Page 56 of Just a Plot Twist
“I get that it’s hard to be vulnerable like that, especially—”
“Especially when I don’t have anyone? Exactly.” I give up a hollow laugh. “Might as well say I don’t want it in case that makes it hurt less that I don’t have it.” I let go of one of his hands. I need to breathe again. He squeezes the one he’s still holding.
“Doesit make it hurt less?” His whisper is so low, I barely hear him.
“What do you think?” I ask, my gaze locking into his.
“I think there’s a strong feeling inside all of us to be deeply connected with another soul, and anything less than that’s going to be…just…”
“Not quite right,” I say.
He presses his lips together, then sighs. “That’s exactly it. Not quite right. So then what? How do we make it through that?”
“No clue.” I shrug.
“I might have some thoughts.” His smile is gentle, teasing, and his hand squeezes mine.
“Of course you do.” I roll my eyes. If I play it off, I might make it through this conversation in one piece.
“Not like that. Although…” His gaze whisks up and down me so quickly I’m not sure it happened. “All I’m saying is, I kinda like you. You’re not bad.”
“Not bad?” I giggle. “I guess if that’s the nicest thing you can say to me, I’ll have to live with it.”
He lets go of my hand, sits up on his knees and leans towards me. Then he eases behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, crossing them, enveloping me in his embrace. He sits down fully behind me now, his legs slightly bent as he places them on either side of mine. He’s spooning me as we’re sitting up. I wish I could see his face, his eyes. But this will have to do, for now. His body warms mine, and I gaze out over the lake, the moon casting a glowing shadow over the water.
His breath fans out against my neck as he whispers in my ear. “That’s not the nicest thing I can say to you. I have catalogues in my head of all the things I want to say to you.” His lips softly brush against my neck —did he even mean to do it? “Your laugh makes my insides buzz like fizzy soda pop. Your beauty jolts me awake, like I’ve been asleep my whole life and you’re waking me up. Everything about you makes me want to know more…” Another brush of his mouth, then: “…and more and more.”
His hands rest against my hips, gently, yet there’s a pulsing need there, at his touch.
Have mercy on my soul.
I turn my head to look back at him. His face is so close to mine that I hitch a breath. My skin tingles—my lungs are tight. If he were to lean forward a bit more, and if I were to turn my head a bit more, we’d be lip to lip.
Somehow, his untied bowtie is lying across my shoulder, hanging down until it reaches the neckline of my dress. I give it a little tug, the silk of it gliding between my fingers. He’s shifted just enough that I can rest my head against his solid, strong chest.
“Right back at ya.” It comes out of me as a whisper, because I suddenly can’t talk normally.
I’ve never felt this way. Which makes my limbs tingle again. But now, I don’t like what I just said.
Right back at ya?
I am so out of my league here. This man was married for nearly two decades and I’m trying to make sultry talk with him all the sudden.
I’m immature next to this experienced, exciting man.
And my goodness, he is aman.
I shift slightly to turn to face him, and in the process, I bang my sore ankle into my other foot. You know the ball of the joint?
Yeah, that. And it hurts.
I turn to face him, out of breath like we’ve been frolicking in the sand. Another giggle escapes and I slap a hand over my mouth.
My stomach does a neat little flip, a burst of nerves. And in a move lacking in forethought and good judgment, I remove my hand to speak.
Chapter 19
Benson
