To See The Daises ... First (9 page)

***

Ben turned away from the window in exasperation, kicking a chair out of his way as he began to pace again. Why wasn't she there? This day had been three weeks long. When had his life started to revolve around a woman who was as solid as Alice in Wonderland? He knew without a doubt that any minute she would dissolve in a mist, leaving not even a Cheshire smile behind. So why had he—rational, logical, sane man that he was—come to depend on her for his peace of mind?

Yesterday he had pretended not to see her trying to stay out of his way, as though she thought that would please him, when all he really wanted was to be near her, to watch her vital animation, to feel the electricity of her presence.

Who do you think you're kidding? Running his hand through hair that was disheveled from a hundred identical gestures, he admitted scornfully that he wanted much more than that from her. The days were bad enough, but the nights, God, the nights were pure hell.

Ben had never had to practice self-control as far as his sex life was concerned. He hadn't made love to a woman in over six months, but that had been a matter of choice. He hadn't felt the need. Before, when he had felt the biological urge, it hadn't been difficult to find a willing partner.

The thought that he could find one just as easily now didn't occur to him as he paced in frustration. His mind had been taken over by a fantasy, a woman of no substance, who would disappear at any moment.

Where had she been today? He walked back to the window and looked toward the city that loomed large beyond his small neighborhood. Who could she have been with? She knew no one—did she?

Before he could explore that particular unwelcome thought, Ben heard a noise behind him and swung on his heel, the veins in his temples beginning to throb as anger surged through him. He wanted to shout at her in a fury that was directed more toward his weakness for her than at Sunny herself, but the powerful emotions made speech impossible.

Then he looked at her closely and the red mist filling his head dissolved.

"Sunny!"

Striding across the floor, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the couch. "What happened?" he asked softly, knowing he should let her go, but unable to keep from holding her in his arms for just a little while. "What happened to you?" he repeated.

"I believe they call it honest labor," she said, her voice low, but holding the amusement that never seemed entirely absent. "And a very much overrated institution it is, too."

"You were working?" he asked in disbelief, anger of a different kind filling him now. "Why, in God's name?"

"Why do people usually work? To make money."

He took a deep breath, trying to hold back an explosion. "If you needed money, why didn't you tell me?" He paused a moment, his nostrils twitching, then dipped his head to bury his face in her hair. "What on earth is that smell?"

"Grease, smoke, enchiladas, and chicken fried steak," she said slowly, her eyes drifting shut. "Interesting combination, don't you think? I'm thinking of taking out a patent on it. I'll call it Eau de Truck Stop."

"You were working in a cafe? Doing what?"

"You name it, I did it," she murmured. "I washed dishes. I swept and mopped. I waited tables and cleaned tables. I did everything but wipe the customers' mouths when they got through eating."

"Why, Sunny?" he asked, his voice gruff with confusion and concern. "Why couldn't you come to me for money if you needed it that badly?"

She shifted in his lap, snuggling closer, and her voice when it came was so faint he had to bend to hear her.

"Now, that would be real nice, wouldn't it? Borrowing money from you to pay you for my room and board."

She gave a soft laugh. Then as silence filled the room, she opened her eyes. Looking quickly away, he avoided her eyes, but he could feel her staring at his face.

"Ben," she said, giving a laugh that this time sounded nervous and unsure. "Are you going to cry?"

"I may," he muttered hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I haven't decided yet." He swallowed hard, then opened his eyes to look at her. "You put yourself through this to pay me for staying here?"

"It wasn't that bad. I can't say I care for Mr. Delaney, but the customers were nice and the cook—"

"Delaney?" He stared at her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Did you say Delaney?"

When he saw her hesitant nod, the explosion could be held back no longer. "Damnation!" he said, pushing her aside to jump to his feet lest he strangle her. "You actually went to work for that scum!"

She watched him warily as he walked the well-worn path around the furniture in the living room. He knew he had to control his anger before he explained to her. It wasn't her and he didn't want to frighten her. She didn't know. She couldn't know who she had been dealing with.

