Neither of them said much. It was as if words might break the spell that held them in its grip. She certainly didn’t want it broken. It had been much too long since she’d believed she had the power to make a man want her with the desperation and hunger she’d seen in Ben’s eyes, that she’d felt when his lips were on hers.
As edgy as she was already, it wasn’t going to take much—a clever stroke, an intimate caress—to set off an explosion that would rock her. As impatient as she was for that to happen, she wanted to savor every second, wanted this delicious buildup to go on and on and on.
Despite the simmering passion, there was also a niggling doubt. Ben had guessed it earlier and tried to put it to rest, but it wouldn’t go away. It was too entrenched. She didn’t believe for a moment that Ben wouldn’t satisfy her, but she was terrified of not satisfying him. He’d tried to reassure her that that wasn’t possible, but she knew it could happen.
How many times had the heat built between herself and Tim, only to have her husband roll away from her, cursing about her ineptitude, blaming her for all the failures in their lovemaking? Of all the things Tim had done to demean her, that had been the worst. He’d struck at the core of her, all but said she wasn’t woman enough for him or for any man. And she’d believed him because she had absolutely no basis for comparison. Tim had been her first and only lover.
And her last. She’d never let another relationship get this far, had rarely been on anything more than the most casual dates. Ben had lured her out of her comfort zone, perhaps because he’d barely even tried. Tonight had slipped up on her, catching her by surprise. She’d been so intent on one goal—getting those paintings—that she’d barely even realized what was right under her nose, an attraction that wouldn’t be denied.
Given all that, it was amazing that she was here at all, walking hand in hand with a man who’d come to mean so much to her, risking a failure that could rip them apart before they’d even begun.
She stumbled. Ben steadied her, then gazed into her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked, his brow creased with worry.
“Fine.”
“About everything?”
She kept her gaze steady, took heart from the concern and love shining in his eyes. “About everything,” she replied at last.
And she was. It was going to be okay, because this was Ben, not Tim. Tim was over. She’d been brave enough to make sure of that, even if she hadn’t been strong enough to move on before now. But maybe that was the way it had been meant to be, not moving on until the timing and the man were absolutely right.
When they got to her house, she fumbled with the key until Ben took it from her shaking hand and turned it in the lock, then stepped aside to let her enter.
She was reaching for the light when he stilled her hand and solemnly shook his head.
“There’s moonlight coming through the windows. I want to see you first in moonlight.”
Her knees very nearly buckled at that. “Upstairs,” she said unsteadily. “There’s a skylight in my room.” It was a gift she’d given to herself, a way to see the stars at night, the ideal light for painting in the daytime, though until very recently she’d never thought it would serve that function again.
“Perfect,” Ben said.
She led the way up the carpeted stairs, then turned into her room which was, indeed, bathed in silvery moonlight. It was better than candlelight, she decided as she turned to face him.
“Now what?” she asked, her voice still shaky.
He grinned, taking the edge off her jitters. “Are you expecting me to give you five seconds to strip and meet me in the bed?” he asked.
She smiled a little less nervously. “Given the way we rushed over here, it did occur to me.”
“No way, sweetheart. We’re going to take this nice and slow.” He grinned slowly. “You can lose the coat and gloves, though.”
Kathleen shed them where she stood, letting the coat slide to the floor before kicking it aside. She tossed the gloves in the general direction of a chair. Ben’s coat and gloves landed on top of them.
“Do you want a glass of wine or something?” she asked.
“You’re intoxicating enough for me. What about you? Will it help you to relax?” he asked, stepping behind her to knead her tensed shoulders. “Your muscles are tighter than a drum, Kathleen.”
The warmth of his touch began to ease through her, releasing the tension. “I think you’re more effective than any wine could be,” she said.
“Good to know.”
Kathleen could almost hear the smile in his voice. “It wasn’t just idle flattery, Benjamin. You really are making this easy.”
“Easy?” His hands stilled. “Are you really afraid, Kathleen?”
“A little nervous,” she admitted, because there seemed no point in denying it. She wanted there to be honesty between them, not the lies and evasions that she’d attempted to keep her marriage bearable.
His massage resumed, even gentler now. “Sweetheart, there’s no need to be scared of anything, least of all making love. We don’t have anywhere to go. There’s no rush, no timetable. Nothing is going to happen until you’re ready. You’re with me now. There’s no one else in the room. No ghosts, okay?”
His patience almost made her weep. What had she ever done to deserve a man like this? Was Ben God’s reward for what she’d endured during the few brief months of her marriage? If so, she would spend the rest of her life on her knees thanking
