Take Me Under Page 3

  With her pulse roaring in her ears, Reese licked her lips, unable to believe what she was hearing. “What’s going on, Ben?”

  “Go out with me tonight,” he coaxed, the look in his eyes even darker than before. “Let me take you to dinner, and I promise you’ll be able to ask me anything you want.”

  “I . . . I can’t.” Breathless words, threaded with panic.

  “Why not?”

  She struggled for a valid reason, but couldn’t come up with a single one that didn’t make her sound pathetic or crazy. “Just . . . trust me when I say it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  He cocked his head a bit to the side. “You gonna let that jackass you were married to control the rest of your life?”

  Shock skittered through her system. She had no idea how to respond to such a personal question from a man she didn’t really know all that well. She had no idea what to think about any of this. “My decision to stay home tonight has nothing to do with my ex. I’m tired and I need to unpack.”

  He took a step closer, bringing a warm masculine scent with him that was so freaking good she had to bite back a moan. “Then I’ll bring dinner over and help you.”

  He was so tall, Reese had to tilt her head back to hold his stare. “That’s a nice offer, but I . . . I think it would be best if I have some time alone.”

  “From the way I see it,” he countered in a soft rasp, “you’ve been alone long enough.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing her hands over her upper arms, as if to ward off a chill. Which was odd, seeing as how she was burning up inside. “I think you should go now, Ben.”

  The look on his face said he didn’t like being shut out, but Reese didn’t have any other choice. She was too rattled to deal with him and the things he was saying . . . the way he was making her feel. There were too many raw emotions pressing in on her, weighing her down. Mountains of emotional baggage she didn’t know how to cut loose, so that she could grab on to this unexpected, inexplicable offer of pleasure. He wouldn’t even have to touch her. Just sitting across from him in a quiet restaurant, free to stare at him for as long as she wanted, would be more than she’d had in . . . in what felt like a long, wasted forever. But she couldn’t do it. As much as she wanted that fresh start to start now, she couldn’t shove past the walls that were pinning her in.

  He didn’t push her. But he didn’t back down, either.

  “I’ll give you some space tonight,” he told her, the look in his dark eyes hard with challenge, “but I’m only going to ask again tomorrow. And one way or another, Reese, you’re going to say yes.”

  “To dinner?”

  That bottle-green gaze settled on her mouth, and his voice got rougher. “For starters.”

  Reese stood frozen in place, breath locked in her lungs as he turned and left the kitchen. The front door opened and closed a few seconds later.

  For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she twisted around, looking out the tiny window over the sink just in time to catch a glimpse of him as he climbed into a big, black truck. She gripped the edge of the counter, watching as he backed out of the driveway and disappeared around the high wall of colorful hydrangea that shielded the two houses from the road.

  Long after he’d driven away, Reese still stood at the window—her chest tight, heart pounding—wishing so badly that she’d had the courage to say yes. To dinner. To just spending time with him . . .

  And to whatever the hell else Ben Hudson might want from her.

  2

  BEN KNEW A MAN WAS IN DEEP SHIT WHEN HE WAS SITTING ACROSS THE table from one beautiful woman, but couldn’t get another one out of his head. Granted, he wasn’t fucking Brit Cramer. They were just friends. But he’d never had trouble giving her his complete attention before.

  He probably should have passed when she called and asked if he wanted to meet her for dinner at McClain’s. But he’d been wearing down his floorboards at home, too wound up by the knowledge that Reese was right next door. He couldn’t calm the hell down, and that wasn’t like him. No matter how shitty or stressful his life got, he’d always been able to kick back at the end of the day and enjoy some downtime. It was what kept him sane. But ever since he’d heard that Reese was getting divorced, he hadn’t been acting like himself. Learning that she was determined to put some serious miles between her and that Ivy League ex of hers by relocating to Moss Beach had been a shock to his system. It’d messed with his mind.

  Hell, it had him so twisted up inside he felt like a fucking pretzel.

