Chapter 15 #2
The rooms at this guesthouse are cozy and well kept, all designed with a sliding glass door that opens to a wooden deck encircling a sunken hot tub in the center.
The view of the glacier in the not-so-far distance fades in the dusky light, and fairy lights are strung overhead between wooden privacy barriers separating us from our neighbors, making this the ultimate cozy spot for a little Icelandic romance.
Again, a really terrible idea.
Ben pours a glass of wine from the bottle he purchased from the restaurant before we left, and his fingers brush mine when he passes it to me. I take a long sip.
His eyes stay on me as I swallow. “You’re nervous.”
“I am.”
“Nervous enough that you regret asking me to come here?”
“No.” Taking my glass with me, I exit through the sliding door.
The Icelandic winds lift steam from the bubbling water and send it whipping around me as I step out onto the deck.
Ben joins me a moment later with two plush hotel robes that he places over a patio chair off to the side.
He strips off his T-shirt, and I let my eyes freely roam the grooves of his abdomen, the defined muscles of his chest, the intricate black camera tattoo on his inner biceps. God, he’s gorgeous.
His golden brown hair falls over his forehead as he steps down into the swirling water and then casts a look back over his shoulder and asks, “You coming?” with a devilish twist of his lips.
Fuck, this is a very, very terrible idea.
“Right behind you.”
I set my wine—which I definitely don’t need and, ironically, also definitely do—on the deck within arm’s reach of the hot tub and then tug my shirt overhead.
Cold air hits the exposed portions of my torso and creates pebbles across my skin.
Or maybe it has nothing to do with the cold at all.
Maybe it’s because Ben’s green eyes darken as they drink me in from head to toe.
If I felt self-conscious in this silky, thin material in the bathroom, it’s impossible to feel anything other than sexy and desired with the way he looks at me now.
When he realizes I’ve caught him staring, he shrugs a shoulder like it just couldn’t be helped. “Here, let me help you,” he says, extending a hand for me to grasp as I step down into the water and take a seat across from him, our fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary before letting go.
“Oh god,” I moan, sinking to my shoulders, my tense, achy muscles relaxing all at once. “This hot tub may be the best thing that’s ever happened to my body.”
“Really?” Ben questions, a spark flaring in his eyes. “The best thing?”
We both know what he’s referencing. The nights he used to slip between my sheets after everyone else was asleep. The way we’d kiss until we were both desperate for more, our touches pushing the boundaries further and further as we explored each other’s bodies in brand-new ways.
“Ems?”
Sucking in a sharp breath, I pull my mind back to the present before I start to unravel. Unfortunately for me, this current setup does nothing to tame my lascivious thoughts.
“Yeah?” My too-shrill voice betrays me.
“You okay over there?”
“Mmmhmm. No worries.”
Ben reaches for my wineglass and lifts it to his lips, and there’s something practically obscene about the way his mouth covers the pink imprint left behind from my lip gloss as he swallows half of my prosecco. I’m suddenly aching between my thighs.
Setting the glass back down, Ben winces as he extends his arm, then grasps his shoulder with the opposite hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, concern momentarily overtaking arousal. “Are you hurt?”
“Not hurt. Shoulder’s just sore.” He presses his fingertips into the rounded muscle, rotating his shoulder backward. “I told you that you weren’t the only one getting beaten up by this trip.”
I’m not sure if it’s the memories of those heated nights years ago, or if it’s the incredibly sexy, wet version of Ben staring back at me through the rising steam, or if it’s the wine, or this swimsuit, or the conversation with Jacklyn.
But for none of those reasons or all of them, I say, “Come here.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Are you…” He swallows again. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
No. “Yeah. Let me help you for a change. I’ll rub your shoulder.”
He eyes me, skeptical, but then makes his way over to my side of the hot tub.
I take hold of his arm and gently pull him down to me, spreading my thighs so he can sit between them on the acrylic seat, both of us facing the picturesque view as the sun forfeits its battle and falls below the horizon for the night.
When I have Ben where I want him, it’s like a gift, my fingers desperate to slide over his slick skin, to relearn their way around the curves of his shoulders, the dips and planes of his back.
