Frayed (Connections, #4)(15)

Walking backward toward the door, I stumbled over his sweatshirt on the floor. I couldn’t resist it. I wanted to keep a small piece of him, so I slipped it on. He stirred, mumbling, “S’belle” as he slept, but he never woke. I crept out of the room, thinking to myself my name was Bell, not S’belle. My Paris high was still strong and even though I had told a few people my name was S’belle because I thought it sounded sexier, I knew he would be the last. I wanted him to own it.

? ? ?

“Red? Did you hear me?” he asks, pulling me back to the here and now.

He calls me Red because I flat-out told him when I saw him this past summer to never call me S’belle again. That’s not what I wanted at all, but it was for the best. I draw in a shaky breath before I can find my voice. “I know the way back. Follow me.”

In the dark corridor he takes my hand in his. An innocent gesture, gallant even—guide a woman through a dark hallway. But to me, there’s more to it. Don’t read too much into it, I remind myself. I squash the emotions entering my brain that can only lead to false hope. But when he squeezes our laced fingers, my stomach immediately starts to flutter. Sex, I tell myself. That’s all this could ever be. That’s all it ever was. And besides, there is too much baggage between us for there to be anything else.

“You know this hotel is not only rumored to be haunted but has a monumental place in movie history,” he says so matter-of-factly that I’m wondering if maybe the attraction I thought was mutual isn’t.

“No, I didn’t know that. What do you mean?” I try to mask my anxious breathing the farther into the darkness we step.

“The hotel was used to film the prom scene in Pretty in Pink. A boxing ring was set up in one of the ballrooms for Rocky III. The Ghostbusters movie used the Music Room to catch Slimer. Eddie Murphy—”

I interrupt his list of credits, thinking maybe he might be a little nervous after all. “Oh, my brother Xander loved Ghostbusters. I used to watch it with him and his girlfriend all the time when we were younger.”

We enter into the stainless steel food prep area, where I had seen him earlier tonight. Suddenly a noise, sounding like a loud whisper, echoes through the room and I jump at the same time a scream escapes me. “Oh my God, this place really is haunted.” My heart thumps at the thought.

It’s kind of hard to make out in the dim lighting, but I know I catch sight of a smirk on Ben’s face.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s not ghosts, I promise. It’s probably just the mice.”

I shriek this time. “Where are they? I hate rodents.”

He presses me against the cool stainless steel wall before murmuring in my ear, “They live in the walls. They can’t hurt you. And even if they could, I’m here.”

I’m not sure if he means the ghosts or the mice, but honestly, I don’t care about either with the warmth of his body pressed so close to mine. Even in my heels I have to tilt my head to see his face. “I’m not a damsel in distress, you know.”

He slides his tongue along his lip before answering me. “Maybe you could be,” he whispers.

Lust, want, and need for this man purge themselves from every single one of my pores. I swallow hard, then lean in and breathe him in. It’s the same scent I remember from so long ago—nothing more, just soap. Fresh and clean.

“Did you just smell me?” he asks.

“I did,” I purr.

“Fuck.”

And with his curse his lips crash to mine. His mouth is soft and warm; his tongue is slick and wet. It’s a heady combination, but this kiss is anything but sweet. It’s frantic, dark, deliriously delicious. Sweet—definitely not. Ben draws me closer and I can feel his hardness against my belly. The thought that I can do this to him so quickly enables me to be bolder. My fingers move to his shirt and I pull it out of his pants. “I thought you were here to save me,” I manage between frantic kisses after deciding to be that damsel in distress after all.

Before I can even undo the first button, his hands encircle my wrists and lift them over my head. “I am,” he says, obviously spurred on by this little charade. He holds my wrists with one hand, and the other effortlessly unzips my dress and it puddles at my feet. He’s good. A lot of practice, I think.

He breaks our kiss and leans back, not letting go of my hands. He hisses in a breath through his teeth in a way that tells me he likes what he sees. I take a second to look around at our surroundings.

“What if someone walks through here?” I’m standing in my black strapless bra and hose before him.

“No one is around this late at night. And besides, remember, I’m here to protect you?” His voice is more of a rasp. “God, you’re so f*cking sexy.”

I look at him. Lips parted. Eyes hooded. And a grin that pierces every nerve in my body. “Take your shirt off,” I tell him.

His grin grows wicked. But he doesn’t do as I instructed. Instead he glides a hand down the side of my body. His touch leaves an ever-burning flame in its wake. His mouth finds my neck to sprinkle hot, wet kisses up to my ear. “I’ll take my shirt off but because I want it off,” he growls.

He lets go of my wrists and they fall to my side. I can feel my body tremble as I watch him slowly unbutton his shirt. I can’t help remembering the bad boy that rocked my world that one night. My heart pounds louder and faster with every passing second. As the consequences of our night together fade from my mind, I let the joy of this moment consume me. Why? Because in all the years since him, in all the boyfriends I’ve had, no one has ever made my body tingle with anticipation like him. No one has ever made me feel the way he did.