Wilde for Him (19 page)

"We went to the charity event together," she said, meeting Ben's gaze once again as events starting meshing into a cohesive thought. "I remember the cocktail party, and our dinner, and meeting your friends. I even remember getting up on stage to make my presentation for the silent auction and being nervous about speaking in front of everyone…" And shortly thereafter that's when everything had gone fuzzy and vague and then completely nonexistent in her mind.

Those were the missing pieces of the puzzle she needed to fill in. "What happened? Did I pass out?"

Ben shook his head. "Not at first, no." Then he went on to explain everything that had happened, along with his suspicions that she'd been drugged at some point—either at the dinner table, or her water at the podium.

She listened as he told her about Craig's part in last night's escapade and how he'd been quick to take her outside for some fresh air. While Ben's loathing toward Craig was a tangible thing, Ben had no proof that Craig was responsible for what had happened.

"Wow," she said once Ben finished telling her everything, right up to the point where he'd taken off her dress and tucked her into bed—and spent the entire night watching over her, making sure she didn't have any kind of adverse reaction to whatever she'd been slipped.

"I can't believe all that happened," she said with an incredulous shake of her head, then winced when a dull pain jabbed at her temples.

Once the discomfort subsided, she smiled at Ben and reached out to trail the tips of her fingers along the rough stubble on his jaw. "I do have to say that my first thought when I woke up this morning was that you and I had finally done the deed, and I would have been pretty upset if we had sex and I had no recollection of any of it. Because when that does happen, I want to remember every single detail of the experience."

Chuckling, he slid from the bed, grabbed a pair of worn jeans, and pulled them on over the boxer briefs that molded to all those yummy, masculine parts of him. "Why don't you go and take a nice long, hot shower to clear your head? I need to call your father and let him know what happened, then I'll make you something to eat."

"Okay," she said with a nod of her head. "I should check in with Madison and make sure that the auction did well, despite my quick exit."

"Actually, Madison called your cell phone when I was driving you home last night, and I answered the call and let her know what happened." he told her. "She promised that she would handle everything for you, and she'd call you today to see how you were doing."

That said, he started for the door, but she stopped him before he could leave. "Ben?"

He turned back around. "Yeah?"

She was momentarily distracted by his bare chest and somehow managed to lift her gaze back to his. "Thank you for taking care of me last night and keeping me safe."

He gave her a slight, imperceptible nod. "That's my job," he said, then disappeared from her view.

Yes, she knew she was a job to him, an assignment he took very seriously, and she understood and respected his position as her bodyguard. But it was her own myriad of emotions that she wasn't sure she had a complete handle on. When it came to Ben, there was a wealth of want, need, and desire most definitely. Affection and caring was right up there, too. But it was the deeper, unexpected feelings wrapping around her heart that made her realize that she was falling for Ben in ways she'd never, ever, anticipated.

And she wasn't altogether sure what she was going to do about her growing feelings for him, especially when her life was finally her own and everything she'd wanted it to be.

Or so she thought.

FRESH from her shower and dressed in a comfortable sweat outfit for a lazy, restful Sunday at home, Christine walked into the kitchen to find Ben standing at the stove cooking up something that smelled so good it made her stomach grumble hungrily.

She came up beside him as he sprinkled grated cheese on what looked like an omelette sautéing in a pan. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Nope." He wiped his hands on a terry towel, then dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. "I made a fresh pot of coffee if you want a cup, and I'll be done with your breakfast in just a few minutes."

"Thank you." Pouring the hot brew into a mug, she added creamer and a spoonful of sugar, and stirred.

He cast her a quick look as he transferred the delicious-looking omelette to a plate and started in on another. "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." She took a sip of her coffee and let the warm liquid make its way down to her empty stomach. "That shower definitely helped to clear the cobwebs in my head, but I hate the fact that part of my memory of last night is gone."

He added fresh sliced mushrooms and chopped ham to the eggs, then started buttering the toast that had just popped up in the toaster. "Trust me, you're not missing anything worth remembering. Now go sit down so I can feed you."

Smiling, she obeyed his order and took a seat at the table, while he set a plate of fragrant food in front of her. "Wow, this is impressive," she said, taking in the fluffy omelette he'd made for her. "For a bachelor, that is."

He returned to the stove to finish his own breakfast. "Hey. I might love pizza, but I can't live on that alone," he said with one of his sexy grins. "You had all the ingredients for an omelette, so I took advantage."

Suddenly ravenous, she dug into her eggs, which were absolutely delicious with the mushrooms, ham, and cheese. "Where did you learn to make such a light, fluffy omelette? In the military?" she teased.

"No." With his own plate and coffee in hand, he joined her at the table. "This is a gourmet meal compared to what I ate for breakfast while serving in Iraq."

"Which was?" she asked curiously.

"MRE rations, a protein bar, or mushy scrambled eggs," he said, then ate a big bite of his omelette. "Learning to cook something decent to eat came from a lot of years of being on my own."

The comment was said ambiguously, but it made Christine think about how this man lived his life—alone, in a sparsely furnished apartment, and without any family to call his own. "You were on your own long before joining the military, weren't you?"

He'd just taken a bite of his toast, and he glanced up at her, his gaze suddenly dark and shadowed. "What makes you say that?" he asked gruffly.

Judging by his guarded reaction, she knew she was tiptoeing into personal territory he considered off-limits, but there was so much about this man she wanted to know and understand, and she didn't let his brusque demeanor dissuade her, as it had when she'd been at his apartment a week ago.

"I'm just going off of the conversation we had at your place when you mentioned that your father had passed away a few years ago, and that you had no idea where your mother was… nor did you care to know." She took a drink of her coffee, watching as a muscle in his clenched jaw twitched. "What was your childhood like, Ben?"