  And now that she was so close, he wanted her so badly he could taste the hunger. A seething, gut-burning craving that had been growing for three frustrating years, cranking higher every goddamn time he saw her . . . talked to her. Since that first night he’d met her at Gary’s birthday party, he’d compared every woman he got involved with to Reese, and they came up lacking. It was as if she’d marked him or some weird shit like that, rewiring his brain.

  And she’d never had a clue . . .

  He shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around that bizarre revelation. Even her ex had known. The guy was an ass, but Drew Leighton hadn’t been blind. Ben knew the man had sensed his primitive interest, and so the hotshot lawyer had made it a point to stick close to Reese whenever Ben had been around. Perceptive guy.

  Just not a very smart one.

  From what Ben had heard, once they were back in Boston, Drew had found it more fun playing with the women he worked with than with his wife. At the start of the new year, Reese had finally found out about Drew’s philandering—word in her family was that she’d literally caught the idiot with his pants down—and she’d filed for divorce the next day. According to Gary and Connie, the divorce had gone fairly quickly because Reese didn’t want anything but her personal savings. It took class and backbone to walk away from the life she’d had, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. She was one of the classiest women he’d ever known.

  And now she was here for good . . . his for the taking. The sooner the better, if he had anything to say about it, before he caused himself some kind of permanent damage. It’d been weeks since he’d had sex, and he was aching in a bad fucking way.

  “Ben!”

  He jolted at the sound of his name, and found himself staring into Brit’s laughing face. A quiet curse crept past his lips. Damn, he’d spaced out right in the middle of her telling him about her latest dating disaster. And from the suspicious look in her hazel eyes, she had a good idea where his mind had wandered. Christ. Talk about awkward.

  He might be a rough-edged son of a bitch, but he wasn’t so much of an ass that he wanted Brit to feel ignored. She was a friend, damn it.

  “Sorry,” he offered, reaching for his beer.

  She made a little snorting sound, lips curled in a wry smile. “I’m not mad. I was just a bit worried you were in the middle of a heart attack. You looked like you were in pain.”

  He choked back a laugh, thinking about the pain in his balls. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind tonight, but I promise not to keel over dead on you before dessert.”

  “You want to tell me about her?” she asked, taking a bite of her Caesar salad.

  Oh, hell no. He wasn’t buying that deceptively casual tone. The hairs on the back of Ben’s neck stood up, signaling danger. He knew he was about to get grilled.

  Refusing to go down easily, Ben lifted his brows. “Her?”

  She took a sip of her white wine, studying him over the rim of the glass. “The woman who has you looking like you just swallowed a bellyful of frustration. What’s the story, Hudson?”

  Yeah, he knew that tone. Brit was a top-notch therapist who had helped scores of people with their issues. Ben respected the hell out of her intelligence and her sense of compassion—but that didn’t mean he wanted her doling out any advice on the way he lived his life. Not that it ever stopped her.

  “Don’t start,” he groaned. “I’ve had a shitty week. I’m not up to having my head examined tonight.”
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  As dramatic as it sounded, it was true. On top of thinking about Reese every damn minute of the day, he’d dealt with a number of local crises in the county, from an illegal meth lab and dog-fighting ring to a couple of bone-chilling domestic violence cases. He really didn’t want to talk about it—any of it—but Brit wouldn’t let it go. She pressed until she got a brief overview of the events, if not any of the gritty details. But she’d worked with law enforcement officers and victims long enough to know how ugly things could get.

  “You know, I thought you moved to the Gulf to take it easy,” she grumbled with a fretful sigh. “But now you’re busier than ever.”

  What did she want him to say? He wasn’t an idle person. If there were things to be done, Ben wanted to be doing them. And the area, while beautiful and popular with tourists, had been in desperate need of a decent sheriff. Sure, he still had a lot to learn, but he was a damn sight better than the corrupt jackass he’d replaced. And he’d hired some great staff who worked their fingers to the bone, eager to make a difference.

