Mustard on Top (20 page)

Ben’s eyes flew open. Jeremy had contorted his body in order to face him. Oddly, the gesture ingratiated him to Ben.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Ben said. “We’ve both been hiding. You behind heroin and me behind my job. What drives you to do it?” Ben asked.

Jeremy drew in a ragged breath, his body shaking from the effort. He closed his eyes and turned away. Ben waited as Jeremy’s breathing grew deep and his trembling slowed. Ben was thankful. The man would suffer less asleep.

Not wanting to wake Jeremy, Ben crept upstairs. He tried again to work, but worry over Jeremy and Helen distracted him. It had been hours since Helen had left. Frustrated and concerned, Ben researched Seth on the Internet.

Aside from the TV series that had cemented Seth’s fame, he’d been in a few movies before a bloody attack on a fellow actor had been caught on film. The actor never filed charges, but Seth’s reputation as a hothead had gotten him blacklisted. Afterward, Seth moved back to Nalley, bought a mini-mansion overlooking the water and settled into his role as Nalley royalty.

When the front door opened, Ben rushed to the living room. Helen had her back to him and as she took off her jacket. Her long, dark hair tumbled into a shiny, beautiful mess. An unbidden image of her silken locks gliding over his skin gave way to Ben’s arousal. The effect unnerved him.

She turned. “How’d things go this morning?”

“With Jeremy?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“He’s miserable. I got him to drink a little at least. How was your jump?”

Helen scrunched up her face. “More than I bargained for. At least it’s over, and we’re still alive.”

“What happened?”

“We had an equipment malfunction.”

Even though she stood before him vibrant and healthy, Ben’s heart raced, and his anger toward Seth surged. “What happened?”

“One of the parachutes didn’t open correctly. Seth had to cut it free before he could launch the second one.”

“I’m going to murder him.”

“Murder him?” Annoyance flashed across Helen’s face. “He saved our lives.”

“He packed the parachutes didn’t he? Knowing him, he packed it wrong on purpose.”

“Oh, come on. I can’t imagine anyone doing that.”

“You don’t think anyone is capable of being devious.”

Helen scowled. “I’m going to check on Jeremy, then go over and see what’s happening with Agatha.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Going where?”

“Everywhere.”

Helen eyes flashed anger. “I don’t need that.”

Ben blew out a breath. Her near death made him protective. “I know.”

Helen passed by him and went into the kitchen. Like a puppy, he followed and watched as she gathered crackers, granola, and milk.

“Jeremy’s fine. You don’t need—”

“I have to see him for myself. When I visit Agatha, she’s going to ask.”

Ben trailed Helen downstairs where Jeremy still slept. The basement reeked of vomit and diarrhea. Helen frowned, set the food by his face, and whispered, “Why’s he in the bathroom?”

“It’s easier.”

Ben accompanied Helen back up the stairs and to the front door.

“Seriously Ben. Stop following me.”

Ben sighed. “Sorry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He watched her walk to Agatha’s door and knock. No one answered. Helen peered through the windows then jogged toward the rear. Ben hurried through Helen’s house, and observed her from the back door. She checked the garage windows. Her features were pinched in consternation as she returned to the back porch.

“Agatha’s not home?” Ben asked.

“She could be at the store or something.” Helen’s mouth screwed up, and she scanned her yard as if Agatha might be hiding behind one of her bushes. “She’s involved with quite a few organizations.”

Ben stepped outside. “It’ll be okay.” He touched her shoulder.

She turned toward him, and for a moment he thought, hoped anyway, she would lean in for a hug. Instead, she said, “I better get to work.”

“Is it that time already?”

“I’m going in early, I’m betting we will be slammed again. Will you call me at Hot Diggitys when Agatha gets back?” Helen asked.

“Of course.”

****

They were well on their way to setting a new sales record when Ben called two hours later to report Agatha had come home. The news boosted Helen’s ailing spirits.

Although the DerFoodle Dogs were padding her bank account, Helen had decided to pull them from the menu as soon as her inventory ran out. She wouldn’t peddle aphrodisiac hot dogs to an unsuspecting public. Minutes ticked off like seconds, and soon the sun was setting. When Ben arrived thirty minutes after closing to pick her up, a few customers still lingered.

Ben let himself in and began wiping down the counters. Once the last customer left, she touched his arm to get his attention. “How’s Jeremy?”

“About the same.”

“Poor guy.”

“He should feel better by morning,” Ben said.

“I hope so. Thanks again for calling me about Agatha. You put my mind at ease.”

Ben frowned and Helen’s shackles went up. “What happened?”

Ben glanced over her shoulder at one of her employees who was cleaning the hot dog maker. “We’ll talk later.”

“Tell me now.”

Ben pursed his lips then said, “Moe came by to pick her up around six in a Lincoln Town car with a chauffeur.”

“Ugh. I want this to be over.”

“I agree.”

“I sure hope Agatha knows what she’s doing.”

“Have you talked to Theo? I haven’t seen him today,” Ben asked.

Helen wondered whether Ben knew Emma planned to move to New York and that Theo was upset. “He stopped by today. He seems fine.” She stretched the truth. In reality, his normally buoyant disposition had been deflated.

“Did you take your insulin today?”

“Oh jeez.” Helen walked to the register. She didn’t need a babysitter. Besides, she
usually
remembered, she just had a lot going on.

“When we get home, you take your shot,” Ben admonished.

She had no idea how he’d guessed she’d forgotten. “I will. I will,” she said testily.

****

Back home, Helen took her insulin shot before returning to the living room and flopping onto the love seat. Across from her, Ben sat in the chair typing on his laptop. He was and had always been striking, but her attraction to him was more than physical, he had brains and a commanding presence.

