“Aw yeeeeaaaah!”

My head jerks up as the voice intrudes and we both look up to see Dustin’s face framed in the doorway.

“Not your girlfriend, my ass,” he says with a suggestive laugh that fills my stomach with mortification.

“Get the hell out of here,” Benson snaps.

“Next time put a sock on the door, bro—you know the rules,” Dustin taunts, still firmly wedged in the open door as my face burns crimson.

I clench the arms of the chair as my embarrassment boils over.

“Get the sock if you want to—ahhh!” A cascade of water hits Dustin in the face, forcing him to stagger back. His gurgling scream startles me and the water stops.

I clutch my hands to my chest as Benson kicks the door closed and scrambles to his feet to turn the dead bolt.

“Jeez, Ryder. What the hell was that?” Dustin yells through the door. “My nose is bleeding; you could have killed me.” He continues to yell, but he could be a faintly buzzing fly for all I hear him.

“Benson?” I say quietly.

“I’m so sorry,” Benson says. “I should have bolted it when I came up, but I was focused on getting you food and—”

“Benson?” I ask, my voice a little higher.

“I just didn’t think. I mean, he never comes up here except to sleep and—”

“Benson, I did that!” I shriek.

He finally turns and looks at me, his eyes confused.

“The water,” I say, struggling to keep my voice down. “I did that!”

“It’s okay; he’ll get over it. And truth is, he deserved it. Needed to cool off.”

“No, I made the water.”

That stops him. “Made?”

“Like the ChapStick,” I say slowly. “Where else did you think it came from?”

“Oh,” he says, and runs his hands through his hair before crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah. We should probably talk about that.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

But instead of talking, he pulls out his cell phone. “Hey, Marie, it’s Benson,” he says a few seconds later. “I know I said I’d be late, but this cold has only gotten worse and I don’t think I should come in this afternoon at all. Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. Yes, of course. I will.” He pushes a button to end the call and stares at his phone for several long moments. Then he slides it into his pants pocket and looks at me.

I squirm. He’s tall enough that from down here I feel very small.

As though sensing it, he reaches out a hand. “Come here.”

I grab on and he pulls me to my feet and turns me around. Soon his hands are gently rubbing my shoulders and neck. I give a sigh and let my head hang forward as he massages some of the tension out of muscles I didn’t even realize were sore.

Though I guess I should have assumed.

“Better?” he whispers after a few minutes. His face is just over my right shoulder and close to my ear. My knees feel wobbly as I try to respond, and I have to clear my throat.

“Much,” I finally manage to say. His hands are still on my back and his fingers tighten for the tiniest instant before starting to move down, running along my ribs, stopping at my waist.

After a pause, they sink a few inches lower, resting at my hips.

His breath warms my neck as he lowers his lips to brush the skin just above my collarbone. A shiver ripples up my spine.

Benson freezes.

“Good shiver,” I whisper.

His arms move again, twining around me—one arm around my waist, the other diagonally over my chest, his fingers curling around my shoulder, pulling me close against him.

I grip his arms like lifelines.

He doesn’t kiss me again. We just stand there, holding each other as if the entire world would tear us apart if we let it.

I wonder how true that might be.

“Tell me what to do.” Benson’s voice is low and gravelly right next to my ear, the vibrations on the side of my face sending a dart of warmth all the way down to my toes.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against his cheek—just a touch stubbly, like I always suspected. I feel tears build up and blink them away—not now. “I wish I knew. I’ve spent months trying to piece my life back together, but I don’t know what that even means anymore! I’m so confused, Benson. I don’t know what to think, or do, or who to trust. I can’t trust myself. I don’t even know what I am!”

“You’re beautiful,” Benson murmurs, then begins to unwind our arms, turning me to face him. “And smart, and brave, and strong.” I’m all the way around now and Benson’s hands are framing my face, warming my cheeks. “And completely irresistible.” He finishes. “The rest is just details.”

I smile a little—it’s all I can manage—and Benson leans in to kiss my forehead, each cheek. His nose touches mine and I can hardly breathe, I want him so badly. His face is so close that I can feel his breath on my mouth, and the moment that his lips touch mine is sublime. Soft and warm, his hands move to my waist, pulling me forward as his lips delve. I push against him, pressing, wanting more. Closer. Deeper.

Then his face is gone, but his hands are pulling me downward, onto his lap on the chair I vacated a few minutes ago. A breath shudders into my chest as I slide, limp, into his arms, my knees hugging his thighs as he reaches for my neck and brings me back to him. I grasp at his shirt, needing something to hold on to, and a hint of a growl escapes Benson’s mouth before his kiss deepens, sweeping me away with exquisite gentleness and the roar of passion I can feel held back behind it.