Chapter 13
GRACE
My eyes connect with his bright blues for the briefest of moments before he breaks the spell, finishing the remaining champagne in his tumbler as he peers out the window.
Right. I’m certain it’s the alcohol talking. I mean, does he not remember the way we met? I can’t help but picture myself in that ridiculous tank top covered in paw prints and nearly drop my face into my hands.
Glancing at the clock, I bite the inside of my cheek to the point of tasting copper.
This day has seemed like a week. First the truck breaks down, and I have to get the neighbor to take Mom to her appointment.
No telling how much it’s going to cost me to get that hunk of junk repaired.
Then I manage to get myself tied to another con artist. Sure, he seems sweet.
And panty-melting hot. But I haven’t recovered from the last construction worker who convinced me he was on his way to making it big and just needed my help to get there.
The reality of my situation is a stark reminder to stay focused.
I’ve got to get home. If nothing else, so I won’t risk being late to work in the morning.
“Do you mind checking again to see if Milton’s still there?
” I grimace. “I’ve got an early day at work tomorrow. ”
A mask of guilt slips over Ben’s face before he springs from his chair. “Oh, of course, Grace. I’ll be right back.”
Waiting for him to return, I nearly put a hole in the threadbare rug as I pace back and forth, hoping upon hope that a minor miracle has occurred, and Milton has left for the evening so I can make a break for it.
Hopefully, Ben has enough cash on him to spring for an Uber.
It’s the least he could do after putting me in this position.
The door opens, and I know by his downtrodden expression I’m stuck. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I have no idea why he’s still sitting there. He’s literally flipping through that stack of guest books like its Twilight or something.”
“Twilight?” My mouth drops open to form an O. “You’ve read those books?”
“Ha. No. But my mom tore through that series when I still lived at home.” He chuckles. “Anyway. He’s apparently engrossed in whatever he’s doing. Maybe he’s lonely.” He shrugs. His wide eyes are nothing if not apologetic. He grips the back of his neck and squeezes. “I feel terrible about this.”
My shoulders slump, feeling more than a little defeated by life. What am I going to do now? Moving toward the door, I decide we should simply explain there’s been an emergency, and I need to get home to my mother when he interrupts.
“Look. It’s a big bed.” Ben waves his arm toward the four-poster queen canopy with a flourish, Vanna White style. “I’ve got a shirt you can wear. I promise to be on my best behavior.” He gestures by extending three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Something tells me you were never in the Boy Scouts.” I lift a brow. “Didn’t you say you grew up in the UK?”
“Ah. You’re right, you little clever clogs. I wasn’t in the Boy Scouts of America. But they actually do have Scouts in the UK.”
My eyes instinctively narrow before I can stop myself.
Ben’s forehead creases as he continues cautiously, rubbing a large hand back and forth across his sternum. “Never said I was part of that organization. But they do have them there,” he admits.
“Good grief.” I shake my head. “At least you’re being honest.”
“I’m nothing if I’m not—”
“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence, Mr. Meet my fiancée, Grace.” I jab my finger at him accusingly and roll my eyes.
Ben lets out a nervous chuckle, reaching back behind him to massage his neck.
The act causes his biceps to strain within the confines of his white dress shirt, the hem elevating enough to reveal toned abs and a thin trail of dark hair that disappears into his suit pants.
My mouth instantly waters, and I swiftly look away, hoping he hasn’t caught me ogling him.
“Here.” He darts over to his suitcase, unzipping it and rifling through until he withdraws a gray T-shirt. “You can wear this. It’s my favorite.”
Is this really happening?
“I’ll set my alarm for six, so we have plenty of time to get you to work and check on your car. And I’ll make sure it gets to you as soon as they have it ready.” His big blue eyes are practically pleading with me. Is it his guilt weighing in? Or has this been his plan? So he can make a move on me?
Yet, for some insane reason, I trust him. And what’s more, as much as I should get home to prepare to start tomorrow on better footing than today, I’m not ready for this crazy ride to end. It’s just one night, Grace. Think of the good karma coming your way for helping him.
Reaching for the T-shirt, I make my way to the bathroom. Carefully closing and locking the door behind me, I remove my beautiful outfit and kick off my shoes. “What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?” I repeat under my breath like a psycho. Because I must be to be entertaining this.
How have I let this happen? I barely know this guy, and now I’ve not only lied to a kind widower but am about to get in bed with this swindler.
I pull his gray cotton T-shirt over my head.
It’s soft and smells of laundry soap and him.
There’s the slightest trace of his earthy cologne, mixed with citrus.
On impulse, I lift the collar of the smooth fabric to my nose and inhale.
Jeez, Grace. You’ve lost it. He may be the hottest man you’ve ever been alone with, but so far, he’s shaping up to be just like your ex.
Granted, I can’t recall ever seeing Brad work as hard at anything as Ben did to acquire this construction job.
Heck, I’m not certain my ex actually went to work after I left each day.
And he certainly never treated me with an ounce of the reverence that Ben had tonight.
It was all an act, Grace. Stop with the dreamy eyes and focus. No men, remember?
I wash my face and hands with the toiletries provided by the hotel before reaching for Ben’s toothpaste on the counter.
Squirting a small dab onto the pad of my index finger, I attempt to rid my teeth of the evening’s meal and drinks before rinsing my mouth.
My freckles are on full display now without the cover of makeup.
One glance at my freshly scrubbed skin in the mirror, and I begin having second thoughts. Not about sharing a bed with Ben like any sane woman. But about exiting this bathroom wearing only his T-shirt and a tiny pair of boy shorts.
My hands glide down the front of the shirt. “University of Cambridge. Hmm. Must be something he wears to impress the ladies,” I quip. I mean, how many men attend a prestigious London university to work in construction?
Taking a deep breath, I attempt to steady my nerves as I open the door and cross the threshold.