"It's not something I want to discuss," he said succinctly.

She rolled her eyes, unwilling to let the subject go. "Come on, Ben. We all have a past of some sort. You should know by now that I'm not one to judge, especially considering my own less-than-ideal childhood with a mother who was so intent on molding me into this perfectly demure lady and obedient wife to some man she approved of."

"At least you had a mother around." The barest hint of a smile made an appearance, lightening the moment between them. "Even if she was overbearing and controlling."

"That's putting things mildly and you know it," she said, and playfully pointed her fork at him. "My mother pretty much had my entire life planned out for me, including being a politician's wife. But you already know all that so stop trying to change the subject. We're talking about your mother, not mine."

"It's a long, depressing story that'll probably put you to sleep." He shrugged and continued eating his omelette.

"Luckily I had plenty of rest last night and we have the entire day ahead of us," she countered easily. "Time is not an issue."

He sighed, and surprisingly he didn't attempt to evade the topic any longer. "Honestly, I haven't thought about my mother and what happened with her in a very long time, and I'm not sure where to start."

"The beginning is always a good place," she said, trying to keep things light. "How did your parents meet?"

"They both lived in Perry, a small town in West Virginia. My father, Neil, was twenty at the time and worked in a local coal mine along with my grandpa, which is pretty much what all the men in that town did for a living and to support their families. It wasn't a glamorous life by any stretch of the imagination."

"I'm sure it was very hard, dangerous work," she said, going off what she'd heard on the news over the years about coal mines and the hazards of working in one. "But it's still a respectable job."

"My father and grandpa thought so," he said and smiled fondly, telling her that he'd at least had good memories of those two men who'd been a part of his life. "From what I've heard through town gossip, my mother is the one who pursued my father, and she was eighteen when she got pregnant with me as a way out of her own abusive family life. Of course my father married her, not only because it was the right thing to do, but apparently he truly did love her, too."

Finished with his breakfast, he pushed his empty plate aside. "After I was born, my mother started pushing my father for them to move to the city where he could get a better paying job. She hated living in a small town and the little two bedroom house my father bought, which was all he could afford with what he made. She wanted to live in Charleston, but my father refused to move. He'd been born and raised in Perry and coal mining was all he knew."

Standing, she collected their dishes and carried them to the sink. "And that's where your father's parents lived, too, right?"

"Actually, my grandmother, who was a wonderful woman, passed away when I was about five, and a few years after that my grandpa died from black lung disease. So, really, there was nothing familywise tying my father to that town, but he was a simple man who didn't need or want anything more than what he had."

Picking up the carafe of hot coffee, she headed back to the table and refilled his mug with the steaming brew. "Sounds like you take after your father."

"I suppose I do," he said with an easygoing smile.

She returned the coffeepot to the counter and remained there, leaning against the kitchen cabinets across from where Ben was sitting. "So, what happened?" she asked, knowing there was so much more to the story.

"By the time I was ten, it was obvious that my parents' marriage was strained." He absently traced a finger along the rim of his coffee cup. "Over the years, my mother's anger and bitterness toward my father increased, and she even grew to resent me, as well."

"What?" she exclaimed incredulously, unable to believe that a mother could blame a child for her unhappiness. "You were just a little boy!"

"One who kept her tied to a man and town that she no longer wanted to be a part of," he said matter-of-factly.

Christine's jaw dropped open. "She told you that?"

"Not directly, no." He hesitated for a moment, then meeting her gaze from across the room, he continued, "I was in bed one night when my mother and father were fighting in the living room. She didn't bother to keep her voice down, and after informing my father that she was filing for a divorce, she went on to tell him that she was tired of being a small-town wife, that she wanted something more exciting than being married to a coal miner and being a PTA mother. By the next morning, she'd packed up her things and she was gone. She didn't even wake me up to say good-bye, and I haven't seen or heard from her since, and I don't care if I ever do."

His tone was so blasé, as if he were relaying someone else's past and not his own horrible memories of a mother who'd turned her back on him without a second thought. But it was the raw pain she detected in the depths of his eyes that told another tale, about a young boy who most likely believed his own mother didn't love him enough to stay, or even fight to take him when she left town.

A lump formed in her throat and it felt as if her own heart were being torn in two. She closed the distance between them, and because he was sitting she didn't hesitate to straddle his lap, her only thought to get as close to him as possible, to let him know that someone cared for the hurt and confused little boy he'd been, and even the man he'd grown to be.

Their position was intimate, but was meant to be more comforting than sexual. She framed his face in her hands, his skin still rough with morning stubble. "I'm so sorry, Ben," she whispered, the ache in her voice real.

Instead of pushing her away or refusing the tenderness she was offering, he placed his hands on her hips, his gaze searching hers. "What for?" he murmured.

"For you and the little boy inside who endured a mother's cruel words and abandonment." She swallowed hard, her anger toward a woman she'd never met a palpable thing. "What kind of mother does that to her only child?"

"A selfish one," he said, meaning it, the harsh tone of his voice leaving no doubt about how he felt toward the woman who'd been his mother for only ten years of his life. "My father couldn't live up to her expectations, and I was more of a nuisance than anything else, so she bailed. The unfortunate part was that my father never stopped loving her, and in order to forget the pain of her walking out on us, he turned to the bottle."

Gently removing her hands from his face, Ben placed her palms on his chest and exhaled a deep breath. "My father was a good, decent man, but my mother completely destroyed him because he wasn't able to give her the kind of life she insisted on. After high school, I took a job in the coal mines, too, but when my father passed away a year later, I decided that there was nothing left for me in the small town of Perry, and I joined the Marines."

And his time in the military, she knew, was a whole other story rife with more pain and heartache. "You've done well with your life," she said, focusing on what he'd accomplished. "Your father would have been proud."