compassion warred with the remains of her confusion.
This man—in the space of a few short weeks—had
gone from a derelict, homeless-looking mountain of questionable fashion sense
to the leading-man contender standing before her, starring in her increasingly
crazy fantasies and making her vibrate with sexual tension despite her doubts.
How? Why?
"I didn't tell you we'd met because we hadn't," he
continued. "I was conscious for about eight minutes at that party, after
traveling nonstop for four days to get to Sally's place, and the day I
arrived—New Year's Eve—she insisted on dragging me along."
Ben swiped a hand over his smoothly shaved cheeks, and she
realized suddenly why they looked sunburned, yet paler than the rest of his
face. No more beard.
"Did I recognize you?" he asked. "Yeah. I
didn't figure you'd recognize me, nor that it was relevant."
Allison stood silent, her heart still beating uncomfortably
fast, trying to reconcile his words with what she knew about Sally's cousin.
Trying to merge her image of that long-absent cousin with the Hagrid-wannabe
Ben had been mere days ago, and to add the sum of those disparate parts and
somehow get to this handsome, dynamic man her body was still reacting to against her better judgment.
"Okay," she said, huffing out a breath, her mind
churning. "Okay, I get that. I think. But then why all this?" Waving
a hand, she encompassed his change in appearance. Her pulse gave a lovely spin
through her veins. God, he was hot. But. . . Focus, Allison! "Why Cupid's Cavalry and this elaborate scheme?
If you wanted to ask me out, why didn't you just walk down the street and ask?"
Now it was Ben's turn to take a step back. Leaning against
the van with his head tilted against its side, he closed his eyes, as though
searching for the right words to say. She tried to ignore the way the meager
sun picked out all the highlights in his silky hair. It made her want to fist
her hands in it and hold on while she kissed him brainless.
Relevant or not, maybe it all came down to shyness. He'd
suffered before, had been out of the loop for a long time. Maybe he'd needed
the front of a dating service to get up his nerve. And that could be sort of
cute. Even flattering, instead of weird and stalkerish. She could work with
cute.
And oh, he was cute. If she had her camera with her, she'd
photograph him this way, all frustrated, masculine energy and movie-star
handsomeness. He flexed the muscles in his arms. She licked her lips.
"Ben?" she asked, her voice huskier than she'd
intended.
Coming down off the adrenaline spike of her confusion,
Allison drew a deep breath. Knowing who he was created a small sense of
security, despite the needs torching her common sense to ash. As though they
actually knew each other. It increased her trust in him as a person—no
more visions of bodies in the trunk—and yet new questions arose.
Good questions, like whether she should or could—or
even wanted to—take on a potential relationship with a man so damaged by
his past that he'd willingly walked away from his entire life for years. Good,
solid questions, which were ignored entirely by the raving nut job running
through her mental landscape, already planning their fiftieth wedding
anniversary.
Ben stuffed his hands in his front pockets and dropped his
head forward, scuffing the gritty pavement with the toe of his shoe. A nice new
shoe, she noted inconsequentially. No more trashy hiking boots.
They both ignored the irritated horn blast from the driver
squeaking his car past Sally's van on his way to exit the parking lot.
Really, whatever this was, whatever Ben's past, she just
wanted to get through it so they could go back to getting to know each other.
On several levels, most of them sexy.
Finally, he said, "I didn't."
Apology rang in his voice, but with her thoughts far afield,
she'd lost the thread of the conversation. Allison frowned at him. "Didn't
what?"
"Want to ask you out."
Visions of Ben naked
This man—in the space of a few short weeks—had
gone from a derelict, homeless-looking mountain of questionable fashion sense
to the leading-man contender standing before her, starring in her increasingly
crazy fantasies and making her vibrate with sexual tension despite her doubts.
How? Why?
"I didn't tell you we'd met because we hadn't," he
continued. "I was conscious for about eight minutes at that party, after
traveling nonstop for four days to get to Sally's place, and the day I
arrived—New Year's Eve—she insisted on dragging me along."
Ben swiped a hand over his smoothly shaved cheeks, and she
realized suddenly why they looked sunburned, yet paler than the rest of his
face. No more beard.
"Did I recognize you?" he asked. "Yeah. I
didn't figure you'd recognize me, nor that it was relevant."
Allison stood silent, her heart still beating uncomfortably
fast, trying to reconcile his words with what she knew about Sally's cousin.
Trying to merge her image of that long-absent cousin with the Hagrid-wannabe
Ben had been mere days ago, and to add the sum of those disparate parts and
somehow get to this handsome, dynamic man her body was still reacting to against her better judgment.
"Okay," she said, huffing out a breath, her mind
churning. "Okay, I get that. I think. But then why all this?" Waving
a hand, she encompassed his change in appearance. Her pulse gave a lovely spin
through her veins. God, he was hot. But. . . Focus, Allison! "Why Cupid's Cavalry and this elaborate scheme?
If you wanted to ask me out, why didn't you just walk down the street and ask?"
Now it was Ben's turn to take a step back. Leaning against
the van with his head tilted against its side, he closed his eyes, as though
searching for the right words to say. She tried to ignore the way the meager
sun picked out all the highlights in his silky hair. It made her want to fist
her hands in it and hold on while she kissed him brainless.
Relevant or not, maybe it all came down to shyness. He'd
suffered before, had been out of the loop for a long time. Maybe he'd needed
the front of a dating service to get up his nerve. And that could be sort of
cute. Even flattering, instead of weird and stalkerish. She could work with
cute.
And oh, he was cute. If she had her camera with her, she'd
photograph him this way, all frustrated, masculine energy and movie-star
handsomeness. He flexed the muscles in his arms. She licked her lips.
"Ben?" she asked, her voice huskier than she'd
intended.
Coming down off the adrenaline spike of her confusion,
Allison drew a deep breath. Knowing who he was created a small sense of
security, despite the needs torching her common sense to ash. As though they
actually knew each other. It increased her trust in him as a person—no
more visions of bodies in the trunk—and yet new questions arose.
Good questions, like whether she should or could—or
even wanted to—take on a potential relationship with a man so damaged by
his past that he'd willingly walked away from his entire life for years. Good,
solid questions, which were ignored entirely by the raving nut job running
through her mental landscape, already planning their fiftieth wedding
anniversary.
Ben stuffed his hands in his front pockets and dropped his
head forward, scuffing the gritty pavement with the toe of his shoe. A nice new
shoe, she noted inconsequentially. No more trashy hiking boots.
They both ignored the irritated horn blast from the driver
squeaking his car past Sally's van on his way to exit the parking lot.
Really, whatever this was, whatever Ben's past, she just
wanted to get through it so they could go back to getting to know each other.
On several levels, most of them sexy.
Finally, he said, "I didn't."
Apology rang in his voice, but with her thoughts far afield,
she'd lost the thread of the conversation. Allison frowned at him. "Didn't
what?"
"Want to ask you out."
Visions of Ben naked
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