Chapter 8
Victoria
Victoria had a headache. She’d had one since last night, since right before the tear gas came flying through her living room window like a scene from some television crime drama.
She’d been discharged from the hospital around noon, after a long night of nurses interrupting her each time she tried to drift to sleep, checking everything from her temperature to how many fingers she could see in front of her.
For all the interruptions and the headache they’d failed to treat, she could have come home last night.
Upon release she’d had to deal with her mother, who in all her well-meaning, over-protective, over-bearing and just generally hovering nature, pushed her headache to another level.
The level which had her right eye twitching—an action that was added to the still bloodshot look she was sporting in both eyes.
After three hours of Naomi’s picking up this, and moving that, telling her this, warning her about that, and asking her about…
him, she’d finally left. And Victoria had breathed a sigh of relief.
Her living room window had been fixed by the time she arrived home.
She hadn’t asked why or by whom, because she knew.
But she was too tired to deal with it. Dinner hadn’t gone well, even though Naomi cooked perfect lasagna each and every time.
Her stomach was having its own issues, separate and apart from the hospital stay and the tear gas.
Finally, when even work held no appeal, Victoria had taken a long bath and was just about to climb into bed to do what, she had no idea. She had a sinking suspicion sleep was also going to be an enemy tonight. Especially when the doorbell rang.
Cursing would seem cliché, so she didn’t bother.
Stomping down the steps to show her irritation would be childish and would most likely jack her headache up to even higher heights.
As she walked to the door déjà vu had her halting and she gritted her teeth—because she couldn’t find anything wrong with that action.
Taking a deep breath and mentally reciting the first line of the twenty-third Psalm, she opened the door.
Then sighed with relief.
And, seconds later, frowned with confusion.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to keep the ire from her tone.
“You keep asking me that,” Ben replied, his mouth lifting in that cocky ass grin that shouldn’t make her nipples harden but did so anyway.
She sighed once more, weary from last night, this morning, tonight… “Because you keep showing up where you don’t belong.”
“I keep showing up where I’m needed.”
The laugh that escaped her sounded more like a nervous chuckle, one that sent slithers of pain to her temple.
“I do not need you, Ben Donovan. For some reason you have this demented belief that you are God’s gift to this world.
You’ve always had it. Some thought you would outgrow it, I knew you never would.
Your kind never does. You’re no longer a part of this case, and yet you show up in my courtroom.
Some insane vandals attack my house and you show up.
Now, I’m trying to go to bed, to get myself together for work tomorrow and you show up again. Why? Just tell me why?”
Ben
He’d stood perfectly still the entire time she talked. Hands pushed into the front pockets of his pants eyes fixed on her.
Everything about her was gorgeous, but there was more.
So much more beyond her physical attributes.
In the eyes that had always intoxicated him, Ben saw fatigue and a little fear.
It was with that in mind that he took a chance and stepped into the doorway, into her personal space.
This could’ve gone horribly wrong if she’d taken this move as aggressive or offensive and struck him for the effort.
But instead, and because he hoped she knew he’d never harm or disrespect her, she tilted her head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.
“Because I can’t stay away from you,” he told her honestly.
Victoria was smart, graduated fourth in their class in law school smart, and she was tenacious and decisive. She had integrity oozing from her pores and unhappiness creeping up her neck to settle—as he presumed from the twitching of her eye—in her temples creating one hell of a tension headache.
“What you’ve done has plagued me for years, Victoria.
I have absolutely no explanation for why I can’t stay away from you or what you’re doing with your life.
None at all. But here’s what I can tell you, I really like looking at you.
And last night when I looked at you lying on that gurney, blood freckling your face, I wanted to kill someone.
That makes me believe that my fixation with you has taken a really big step, one I can no longer ignore. ”
She shook her head. “I know you realize how stalkerish and unstable that sounds.”
It was Ben’s turn to laugh and since she had yet to tell him to get out of her house, he closed her front door and secured the locks. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, an unstable stalker isn’t one of them, but I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.”