"Sunny," he said at last, his voice reasonably calm. "That man is a leech. He's humanity in its lowest form. He uses people's misfortune to make money."

Watching her face, he could see that she didn't understand. How could she? He was being anything but clear. "Babe, he's bad news," he tried again. "The man wouldn't know a daisy even if he did manage to see it. He hires illegal aliens to work for him and uses them in a terrible way. He works them until they drop and never pays a cent of overtime. He either pays them substandard wages or refuses to pay them at all. And they have no recourse. Because they're here illegally, they can't contact the police or the labor department." Sitting beside her, he held both her hands. "Don't you see? He sucks them dry. And, Sunny, he enjoys it. That's the worst part. Their misery pleases him."

"Why doesn't someone do something?" she asked, her voice shocked. "If his practices are known, why doesn't someone stop him?"

"The authorities can't touch him," Ben said in disgust. "Oh, they make periodic raids and arrest the people working for him, then send them home. But all he has to do is say he didn't know they were illegal and he goes scot-free."

"That stinks!"

"Honey, there are a lot of things in the world that stink and it seems that all we can do is not contribute to the smell."

"That's not right, Ben. When you see evil, there should be some way to stop it."

She shivered suddenly and Ben knew that reaction to her hard day was beginning to set in.

"Forget about it tonight. You need to get to bed
before you make yourself ill."

"I'm not that fragile," she said, laughing weakly. "But I must admit that a bath and bed sound sinfully delicious right now."

Against her protests, he carried her to the bathroom and deposited her inside, then stood outside until he heard the water running. Walking to the bed, he turned back the cover, then removed his shirt from the bureau drawer and hung it on the knob of the bathroom door.

His hand lingered for a moment on the creamy silk. He should have bought her a gown when he bought her other clothes. He had considered it, but the thought of his shirt resting against her body at night while she slept was somehow a consolation.

Dangerous thinking, Ben, he cautioned himself silently. Those kinds of thoughts are best forgotten. Or If not forgotten, at least not indulged.

When he could no longer hear the shower running, he walked closer to the door. "My shirt's hanging on the doorknob."

"Thank you, Ben."

Evidently the shower had revived her, for her voice seemed stronger now. He drew the drapes, then sat on the bed waiting for her to reenter the room. When she appeared, her hair was wet and hung straight down to below her shoulders, tiny curls already beginning to form on her forehead. She had wrapped a towel around her body and, when she reached for the shirt, it slipped off the knob and fell to the floor.

As he watched, she bent to pick it up and he heard her gasp in pain. He jumped up and strode across to her, lifting her in his arms to carry her to the bed. Laying her down gently, he said, his voice almost harsh, "Forget the shirt for now. Where does it hurt?"

"It would be easier to tell you where it doesn't hurt," she said, softly chuckling. "I think I was allergic to their dishwashing liquid. My hands itch all the way up to the elbows."

"Just relax and I'll see what I can do about it."

When he returned from the bathroom, he picked up one hand and began to rub some soothing cream into the reddened flesh. It seemed he had been waiting forever to touch her, but he never dreamed the first time would be in order to ease her pain.

"Your feet look swollen," he murmured, spreading the cream up her forearm, feeling the bones that seemed too fragile to support her.

"Oh, are they still there? That's a comfort. I thought I had worn them away."

He laughed shortly, unable to grasp the way she laughed at her own pain. She was so soft. He knew he was taking too much pleasure in touching her, but there was no way on earth he could be objective. His hands had a will of their own as they discovered the smoothness of her palms, the length of her fingers, then slid up her arms, not stopping at the reddened forearms, but needing to feel the softness of the whole length.

"Turn over and I'll see what I can do for your feet," he ordered hoarsely, feeling the need to break the hypnotic spell stroking her arms had cast on his good sense.

He moved to the end of the bed as she rolled silently onto her stomach and picked up one injured foot.

***

She should stop him. She knew she should. He wasn't her servant nor was he responsible for her. There was no need for him to go to all this trouble for her . . . oh, but it felt so good.

