22. Marley
TWENTY-TWO
MARLEY
“Stupid Sophie,” I mutter as I’m washing the cow out of my hair. I finally worked up the nerve to kiss the man, only to have that very man point out that I smell like cows, which basically means like shit. Bennett went from kissing me back to proclaiming that I smelled like shit. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mortified.
I came back with a plan to talk to Bennett about what was up with him, and somehow I ended up… I don’t know, seducing him, simply by grabbing his arm. I can still feel his fingers pressed into my skin. Eventually, I let a long groan out into my palms before turning the water off.
I’m so lost in thought as I make my way back into the bedroom that I don’t realize the right crutch has slipped backwards under my arm. The minute I put weight on it, I slip forward, right off the pad, and go down hard. The sound of me hitting the floor and then the clatter of the crutches sends Bennett bursting through the door within seconds. The towel I had wrapped around me is now wrapped around one crutch, and I’m in the process of yelling “Wait!” when I hear a sharp intake of breath. I am a serious person other serious people send into war zones, I silently remind myself as I feel Bennett’s presence move over me.
“Just leave me here to die of embarrassment,” I say dramatically, throwing my arm across my face, because apparently that’s less awkward than using it to cover up my very exposed chest.
“You know,” he says, helping me back to my good foot, “if you were that serious downstairs, all you had to do was ask.”
I whip my head back towards him and glare. “Excuse me? You’re the one who backed off.” I jam my finger into his very solid chest.
I have to give him credit because he at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “I didn’t know if you meant it or if you were just being, I don’t know”—he shrugs—“grateful.”
“Grateful? Is making out with someone a new way to show them gratitude? If so, I have not adequately thanked the Hores. Did it feel like I didn’t mean it? Fuck.” I throw my hands up in frustration, and my towel slips off me again. And now I’m standing here balancing on one crutch, angry, likely red-faced, and very naked. I bend down to grab the towel, but Bennett’s faster. He wraps it around me and then scoops me up in one seamless motion. I barely hear the sound of a crutch hitting the floor for a third time as he carries me towards the bed. He sets me down gently, my back against the headboard, and then sits just beyond my feet.
“It did feel like you meant it,” Bennett says quietly.
“Okay, so did you not mean it then? Was that all me forcing myself on you, because if so I am really sorry. Clearly I read it all wrong.”
“I can’t remember the last time I meant something more,” he begins. “Not with another person, anyway.”
I have no idea what to say.
“It kind of freaks me out, you know.”
“What does?”
“I’ve known you for three days, and I’m already dreading the road being fixed.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
“Because it’s the thing that’s going to take you away. It doesn’t matter if you’ve only been here for three days or three months, it won’t be long enough.”
If a friend told me that a man said that to her after three days of knowing him, I’d instruct her to run and never look back. But being the one hearing it makes me realize that he’s not wrong. A lot of my decisions since coming here have been based on leaving soon. And yet I haven’t once thought about the leaving part. I’ve never been great at thinking of the future. Being surrounded by unpredictability has trained me to think about the here and now, not tomorrow. I’m out of my element here, and as much as I’ve resisted admitting it, I am starting to wonder if I like it a little bit.
I try to make light of the situation. “Maybe you just need to get out more.”
“I get out plenty.” I hate what he’s implying, which I clearly convey with my face because he shakes his head. “It’s ridiculously hot that you’re jealous right now.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say, sitting up straighter and crossing my arms.
“Yes, you are,” he teases.
“How do you know?”
“Because I feel the same way.”
“You’re jealous of you getting out?”
“I’m jealous of you getting out… and I’m jealous of everyone you’ve gotten out with.” My mouth drops open, and I pinch myself to make sure I’m still solid.
I snap my mouth shut and swallow. “You can’t just say stuff like that to a woman while she’s in nothing but a towel, Bennett.”
“Oh?” His right eyebrow lifts along with that side of his mouth.
“And stop smirking at me, it’s not fair.”
“Me smirking is unfair?”
“Yes. It does things to me.”
“Things?” I should just stop talking because his smirk is getting more aggressive and more suggestive, and I may actually be about to lose my mind. “While we’re on the topic of being unfair, I’m going to need you to stop nodding at me.”
“Nodding?”
“Yes, it’s irresistible.”
“Jackass.” I roll my eyes.
“And that, stop rolling your eyes.”
“I’m afraid that’s a default setting that came with this model.” I gesture down my body, his eyes following my hand and then traveling back up to my mouth where I’ve once again pulled my lip between my teeth.
He points at me. “And that. I’m really going to fucking need you to stop biting your lip.”
I am buzzing now and fully in on discovering what the endgame here is. “And what if I don’t, Bennett? What are you going to do if I don’t fucking stop?”
One minute he’s sitting at my feet, and the next he’s hovering over me. I’d be slightly disturbed by his speed if I wasn’t so damn turned on. “Do you really want to know, Marley?”
I lick my lips and nod.
He slowly lowers his head to mine, but he passes my lips. I feel his breath brush my ear before he whispers, “I’ll show you later.” Then he’s up and across the room, leaving me on the edge of throwing a full-fledged tantrum. “I’m going to run down and grab the clothes Nancy packed for you.” He fucking smirks again and walks out, and if I’m not mistaken he’s added in a bit of a strut.
