Page 19 of Resisting Fate
She shrugged, not willing to share any more of her tumultuous early life. “Like you, I take happiness where I can find it.”
He went back to scrubbing a pot. She went back to drying.
A few minutes later, he handed her the next pot to dry. “What’re you doing after this?”
“Why?”
He leaned close, giving her a sexy smile. “Because I’d like to do whatever you’re doing.”
Heat surged through her, her pulse skyrocketing. “I was planning on a hot bath with a glass of wine.”
He winked. “It’s smart to conserve water.” He went back to work, whistling to himself.
She didn’t know what to say. She wanted him, no question, but something held her back. She felt like she was on a high wire with no idea how she got there, unsure if it made more sense to retreat or rush forward and risk the fall. But then he made it easy for her.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. That mischievous look was back in his eyes, dimpled smile on full display. “How about tomorrow we jet off to Vegas for a long weekend. What happens in Vegas—”
She cooled. “I hate Vegas.”
“How can you hate a playground?”
“Because it’s my biological mother’s playground. She’s a dancer, and I use the term loosely.”
He glanced at her, a light of surprise in his eyes, but no judgment. “Okay, so no Vegas.” He washed a tray, rinsed, and handed it to her.
“Anyway, I don’t have money for frivolous trips.”
“I would’ve covered you.”
She clenched her jaw. “I pay my own way.” Paying her own way meant she was in charge of her life, taking care of herself. No man would ever hold the purse strings again no matter how enticing the offer.
He blew out a breath, but refrained from commenting. Smart man. She supposed, being raised by his mom and grandmother, he knew how to avoid land mines of conversation. She liked that. She didn’t have the patience to bring a guy up to speed on woman speak.
They resumed working in silence. The tension was thick in the air—do-or-die moment fast approaching. If she turned him down now, after all they’d shared, he wasn’t ever coming back. On the other hand, if they went somewhere together, well, what was the worst that could happen? Something heavy, deep, a relationship. But he’d said he didn’t believe in long-term commitment. In fact, hadn’t he said he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? In which case, he would expect something casual and light. That might work.
But then what about after the casual and light with all their mutual friends?
She watched him. His big, bulky-with-muscle, masculine self competently tackling a domestic chore. He was exceptional.
Maybe just for tonight. One night.
When they finished all the dishes, Ben dried his hands and turned to her, plucking his hairnet off and then hers. “This hair,” he said, staring at her hair, “such a shame. All that gorgeous red. You hardly ever see a natural redhead.”
She rolled her eyes, took off her apron, and made her way over to the laundry basket near the back door, tossing it in.
Ben followed her, wadding up his apron and throwing it in like a basketball. “Will you ever go back to red?”
She sighed. “I look like my biological mother with red hair. That’s why I hate it. Every once in a while, I let it go natural, but then I can’t stand it. I also got her big lips, but I’m stuck with those.”
Ben stared at her mouth. “Missy, that mouth. Swear to God it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She put her fingers to her lips. “But—”
“Trust me.” He leaned down to her ear to whisper, “That mouth has starred in some very erotic dreams of mine.”
She scowled, not at all appeased. “See? I have porn-star lips.”
He traced the dip in her upper lip with his index finger before pressing on her plump lower lip. “You have luscious sweet lips I want to feast on.”
