Page 12 of Her Ex's Father
Her lips part beneath mine and something raw sparks between us. A hunger I haven’t felt in years coils low in my stomach. She tastes like courage, caramel, and bitter disappointment, and I have no right to feel anything about her except relief.
Yet I do.
Too much.
My lips coax hers open, and it’s a surprise when her tongue delves quickly, shallowly, between them. When I pull away, she’s flushed. Her chest is rising and falling too quickly. I glance toward the crowd and see Caroline smirking like the cat who swallowed the scandal. She raises a single, judgmental brow. Next to her, my nephew Leo looks both disgusted and astonished.
Well. Let them whisper.
I offer Madeline my arm.
She takes it.
Together, we walk back down the aisle as husband and wife, every gaze cutting into our backs like blades. But she doesn’t falter. Her heels click with certainty against the polished floor, even though she must be shaking.
She plays the part well.
And I’m almost grateful for the performance.
We emerge into the bright sun, the hush still hanging in the air behind us. The music hasn’t started back up. The guests haven’t even begun to rise from their seats. It’ll be a while, I think; they all need to discuss the scandal they just witnessed.
“Benedict,” she says softly, her hand still resting on my arm. “Would you mind giving me a few minutes alone? I need to… collect myself.”
“You can call me Ben.”
For some reason, the formal way she’s addressing me feels like a thorn in my side. We’re out on the main terrace now, andeven though it’s been blocked off for the wedding, it still feels too exposed. Settling my hands on her hips, I slowly walk Maddie back toward the massive stone building.
The corseted top of the dress feels still under my palms, but she’s warm, her chest rising with deep breaths until we’re tucked into an alcove out of sight.
So close, I’m tempted to revisit that kiss.
To close the distance between us.
“Ben.” Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same.
The sound of raised voices and laughter jars me from the moment. Somewhere down below, skiers are getting in the last days of the season. Maddie’s hands are on my forearms. She gently removes my hold on her and I step back, feeling scorched.
“You needed a moment,” I say roughly, chastising myself.
This isn’t my day. It was never supposed to be.
I pause. “Come with me. I have a suite here. You’ll have privacy and can come down to dinner when you’re ready.”
She nods, slow and stunned, and I guide her across the stone path and into the resort, past staff and guests and gawkers. Regardless of what just happened in the ballroom, people would look at her—she’s gorgeous.
The suite is on the top floor. I key us in without speaking.
The heavy door opens into a spacious, masculine room with dark oak floors and warm sand-toned walls. The windows stretch high and wide, framing the mountains in golden light. A stone fireplace takes up one wall, unlit but ready. Leather seating surrounds a thick, walnut coffee table. A decanter of scotch and two tumblers wait atop a tray.
Maddie steps in and looks surprised.
“Is this okay?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious despite literal decades of confidence.
She hesitates before replying, “Yes. It’s… it’s very inviting. I didn’t expect it to be,” she admits.
“Ahh. You were expecting something cold, austere? Business-like?”
She nods, an embarrassed blush coloring her throat and chest.
