Page 77 of Boss Me

“Even the mayor is our third cousin twice removed. We’re all family, and now you are, too, Ben.” Mateo nodded at his own pronouncement as he threw the SUV into park in front of the bungalow.

“Wait here,” he said. He unlocked the door and went inside. I hadn’t thought he’d take his bodyguard duties so seriously. The cousin I remembered tended to laugh through life and let others handle responsibilities. It seemed that he’d changed. Could I change in the other direction, become more carefree and actually enjoy retirement?

I glanced at Ben. His eyes had drooped closed. I brushed an errant curl from his forehead, and he smiled. What had I done to deserve the right to have him here with me, and to have him like me enough to go to one of my family gatherings with me? To be willing to share a house with me, and a bed?

Nothing. I’d done nothing. Ben, with his heart on the outside, yearning for love, had done it all. And if he couldn’t protect his own heart, I’d do it for him.

Mateo opened my door. “All clear.”

I got out, circled the SUV, and opened Ben’s door. After unlatching his seat belt, I ducked under his arm and half-lifted him from the car. He blinked his eyes open when his feet hit the driveway. “Home?”

“Yes. Home.” I supported him to the door. “Thanks, Mateo. Good-night.”

“Buenas noches, Lito. See you tomorrow.”

I closed and locked the door and lumbered with Ben through my bedroom into the bathroom, where I propped him against the counter. “Do you need help?”

His eyelids still drooped, but he stood steadily enough. “I got this.”

By the time I’d used the hall bathroom and changed into a pair of lightweight pajama pants, Ben emerged from the bathroom, still fully clothed but smelling toothpaste-minty.

“That punch really got to me,” he said with an apologetic smile.

“I should have warned you. Isobel has annihilated larger men with it.” I slipped an arm around his waist and supported him to the bed. “Did you have fun despite the punch?”

“Yeah. I liked being part of your family.”

My knees wobbled, and I dropped him on the bed less gracefully than I’d planned. He laughed and bounced.

“You did?” I sank down beside him. I bent to slip off his shoes and socks.

He rubbed my back. “Yeah.”

After tugging his shirt over his head, I eased him onto the mattress. I unzipped his shorts and tugged them off his legs, leaving him in his underwear. Then I folded his shirt and shorts and laid them on the bedside table before I circled to the other side of the bed and climbed under the covers.

Ben met me in the middle. He kissed me and then rotated to become the little spoon, shoving his ass against me. He might have had a case of whiskey dick, but I didn’t. I shifted, trying to make my erection less obvious.

“I can see why you like it here.” Ben’s voice was slurry and slow.

“Do you now?” I kissed his shoulder. “What’s not to like? Soft sheets, a gorgeous man in my arms—”

“I didn’t mean me. Though I am both gorgeous and amazing.” He yawned. “I mean here, the island. Your family.”

I hummed an agreement. Now, while Ben was sleepy and drunk, wasn’t the right time to revisit moving here permanently. But the possibility that he might not remember what I said made me bold. “My family—my island family—they’re wonderful. But some of my family isn’t.”

“Yeah?” He shifted his weight, but I held him still. This conversation would be easier without looking into his beautiful eyes.

“I owe you some history.” I rested my nose against his shoulder blade. “My father had a temper. No, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. He was abusive. First to my mother, and then to both of us.”

“Cooper.” He tried to roll over again, but I held him in place.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “And I’m—I’m like him. I’m even named after him. I’m Michael Cooper Fallon. That’s why people around here call me Miguelito or Lito. It means little Michael.”

“You’re not like him. Cooper, let me—” When he squirmed to face me, one of his sharp elbows hit my stomach, and I grunted. “You’re not.”

I stared at the middle of his chest like I could see through it to his soft heart. “Don’t you remember why I came here? I broke my fucking desk.”

“The glass shattered because it wasn’t the right kind of glass. One of those terrible temps you had before me must’ve ordered the wrong thing.” He pierced me with his glare. “Yes, you have a temper. And you probably ought to work on it. But you’re no abuser. You won’t hurt me.”

---