The Street Where She Lives (17 page)

She looked frantic to catch him. Him, Ben Asher, the man she'd just shoved out her door.

“I'm sorry,” she rushed, still coming at him. When she was within two feet, he held out his arms, completely without thought.

She walked right into them and fit like she belonged there.

At the slight tightening of his arms and his lack of smile, hers faded. She swallowed hard. “Oh, Ben.”

The two words spoke volumes and yet didn't tell him a thing. “Did you want to finish talking about orgasms?” he asked a little hoarsely.

A woman walking by, arms loaded with shopping bags, looked over with a lifted eyebrow.

“Uh, no.” Rachel smiled apologetically at the woman. “I was hoping we could talk about…other stuff.”

“I'd rather give you an orgasm.”

This time it was a man walking his hundred-pound Saint Bernard who overheard, and he shot them a comical second glance while Rachel closed her eyes. “
Talk,
Ben. Can we talk?”

“If that's all you've got.”

“That's all you're getting.” She pointed to a sidewalk café a few buildings down. “Hungry?”

For you.
“Sure.”

When they were seated, Rachel ordered an iced tea, set her menu aside, and looked at him across the table.

“What?”

“Don't brood.”

“Why would I brood?”

“I don't know.”

He nodded. “Are you sleeping with Adam?”

She sighed.

His heart kicked once, hard. “Are you?”

“You have such a one-track mind.”

“Are you?”

“You know that's none of your business.”

He answered with a very impolite one-word expletive and she sighed again. “No, I'm not sleeping with Adam.”

She wasn't sleeping with Adam. Thank God. “You're right,” he said primly, folding his hands. “It's none of my business.”

Across the table, she groaned and cupped her face in her hands. “You're such a jerk,” she said, muffled.

“Yeah, it's a special talent of mine.” He took in her confusion, and disgust filled him.
Self
disgust. What right did he have to want her single?

It was possible that by this time next week he'd be gone, so far gone.

The waitress brought the iced teas. To keep them there, at the same table, talking, even if the air was filled with tension, Ben ordered a large brunch.

“Tell me something,” Rachel said, playing with her straw. “What are you in such a hurry to get back to?”

“A personal question, Rach?”

She put lemon and sugar in her iced tea. Took a sip. Pushed the drink aside and looked right into his eyes. “Yes. Maybe it's because I'm older. More mellow—” She glared when he laughed. “I am,” she insisted, and lifted a shoulder. “I'd really like to know. Tell me why you can't stand being tied to one place for longer than it takes to do a load of laundry, when there's no place in particular even waiting for you. No place and no one.”

“Hey, I've done my laundry here. Quite a few times. I've even done
your
laundry. I like your pale-peach satin panties, by the way, and that black lace bra…”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Yeah. Yeah, he did. And because her curiosity was honest and not bitter, because she obviously really wanted to know, he found he could try to admit some of what he thought of as his secret shame, the one thing he'd never told another soul. “Staying in one spot, making roots…it infers you've found your home, found yourself.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“But I don't even know who I really am. I can't seem to find myself.”

She sat back, looking a little stunned. “But you know who you are.”

“Who I am is a man with no idea who his parents were or where I came from.”

Her eyes softened. “I didn't know that.”

“Because I never told you. I couldn't.”

“Oh, Ben. Were you always in a foster home?”

“Yes. It was ‘Christian duty.' They liked to say that.”

“That's so wrong!” Her voice was thick, emotional. “No child should ever feel that they weren't wanted. I hate that for you.”

“Don't,” he said a bit harshly, unable to take her pity. “I'm just trying to explain.”

“You were never given any information about your past at all?”

He downed half his glass of tea for his suddenly parched throat. “All I know is that when I was about two days old, I was found in a trash bin in Los Angeles, nearly dead of exposure and starvation.”

She covered her mouth with her fingers, fingers that
shook, he noted. No, it wasn't a pretty story, but she'd asked. “So yeah, I always knew I belonged nowhere, with no one.”

