Page 26 of An American in London

Ben comes out of the bathroom just like he did last night, but things have changed. The shift between us today at the tree, in the walled garden, hasn’t reset as I thought it might. There’s a closeness between us now that’s more than just physical. We’re connected in a way that’s hard to explain.

Today at lunch, he was so attentive he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking and feeling.

Just before I realized I needed his reassurance, his hand would find its way to my leg for a couple of seconds.

During dinner, a look or a shift of his chair toward me suggested that his mind was as occupied with me as mine was with him.

Maybe it’s been growing since we arrived here—maybe since we met—but it feels like we’re inching toward the peak of a mountain and we’re about to get to enjoy the view.

I hope we’re not in a bubble that will pop with the slightest pressure.

“Hey,” he says as he comes through the bathroom door and sees me sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” I reply. It seems ridiculous that he’s taking the couch when I have this enormous bed. “You’re sure you’re okay on the couch? There’s plenty of room in this bed.”

“I’m fine,” he says, much to my disappointment.

He heads to the window and peeks through the curtains. “It’s raining,” he says.

“How is that possible?” I ask. “It was bright sunshine a few hours ago.”

“A sign autumn is on its way.” He takes the pillows and comforter from the bed and arranges them just like he did last night, then slips under the blanket, eye mask in hand.

“I had a really nice time today,” I say.

It seems ludicrous that I’m getting paid to be here. I’m having a better time than I would have in London on my own. I’m getting to experience more of the country I’m visiting, meeting more people, even seeing more Daniel De Luca film locations.

“Good,” he says as he tucks an arm behind his head. I flop back onto the bed, restless and not ready to sleep.

“How did snooker go with the duke?” As shooting was abandoned, the duke joined us for lunch and then invited Ben, Nick, and some of the other men to play snooker with him.

The duchess arranged in-room massages for wives and girlfriends, or pedicures in the morning room.

She and I spent the afternoon going through the house, and she regaled me with more stories from the filming of A Duchess for a Duke .

Most excitingly, she confirmed the affair between Daniel and Avani.

I’d had a lovely afternoon, but it was strange to be separated from Ben.

I doubt the feeling was mutual. Ben got what he wanted, which was time with the duke.

He sucks in a breath. “Really bloody well actually.”

“Really? Tell me.”

“Apparently the duchess is trying to convince him he needs to take control of his legacy. He doesn’t want distant relatives inheriting, so he’s considering liquidating some assets and creating a foundation to support worthy causes.”

I sit bolt upright and crawl to the end of the bed to see his expression. How is this guy not punching the air with excitement? “What’s the catch?”

He glances over at me. “Well, there’s nothing certain. He’s not entirely convinced, and from what I know of him, the hotels won’t be the first assets to go.”

I swing my legs over the end of the bed. “Okay, so you’re telling me the duke has gone from the mindset of never selling the hotels to maybe selling the hotels, and you’re lying there like you’ve still got the weight of the world on your shoulders? Why aren’t we cracking open the champagne?”

“There’s still a long way to go.”

I shake my head and slide off the bed. “You’ve got to celebrate the small wins.”

He pulls himself into a sitting position and nods. “So far so good. But it’s a delicate situation. I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

I spring up and take a seat next to him and immediately regret it, because I feel I’ve overstepped a physical boundary.

“How could you? He clearly likes you, and he must be considering you as a potential buyer or he wouldn’t be telling you about his plans.” I’m thrilled for him and proud I might have had a hand in making this happen. It’s like I’m on Team Ben, sharing in the victory.

He pushes his hands through his hair. “I know. I just want to tread carefully. I don’t want to push too hard. He needs to make this decision in his own time.”

“You’ve told him you’re still interested, though?”

“He knows.”

“But does he? You should make sure he does. You don’t want any misunderstandings between you.”

Ben turns to meet my eyes, and we stare at each other for a few minutes. I’m waiting for him to say something. And it’s like he’s waiting for me to say something.

