Sweet Seduction Shadow (10 page)

"Open up, red," he urged gently. "There's nothing to be scared of here."

I shook my head, feeling his fingers tighten ever so slightly, in response, on my chin.

Then from nowhere, the soft brush of lips against first one eyelid, then the next. So gentle, it was like a feather, a wash of heat and smooth skin. Tender. Caring. Encouraging. My eyes fluttered open and met the dark chocolate brown of Ben's.

"Beautiful," he breathed against my mouth. "Stunning," he added, his eyes never leaving mine, even as his tongue gently lapped at my bottom lip. "Abi keeps them, yeah?" he whispered huskily, then pressed his lips to mine.

I let him kiss me, I don't know for how long. I even let myself believe that Abi Merchant could wear blue eyes and it wouldn't change a thing. I'd still be disguised, I'd still be hidden. Deep down I knew it was all a lie. Deep down I knew that the more I let Ben Tamati strip me of my defences, the more danger I was in.

But right in that second, as his strong arms wrapped around my frame, with the heat of his body fuelling mine, as his tongue melded with my own, and his scent filled my nose and head, I
believed
. I believed I was free and I could be
me
.

For this brief moment in time I let Ben take me flying, my heart happy, my body and my world open. Ben's acceptance of the real me made the rest of my life disappear. The heartache of leaving my father behind. The trial of constantly looking over my shoulder. The pressure of planning my next move. The loneliness of never letting anyone close enough to be a true friend.

Right in the moment that Ben Tamati saw through my pale blue eyes into me, I felt the world burst open, brightness and warmth stream in, and the darkness of the shadows that tormented me, fade away to nothing.

I was as close to me as I had ever been. Not the Sarah Monaghan that I had once been, not the Abi Merchant I was currently playing at being, but the person I really wanted to be. The person I thought I could never be. The person who now, having tasted her, felt her, worn her skin for the briefest of moments, I never wanted to give up again for any reason at all.

I was calling her Abi Monaghan. And I hoped that one day she would truly exist...

...and not just in my dreams.

Ben's home was a garage. Well, at least, it looked like a garage from the road. Just a plain black single roller door. No doorway to the side, no slot for mail, the only way in was through that garage style door. The street was quite steep, near the motorway off-ramp, the gradient of the road making the door angled. Either side were shops and the odd loading bay, covered by another garage door. I could see a paint shop, a heat pump sales store, a commercial printers. Everything looked worn and a little dirty. The pathway outside was a utilitarian black asphalt, edged along the gutter by large sized pale grey chipped blocks. The odd bit of grass grew up between bricks, making the whole area look uncared for. It wasn't in a particularly bad area of town, it was just well used. And lacked any greenery, other than weeds sprouting through the cracks on the path.

The motorway was just across the road, hidden from sight by a raised concrete wall. I could make out the green and white reflective signs, further down the street, saying,
Cook Street, Port/Helensvillle
and
Hamilton
. I could also hear the cars roaring past, even though the clock on the dashboard read half past three. Auckland never slept.

Ben hit a button on his visor and the door clanked upward, rolling from sight. A simple concrete loading bay became visible in the headlights of the car. Concrete steps, off to the side, led up to the loading area and a doorway at the back. The loading area held the normal contents of a person's garage; tools, rags, oil cans. Very perfunctory. Very male.

He hit the button for the garage door to close again and stepped out of his side of the car. I followed suit and rounded the front bumper, in order to reach the side with the stairs. On closer inspection, the door that led, to what I was hoping was a liveable space, was reinforced steel, with multiple deadlocks. I watched, mesmerised, as he undid the locks and forced the heavy looking door inward. He crossed the threshold first and worked on disarming an alarm system, while I glanced around the first true insight into this man.

I wasn't counting the garage, that was his mask. The face he showed the world. Not who he really was.

To one side was an impressive gym, workbenches, weights, treadmill, boxing bag hanging from a beam in the ceiling. Straight ahead was another set of stairs leading upward. My heart began to ratchet up, the higher up the stairs we went. Ben still hadn't said a word since we arrived. I was thinking that was because, right now, he felt a little exposed too.

The floor we came out on was open and airy, and although decked out in very dark masculine colours; browns, rusty reds, deep forest greens, it was also very nice. A large sectional couch sat in front of a huge plasma TV screen, dark oiled wooden cupboards along one entire wall hid day to day necessities from sight, at a guess. The other end of the room housed a sleek, stainless steel and granite topped bench, two tall stools on this side of the divide. Thin windows edged the upper walls at both ends, there were none on the sides - where the stairs came out and the wooden cupboards stood. The windows were bare, and looked like they could be opened if air flow was needed.