“How cruel! How could a foster parent, someone trusted with a child, do that? Make you feel that way?” she cried.

“Hey. Hey, it doesn't matter now,” he said, a little surprised, and touched, at the tears shimmering in her eyes. He put a hand over hers. “I'm trying to make you understand, that's all. Why I don't like it here.”

“Why didn't you ever tell me all this before?”

“I never told anyone.” He could hear the hurt and shock in her voice and for some reason, sought to alleviate both. “I just pretended it wasn't so bad. And when I was with you, it wasn't.” He smiled into the face of her tears. “Look, Rach, the point of all this is, I always planned on getting out of South Village, only I couldn't do it until I was eighteen. My entire childhood and adolescence, I was stuck. Held by circumstance, poverty, disregard, whatever. So the minute I graduated—”

“You got the hell out,” she finished softly.

“I got the hell out,” he agreed.

“You never said. I never knew. I never understood.”

“I wasn't real great at sharing that side of my life. I was so full of frustration and rage and the need to get out, I didn't know what I wanted—other than to go, of course—or even what I'd do with myself when I did.”

“But you found out.”

“Yeah.” He thought of all the places he'd been, how in each one he'd learned something new, and had added it to the stack, accumulating experiences and emotions in a way he hadn't been able to growing up. “I loved it. I still love it.”

Her eyes were immeasurably sad, and yet full of
something else too, a new understanding. Finally, she understood him.

Why was that the most bittersweet thing of all?

She turned her hand over in his and held on. “Ben? I want to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago, too.” She bit her lower lip. “I didn't belong anywhere, either.”

“You belong here in South Village.”

“I didn't always. You know we moved at the drop of a hat while my father raided and pillaged corporations.”

“Yes.”

“Until we came here, until I found South Village, I never had roots or a real home, either.”

“And yet we ended up on opposite sides of the fence.”

Her eyes filled again. “I never saw it that way before…but how I feel about my home…that's how you feel about your travels. My God, and all this time I thought we were so different.”

“I know.” His throat felt raw, talking to her like this. Sharing. Feeling it all over again. Chest aching, he leaned forward, wanting to be closer. “Want to hear something shocking?”

That got a short laugh. “After all this?” she asked. “Please. What else would shock me?”

He let out a sheepish smile. “Truthfully? It's not so bad waking up every morning to view the sunrise from the same porch. Not so bad having a tangible address in a full but clean and happy city leaping with life… I can admit that much, even if I can't share your love for it.”

One lone tear slowly spilled over, slipped down her cheek. “Oh, Ben.”

His gaze dropped to her lips to watch the words come out.

Her gaze dropped to his lips, too.

“This hasn't changed, has it?” He leaned close over the table, so that her breath mingled with his, making him shiver in anticipation, awareness. Need. “This physical attraction.”

Her tongue darted out, wet her dry lips, making him groan. “It always was crazy,” she agreed in a hushed whisper. “Always uncontrollable, this…this…”

“Need. We need each other, Rach. It doesn't change anything about who we are, but damn, I'd really like to hear you say it.”

“What, that I need you more than my next breath, in a way I don't want?” Her eyes were big on his. “Well, I do. God, Ben, I do.”

“Good.” They were so close it seemed like the most natural thing in the entire world to close the gap between them and capture her lips with his.

With a low sound in her throat, she pushed even closer. Ben shoved the things cluttering the table out of his way so he could get more of her mouth, more of her. It was good, and he angled in for even more, which she gave, until a shattering crash of glass had them both pulling back, blinking like moles coming out in to the daylight.

Rachel stared at the ground at their feet, where one of them had knocked over her iced tea. “Was that us?”

He laughed, but it backed up in his throat when she licked her lips again, as if she needed that last taste of him. “Maybe we should get out of here,” he suggested, thinking somewhere…like her bedroom.

She let out a low laugh that was so innately female, so sensual, it revved his engines all over again. “Oh, no. We're not getting out of here. This is not leading back to the question of my…” She blushed.

“Your orgasms?”

