Page 64 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
Ben takes a breath and his gaze falls away from me. “Yeah, uh, about the assignment. I need to say something and—”
I slide my palm over his mouth. “Nope. No, you don’t. Nomore talk about work. This night is about us, notAround the Globe.”
The truth is, it’s all become so muddied—my recruitment of Ben, what just happened between us upstairs—that I’m not sure I know how to sort it. And the very last thing I want to do right now is listen to Ben tell me yet again that he isn’t going to accept Calvin’s offer and have to face the reality that my promotion isn’t going to happen. Right now, I want to forget all the reasonswhywe’re here and just appreciate the fact that wearehere, together, in Iceland.
Ben kisses my palm before I slide it away. “You know, I obviously had no idea how this trip would play out, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped something might happen between us.”
“Yeah?” My hand settles in the center of his chest.
“I meant what I said upstairs. You’ve always been it for me, Ems.” He brushes my hair back from my face, tilting my chin up in the process and stealing another lingering kiss. “When you held my hand on the plane, I didn’t want to let go. And then when you fell asleep on my shoulder, it felt so good that for the first time in my life, I didn’t want the flight to end.”
“Are we trading secrets again?” I ask with a playful smirk.
“Guess so. But hold up.” Ben lifts me in a sudden, swift motion and places me on the countertop, the granite cool against my bare thighs. My ankles link loosely together against his lower back, trapping him in my space, but I don’t think he’s looking to escape. He leans in close, the scent of his skin surrounding me as he reaches behind my hips and pulls another slice from the box. He takes a huge bite and then says, “Okay, now go.”
“Well…” I brush a hand through his messy hair as I considerwhich secret to spill. “If you want to know the truth, I may have been so in my head about coming on this trip with you that I couldn’t even pack my own stuff.” Warmth infuses my cheeks. “My best friend packed for me. In fact, both swimsuits I’ve worn on this trip? Hers.”
Ben finishes the slice and dusts off his hands. “What’s her name?”
“Jacklyn.”
He grabs my hips and scoots me forward until we’re pressed together. “Tell Jacklyn thank you for that. And also, she’s not getting those swimsuits back.”
Ben kisses me then, cradling my face in his hands and making it a point to go slow, to savor every soft slide of our lips, every delicate brush of our tongues. When he pulls back, those beautiful green eyes are filled with something deep, something meaningful. And for a split second, I think he might say the three words that I held back upstairs, the ones he never said fourteen years ago.
Instead, his focus shifts over my shoulder, and it was probably wishful thinking on my part anyway. “Should we continue our game upstairs?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
I squeeze my thighs around his hips, and for the second time tonight Ben carries me upstairs to the loft.
We stay up way too late, watching out the window for any sign of aurora and swapping stories from the fourteen years we’ve been apart. We catch up not only with our words, but also with our bodies. I trace Ben’s tattoo with my fingertip while he tells me that he got it as a tribute to his mentor, Dan. Ben kissesover a line of freckles on my stomach that he swears wasn’t there before, remarking how similar the pattern is to some constellation I’ve never heard of while I laugh the whole time because his stubble tickles my skin.
Then he kisses lower and settles between my thighs, and the laughter stops as pleasure stirs again, warm and pulsing in my center.
Unlike earlier in the shower, this time I don’t stop him. This time I let myself fully relax into the sensations his mouth creates in my most sensitive places, knowing how much I trust him, and having the confidence to tell him what I like, what feels good, and what will make me come. He proves to be a fantastic listener, and he easily gets me there. Twice.
I don’t know what time I eventually fall asleep, but when I do, I’m completely satisfied, completely at ease, and yeah, completely in love with Ben Carter.
* * *
The morning starts in a way I’ve dreamed of countless times over the years but never thought would pan out. Now that it’s happening, it’s better than any of those dreams. Scattered sunrays sweep in through the glass and light the room with a soft morning glow, and the weight of Ben’s arm winds around my waist, tucking me against him. Unlike yesterday morning, his presence in my bed isn’t jarring in the slightest. In fact, I’m blanketed with a calmness I haven’t felt in…possibly ever.
My phone buzzes from the bedside table, and as much as I want to ignore all things awaiting me and snuggle deeper intoBen’s arms, I’m not the kind of person who lets a call roll to voice mail. What if it’s an emergency?
I pick up my phone, and a New York number flashes across the screen. Next to me, Ben shuffles in the sheets, his arm flexing around my waist to pull me back to him. I lean over his sleeping form and kiss the slim, faded scar below his hairline. “I have to take this,” I whisper, removing his arm from around me and crawling from bed.
I answer as I pad downstairs to the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt when a stern voice greets me with, “Mona, it’s Calvin Cramer.”
“Calvin! Good morning, sir!” I hope my voice sounds more pleasantly surprised than dreadfully shocked as my heart rate increases like I just slammed three espressos. “How are you? How’s New York? How’s the weather there?” As I’m spouting my list of practiced niceties (apparently all of them at once), it occurs to me that New York is four hours behind Iceland time. If Calvin’s calling me…My eyes connect with the clock on the kitchen oven. 9:07.
Shit!We overslept!
“Listen, I’m glad I caught you,” he says, ignoring my attempts at small talk. Must be nice not to worry about coming off as pleasant and cheery all the damn time. “I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you long.”
Busyrecovering from the best sex of my life.
I expect guilt to follow the thought, but it doesn’t.
