25. Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Benjamin
T he bowl Benjamin dried slipped from his fingers and slapped into the washbasin on the counter. He yelped, jumping back as a splash of water drenched the front of his shirt. He turned to the off-key caterwauling behind him.
Francesca twirled and swerved her hips as she sang the chorus from “Poison”, the song he’d been murmuring while he washed. A laughing grin pulled hard at her rosy cheeks. He watched, mesmerized, as she lifted her arms languidly above her head and let her eyes drift closed while she swayed. Transfixed by her apparent witchcraft, his feet danced him forward until their hips met in a rhythmic cadence. He slid his hands down her ribcage and settled them on her rocking hips. Lavender and eucalyptus invaded his senses as her hair tumbled around her shoulders, shimmying with each wiggle.
More lyrics popped out of his mouth to match hers as they dueted and danced like fools. The performance wouldn’t have won them any awards. But something about letting go—completely abandoning his give-a-damn—swept Benjamin up in a heady thrill. He leaned into it until the last few lyrics echoed off the cabin walls.
Breath heavy, chests rising and falling in unison, the song faded from their lips. Benjamin squeezed, thumbs pressing divots into the silky flesh just below Francesca’s shirt. The light in her liquid gold eyes dimmed, becoming darker, more intoxicating. The soft femininity of her molded seamlessly against the hard masculinity of his tense body. He’d lost all rationality when he’d sauntered over, began dancing with her, and refused to allow sensibility to return—not yet, anyway.
Instead, he leaned down, and the moment his lips touched hers, she melted against him. She emitted a tiny groan and entangled her fingers in his shirt, pulling him closer. He ran the tip of his tongue along her bottom lip, and she opened to him. Submitting, offering. He happily accepted, plunging his tongue into her hot little mouth. He gripped a fistful of wild hair, positioning her just so to gain the exquisite access he’d been craving for months.
She was perfection. He could have devoured her until the sun set and rose again on them the next morning had she not pressed a hand gently to his chest.
“Wait,” she managed to say as he untangled his lips from hers. “This is . . . we should . . . just give me a minute to think.”
“Of course.” Her palm remained against his sternum as his heart continued to wail against it. Loosening his grip on her hair, he toyed with a strand at the base of her scalp. She shivered in response. Oh, the delight he could inflict on her.
“A mistake,” she sighed. “We . . . we’re in this wild and dangerous situation and . . . and it’s only natural that we are at a heightened state of . . . of . . .”
“Arousal,” he offered huskily.
Francesca swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. It’s just like what Jon and Lucy went through. Shared trauma leads to attraction and then comes the bad decisions.”
“I highly doubt they view their decisions as bad. They’re getting married this weekend after all.” He chuckled, eyes flitting across her swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
“Is that a proposal?” she snorted .
“Ha!” He choked a little as a tightness clenched in his chest. “Not if we were the last two people on Earth.”
“Ouch.” She stepped back. His arms fell to his sides. “I was joking. You didn’t have to sound so disgusted.”
“It’s not personal, Francesca,” he huffed. He rammed a hand through his messy hair. “Marriage is the most asinine institution ever created. It has the capability to destroy people. I refuse to enter into that kind of arrangement with anyone, let alone with you .”
“Woah. First of all,” she began, ticking off each finger, “there’s so much in that box to unpack that I won’t be touching it with a ten-foot pole. Second of all, I’m a damn catch, you snobby elitist. Thirdly, can we calm the fuck down for a minute and reset? I was making a joke . You’ve heard of those, right? Something silly you say for the fun of it. Fourth—”
“You’re going to run out of fingers soon.” See, he could joke too.
If she heard him, she didn’t let on that she had. “We got carried away—understatement of the century—and the day got to us. All the stress bubbled over and caused us to make out a little. No biggie. Water under the bridge, or whatever.”
Benjamin scrubbed a hand down his face, suddenly feeling very tired. With growing shadows in the tiny cabin, he could barely read Francesca’s face, but he knew he’d hurt her feelings. That was the last thing he wanted, but the idea of marriage was a sore subject, especially with how things turned out for his mother when she divorced his father.
He’d let loose and the moment got away from him. If he’d been paying more attention and practiced a little self-control, it never would have happened.
He also never would have learned how well her curves molded against him, like they were built from the same lump of clay .
He shook his head.
“You’re right. I apologize if I was rude. Let’s move past it.” He held out his hand. Why was he trying to give her a handshake? What was that? But he held firm, arm remaining extended.
Her scowly smirk announced loudly that she also thought the gesture foolish and slapped her palm against his in a low-five. “It’s been decided.”
“Good,” he replied gruffly, turning to finish his earlier chore. His damp shirt stuck uncomfortably to his belly. He pinched the fabric away from his skin only to have it slap back and cling. Wet clothes were the worst. He considered removing it to dry by the stove then dissolved the notion as quickly as it appeared. He’d hate to add more to the awkwardness he’d already created by playing along with Francesca’s little dance party. The shirt would dry on its own.
“Do you play cribbage?” A warm light illuminated from where Francesca struck a match and ignited a hurricane oil lantern.
“I know how to play.”
But haven’t played since my father left my mother to rot in her own destitution.
“Great,” she chirped. “I play muggins, so you’d better prepare yourself.”
“Francesca,” he began, drying the last dish and replacing the stack in the cabinet. He turned and spotted her glowing, hopeful smile. It had to have been one of the few genuine display of joy that he’d ever seen on her. The reconciliation of that—especially since they’d known each other for months—twisted the guilt dial up to eleven.
“Don’t say no. Please? I need something to do that’ll shut my brain off. Usually, I reread your posted lectures. They’re so boring that they power me down like a robot with an off switch. ”
The guilt dial reversed to a solid eight.
“My lectures aren’t meant to be riveting. Their purpose is to inform.” He scowled. “And I’ll have you know—”
“Chill, professor. I’m only teasing.” She removed the playing cards from the pack and shuffled them expertly. “About the lectures, I mean. I’d never choose to read them. I meant what I said about needing something to turn my brain off at night.”
“Well, what do you normally do to wind down at the end of a day?”
Benjamin thought he spied a flush creep up her neck and his brain went wild at the implication.
“Fine.” Perhaps he could use a distraction as well. He settled into the chair opposite her and arched a brow as she dealt. “Shouldn’t we cut to see who goes first?”
“I found the game, so I get the privilege.” She winked gamely and all Benjamin could do was shrug. “Ready to get spanked?”
“Oh, Francesca,” he crooned as he picked up his cards and deposited two in her crib. “You’ll soon learn that I’m always the one doing the spanking.”