Page 39 of Lacey's Fight

The suspicion had faded, but it had been replaced with something worse.

Something that looked too much like pity.

“That’s the kind of sex you like? Meaningless?”

Keeping her head up and her expression clear of the shame and dirtiness he dragged back up, she gave a decisive nod. “It’s the only kind to have when you’re not looking for a relationship. But the men I sleep with are good men, lots of them SEALs or Delta. They want the same thing I do, to feel good. Feeling good is never a bad thing, trust me.”

The pity disappeared, and this time understanding took its place.

Lacey found she liked that even less.

It was like he had somehow just dived deep down into her mind and dug through her secret thoughts and feelings.

Releasing her hold on his shoulders, Lacey climbed off the bed. “I’m going to go take a bath. I need to relax a little before the auction tonight. Think about what I said, if you need me, I’m here for you, and I won’t ask for anything in return.”

As she turned and gathered her clothes and headed for the bathroom, Lacey was pretty sure she could have sex with Ben without it meaning something.

Okay, kinda sure.

* * *

August 6th

8:25 P.M.

Lacey’s offer rolled around in his head.

It shouldn’t.

It should have bounced out with the same velocity it bounced in when she first said the words.

What was he thinking?

Ben did not want to have random sex with a woman, any woman, but especially the first one he had found himself attracted to since Jemima. That was just asking himself to develop feelings, and he didn’t want feelings for anyone other than his wife. Lacey might be able to separate sex and emotion, but he wasn’t sure he could.

Might make him weak but it was what it was.

Keeping his distance had been easy when he thought Lacey was a slightly irresponsible brave woman who had risked her life to save a victim. It was even easy enough when she’d tracked him down and asked him if he wanted to sleep with her because back then he didn’t know her, and his mind and body just revolted at the thought of sex with anyone.

But now he was getting to know her.

Each glimpse she gave him of the real Lacey Smith, of the vulnerabilities she so valiantly hid from the world including the people she knew loved her, of the brightness he knew she worked hard to shine out into the world, of her secret fears, it made him like her more.

Actually like her.

It had only been three years since Jemima died, and despite Lacey’s reassurances—the same ones he’d heard from his family, his team, and his friends—he did believe he was to blame for his wife’s death. Facts were, if he had taken out the trash like he was supposed to then she wouldn’t have been out there, the killer wouldn’t have seen her, and she would still be alive.

How was he supposed to move on with his life like nothing had happened with that weighing on his conscience?

“I know your cover is all silent and broody, but you have to at least feign some interest in the auction,” Lacey whispered against his ear.

Her breath was warm against his skin, and he remembered the breathy moans she’d made as he’d touched her in their room the day before. Those little pants were pure sex. If you bottled them, he was sure you could make a fortune selling them as an aphrodisiac.

“Ben,” she said, sounding both amused and exasperated. “Try to focus.”

Right.

Focus.

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