Cinderella's Sweet-Talking Marine Page 7

  He wasn’t sure how to answer that question so he said nothing. Besides, he’d rather look at her than talk. Well, actually, he’d rather kiss her than look at or talk to her. But he’d agreed not to do that again.

  “You promised me that you weren’t going to make any trouble.” She paused as she realized that he was staring at her lips as if fascinated by them. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong with my face?”

  “Not a single thing.” His voice had gone all husky. “Your face is perfect.”

  “Then why are you looking at me so strangely?”

  “Define strangely.”

  Doing that would mean focusing on him and she was trying to avoid doing that. Because he looked entirely too good for her peace of mind. She should be used to his appearance by now. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt she’d seen before. Nothing special. It’s not as if he’d turned up in dress blues or something. He just looked good. Better than good. Awesome, really. She got a buzz just seeing him.

  Don’t go there, she warned herself. He’s deliberately trying to provoke you. You survived Amy as a crabby two-year-old, a stubborn three-year-old, an inquisitive four-year-old. You can handle one sexy Marine.

  That was the problem. She oh, so much wanted to handle this Marine. She wanted to run her hands up his chest, to feel his thundering heartbeat beneath her fingertips. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to experience the thrusting sensuality of his tongue mating with hers, of his body surging into hers.

  Oh, my!

  It had to be hormones. Out of whack, I-need-sex hormones. She’d just finished her period two days ago, maybe that’s where these sudden X-rated thoughts were coming from.

  That had to be it. Not because she had feelings for Ben. That wasn’t an option.

  “Define strangely,” Ben repeated, moving a little closer. “Tell me how I was looking at you?”

  He was deliberately pushing her buttons. Did he think she’d submissively back off? Or melt in his arms? Not her.

  “Listen, buddy, this seduction routine is not going to work with me.” She jabbed her finger at his chest for good measure, ignoring the jolt of awareness that brief contact created. “And you want to know why?”

  “I’m dying to know why.”

  He said it as if he was dying to kiss her. She didn’t even know how he managed to do that, convey that thought to her without saying it.

  “Because I don’t play games.”

  “You played miniature golf the other day. And I seem to recall you beating the pants off me the other night in a fierce game of Candy Land.”

  She got distracted for a moment or two by the visual image of Ben with his pants off.

  “Don’t be mad.”

  Darn it, he was using that voice, the one that would melt steel.

  She tried to be strong, tried to hang on to anger even though it had already petered down to mere aggravation. “Then don’t be impossible.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. “What makes me impossible?”

  “I hardly know where to begin.” If he thought he was charming his way out of this one, he was mistaken.

  “Would it help if I said I was sorry?”

  “Only if you really mean it.”

  “I’ve never had anyone doubt my sincerity as much as you do.”

  “I don’t trust easily,” she admitted.

  “I realize that.” He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Which is why I’m working very hard to earn your trust.”

  Ellie leaned closer. He was no longer touching her but he was drawing her in with his presence, tempting her to make the first move, to give in to the emotions and desires racing through her body. It was as if an invisible cord tied them together, binding her heart to his.

  Her gaze flew to his. She had no trouble reading his thoughts. He wanted her. The fire she saw smoldering in his light hazel eyes confirmed that fact. She was so close now that she could see how dark his eyelashes were. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

  Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips. Her heart stopped, her mind went blank. She was totally immersed in Ben—consumed by the spicy smell of the soap he used, by the feel of his breath on her skin. Mere inches separated them when the sound of a car backfiring nearby made her jump, interrupting the magical spell he’d woven around her.

  “I…I…I have to get back to work.” She turned to go back inside.

  “Wait.” His hand on her bare arm rekindled the fire within her. “I think we need to talk.”

  She shook her head. “Not here. Not now.”

  “Then when?”

  “I work until midnight.”

  “Tomorrow then. Are you off during the day?”

  “Yes, but I’ll be busy all day.”

  “Doing what?”

  It was none if his business but she didn’t have the time to argue with him. “Cleaning the apartment.”

  He waved his hand as if dismissing her words. “I’ll see you at your place.”

  He was gone before she could protest. Not that it would have done much good. Ben had the unmistakable air of a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t letting anyone stand in his way of getting it.

  Ellie was vacuuming, moving the multi-filtered machine over the hardwood floors to the beat of a Madonna song being played on the portable radio, and almost didn’t hear the sound of the doorbell.

  She opened the door to find Ben standing there. He held out a bag filled with cleaning materials. “I’ve come to help you.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but…”

  “That was not a yes or no question. It was a statement.”

  “So the Marine has spoken, is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  She decided to call his bluff. “Okay, fine. Come on in. You can work in the kitchen.” Surely a macho guy like him would have a problem accepting that assignment.

  But no, he dug right in. And he was thorough, too, not just half-heartedly wiping a cloth over the counters and stove but cleaning behind the canisters and removing the liners from around the burners.