The premature streaks of gray in his hair gave him an added maturity. She could envision him pacing in a courtroom, enchanting jurors. Ben’s jaw clenched, he stopped typing, and looked up. Abashed, Helen glanced away until he began typing again. Abruptly, he snapped his laptop shut and leveled a questioning gaze at her.

Helen asked, “What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“I was? My mind was elsewhere,” she lied.

Ben frowned. “What were you thinking?”

“How many hours a week do you spend in the gym?” Helen asked.

Ben straightened his posture. “That’s what you were thinking?”

Helen didn’t know why his near perfection bothered her. “How many?”

“There’s a gym in my office building,” Ben said.

“Fess up.”

“Seven-ish.”

“With a personal trainer I bet.”

“Is that bad?”

Helen sighed. “I guess not. You’re lucky you have the time. I bet you have women falling all over you.” She wasn’t jealous, just curious and wouldn’t have given voice to her thoughts if Ben hadn’t asked.

“It’s because I have no life,” Ben said.

Helen eyed him. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Her feet ached from standing, well, running all day, so she slid off her shoes and rubbed one.

“Let me do that,” Ben said.

“Do what?”

He sat next to her on the love seat. “Give me your foot.”

“Uh.” A foot rub sounded wonderful, yet Ben’s nearness scrambled her neurons. “Not necessary. I’m good.”

“I won’t bite.” Ben got up, slid the chair close, and sat across from her. He reached for her foot, cupped the heel, and drew it into his lap. His warm hand sent tendrils of energy up her leg. He gently squeezed one toe then another. “Is this pressure okay?”

The sensation had a dizzying effect. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to. You deserve it.”

“Okay.” She dragged okay out as if she were conceding. Wrapping his fingers over the top of her foot, Ben pressed his thumbs into the ball of her foot and rhythmically kneaded. Helen rested her head on the arm of the love seat.

His touch, strong yet gentle, sparked her imagination. Surely, he’d be a different lover than eighteen years earlier.
Why am I going there?
She blew out a frustrated breath.

Ben’s hands stopped moving. “You okay?”

Helen’s face flushed when her gaze, of its own volition, lowered to his crotch before returning to his eyes. “Just worn out.”

“Relax. Do you have any massage lotion?”

Helen guffawed. “Oodles of it. No.” Ben’s smile made him appear sad rather than happy, and Helen wished she’d held her tongue. 

“How about hand lotion?”

“Next to the kitchen sink.”

Ben left and returned with the lotion, a bottle of red wine, and two cups. He set them on the coffee table.

“What a nice surprise. Where’d you get the wine?”

“From the grocery store.”

“Oh.” Strange she’d forgotten other people could contribute to her household.

“I couldn’t find any wineglasses.” Ben opened the wine bottle.

“I don’t own any. My life’s been more about pizza and soda pop than wine and hors d’oeuvres.”

Ben handed her a cup. “Does Theo have friends over a lot?”

“He used to, before all his friends…”
Went off to college.
“This house used to be a regular Grand Central Station.” Helen sipped her wine. “This is good.” She couldn’t remember the last glass of wine she’d drunk.

“The wine’s a La Sirena Syrah.”

“French?”

“California.”

“I meant to say that.”

Ben cracked a smile and set his cup on the end table. He picked up the lotion. “Both feet please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

Helen put her feet in his warm lap. Ben squeezed a puddle of lotion onto his hands then rubbed the slick, cool substance into her neglected skin. Her wine glass poise at her mouth, she closed her eyes. “How much would you charge to do this every night?”

“A DerFoodle Dog or two.”

Helen smiled. “You’re cheap.”

“So my clients tell me.”

“Speaking of clients, are things okay with you taking so much time off?”

“Nah, but this trip has forced me to prioritize what’s important.”

“I hope you don’t get in trouble when you get back.” The wine made her a little giddy. “Tomorrow I’m off. I can’t wait to sleep in and relax. Yay.”

“Do you want to do something fun?”

Her automatic protest was slowed by the wine and Ben’s magical fingers. Belatedly she said, “We should finish the roof.”

Methodically, Ben massaged while Helen sipped through her second cup of wine. Her eyelids drooped, and the tension of her day seemed to be escaping through her toes. “So nice,” she whispered.

The next think she knew, Ben was tugging the cup of wine from her hand. Helen, surprised to be awoken, pushed herself upright. “I must have dozed off.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I should—” Helen told herself to get up, but her body had merged with the love seat.

“Shh.” Ben slid his hand across the bottom of her foot, and sleep tugged her back under its spell. She woke with a start to discover Ben carrying her. She wriggled in his arms.

“You’re not—”

“Shh.” He kissed the top of her head. “I got you.”

His muscular arms cradled her, and she was weak from sleep. “I can—”

“We’re almost there.”

They were about to squeeze through her bedroom door, so she stopped struggling and pressed into him making herself as small as possible. The full body contact heated her nether regions. She liked sex, cuddling, and a warm body beside her while she slept. She missed having a lover. “Stay with me.”

Ben stopped moving and gazed at her. He lowered his head and gave her a kiss. Her mouth parted and the kiss grew deeper. Better than Helen’s fantasies, she had no doubt Ben had continued his playboy ways. She was certain he’d become a skilled lover. The thought sobered her.

“I didn’t mean that.” Helen squirmed to get out of his arms, and Ben set her down.

“I have protection if you’re worried about that,” he said.

Of course he would.
The irony made Helen laugh. “Wouldn’t that be ironic? Another baby.”

“You deny yourself too much.”

“And you too little,” Helen shot back.

“You don’t know that.”

“Please.”

“Please what? I’m not the boy you knew in high school. I don’t sleep around.”

Men like Ben collected women like some people collected stamps. Didn’t he? Her confidence in her own judgment wavered.