When I’m fully clothed, relishing the black tights and long knit sweater Nancy sent, Bennett carries me back down the stairs. I decide to play a little game halfway down that’s both cruel and possibly dangerous. I take my index finger and run it down the back of his right ear. He stops so fast that I yelp and grip him tighter. I can hear him collecting himself—yes, hear him, and that is a hill I will die on. He practically speed-walks back to the kitchen.
“You seem tense,” I say once I’m perched on a stool.
“I’m fine,” he grumbles as he pulls down a couple of bowls. It does not go unnoticed that he’s taking slow, deep breaths while he very slowly plates dinner.
“You are that,” I say, putting my elbows on the counter and resting my chin in my hands. When he turns back to give me a quick look, I make sure he sees my eyes drift down his body, my lip firmly between my teeth. His very audible swallow tells me I’m currently winning this game.
It feels like floodgates have been opened, and we’re both taking turns trying to pile up sandbags while the other one is removing them. I’m really enjoying the process at the moment.
While we eat, he asks me about my ankle and about how the day went. I tell him about everything other than the chat Sophie and I had. Throughout the evening I find myself watching his hands and remembering how they felt on me. I catch his eyes going to my mouth more frequently than usual, and it takes all the willpower I have not to lean into him. After dinner, I dry while he washes the dishes, and he tells me about growing up in this house.
“I was so convinced it was haunted,” he says, handing me a couple of spoons. “My grandfather was notoriously cheap about house stuff so things would go unfixed for a while, and it seemed like everything that needed fixing made weird noises at night.”
“Noises like what?”
He smiles and then makes a creaking sound followed by a whooping noise.
I look at him skeptically. “Maybe you just had an overactive imagination as a kid?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But my nan would insist that it was probably just her great-aunt banging into stuff.”
“What, like walking around with her eyes closed?”
“Apparently, she was a heavy drinker and would spend a few nights a week here,” he whispers.
“Oh, well, that’s… not what I expected you to say. And why are we whispering?”
“I don’t want to offend her.” He smiles at me. “Apparently she was dealing with undiagnosed depression after her husband was killed in the war.”
“Well, then I guess that’s understandable. I wonder if she was like that at her own house.”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head and pulls the drain. “We didn’t really talk about her beyond that.”
“So you lived here with your nan and grandfather?”
“Yep. Until I was seventeen when I got into university. I did spend some of the summer here, but that was mainly to spend time with my nan. Otherwise, I was training.”
“What kind of training?” I finish drying the last bowl and lean my hip against the counter.
“Oh, I played football throughout university.”
“Were you any good?”
“I was alright.” He shrugs, color darkening his cheeks.
I tilt my head and lean in slightly. “I have a feeling you were better than alright. ”
“I guess I was better than alright,” he relents.
“What did you study?”
He cups his neck with his right hand, looking uncomfortable, “Um, biology.”
“Ah.” I nod. “A science nerd, eh?”
“Shocked?”
I study him for a minute then shake my head. “No, not really. More surprised you could carry that kind of course load and play football.”
“I played for my grandfather. I studied for me.”
Fuck, that’s hot. When I see Bennett’s eyebrows go up, I realize I said that out loud.
“You think so?” I nod, maintaining eye contact, and I know instantly I’ve officially won the game. I see his control snap in real time, and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed.
His hands cup my face as mine go to steady myself at his waist. “Tell me you want this, Marley.” I nod, and he shakes his head. “I need a verbal yes, sweetheart.” Somehow I get the yes out, but I don’t know how because I’m pretty sure I’ve swallowed my tongue. I just went from someone who thought “Ew, pet names” to someone who enthusiastically thinks “Call me sweetheart again.”
My verbal confirmation has me leaving the ground as he pulls me up his body and into his arms, my legs immediately wrapping around his hips. I love being plastered to Bennett’s back, but I thoroughly enjoy being plastered to Bennett’s front even more.
I lose myself so much in his kisses that I totally miss the journey from the kitchen back to my bedroom. We could have teleported, for all I know. He lays me down, and his lips leave mine as they trail down my neck, hands slipping beneath my shirt and pushing it up and then off. I hate the brief lack of his mouth on me, and a whine slips out. “Greedy,” he murmurs as his lips find mine again.
Damn straight I’m greedy, buddy. Has he met himself? Living with him for three days, being lightly touched, carried, and taken care of has me turned on like a live wire. And that’s not even taking into account the way he openly looks at me or that he’s all ridiculously tall and broad and hot in a way he doesn’t even seem to know.
We are ravenous, and yet Bennett still seems aware of my body and exactly where my injured ankle is at all times. While his touch is almost desperate and enjoyably rough, it lightens the minute he’s near my ankle.
When he suddenly breaks away from me and stands up, I feel dread spread within me. He shakes his head and I think he’s about to back off again, but he just tells me not to move and then races from the room.
I’m propped up on my elbows in only my bra and leggings when he returns, flashing a packet at me. Excellent, yes, smart man.
“I don’t want to stop anymore,” he says, tossing his shirt off to the side, giving me an eyeful of softly defined muscle and a light dusting of hair.
“Good,” I say. “No more interruptions.”