“Uh, yes.” She stole his tea and sipped. “We're staying right here. Out of temptation and trouble.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes to cool off.”

Great.
“More iced tea, please,” he said to a passing waitress.

T
HE CODED KNOCK
came before dawn. Manuel made his way carefully through the dark, damp cellar. He still didn't dare risk using a generator at this time of day, so a small flashlight was all he had.

Specs of dirt and dust danced through the air in the beam of light, but he couldn't focus on that or he'd lose his mind. He answered the door eagerly, too eagerly, but he couldn't help that, either.
Everything
hinged on this. “Did you get it?”

“The raid got a little bloody,” came the hesitant answer. “The villagers fought back.”

“Did you get the money?” Manuel Asada repeated with dangerous calm.

“Y-yes.”

Everything within him relaxed. Finally. The tide would turn now, because with the money they'd stolen tonight, it was a start. Money was power, and with power he could do anything.

Like destroy the man who'd brought him down.

 

F
OR
R
ACHEL
, the next few days fell into a rhythmic pattern of continued physical therapy, attempting to connect with her daughter and a silent, intense, arousing sort of dance with Ben. The longing, the hunger was unmistakable, but she knew it would be so much worse if they gave in.

So she did her best to ignore the sensual, earthy humming inside her body—and Ben's promise to ease that humming.

Always in the past, work had been her savior, but
Gracie
continued to elude her. Instead, when she sat at her easel, she ended up with a sketch of…Ben of all things. Ben on his knees, his arms around Emily, who was not only smiling as she always had in the good old days, she was cradling the well-behaved—
ha!
—Patches.

A fantasy. She pulled the sheet off, tossed it aside and started again, this time ending up with a sketch of South Village's joyful, exuberant nightlife, the refurbished firehouse and the street where she lived in the midst of the scene.

Did she really see her life here like that, joyful and exuberant?

Possibly…lately. She'd be a fool to not admit Ben did that for her, made her feel…alive. Shockingly alive.

She wanted him. She could admit that since he was leaving. He wanted her, too. They could easily fall into a pattern of sharing their nights together before he moved on. Would it really be such a mistake? That she was even thinking it made her reach for the phone for a reality check. “Mel?”

“What's up?” her sister asked, mercifully answering her cell.

“Nothing much.”

“Uh-huh. You let Adam give you an orgasm yet?”

“No.”

“Don't tell me you let Ben do it.”

“Mel. You make him sound like a…toy.”

“You did, didn't you? You did Ben.”

“I did not.
We
did not.”

“Well, whew.”

Rachel stared at the drawing of him on the floor. Even two-dimensional, he looked so vibrant. Charismatic. “Why do you say it like that? Like it would be such a bad thing?”

“How quickly they forget,” Mel muttered. “Remember your past with him? The fact that he destroyed you, and has the ability to do it again with one little ‘goodbye'?”

“I haven't forgotten,” Rachel said softly.

“Good. Keep repeating it to yourself like a mantra until your hormones are under control. Or if you must do something about them, call Adam.”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“He called me last night…told me he wasn't going to contact me again until I made a decision on what I wanted with Ben.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.” But not as painful as she'd thought it would be.

“Well, call him back, tell him you've made your decision and Ben is leaving.”

“Mel—”

“Oops, I've gotta run, psycho boss alert.”

“Mel—”

Click.

Rachel set the phone back on its base and sighed. She'd gotten her pep talk. No sex with Ben. Determined to forget it, she turned back to her easel.

 

E
MILY SAT
on the backyard deck, laptop on her thighs. Her concentration was on the brilliant colors in the sky as the sun went down, her screen forgotten. She loved this house so much, loved the backyard, her bedroom,
the elevator, the fire pole, the easy access to shopping and food…she loved everything about it.

But she wasn't a little kid anymore. She knew her home was special. And expensive. Everyone who saw it oohed and aahed.

And because she knew it, she also understood something else. She was lucky, very lucky. Bending for the puppy asleep at her feet, she pulled the warm, little body close. Patches let out a soft, sleepy puppy sound and yawned so wide she nearly turned her mouth inside out, making Emily smile before she buried her face in Patches's neck.

