons.

Today he came back inside, sweaty and exhausted, his mind still overcharged. He knew Rachel had gone to a late breakfast with Adam, who would then take her to the doctor's appointment Ben had wanted to take her to. He made a face as he went up to the stairs. Immature of him, but there it was. Pulling off his shirt, he strode toward his bedroom, passing Rachel's…and stopping so short he nearly plowed into the wall.

She sat on her bed in nothing but two towels, one around her head, the other around her body. Her damp body.

Galvanized by the sight, he didn't move. “I thought you were with Adam.” Horror struck him. “He's not in your shower?”

She let out a short laugh. “No. He went to his office to get my files. I've…been in my studio.”

“Working?”

“Still not making much progress in that area.”

Run,
his head told him.
Run like hell and never look back.

Instead his feet, directed by the part of his body in charge—and it wasn't his brain—took him to the foot of her bed, where he looked her over hungrily, broodingly, wondering where exactly she and the good Adam stood, and wishing he didn't care. Then all of those thoughts flew out of his head as… “Your leg and arm casts are off.”

She lifted the named body parts with a little smile. They were thin and white and shaking from exertion, but she looked so proud he felt his heart swell inside his chest.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“What do I think?” That he wanted her so badly he was the one trembling. That he was shocked at the ferocity of that wanting, and that he was terrified it had gathered even more strength this time around.

Once upon a time he'd loved her—wildly, fiercely, with everything he had.

He couldn't allow it to happen again. He couldn't. but he was terrified the matter had been taken out of his hands. Slowly, he pulled her to her feet. It was driving him crazy, having her so close yet so far. Tired of that distance, he actually reached for the towel around her, with some half-baked idea of yanking it off, tackling her down to the bed and reminding her how good it could be to toss their differences right out the window, if only for a few moments.

He felt her start to melt against him, and she wasn't the only one. He was melting, too. He had his fingers curled in the front of her towel between her two lush, warm breasts, when she slowly shook her head. “Ben, we can't do this.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Okay, fine.
I
can't do this.” She took a big step back and he suspected an even bigger mental one. “I have a meeting with Adam in twenty minutes.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Right. This wasn't on your day planner for today. Probably because it's an unscheduled emotion, right? I know how you hate those.” Feeling nasty, feeling mean, feeling frustrated and hard and horny as hell, Ben stepped back, too. And right out of the room.

If only he could get her out of his head so easily.

Dangerously caged,
that's what he felt after a month and a half in South Village. Dangerously caged and brooding, not a good combination.

He took a good, long hot shower, then grabbed his camera bag and headed to the downstairs bathroom, where he had set up his darkroom. He'd lose himself in developing film.

But that turned out to be a farce too, because when his pictures came to life on paper, they were of Rachel sitting at her drawing table, looking as hauntingly beautiful as ever.

And as tortured as he.

H
ER NEXT FREE
Saturday morning, Melanie drove back to South Village. She told herself she was entitled to two days away, that she wanted to see for herself how Rachel was doing and wanted to hang out with Emily.
Girl time,
she told herself. She needed family girl time.

Lies.

She wanted to see if Garrett glanced at her. It was a matter of pride now, as she hated how much she thought about him. She had no idea why it had been over between them New Year's Eve before she'd even gotten her panties back on.

Maybe she just needed sex.

She needed sex.

Her sister did not. She never had. In fact, it seemed bitterly unfair that it was possible Rachel, her almost virginal sister, was getting it on with one of the sexiest men alive, while Mel churned and burned.

Garrett wasn't out front when she parked. Fine. Good. She didn't need to see him anyway.

She let herself in Rachel's house.

Given the tense silence she found between Rachel and Ben when she entered the kitchen, she figured they couldn't have done it yet. Not with her sister acting as tightly self-controlled as ever. God forbid she allow anything as mundane as lust to shatter that control.

Or had she?

Melanie took a good hard second look and found herself dumbstruck. Appeared that the reason for the so-thick-she-could-cut-it tension in the room most positively wasn't temper after all.

Yes, Rachel had two high spots of color on her cheeks, but she wasn't meeting anyone's eye. A sure sign of guilt if anything, and Mel should know. Furthermore, her sister's blouse wasn't tucked in, a huge fashion no-no in Rachel's book—and the bandanna on her head looked slightly askance, revealing short, spiky strands of blond hair going in every direction.

Hmm.

Ben himself was no better off. His shirt hung open, though he'd hastily buttoned it when Melanie had entered. His hair had either been attacked by migrating birds or a set of hungry fingers.

Double hmm.
“Don't tell me you two have forgotten how badly things turned out last time,” she said into the silence.

Rachel closed her eyes. “Melanie.”

“Well, they did! You guys were over the moon about each other.” She pointed to Ben. “But when she said go, you did. And you…” She looked at Rachel. “You let him. Hello, people…what does that tell you? That you aren't meant to be, okay? I mean, why be stupid enough to try again? Especially when you're only together due to a madman on the loose.”

