Page 24 of Waging War
The night I attacked Ben, I never truly thought I would best him. I had, however, held out hope that maybe I could injure him and make my escape. Then we were wrestling, and he pinned me as I knew he might—but most unexpected was my reaction to being totally at his mercy.
It could be that—thanks to the Wolves’ influence—I’ve only ever had sex with one man, but the connection between me and Ben isalive. It’s a living breathing thing, and it terrifies me.
He’s older than Coop. Stronger, too. But he’s also volatile, and I can’t make heads or tails of where his loyalties lie.
If Cooper knew I’d let Ben touch me, he’d kill me himself—never mind what my father would think if he were here.
Ben’s theenemy.
But he’s been slipping into my dreams, putting the two of us in varying positions plucked straight from reality. Like when he towered over me as he tied my wrists with a portion of silk I’d torn from my sheets. I was eye level with the very part of him I’ve been intimately dreaming about.
Nope.I try to blink away visions of Ben’s massive frame driving himself between my legs while my hands yank fistfuls of his thick black hair.Don’t even go there.
The last time I saw him, I told him I hated him. Now that I’ve had time to process, I’m more confused than ever.
First, I was told he’s a good guy undercover, but now, he’s keeping secrets. I’m not sure what to think. Remembering the gifts he’s given me, I think perhaps he’s not as emotionless as he makes himself appear. He let a small part of his guard down, but who is hereally?
The warm air from the heater tingles my toes. For as much as I despise him, it’s difficult when he pretends to care.
A succession of knocks sound at the door. I jump off the couch, but instead of scrambling for a weapon, I wait. I’m only a few steps away from the silverware that’s still scattered across the floor.
It’s Thursday, so there’s a good chance it’s Ben on the other side of that door, but after the way things were left last time, I’m not sure if I’m ready to face him.
Minutes pass, but no one enters.
Treading carefully across the space to the door that’s bolted shut from the outside, I press my ear against the cool metal and listen to the pitter-patter of rainfall.
After several heartbeats, I quietly say, “Hello?”
A pause. “Hazel, it’s Ben.”
My heart hammers at the sound of his voice.
“Can I come in? Please.”
There’s no way for me to open the door, and he knows that. So why bother asking? Is he giving me the choice to turn him away?
The thought is just as unsettling as his repetitive visits.
I back away from the door. “Sure.”
He carefully cracks the door open before crossing the threshold. Rain drips from his hair where it’s swooping wildly, and from where I stand, the chill outside radiates off his leather jacket.
“Thank you,” he mutters, kicking off his boots by the door.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I quip, but there’s barely any heat behind the jab.
Ben’s face looks sunken, with no hint of his usual swagger as he shirks off his jacket. Each bunching layer of muscle in his arms flexes when he tosses it over the back of the couch.
My God.
I swallow.The sight of him in jeans and a thin gray long-sleeved shirt causes that damnable attraction to brew low in my belly. His nipples are hard from the chill, and I’m not sure why I even notice, but I want to touch them. I want to glide my hands across his pecs and shoulders and feel his skin ripple beneath my palms.
“Has something happened?” I manage through my perusal of him.
A thin breeze raises goose bumps across my arms. Ben stalks toward the kitchen with his back toward me, missing me eyeing the sliver of the outside world peeking through the door.
Holy shit.