  As she finished dusting the living room she was aware of the heated looks Ben was sending her way. She was wearing an old pair of denim cutoffs and a faded blue T-shirt from Granny’s Pancake House, hardly sexy attire, although the frayed cutoffs were a little on the short side. Especially when she’d bend over. She tried not to do that.

  “Nice T-shirt,” he noted.

  She checked his expression to see if he was mocking her. But he appeared to be sincere. Or maybe he was just trying to make conversation. She couldn’t fault him for that. “It’s from my former place of employment.”

  “Must have been quite a jump going from Granny’s Pancake House to a place like Al’s.”

  “I’ve survived worse. Granny Baxter, she’s the one who ran Granny’s, she took it hard. Having to close her business after forty years. But times are hard and business was down, so she had to do what she had to do. She wasn’t real pleased that the only place I could find a job was at Al’s. She claimed that JayJay was a few pancakes short of a stack. It was one of her favorite insults. Anyway, she and her husband moved down to southern Georgia to retire. I got a postcard from them the other week.” Ellie pointed to the front of her fridge, which was decorated with two of Amy’s drawings.

  “Where is Lady Amy?” Ben asked, before wiping the outside of the fridge, including the top which was always hard for her to reach.

  “She’s at a friend’s house. It’s best to have her out of the apartment while I’m cleaning so that she doesn’t breathe in any of the dust I may be stirring up. It’s bad for her asthma.”

  “It’s my understanding that asthma can be managed.”

  “It can be if you have the right physician and other medical support people all working together and not against you. And if you find the right treatment program for each individual. Amy has an inhaler and she knows how to use it. I make sure that wherever she is, at Fren
chie’s next door or at a playmate’s house, that they have information about her treatment as well as contact numbers for me and for Amy’s doctor.”

  “I also read that there are certain triggers that can set off an asthma attack.”

  “That’s right. Last year Amy was begging to have a kitten but with her condition the doctor said it isn’t a good idea.”

  “Tell me what to look for so that I’ll know if she’s having an attack.”

  “Difficulty breathing, coughing, wheezing.”

  Ben nodded, the look on his face serious. “Yeah, that’s what I read online but I just wanted to make sure that there wasn’t something different I should look for in Amy’s case.”

  “You read up on asthma?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “It’s just that Perry had no interest in the disease.”

  His expression darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m nothing like your sleazebag ex-husband?”

  “He wasn’t always a sleazebag.” Otherwise how stupid was she to have married someone with absolutely no redeeming qualities. That had always been the problem. Perry had just enough charm to draw you in and make you hope.

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him after the way he’s treated you and Amy.”

  “He never mistreated me, never hit me or Amy. He can be very charming when he wants to be.”

  “When he wants something, you mean.”

  “There were times when he was very good with Amy, when she was a little baby. Maybe I should have done more to ensure that he’d be a better father.” That’s where Ellie’s real guilt lay. Maybe if she’d been a better wife, if she’d been more tolerant, if she’d done more…

  “Like what? What could you have done? Especially since he’s apparently disappeared without letting you know where he is.”

  “I don’t know.” Ellie drifted into the kitchen to join Ben. “It’s just that I see how much Amy hangs on your every word…”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “That is pretty outstanding, isn’t it.”

  “It makes me realize how much she’s missed having a father, having that kind of male influence in her life. She had my brother but now he’s gone too.”

  “John talked about you all the time, you know.” Ben’s voice was quiet. “He was always bragging about his smart sister and his cute niece.”

  “And I was always bragging about my brother the Marine. I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Her voice was unsteady.

  “I know.” Ben cupped her cheek with his hand. “It’s real tough.”

  She nodded and stepped away. Talking about her brother revealed more of her vulnerabilities than she wanted. Time to change the subject. She opened the fridge, welcoming the blast of cold air against her hot face. “Would you like something cold to drink?”

  She didn’t realize Ben was standing right behind her until he reached around her for a soda from the top shelf. Momentarily distracted by the warmth of his body pressed against hers, she didn’t say anything until it was too late.

  A spray of soda hit him in the chest the moment he pulled the tab top on the can. She barely jumped out of the way in time to avoid getting splattered herself.

  “I usually prefer drinking my soda rather than bathing in it,” he noted dryly. Setting down the still foaming can in the sink, he then peeled off his soaked T-shirt, yanking it over his head and then dropping it into the sink.

  “I’m sorry about that.” She dabbed at his bare chest with a paper towel, her fingers brushing against his muscular flesh. “I meant to warn you that Amy was playing with that soda can before putting it in the fridge. That’s why I put it aside from the others. We went to the grocery store earlier today…”

  “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay to be feeling what she was feeling when she touched him.

  Yet she didn’t seem to be able to step away. Not yet. Her hands remained poised on his warm skin, her fingers splayed. His heart beat beneath her open palm.