  A glance across the table showed that Brit was still waiting for him to say something. Leaning back in his chair, he pushed his free hand through his hair and made a conscious effort not to snap at her. “You know I like to keep busy.”

  “The doctors—” she started to say, but he cut her off.

  “The doctors can kiss my ass.” More than once, Ben had regretted telling Brit what his surgeons back in Miami had said after the shooting—the one that had prompted his move to Moss Beach. He didn’t regret taking the bullets that had saved Ryan Houghton’s little girl—would do it again in a heartbeat—but the recovery had been a bitch. “That was two years ago. I’m fine now.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. You wouldn’t admit it if you weren’t, would you? Stubborn idiot.”

  Though he was used to her concern, Ben was too short on patience to deal with it tonight. “Stop acting like my mother, Brit.”

  Irritation flashed through her eyes. “Someone has to. If I don’t, then you’ll just keep—”

  “Goddamn it, leave it alone!” he barked, slamming his beer bottle back on the table. “If I wanted your advice, I’d damn well pay for it.”

  She blinked, cast a quick glance around the restaurant to see if they’d attracted any curious stares, then frowned. “I didn’t mean to piss you off,” she murmured a moment later, making him feel like shit for losing his temper with her. “I just don’t like seeing you like this. But I’m sorry for butting in.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he forced out, scrubbing a hand over his gritty eyes. “I’m in a crappy mood and you don’t deserve it. I’m acting like a dick.”

  A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you that one.”

  Ben shook his head and laughed. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

  “And that’s one of the things I love about you,” she said, fighting a grin. “For such a hard-ass alpha, you’re never afraid to say something mushy.”

  “That wasn’t mushy. I just—”

  “Stop scowling. It’s not the end of the world to have a decent streak, you know. You may be almost as gorgeous as Christian Bale, but you—”

  Ben cut her off with another husky laugh. “What is it with you and Christian Bale?”

  “As if I need to explain.” Stifling a shiver, she flicked her wavy red hair over her shoulder and theatrically fanned her face. “The man is freaking sex on legs.”

  “Well, if he ever visits Moss Beach,” he drawled, smiling at her antics, “I’ll make sure to detain him long enough that you get an introduction.”

  Her shoulders fell. “That’s a sweet thought, but don’t bother. He’s married.”

  “Ahh.” Enough said. Ben knew they shared the same view on infidelity.

  “But just because I can’t have Christian doesn’t mean you can’t get lucky in the love department,” she murmured. “This woman you’re thinking about is single, right?”

  Ben gave a hesitant nod. “Divorced. And it’s not love. It’s . . . complicated.”

  “I’m sure it is,” she said, hiding her smile behind her wineglass. “God knows you never do anything the easy way.”

  His tone got drier. “Thanks,” he muttered, finishing the last bite of his steak.

  “Speaking as your friend,” she went on, “I think it’s about time you got off your ass and went after her. You’ve been wound up about this mystery woman for far too long.”

  There were times when Brit’s ability to read him freaked the hell out of Ben. “I haven’t been—”

  “Save it, Sheriff. I’m a trained professional. I know what I’m talking about.”

  He started to argue, then accepted defeat with a sharp sigh. “Shit.”

  She laughed softly. “So who is she?”

  Wishing he had something stronger than his beer, he said, “One of Connie’s sisters.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise. “The one who lives up north?”

  Ben gave another nod as he slouched back in his chair, fiddling with the spoon that sat beside his plate. “She lived up there with her husband. Got divorced a few months ago and just moved down to Moss Beach.”

  The look of shock on Brit’s face when he glanced her way again was almost funny. “Ohmygod, she’s the woman renting your other house, isn’t she?”

  He fought the urge to squirm in his seat like a criminal under interrogation. “Yeah. Her name is Reese Leighton. Actually, she’s taken her maiden name again, so she’s a Monroe now.”