A muscle in Ben's jaw ticked, which was really sexy as hell, damn him. “You told her,” he said to Rachel.

“I had to.” Using her cane, Rachel headed for the door, nearly plowing over the tall, yummy neighbor standing there looking extremely sorry to be doing so.

Mel's heart drummed against her ribs, but she plas
tered a bored smile on her face. Garrett held out a stack of mail to Rachel. “I'm sorry to intrude,” he said softly.

“You're not intruding.” Rachel tossed the mail to the table. “Not at all, but if you'll excuse me—” Without waiting for an answer, she vanished.

Ben shot Melanie a long, talk-to-you-about-this-later look that made her feel about five years old, and followed Rachel out.

Which left Garrett standing there alone—tall, dark, brooding. And yummy. What would he say? They hadn't spoken much since their hot, animalistic tryst, and never about what had happened between them. But they also hadn't been alone in all this time.

They were now. Would he bring it up? Or maybe reach for her with those sensual hands, and—

“Why did you do that?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Bringing up the past,
their
past, like it's any of your business?”

Shocked at his accusatory, furious tone, she laughed, but Garrett didn't even crack a smile in return so hers slowly faded. “My sister's past
is
my business.”

He pushed away from the doorway and moved across the room with grace and strength unusual in a man so tall. That she knew exactly how graceful and strong he was in minute detail, really burned.

“Not when you're being purposely hurtful, it isn't,” he said.

“I wasn't.” She watched him reach into the cupboard for a mug, then pour coffee into it as if he belonged here.

She knew her sister considered him a good friend, but that she'd never managed that kind of relationship with him bugged the hell out of her. Was she such a bad person? And she resented how at home
he
was in Ra
chel's house, all while acting as if the two of them hadn't once been naked and wild together. “Not that I should have to explain myself to you,” she added, her words coming to an awkward halt when he handed her the steaming mug of coffee. She stared down at the drink.

“Don't you like coffee?”

They were fighting, she thought, confused, and yet…he'd offered her a drink. Oh, wait. She got it. He wanted her again.

But nothing in his dark-blue eyes suggested sexual invitation.

What was wrong with him anyway? Men were always thinking about sex, always planning their next conquest.

Weren't they?

“It's not poisonous,” he said lightly, while she continued to look suspiciously into the mug.

“I take sugar and milk.”

Silently he doctored the mug, then poured himself his own. Black.

“I care about my sister,” she said a bit too defensively when he just looked at her. “I don't want to see her hurt again.”

“If you care about her as you say, then you'd see that she's glowing,
glowing,
for the first time in far too long.”

He let her stew about that while he drank. In his big hands the mug looked so small, so dainty, and she got sidetracked remembering how small and dainty she'd felt in his arms. How warm and safe. Damn him.

“I think it's clear she's glowing because of Ben,” Garrett said. “So excuse me if I'm being too forthright for you, but wanting to destroy that doesn't seem like a caring, sisterly thing to do.”

She stared at him. A dentist. A
nobody.
“Did you just call me a bad sister?”

Considering, he drank some more coffee. “Do you really care what I think?”

She didn't face such blunt honesty often. Her boss was never honest, her co-workers far more interested in furthering their careers than being truthful. She didn't have a lot of close friends…okay, she had no close friends. As for her lovers, she was rarely up-front with them, or them with her, for that matter. “Look…”

“Garrett,” he reminded her, a little smile playing around his lips.

She knew his damn name! “You know what? You're right, I don't care what you think of me.”

“Then you won't care that I think you're trying to get between them for purely selfish reasons.”

Melanie stared at him. How often did a man talk to her so…so openly? Certainly, she'd never been called on the carpet like this, and she had to say it was shockingly…arousing. He wasn't going to lie, he wasn't going to bullshit.

Oh, man. She wanted him again. She really did. And she wasn't the sort to deny herself. With a toss of her hair she smiled. “You think you know it all, don't you? Well, isn't it your lucky day.”

He cocked a brow. “Really? Why?”

“Because it just so happens I like a guy who knows it all.”

A little smile curved his lips. “Is that right?”

Oh, yeah. Males were so pathetically easy. Thank God.

He nodded once, agreeably, and…turned away? He went to the sink and washed out his mug, replacing it in the cupboard before heading toward the door.

Melanie watched the lines of his sleek back, his nice tight ass, and was reminded that his body made her mouth water.

But he was still walking away from her. “Garrett?”

“Not this time, Melanie.”

She couldn't have heard him correctly. “Um…what?”

“A one-night stand isn't going to be enough for me. Not with you. If you ever want more, you know where I live.” Then the cocky bastard walked out on her.