Above her came two quiet voices, her mother's and…her father's? They must be on her mother's deck, watching the same sunset.

Together.

Her heart hitched, but she reminded herself that they'd been together all this time now and, despite her best efforts, they weren't making wedding plans. In fact, her father had tried to tell her he was going soon. She'd pretended not to understand, but she knew she couldn't put him off forever. He wanted to say goodbye.

She just didn't want to.

How could he walk away from them, when lately she'd felt things softening between him and her mom? It wasn't just her hopeful imagination. Her mom smiled more often, at him. And he often simply watched her in return, something in his eyes making Emily sure he cared.

“Not a bad sunset,” came her dad's voice. “For a city offering.”

Her mother laughed.
Laughed.

Emily strained to hear more, but all she caught was
her father's answering deep chuckle and a husky, low reply.

They were laughing together. Talking. They were—Wait a minute… If they were sitting on that particular balcony together, it meant they'd been together in her mother's bedroom.

Maybe they'd…done it.
Ewww!
But realistically, they'd already done it at least once, she was living proof. Torn between disgust and hope, she grabbed her laptop and the puppy before she heard something she didn't want to, and took herself inside to give them privacy.

With renewed hope, she sat at her desk to work out her next move in her plan of attack of making them fall in love.

 

W
ITH NO IDEA
her daughter sat just below her planning on a miracle Rachel couldn't imagine, she was enjoying the sunset on her bedroom balcony. She sat on a lounge chair, wishing she had the energy to go get a pad and her pencils to capture some of the beauty before her.

Then a deep voice from the shadows said, “Not a bad sunset, for a city offering.”

She laughed even as she felt a catch in her chest. Looking up, she found Ben propped up against the double French doors of her bedroom, just watching her. “That's why we have smog and pollution, to give such brilliant color to our sunsets. Just for you, Ben.”

He grinned at her.

Her heart fluttered. “What are you doing?”

Pushing away from the doors, he came toward her in his easy, graceful, confident walk, the one that always reminded her of how comfortable he was in his own skin.

What she would give to be half that comfortable.

“What am I doing?” he repeated thoughtfully, sitting next to her even though there wasn't really room for the both of them. It left her plastered to him thigh to thigh, arm to arm, intensifying the connection between them.

“I guess I'm just being,” he said. “With you.”

In the past, when they'd been young and full of lustful hormones, there had been no just…sitting and being. He'd always had his hands on her, and though it had been a new and frankly terrifying experience sharing such easy affection, she'd grown quite dependent on it.

In the years since, she hadn't allowed herself much of that. When Ben had first showed up on her doorstep again, she'd felt the jolt of awareness all the way to her bandaged toes, and had wondered how she'd ever manage to ignore him and his blatant sexuality.

They were older now, and supposedly far more mature than they'd been at seventeen, so one would think it would be easier. After all, they'd decided there could be nothing between them, and certainly they could control themselves.

But here in the dark, on a warm, tempting late-spring night, with the stars far above and the city lights around them, with his warm strength and familiar scent…God, she needed. She needed him. “Just sitting, just
being,
is a bad idea,” she whispered. “You know that.”

“Yeah.” The chair squeaked as he leaned in, touched her face. Stroked his thumb over her lower lip and started a set of delicious shivers racing down her spine. “But being here with you is making me want in a way I haven't in a good long time. Since you, actually.”

She laughed. “Don't tell me there's been no other women.”

His thumb covered both her lips now, halting her
words. His soft, wry chuckle brushed over her cheek. “Do you really want to talk about other women? Now?”

Through the dark she met his eyes. He'd shifted closer, with a hand on either side of her, so that she felt surrounded by him. And liking it. Thinking about him doing this with someone else was a problem. She shouldn't care, she knew that. It had been a long, long time, and someone as naturally sensual as Ben would never have gone a year without a physical connection, much less thirteen. “No,” she whispered. “I don't want to talk about other women.”