  Brit seemed to take a moment to process, then asked, “What does she think of you?”

  He shrugged, the question making him restless. “I don’t really know. We have chemistry, but she’s gun-shy.”

  Brit grinned. “And you’re not known for being patient.”

  What the hell did she think was so funny? “I’ve been patient for three fucking years. I’m at my limit.”

  He could see the wheels turning in her head. “But Reese doesn’t know that, does she?”

  “I don’t know what she’s thinking.” He stared sightlessly at his empty plate, replaying the scene with Reese from that afternoon through his mind. “I would have thought it was obvious. Her ex picked up on it right from the start. But she doesn’t seem to think she’s the kind of woman I’d date.”

  “So she’s shy and a little low on self-confidence. Did the ex screw around on her?”

  Ben responded with a jerky nod, his jaw tight. “He’s a total prick.”

  Brit leaned forward and braced her crossed arms on the table, her expression sincere . . . but serious. “Ben, if there’s a chance you could really feel something for this woman, then I say go for it and don’t let anything stop you. I love you and I want you to be happy. But . . . and I hate to say this, but if you’re just planning on fooling around with her and moving on, then you need to take a step back and really think about what you’re doing. She’s already been through enough.”

  He choked back a low curse. “You never know. A hot affair might be just the thing she needs to get back on her feet.”

  “And if it isn’t? If she falls in love with you? What then? And how is it going to work with her living right next door to you? Have you thought about how she’s going to feel when you bring another woman home with you?”

  “I don’t bring women to my place. I go to theirs,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder. “And I plan on parting as friends.”

  “God, Ben,” she said on a quiet laugh. “Sometimes you just don’t think. How is she—”

  He cut her off with another scowl and a growled response. “You don’t think you’re jumping ahead here? The woman isn’t in love with me, Brit.”

  “You’re right.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you never know. Maybe it’ll be your heart that gets broken. And if that happens, how do you think you’re going to feel watching her bring the next guy home?”

  “I’ll handle it,” he ground out, while inside his gut was churning. The i
dea of some other man shoving his cock inside Reese’s firm little body made him see red. He’d never been the jealous type, but he knew damn good and well that he’d want to take apart the first guy who even looked at her with interest. Which meant he was in one hell of a screwed up situation.

  He didn’t want to keep her forever—but he didn’t want any other man keeping her, either.

  Fuck.

  Maybe renting the beach house to Reese hadn’t been his brightest idea, but damn it, he’d seen it as the perfect opportunity to gain access to her, and he’d grabbed it. And it’s not like there was any use in second-guessing the decision at this point, because he wouldn’t do it differently, even with Brit’s warnings. He’d deal with that other shit later, if it became an issue. He couldn’t worry about it now, when he couldn’t stop thinking about how to get Reese where he wanted her. Which was on her back, with her legs spread, and his cock buried so deep inside her she could taste him at the back of her throat. He wasn’t known for holding back when it came to sex, but he had a feeling that Reese was going to push even his own limits. Once he finally got his hands on her, she’d be lucky if she could walk the next day.

  Hell, he was so jacked up, he might not even let her out of bed for the first week.

  The waiter came and cleared the table, taking their order for two coffees and a couple of slices of McClain’s famous cheesecake. As soon as he walked away, Brit asked, “So what’s she like?”

  “Beautiful. Smart. Funny.” There was a wealth of gruff pride in his voice, as if Reese was already his to brag about. An odd reaction on his part—and one that he’d sure as hell never experienced before. “She works as a special needs teacher, or at least she did. I’m not sure what she plans to do now that she’s relocated to Florida.”

  A speculative gleam started to burn in Brit’s eyes. “She sounds like someone I’d like to have as a friend. And in case it never occurred to you, that’s a big departure from the norm, seeing as how your girlfriends usually just grate on my nerves.”

  “They weren’t my girlfriends. Those women were just . . .”