The moment my skin makes contact with his is an electric shock, and I think Ben feels it, too, because his spine stiffens right before my eyes.
With my left hand on one shoulder, I press the palm of my right to the back of his neck, applying pressure in a smooth downward stroke over the opposite shoulder.
“Christ, Ems.” His head lulls to the side to provide me better access. “That feels amazing.”
It’s amazing for me, too, having Ben this close, getting to explore his body with my hands again, and unlike during the power outage, this time I get to watch as I do.
He’s the same as before in so many ways: his teasing smiles, his kind, unfairly gorgeous eyes, his expressions I can read like a book.
But his body is different, his muscles rounder and fuller, his shoulders broader, the weight of him more substantial.
I wonder what that weight would feel like on top of me, pressing me into a mattress.
I repeat the movement several times on each side of his neck, then sink my fingers into both shoulders simultaneously, massaging away the knotted tension.
As I forge deeper into this dangerous predicament I’ve created, the heat in my core winds tighter and tighter with each stroke of my hands, and I suddenly want him so badly it’s hard to breathe.
Maybe when I put Jacklyn’s swimsuit on tonight I inherited her personality.
That’s the only reasoning I have for why I stop massaging Ben in any kind of therapeutic way, my fingertip trailing lower and tracing my name across his shoulder blades.
Then both hands disappear under the surface of the water as I gently scrape my nails down his lower back.
At his sharp inhale, I whisper next to his ear, “Is this okay?”
Ben leans to the side to gaze over his shoulder at me.
My eyes fall to his lips, so close to mine it would take only the smallest movement to press my mouth to his and be kissing him again like we did in that ravine.
The kiss I can’t get out of my head no matter how hard I try.
The thought alone sends my pulse skyrocketing.
“You tell me,” Ben challenges. “I’m not the one that said we’re just colleagues, and I’m not the one who won’t even talk about it.”
He’s right of course. I’m hurling so many mixed signals his way this might as well be a game of dodgeball.
But level-headed, reasonable Mona Miller who makes safe decisions above all else feels a million miles away tonight.
Right now, I want to be a little careless.
I want to do what feels good without thinking of all the reasons that I shouldn’t. And dear god, does Ben feel good.
My arms slide around his waist, hands spreading over his toned stomach. His breaths turn deeper under my touch, then his hands grip onto my outer thighs.
“Maybe I still don’t want to talk about it,” I breathe. “Maybe I want to act on it.”
Seriously, who is this person who has overtaken my body?
I’ve never been this forward in my life.
If this newfound gumption is the work of Jacklyn’s swimsuit, I’m never taking it off.
I’ll wear it to the office underneath my clothes every day.
I’ll finally have the courage to yank Shirley’s cigarette out of her mouth and stub it out on her desk.
I’ll call Calvin Cal right to his face as I tell him to find someone else to plan Shirley’s umpteenth goddamn office celebration. The possibilities are endless.
Ben’s gaze burns into mine, the air between us sparking.
“Your turn,” he says, surprising me as he loops an arm around my waist and dexterously pulls me in front of him so that his inner thighs frame my outer ones.
Gripping my shoulders, he begins to caress my achy muscles, soothing out the knots under my skin.
Silence falls over us while he does glorious things to me with those talented hands of his, and my back arches like a bow as he works his thumbs down each individual notch of my spine.
“This isn’t fair,” I practically pant. “You feel so fucking good, Ben.”
All movement stops, and I realize what I’ve just said aloud.
But there isn’t time to think about it.
Ben’s hand slides around my throat as he frames my jaw between thumb and index finger and tilts my head back. His chest presses against my shoulder blades. “Do you have any idea what this is doing to me right now?” he whispers, gritty.
The soft press of his lips on the back of my neck comes the next instant, and the growing want that’s been building and building crashes over me like a tsunami wave.
I don’t stand a single goddamn chance. Goose bumps rise along my skin, nipples tightening against my thin, wet suit.
And when his lips part and his tongue sweeps over me, followed by the gentle bite of his teeth, I whimper as my head falls to the side.
Hand sliding from my throat, over my sternum, and lower, Ben grips my hips and pulls me back against him until I feel his erection press against the curve of my ass.