In the dark, he smiled, slow and long. “Good, because there's not room in my head for anyone but you.” He nudged even closer. “Right here…with you.” His mouth nuzzled along her throat. “What do you think?”

“Think?” With his hands gliding up her body, his mouth making its way toward hers… “I
can't
think.”

“Because I'm touching you?”

“Yes.” She had no idea why, but she lifted her face and covered his mouth with hers, swallowing his surprised inhale, sighing with pleasure as he hauled her against him.

Then he surged to his feet, and her world tilted. Gasping, she threw her arms around his neck for balance. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing what you just started.” He kicked the French doors shut behind them and set her on the floor next to her bed. “Be sure, Rach.” He waited, quivering with barely restrained control as he let her make the decision.

The power of that made her dizzy. “Ben—”

He put his finger to her lips. “Yes, or no.”

She stared up at him, feeling as if she stood on the very edge of a deep cliff. Jumping, even with a para
chute, would be bad. But not jumping, not living, was no choice at all. “Yes,” she whispered, and reached for him.

The only light in the room came from the sun just sinking below the horizon. Long shadows slanted across the floor and bed. Ben took her face in his hands and tilted it up. Then he kissed her, stealing what little air she had left in her lungs. His mouth felt as firm as the rest of him, and just as sexy, as giving…as male. Everything within her trembled, and she clutched at him for support. She could feel his heat, his strength, and it was so familiar and yet so new, her heart skipped a beat. By the time he lifted his head and looked at her, she was a goner. Being in his arms like this was both heaven and hell. Yes, there were a hundred reasons this was a bad idea, a thousand, but as he sank his fingers into her hair and lowered his face again, she couldn't think of a single one, could think of nothing but
more, please more.

“What's under the robe?” he asked hoarsely, nuzzling at the opening at her neck.

“Uh…” As his mouth made its way to her shoulder, nudging off the robe as he went, she struggled to put a thought together. “Not much.”

“Not much is good,” he whispered reverently, and slid his hands inside, parting the tie, letting the thing fall open. With characteristic bluntness, he looked his fill, which suddenly made her want to squirm. She knew what she looked like, still a little too thin, scarred…and unlike him, far from perfect. “Ben—”

“Oh, Rach, I've missed this body, I've missed you.” With those stunning words, he lowered his head, splayed his hands wide across her bare back, urging her closer, and opened his mouth on a breast.

Shocked at the immediate clutching of her body to his, at how she felt as if she was burning up from the inside out, she could only hold on. She hadn't felt this flash of heat and need and desperation in thirteen long years, an eternity. Far in the back of her mind, she heard the horrifyingly hungry whimpers she let out as he nibbled at her, but couldn't help herself—she was on fire, shaking, and completely incapable of doing anything but letting him have his way with her. Have his way, he did, teasing a nipple with his teeth, tormenting between her thighs with his fingers, until she would have slid to a heap on the floor if he hadn't caught her up in his arms. Setting her on the bed, he held her gaze while he tossed her robe over his shoulders.

For the briefest moment, self-consciousness again began to clear the sexual haze he'd spun around her, but then he began to undress, and my, oh my, he was magnificent. Rough, sinewy arms, broad chest, powerful thighs…and between them, he was hard and heavy. For her.

Tossing his pants aside, he caught her looking, and must have mistaken her wide-eyed look of wonder for misgivings or horror because he let out a rough laugh. “Hey, it's nothing you haven't seen before.”

“It's…been a long time.”

“Yeah.” He put a knee on the bed, leaned over her. “But it's just me.”

Just him. The only man to ever make her feel as if she would die if he didn't kiss her, touch her. “Ben…”

“No regrets,” he murmured, and bent close enough to glide his lips over hers. “No recriminations, no dwelling, no thinking.” He ran his hands down her arms, linked their fingers on either side of her head as he settled himself between her thighs, which opened for him
of their own accord. There was no mistaking his erection nudging at her already wet center, no way she wanted to. Pulling her fingers free, she wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed his name.