 

O
N
M
ONDAY
, Ben picked Emily up from school. He liked to do that when he didn't have to get Rachel to a doctor's appointment or if he wasn't busy taking pictures or writing. He liked picking her up in person, if only to spend an extra twenty minutes a day with her. In the car with him was the wriggling Patches pacing the passenger seat, waiting hopefully for the center of her universe to join them.

The middle school sat on a relatively quiet street of South Village, and like so many others it was a historical building. It had been one of the first schools built here in the late 1800s, though it'd been redone three times due to fires. Now a brick building with white trim, mock verandas and vines crawling up the sides, it seemed like a place out of time. Ben might have sat there in 1890 in his horse and buggy waiting for his daughter.

But then the bell rang, and kids—all pierced and dyed, wearing hip-huggers, bell-bottoms and leather, carrying laptops and cell phones—emerged from the building in droves. He had to laugh at himself, as his daughter was right in the middle of them, looking decidedly twenty-first century.

She walked out alone, but halfway down the path, someone called out to her.

Ben tensed when he saw it was a boy about her age. He wore jeans and a plain T-shirt—nothing tattooed, torn or slashed. A normal kid. He said something to Emily, to which he got a shrug as a response. After a few more moments of trying, he gave up.

Emily kept walking.

The boy watched her go with an expression on his face Ben knew all too well. Rejection. Not knowing a thing about the kid, Ben's empathies were firmly in his court.

Emily, oblivious to the heartbreak behind her, looked up and saw Patches waiting for her. With a squeal, she tossed her backpack into the car and followed it in, grabbing the puppy and hugging her close. A love fest ensued, with lots of girl smiles and puppy kisses.

“Hey, sweetness.” Ben knew better than to lean in for his own kiss. Public displays of affection were equivalent to the torture rack for twelve-going-on-thirty-year-olds. “Don't look now, but he's still looking.”

She rubbed noses with the puppy. “Who?”

“The boy you were talking to.”

Horror crossed her face. “You were watching me?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

Given her expression, she didn't see the difference. “Dad, just drive away. Quick!”

But he couldn't drive away. The street had come to a standstill, thanks to an accident in the intersection one hundred yards ahead. “We're not going anywhere.” He turned off the engine. Since they were still at the curb, he pocketed his keys and got out of the car.

“Dad!”

Walking around, he opened her door. “Want to show me your classroom?”

“No! I can't!”

“Can't what?”

“I can't walk around with you at my school!”

“Why not? Hey, let's take some pictures. You've been wanting to learn how to use my camera, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, now's a perfect time. We have a captive audience.” He clipped a leash on Patches. Grabbing his camera, he tugged his daughter free of the car and handed her the leash.

On the grass around the front of school sat hundreds of kids, waiting for their rides, socializing, reading, talking, with a few even studying. A perfect place for a man fascinated by people and the way they looked through his lens.

“Dad!”

He'd started walking and grinned—wisely with his back to his daughter—when he heard her and the puppy scramble to keep up with him.

There were a group of cheerleaders on the grass practicing. On the steps sat four guys disagreeing about some game they'd seen that the night before on television. Kids of every size and color, all doing their own thing, walked the path. Feeling lighthearted for no reason other than he had his daughter with him, Ben started snapping shots, explaining to Emily why he focused on certain things as he went. They'd been at it ten minutes when a man in a suit stood at the double doors to the school, squinting at him.

“Excuse me,” the man called. “What are you doing?”

“Taking pictures.” Ben hoisted the camera.

The man squinted some more in disapproval that wasn't anything new for Ben, but then suddenly he blinked. “Ben? Ben Asher?”

While Ben just looked at him, wondering who the hell knew him and why, the man grinned and thrust out his hand. “Ritchie Atchison.”

“Ritchie.” High school. Skinny runt with an even lower profile than Ben had had.

“Yep.” Ritchie, balding and wearing reading glasses, laughed. “It's me. I'm principal of this joint. What do you think of that?”

“That you moved up from The Tracks.”

Ritchie laughed again and slapped him on the back. “You know it. Now I'm torturing the kids of the kids who tortured me.” He sighed in bliss. “Nothing better than that. So…I've enjoyed your articles and pictures over the years. You hit it big. What are you doing taking pictures here?”

“I'm Emily's father.” He put his hand on Emily's shoulder, wanting to grin when he felt her tense. Oh, yeah, he'd definitely turned into a dad, one who was talking to the enemy. “Traffic isn't moving so I thought she could show me around.”

Ritchie nodded to his camera. “Maybe you'll share some of those with our yearbook committee. For old times' sake.”

Ben didn't do anything for old times' sake, but he did love taking pictures, and the kids lounging around spitting attitude and spunk drew him. He glanced at Emily, who was saying don't-you-dare with her eyes. He grinned.

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Love to,” he said in tune to her loud sigh, which he
ignored. “Here, hold this, sweetness,” and handed her his light meter.