Groaning, Sunny arched her foot into his large hand, then sighed as he rotated the slender ankle, his thumb firmly massaging the tender instep.

"There's something mesmeric about having your feet massaged," she murmured drowsily as a warm lassitude invaded her limbs. "I mean, it's almost, ummmm"—she paused when he switched to the other foot, then continued in a sigh—"erotic."

"Do you think so?"

His voice was husky and faraway. Thick and slow, as thick and slow as the blood flowing sluggishly through her veins, a voice seeming somehow an extension of herself ... a harsh echo of senses yielding gratefully to the Circean lethargy.

Resting her feet on his chest, he slid his hands down to rub the taut muscles of her calves, coaxing them to release the soreness and tension with firm, soothing strokes. Then as he moved to her thighs, she felt the bed sink and suddenly he was straddling her calves, moving the flesh of her thighs, rearranging it to a less painful distribution of muscles.

After the first few moments, she stopped counting the muscles in her legs; then, almost magically, she no longer felt the soreness, her thoughts taken over by the feel of his rough jeans on her bare skin, the hard muscles of his thighs beneath the fabric.

This is not supposed to be happening, she thought lazily, unable to fight the feelings she had been suppressing for days. This is supposed to be therapeutic. The massage was supposed to decrease the ache in her legs, not increase the ache in an altogether different spot.

"Is that better?" he asked gruffly, his hands running up and down her thighs, sliding to the outside, then dipping to the inside.

"What?" she gasped weakly. "Oh. Yes . . . yes, it is."

Stop stuttering, you fool or he'll know just exactly what's happening to you.

"I'm going to lower the towel just a little, Sunny, so that I can get at your lower back."

"Okay." Her voice was now a thin, reedy whisper.

With a hand to each side of her waist, he began digging his thumbs into the small of her back, pushing in and up with each stroke. Slowly following the line of her spine, he paused for long moments with his fingers resting beneath her arms, massaging the base of each delicate shoulder blade with his mobile, mesmerizing thumbs.

After a moment the fingers began to move restlessly, smoothing the skin, and she held her breath as they came closer and closer to the rounded flesh of her breasts, which were pressed outward by her own weight. She swallowed a moan when the tormenting fingers moved on to her shoulders.

Brushing the still damp hair from her neck, he shifted his position to straddle her waist, keeping his legs stiff to avoid putting pressure on her body, and let the heels of his hands rest on her shoulders, his fingers laying lightly on her collar bones. His thumbs moved up her neck, at first massaging as they had before. Then, gradually, the stroking movement turned into a seeking caress and his fingers began to explore the sides of her neck, the sensitive area around her ears.

His head was bent close, for she could hear the harsh sound of his breath, feel the moist heat on her neck. Guided by an instinct older than time, she turned her head, opening her eyes to plead with him silently.

His mouth was only a breath away when she whispered, "Please," and then, as though it were the signal he had been waiting for, he closed the gap, capturing her lips with a burning urgency that matched her own.

For the following moments, time was suspended as she became lost in the consuming pleasure of the kiss. They were joined at last, each seeming to try to make up for lost time as tongue caressed tongue and heated lips pressed closer and ever closer.

The clocks began ticking again only when he pulled away a fraction of an inch to frame her face with his hands and stare at her with an open, deep hunger. Somehow, in the moments before, he had slid down beside her so that they now lay facing each other with only his clothing separating their bodies.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting to do that?" he asked in a harsh, hurried whisper. "Centuries." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as though in pain. "Eons."

"Do you know how long I've been waiting fox you to do that?" she responded softly. "Since the first minute I set eyes on you. You looked so proper sitting behind that desk and I was sure you would be irritated by my strange problem. Then you put your hand to the back of your neck and I noticed you needed a haircut and there was a look in your eyes . . . almost vulnerable. That's when I wanted to kiss you and make it all better."

"Was that an all-better kiss?" he asked as though he didn't like the idea.

"Oh, no." She laughed softly. "That wasn't for you. That was strictly for me. That was what I've been lying awake nights thinking about."