Behind me, above where the stairs were on the floor below, was a small utility or powder room, filling in the corner next to the large TV on the wall. I took a small step and glanced inside. A toilet. I suddenly felt the need to go.

"It's all yours, red," Ben encouraged.

I took the opportunity to alleviate myself, feeling nerves slowly getting the better of me. My face appeared more flushed than usual when I glanced in the mirror above the sink. I took a deep breath in, and then another and another. And finally found the courage to walk back out into Ben's living area, before I could think too much more and change my mind.

Ben was walking toward the kitchen from the one last door, that stood at the end of the room. Probably having refreshed in there as the door had to lead to a full bathroom - the powder room out here just had a toilet and sink - and his bedroom. And because of the latter, I couldn't take my eyes of it. I stood a few feet inside Ben's home and simply stared at that door. It was one thing to dream about a faceless man who smelled like Ben in my bed. It was an entirely different thing to have him stand before me and the door to
his
bed be right there. Ben stopped halfway across the room, toward the kitchen, and looked back at me.

"It's just a door, red," he said in that low, rough rumble.

"Yeah, I know," I said back, still looking at the door.

"Not gonna bite ya," he added and I just nodded agreement, because my throat and mouth had gone dry.

"The couch is good too," he said, and I picked up a note of amusement in his tone.

"I'm sure it is," I managed to get out in a semi-croak.

"Or the kitchen bench," he added and I closed my eyes briefly and willed myself not to react. "Not so sure about the cupboards, but if you wanna be creative..."

"OK," I said quickly, licking my lips. "It's just a door."

Suddenly Ben burst out laughing, a full body laugh that involves the belly. My eyes flicked to him; a moth drawn to a flame. He had one hand bracing on the kitchen bench for support, the other pressed into his stomach. His eyes were closed and his face was set wide in a smile. He looked gorgeous.

I grinned despite my embarrassment. His eyes, filled with laughing tears, came up to my face and he smiled some more, his laugh became more of chuckle and then slowly petered out.

"Come here," he said, with a lift of his chin.

I held his gaze for a few seconds, drawing the moment out. If I went to him it would be crossing the line. Not that coming into his home wasn't a line of sorts, but to go to him now, with that look in his eyes; that hunger that told me what was coming. Well, that was a great big neon flashing line. And I was about to cross it. Who knew if I could ever walk back.

One foot in front of the other. One breath in and out after the other. And before I knew it, I was standing before him. My chest to his chest. My heat mixed with his.

He reached up and behind my head and gently tugged my hair tie out, letting my hair fall about my shoulders. He fingered the shortened strands for a bit, rattling the beads off to the side.

"Will you dye it red again?" he asked, voice so very low.

"Abi Merchant has red hair," I replied and he nodded agreement, still fingering the strands thoughtfully.

"Can't call you red, if your hair isn't," he remarked.

"You've been doing it all night," I pointed out.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Kinda stuck." My lips itched to grin. "Blue eyes, red hair," he commented,
still
fingering the ends of the strands. "I can see why you chose green."

"You don't think blue would go with red?" I asked, wondering how the conversation had come to this.

His eyes flicked up from the hair in his fingers to mine. "I'm still deciding what's the real you."

I blinked at him. How could he know, if I didn't.

"What you see is what you get," I said, a semi repeat of my earlier statement from tonight.

"Not so sure," he replied, then let his hand slip down my arm until his fingers entwined with mine. One last look in my blue eyes, and he turned and tugged me towards that door.

It was a simple door. One of those boring white internal doors. Nothing to indicate what would be on the other side. Nothing worthy of this moment. I felt like it should have been painted a raunchy red, or maybe surrounded by blinking lights that matched the beat of my heart. But it just stood there, and then when Ben turned the handle it didn't even squeak.

The door was anticlimactic, the bedroom on the other side was anything but. A large, no
huge
, bed lay in the very centre of the room, draped in a rich, deep red cover. Behind it was a half height wall, that separated the sleeping area, from what had to be the bathroom area. I could see white tiles with splashes of that same deep red on the other side. A glassed-in shower stall, that seemed bigger than your average, stood sentinel on one side. A large mirror above a sink, with more of those high windows over top of it, between the shower and a closed in frosted glass walled toilet on the other side.

