Page 34 of Home to Me

Lauren padded over and sat in the chair opposite him, carefully unfolding her napkin and placing it properly in her lap.

She began cutting up her steak enthusiastically and smiled at him. “I'm starving, Ben. This looks amazing. Thanks for taking care of all of this.”

Hearing her speak snapped him out of his lust-induced fog. Well, enough that he was able to carry on somewhat coherent small talk during dinner. At least he thought he was being coherent. Good grief, he thought to himself. Maybe I’m not the best judge of that. What if I'm rambling like a loon?

But Lauren didn't seem to be giving him any concerned or disconcerted looks, so he thought he must’ve been doing at least a passable job of pretending to be in his right mind.

By the time they finished dinner, he was almost completely back to normal, and by the time they finished running their lines for a half an hour, he was one hundred percent back to himself.

He realized that he needed to figure out a way to deal with seeing her that wasn’t going to take him out of commission every time she happened to walk in looking beautiful. Because, he needed to face facts, it was bound to happen a lot. He needed to get on even footing here.

They settled into bed, lying on their sides with their backs to each other, each as close to their own edge as possible, putting the maximum distance between them that they could.

Ben smiled in the dark. He had one more thing to say to her, and it felt easier when her face was obscured by the gloom that surrounded them.

“Lauren?” he said softly.

“Hmmm...” she answered sleepily.

“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“Just for future reference? When you have a whispered private conversation and you turn on the shower to obscure it, that just makes you whisper louder. Tell Karina I said hi the next time you talk to her.”

“Goodnight, Ben,” Lauren said tersely.

“Goodnight, Lauren.”

11

Lauren opened her eyes, feeling like she was still in a dream. Was she still in a dream? No, she didn't think she was. This felt more like the sensation you get when you're almost asleep, like you're floating, like you're falling. It was a delicious sensation, but she didn't think it was a dream.

So why, then, did she feel so lovely, so light and airy, like she was asleep in a bed of clouds rather than an earthly mattress?

She moved slightly and lifted her head, not quite sure where she was at first, trying to get her bearings. The cobwebs of sleepiness still clung to her mind, making thought difficult. She had the definite sense that she was not in her own room, not in her own bed, but she couldn't quite remember where she was. Generally, she had the disconcerting sensation of waking up in a new place and not, for a moment, being able to remember where she was. She hated that. It was upsetting. It made her feel the thing that she tried to avoid most in the world: out of control.

There was a stark difference between this instance of waking up in a new place and every other time it had ever happened to her in her entire life—she didn't feel out of control. Or, at least not in a bad way. Right now, she had a deep sense of being taken care of, although she wasn't sure from where that was coming. It was just a sensation.

As Lauren stirred more and lifted her head farther, she saw where she was and what she was doing and felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her—she froze. It all came rushing back.

She remembered the turbulent flight. She remembered checking into the hotel. She remembered the availability of only one room, which she and Ben had to share. She remembered her desperate and hurried telephone conversation with Karina. She remembered the last thing that Ben had said to her before they fell asleep, which was that he’d overheard her conversation with Karina, which meant he’d overheard her saying that she wanted to sleep with him. And lastly, yes, she remembered the sleeping arrangements. One bed. They were sleeping in one bed.

More to the point, she was actually currently sleeping on top of him. She saw that she was no longer lying chastely on her side, facing away from him, nor was he lying on his side, facing away from her.

No.

He was now lying on his back, and she had also rolled over in her sleep, but farther than he had. She’d rolled all the way over to him, was lying right next to him—pressed up against him, even—and had her head on his shoulder, her arms straight over his chest, and her legs entangled in his.

It should have felt awkward. It should have felt shocking. It didn't. It felt right.

In fact, she realized, it felt more than right. It felt hot.

She felt a burning, a tingling in parts of her body that weren't even touching Ben—and definitely in every single part that was.

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