He groaned hoarsely as his head descended and he began an assault on her neck, nipping and tasting the warm flesh. He lowered his hands to her back, pulling her close to his lower body and she could feel the depth of his arousal as he pressed against her, urging her to enter a world of pure sensation.

Her hands began to move restlessly across his shoulders to his throat, dipping inside his shirt to touch the hard, hair-roughened expanse of chest. With fingers that trembled, she unfastened the buttons and pushed the shirt out of the way.

He was still suddenly, drawing in a deep breath as she moved her upper body slowly forward, watching in fascination as the tips of her breasts grazed the hair on his chest.

A cry of pleasure came from her lips without her knowledge as she felt the incredible sensation shiver through her body. This is what she had been waiting for, aching for. But never would she have believed the feeling could be so intense, so breathtakingly wonderful.

Her pleasure intensified immeasurably when she heard him groan—a deep, incredibly erotic sound— before pulling her to him fiercely, wrapping his arms around her to clasp her buttocks with both hands and urge her forward as he arched into her.

"Babe, how can it be even more beautiful than I dreamed?" he gasped, moving his body against hers frantically. "This isn't possible."

"It is. It's incredible, but it's real." She caressed his face with feverish strokes, learning the lines around his eyes, letting her fingers discover the pleasure of the cleft in his chin, the intricate secrets contained in the grooves of his ears.

She was on fire. And only Ben could put out the flames. She burned for him with every nerve in her body, every inch of flesh. She felt she would explode if the sensations increased. That is, until he reached down and cupped one breast in his large, warm hand. Then she knew she would take all he could give and, if she died from the intensity, she would have died in ecstasy.

"Now, Ben," she gasped frantically. "We've wasted so much time, and there was no need for it—but we can make up for it now. Now, Ben."

"No need," he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth to explore its contours. Then, as he circled one slender finger with his warm, moist tongue, he repeated slowly, his voice sounding dazed, "No need?"

Releasing her abruptly, he rolled onto his back, his eyes closing tightly as he inhaled deeply. Then a harsh shudder shook his body.

"Ben?"

Suddenly she was frightened. Why had he left her? What had she done to cause that reaction in him?

"Ben, please, I'm scared."

"No, baby. Shhhh," he soothed, pulling her close so that she lay with her head resting on his shoulder. He pushed her disheveled hair away from her face and looked deep into her eyes.

"Baby, we can't do this," he said quietly. "We forgot about the face, the place on your finger. Sunny, we have no right to do this."

"But that's not fair!" she exclaimed. Biting her lip to force a calmness that she didn't feel, she added, "It felt right, Ben. It wouldn't have felt right if it were wrong."

"That's not a reliable test, babe. I don't care if you were a nun, having you in my arms would have felt right. But that doesn't change the fact that it would be wrong."

"If I were a nun, then my being a nun would be wrong," she said stubbornly. "And if I'm married, then that's wrong."

Slowly, firmly, he moved her away from him and began to rise. "You can't make that kind of judgment now. Not until you know all the facts," he said, then added harshly, "and I should have my butt kicked for provoking this kind of thing when you're so vulnerable."

"You didn't start it, I did," she said tightly, then moved her head to stare at him fiercely. "And I'm glad. Do you hear? I'm glad. So don't try to make it seem wrong, because it wasn't."

He greeted her declaration with silence and as Sunny continued to stare at him, she suddenly felt ashamed. Not of her actions before, but of her actions now. He was a man with extremely strong principles and she was trying to undermine those principles.

"Ben, I'm sorry," she said contritely. "You're right. Now is not the time to make that kind of a decision. Please, forgive me."

He laughed shortly and turned away. "You make it sound like you tried to seduce me. Believe me, there is nothing on this earth that could have stopped me from touching you tonight." He shrugged his shoulders stiffly. "Now, it's time you got some sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

She watched him move through the door and close it behind him, then said softly, "Goodnight, Ben."

Moments later, she whispered, "I love you," and the lonely sound echoed wistfully through the empty room.