He sits back, pulls in a breath, and exhales very slowly. I can’t take my eyes off his rising and falling chest. His T-shirt is rumpled above his hips but doesn’t quite give me a glimpse of skin underneath. I know how that flat, hard chest feels. I’ve just not seen it.

“I’m very single-minded about things. Sometimes that’s my best asset and sometimes my biggest weakness.

” He’s staring at the ceiling, and I take the opportunity to watch him.

I want to memorize this moment, and every part of him.

There’s something very attractive about a man who accepts his weaknesses as well as his strengths.

Jed always viewed personal foibles as fatal flaws, which I realize now put a ton of pressure on me to be infallible.

How did I ever think I was happy before?

“But he should know if you’re interested,” I say.

“I said, he knows.”

“Okay,” I say. “If you’re sure.”

We sit side by side in silence, neither one of us moving. What’s he thinking about? Maybe he wants his bed back. I should stand and go back to bed. But something is stopping me.

Finally, he speaks. “I think you’re lovely.”

His words hang in the air and then dissolve on my skin. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a beautiful compliment.

He doesn’t move and neither do I. I’m unsure how to respond. “You do?” It’s a ridiculous response to the sweetest words, but he has emptied my brain and set my heart waltzing around my chest.

“I do.”

Still, neither of us moves. I scramble for something to say. He’s just told me what he thinks about me. Surely, I should do the same in return. “I think you’re ... wonderful.”

Truly wonderful.

More than wonderful.

Completely wonderful.

He blows out a breath and slides his hand into mine. My pulse is racing, impatient, like a horse before the gate opens. Sitting here with him, hand in hand, feels so right. Like he’s someone I’ve known for years, not days; like here is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Like I’m with the person I’m meant to be with.

He stands and pulls me up to face him. He pushes the hair from my eyes and cups my face. I’m so weak with anticipation, with these feelings of desire and need, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stay upright.

“I can’t stop touching you.” The timbre of his voice has taken on a gravelly edge that sends a shiver from the top of my head down my spine. But I’m not nervous. I’m wanting.

He presses his lips against mine. All I can think is, Finally, finally, finally.

It would have been so easy to have missed this moment.

I might not have spotted him that day in the park.

He might not have been standing behind me in the coffee shop.

I might not have accepted Nick’s dinner invitation.

Hell, I could have not left New York. I could still be with Jed.

The images of what might have been flicker in my brain like the surface of a pond being disturbed by a gentle breeze—there, then gone—and all I can think about, all I can feel, is Ben.

I slide my fingers up Ben’s arms, and he deepens the kiss.

My skin heats everywhere he touches: my face, my lips, my stomach pressed against his hips as he snakes a hand around my back.

I’m hot and so weak, as if his desire has stolen my resolve.

His tongue presses against mine, and I can’t help but let out a small moan of relief that I finally get more from him.

My nipples pinch against my tank, and I don’t know if he feels them, but he groans.

The vibration bounces around in my chest. Did I just make Ben groan ?

His palm at my back pushes us closer together, but it’s not close enough. It’s like the pan of hot water is about to break into a boil, it just needs a few. More. Seconds.

His hand rounds my ass, and I’m about to wrap my legs around his waist when a knock at the door interrupts us. We jump apart like we’re teenagers on the verge of being discovered by parents.

He shoots me a look I can’t quite read and stalks over to the door. It’s just the housekeeper with two hot water bottles.

“Not sure we need those,” he mutters and discards them on the bed.

I stand rooted to the spot, vibrating with need for him, willing him to come back to me, hold me, kiss me. I want to feel him everywhere.

Instead he collapses on the sofa, grabbing my hand as he goes down and bringing me with him so we’re back to sitting where we were before our kiss. Except this time we’re hip to hip, and the heat is almost overwhelming.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, and instead begins to circle his thumb over my palm.

I try to focus on breathing. I’m not used to navigating a man other than Jed.