I looked over my shoulder as the door closed at my back. Another huge plasma TV screen was attached to the wall and above it, the thin, high glass windows that were above the kitchen sink. His whole house was one big, long rectangle. A wall separated the living and kitchen area from the bedroom, but that was it. And, even though it had no view to the outside world, just those high uncovered windows, it seemed like the safest place on the planet because of it.

Ben hid in the shadows when he worked. He hid in his home when he wasn't. I might have felt a sense of kin with that notion, but it also saddened me slightly. What did Ben Tamati have to hide from?

Ben squeezed my fingers with his, he hadn't let go of my hand.

"Where are you?" he asked, head ducked down to look in my eyes.

"What?" I replied, about to say,
ah, your bedroom maybe?

"You're not here with me, so where are you?" Oh.

I offered a small smile. "Thinking this is a good hide."

His brows furrowed. "Hide?"

"Disguise," I clarified, wondering when the honesty would stop.

He stared at me for several seconds, then let a short puff of air out and raised his hand to indicate the bathroom.

"Make yourself at home, red. I'll give you as long as you need to freshen up."

Wow, that was so unexpected. And remarkably felt like a let-down.

"OK," I said, going to pull my hand from his, but he resolutely held on.

"Unless, of course, you want some company?"

"Company's good," I replied immediately, without thought. Then felt the blush roll up my cheeks.

Where had this person come from? This wasn't Abi Merchant. It wasn't even Sarah Monaghan. It had to be
Abi Monaghan
, because it had come from that place inside, that I had never dared to open outside of my dreams. But that Ben had cracked a fissure in tonight.

Ben slowly smiled down at me for one extended moment in time, then led me over to the half wall and bathroom beyond.

"Been a long day and night," he said quietly, as he reached into the shower and turned about half a dozen taps on. He didn't let go of my hand. Steam started to waft out of the stall immediately. He shut the door to keep it trapped and turned to face me fully.

Slowly, so very, very slowly, he reached for my satchel, which had still been hanging on my shoulder for fear of leaving it out of my sight. His eyes on mine, he seemed to understand what taking the bag from me meant, because he paused, raised his eyebrows at me in question, and when I nodded, only then removed the satchel from its perch. He leaned down and placed it against the half wall, then returned to stand before me.

We were both breathing a bit too quickly. The sound of our breaths drowned out by the pelt of water against the glass of the shower stall. I waited for his next move. There was no way I could reach for him first. Even if Abi Monaghan was more honest than any other incarnation I'd ever had, right now she was frozen to the spot.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand. Gently, he reached over and slid the fingers of both his hands under the collar of my jacket, then pushed it off the back of my shoulders and down my arms. His hands came to rest where the jacket had been moments before. His thumbs rubbed soft circles against my collar bone, on both sides, above the singlet top I still wore. Then swept down my chest, against my ribs, past my breasts, until he could grasp the bottom of the shirt. His fingers fisted the hem, while his eyes remained steadfast on mine, and then he simply lifted the top up, forcing my arms to follow.

In next to no time, I was standing before him in hipsters, boots and a bra. His eyes still locked on mine. God knows how he managed it, if
his
chest had been bare there was no way I would have been able to look away. Which might explain why he removed his T-shirt then, before going on to strip me further. Somehow Ben saw right through my hide, right through to what lay inside. I don't think he realised that yet.

And what a chest. My eyes devoured it, every single ridge and valley. Every mark that marred that perfectly edible mocha coloured skin. He had a scar above his right nipple. I wanted to trace it. He had a mole on his left side, halfway down his torso. I wanted to touch it. He had a slight smattering of dark hair across his chest, which flowed down a beautiful line across abs-to-die-for, straight for his groin. I wanted to play with it.

I saw all of these little perfect additions to his body with such astounding clarity, but I was surprised I'd noticed them at all. Because his Tiki tattoo, on his right arm, didn't stop at his right shoulder. How many people knew that? How many people looked at Ben Tamati in a T-shirt and
knew
that beautiful piece of artwork went further than the sleeve? It arced across his collar bone, then angled down in a spiral of tribal imagery covering one whole side of his chest. It. Was. Stunning.

I couldn't pull my eyes away. I couldn't breathe. I had been close to tattoos before. I'd seen some of the members of Devil's Henchmen showing off their recent acquisitions in the mechanic's shop where I had worked. I knew good art when I saw it. But none spoke to me like this.