  Her gaze lifted to his. Standing this close, she could see the flecks of green in his light hazel eyes. She also saw the faint scar running along the right side of his jaw. “How did you get this?” She ran her fingertips along his skin, noting the seductive friction caused by the roughness of his morning’s growth of beard, the shadowy stubble barely making an appearance on his face but adding a slightly dangerous element to his appearance.

  “I fell when I was sixteen. Hit my jaw on the edge of a table and needed twenty stitches.”

  “You must have fallen pretty hard.”

  “A bad habit of mine,” he murmured huskily, lifting a strand of her hair between his fingers and rubbing it as if enjoying the silky feel. “I don’t fall often, but when I do, I fall hard.”

  He was a master of saying one thing and possibly meaning another. “So do you have any scars elsewhere?”

  “Not that show.”

  Yeah, Ellie knew how that was. Knew that some scars were carried inside. They healed, but they never really disappeared. You worked around them.

  Her gaze wandered to the bulldog tattoo on his upper arm. “Did that hurt when you had it done?”

  He shook his head.

  Her eyes returned to his face, to the intensity of his eyes, to the almost brooding way he was looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He stepped away from her. “I’m fine.”

  She had the feeling that he wasn’t, but she had no idea how to get him to open up to her. There were times when she’d catch a glimmer of a painful darkness in his eyes at odds with his usually upbeat nature and she’d wonder…who or what had hurt him so much that he had to hide his pain so deeply? Did it have something to do with her brother or was it something or someone else?

  She shouldn’t care so much. She should leave well enough alone and keep her distance. That would be the wise thing to do.

  It would also be wise to focus on the matter at hand. Him half-naked in her kitchen.

  “Doing the laundry is next on the list, so you might as well add your T-shirt to the basket.” She pointed to several very large baskets near the front door.

  “What is Raboo doing in the laundry?” Ben asked, holding Amy’s favorite stuffed animal up.

  “Raboo gets washed every week.”

  “Which explains his rather well-worn look.”

  “Washing in very hot water kills dust mites, one of Amy’s triggers. That’s why I keep the apartment the way I do—clean and uncluttered. It’s why I don’t have toys just sitting out on the shelves in her room, why there aren’t any pictures on the walls, why I use shades instead of blinds or drapes and why I have that expensive air filter always going in her room.”

  “Sounds like a lot of extra work.”

  “Amy is worth it.” Ellie picked up one of the baskets.

  “Of course she is.” He picked up two of the others. “Where are we going with this stuff?”

  “To the Laundromat down the street.”

  Ben insisted they go in his black Bronco. He took the second basket from her and put it in the back seat before holding the passenger door open for her. He always made a point of doing things like that—helping her on with her jacket, holding the chair out for her at a restaurant, waiting until she sat down before sitting down himself. Taking care of her as he was now, by running up to her second-story apartment to get the remaining laundry basket.

  To prevent herself from staring at him, she looked at her car, sitting forlornly in the neighboring parking space.

  When Ben joined her, she said, “Tiny is starting to get the impression you don’t like her.” She opened the window. It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining and the wisteria was blooming along the chain link fence beside the parking lot.

  Spring was pollen season, which meant that Ellie kept the apartment and car windows closed for Amy’s sake. They’d been lucky that day they’d played miniature golf, because a front had moved in and the pollen levels were
very low that week.

  Ben backed up the Bronco. “And Tiny is?”

  “My car.”

  His gaze shifted momentarily from the rearview mirror to her. “You name your car?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Not when their car looks as pathetic as yours does.”

  “Hey, looks aren’t everything.”

  “That’s true.” He carefully drove around a pair of potholes near the parking lot entrance. “The problem is that the car doesn’t run very well either.”

  “I just haven’t had time to change the oil and give her a tune up.”

  “Where did you learn to do that stuff?”

  “My brother taught me. He said I was the worst student he’d ever had because I refused to remember all the parts and their names. But somehow I get the job done, even if I refer to certain automotive items as whatchamacallits and thingies instead of belts and spark plugs.”

  “Which just goes to prove that a thingie by any other name is still…”

  “A spark plug.”

  They shared a grin. It struck her how good it was to be this way with him—to tease and talk, to relax. Not easy to do given the fact that he was still minus his T-shirt.

  He had one of those washboard stomachs that Cyn was always going on about on some of the cover models of her favorite romance novels. And a nice six-pack. The ab muscles. But he didn’t have the kind of body building physique that was over the top.

  As they said in the classic Goldilocks and the Three Bears story, he was just right.

  They pulled in front of the Laundromat a moment later, interrupting her appreciation of his body and his company. He’d piled two heavy baskets on top of one another and carried them in before she’d taken one out of the back seat. “You go on and take care of the stuff that’s already inside.”

  He took that basket from her and still managed to hold the door open for her.

  “You can’t come in here!” The offended comment came from Mr. Drysdale who ran the Laundromat. He stared at Ben and then pointed to the sign on the wall—No Shirt, No Service.

  “He just spilled something on his T-shirt,” Ellie explained. “We’re going to wash it…”