I feel like a teenager. The last time Jed and I kissed with tongue, without being naked and one of us trying to get to orgasm—because it never happened at the same time—we were probably still in college.

I don’t know where I want this to go next. I really like this guy. But my life is at such a crossroads right now, do I need to complicate it any further?

“You’re overthinking,” he says.

“Always,” I reply.

He huffs out a laugh, and I smile because I know how hard it is to amuse him. “Same here. There are lots of moving parts. For both of us. If logic were to prevail, we wouldn’t ...”

“Right,” I say, agreeing with him, although logic isn’t prevailing anywhere in my body right now. “You don’t date.”

“And I need to stay focused,” he adds.

“I’m fresh out of a ten-year relationship.”

“I’m paying you to be here,” he says. “I assured you ... nothing physical was part of the bargain.”

“I know that, Ben. I don’t feel pressured to accept your kisses.”

He turns to look at me, as if seeking out visual confirmation I’m telling the truth.

“I promise,” I say. I tilt my head, and he drops his gaze to my neck as if he’s wondering how it would taste.

But it’s complicated. We both know it.

I also know I want him to kiss me again, and if he wanted to peel off my clothes and lick me from neck to ankle, right at this moment I’m unlikely to say no.

At the same time, we’re guests in someone else’s house, he’s trying to focus on achieving something that, for whatever reason, is incredibly important to him, and I just got out of a serious relationship.

“There are lots of reasons not to act on—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence, because Ben slides his large hands around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. He cups the back of my head.

“I have this urge to touch you all the time,” he growls out, coiling his fingers around my bare thigh.

His skin against mine is so electrifying I’m frightened to move in case I burst into flames.

Yes, we’ve held hands and touched in small, intimate ways, but somehow in this room tonight, everything feels different. Bigger.

I turn toward him and place my palms carefully on his chest, slowly, in case he has the urge to stop me or I change my mind.

But he doesn’t. I don’t.

I feel the heat through the white cotton of his top, but it’s not enough. I want to feel his skin. I skim my fingers down, down, down, dipping my fingertips under the hem of his T-shirt to his hard warmth.

“I know. I feel it too.” My voice is fractured and strained, like I’m six thousand feet above sea level and can’t catch my breath.

Finally, he gives me the oxygen I need, pressing a kiss to my mouth. As our lips join, I melt beneath him, like ice against his flames. His touch burns every other kiss I’ve ever had from my memory, and I know from now on, I’ll only remember him. I’ll only want to remember him.

He pulls at me, maneuvering me on his lap so my legs are either side of his hips, his hardness beneath me.

I sigh and my muscles unlock. We’re not pretending anymore.

This feels so perfect, so right, like I’ve been waiting to come home to him and now I’m right where I’m meant to be.

He tucks my bottom closer to him, and we slot together, our hips and chests pressing against each other.

The thin cotton between us acts as the final barrier, and although it’s flimsy, it’s the only thing stopping Ben from owning me completely.

His hands drift up to the sides of my breasts, and I tip my head back, my entire body throbbing. Desperate.

I gasp. Because this—just this, the kissing and the closeness—is almost too much.

We’re still fully clothed, and while things might seem pretty PG from the outside, on the inside?

On the inside, we’re three seconds away from a nuclear explosion.

My hands on his chest, I twist in his lap, circling my hips.

He cups my breasts, his thumb grazing my nipple under the cotton.

“Ben,” I choke out, almost overwhelmed with sensation.

He lifts his hands, holding them out like he’s surrendering. I’m endlessly grateful and heavy with disappointment at the same time.

We press our foreheads together as if we’re trying to take a beat before exploring each other. Except we’re connected everywhere.

“This needs to ... We should ... We can’t do this here,” he says, finally finding his words. “Not now.”

I get it. He’s making the right decision, but I’m not quite sure how I’ll survive around him for another second without wanting more and more and more. And if not now, when?