“I meant what I said,” she told him, “I don’t need you here.”
“Humor me then. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
Folding her arms over her chest she looked at him with impatience. “I’m fine.”
He wouldn’t argue that, she looked good as hell, even after all she’d been through. But he was certain that wasn’t what she meant. “You’re tired,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes, I am. That’s why I was about to go to bed.”
“Have you had dinner?” he asked, hating the faint trace of desperation in his tone. He wasn’t ready to leave her. Wasn’t ready to be away from her again. Was that selfish? Hell, fuckin’ yeah, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“I tried but I wasn’t really hungry,” she said without thinking then snapped her lips shut. He almost smiled, but that would have certainly irritated her more.
“You should eat. Taking pain medication on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea.”
“I haven’t taken any pain medication and don’t plan to.”
“Then how do you expect the headache to go away?”
Ben had already walked through her living room and was moving through the dining room when she caught up with him.
Both spaces were decorated in warm blues, browns and beiges, giving him a deeper glimpse into the woman who’d intrigued him for so long.
For all that she was a spitfire in the courtroom and frosty to him on a regular basis, here she aimed for peace.
“I didn’t tell you I had a headache and where are you going? This is my house, Ben. You don’t rule here.”
“No, I don’t,” he told her. “And believe me the last thing I would do is try to rule over you. I’m just trying to help so it would be nice if you decided to relax and let me do that.”
“People allow help when they need it and…”
“I know, you don’t need me,” he finished. “Again, I’ll ask that you just humor me. Maybe I’m the one who can’t sleep until I know for sure you’re okay. So, if I can feed you, medicate you and tuck you safely into bed, maybe I’ll feel better and I can go home and get some rest.”
She tapped her foot on the floor, in her fluffy white slippers.
He noticed, not for the first time, that she wore a purple nightshirt that skimmed her knees and nothing else.
When she’d first answered the door, he’d taken in her full attire—namely, the amount of buttery-smooth skin that was left on display from the short nightshirt.
He’d told himself, once again, to stay focused.
Now, his body was threatening to overrule his brain as desire pumped through his veins.
“If I eat and take an aspirin will that be enough to appease this guilt trip you seem to be on?”
Inwardly Ben smiled. It wasn’t easy for her to give in. Later he’d give himself a point for achieving that magnificent feat. Right now, he sensed it was more to get him out of her hair as soon as possible than anything else.
Giving credit where it was due, she was absolutely right about one thing. He was guilty. So guilty he’d almost choked on it all day while he’d tried convincing himself that coming to see her was a very bad idea.
“You cooked?” he asked after he’d moved into the kitchen to see a dish of something wrapped in foil on top of the stove.
“I forgot to put that away. She would have a fit if she saw that,” Victoria said.
“ ‘She’ meaning your mother, I presume?” Her kitchen was small compared to his, but definitely homey with its warm beige walls and friendly yellow curtains.
There was an island in its center, with a vase full of fresh flowers, a stack of cloth napkins and two placemats that matched the checkered pattern of the curtains.
Victoria nodded. “She loves to cook. Lasagna’s her specialty.”
Lifting the foil from the dish and inhaling deeply, Ben replied, “And it appears she does a great job. How about I heat up a bowl for both of us?”
While he was salivating over the lasagna she’d already moved to the cabinets—light oak polished until they practically gleamed—and had two plates in her hand as she looked over her shoulder at him. “Right, because both of us need to eat to ensure that I’m alright.”
Ben shrugged, not in the least bit offended by being caught. “My mother always told me never let a woman eat alone.”
She smiled.
And the tense atmosphere that he’d walked into dissipated.
Hell, every worry, every thought disappeared from his mind.
Nothing was as important as her smile. Her comfort.
Her satisfaction. The way his heart warmed at that thought and threatened to thump right out of his chest was something he’d have to examine later.
Victoria
“So, you’re a Mama’s Boy?” she asked while she sat back in the chair watching him devour his second helping of lasagna.