Page 33 of Bennett (HC Heroes #15)

F our days had gone by, and the quiet was almost too quiet.

Bennett stood near the large front window in Laurel’s apartment, the fading light of evening washing over the newly set living room. Down below, the sidewalks were empty, the air thick with salt and humidity. After the chaos of the last week, everything finally felt still.

And that was the problem.

Behind him, Laurel hummed as she moved around the kitchen, prepping something simple—sandwiches, judging by the scent of toasted bread. The homey clatter of plates and silverware mixed with the occasional soft curse when she dropped something.

He liked the sound of her here. Comfortable. Settled. Like she belonged.

Which made the ever-present edge in his gut even more annoying.

She deserved the calm. She deserved the comfortable. Hell, she deserved a damn medal for seeing her aunt through her second surgery tomorrow.

He and Laurel were all set to stay with Annie for the next two days while Matthew camped out here, much to the woman’s protests.

But Laurel had remained stern, and he’d backed her up.

Annie wasn’t one to sit still and take it easy during her recovery period.

Experience had already proven that. A smile tugged at his lips.

The woman had gumption, a lot like her niece.

A trait he admired in both women.

His phone buzzed on the table with a text from Carter.

“All security feeds holding. No alerts in the last 48. All good.”

Good. Bennett blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Another buzz from Carter:

“Mac and I met with Connor this morning—finally.”

This was also good. Bennett and Mac had gone to Wild Creek Ranch last week, but spring round-up had taken his cousin off grid.

He’d met Connor once in passing, the day before he started this assignment.

Rancher. Tough as nails. Still had the hands of a working cowboy despite the money his family had accumulated over the years.

If Connor was talking, Bennett trusted the man’s word a hell of a lot more than Duke Carver’s smile.

Carter buzzed again.

“Guy still hates Duke. Called him a ‘greedy little mosquito in Gucci boots.’ Said if something shady’s going on, Duke’s got his name all over it . More coming. He’s checking some land survey records for us.”

Bennett’s lips twitched. “Mosquito in Gucci boots,” he murmured, amused despite himself, as he replied with, “Roger that.”

He was supposed to meet Connor with Mac that morning, but Carter had needed someone on-site to run a full stress test on the new security grid while Brandi’s team entered the last phase of construction.

Bennett hadn’t argued. With Laurel living upstairs now, the weight of that responsibility sat squarely on his shoulders—his choice. If something failed, if a sensor didn’t catch movement or a camera glitched at the wrong time, he’d never forgive himself.

“Something new?” Laurel asked behind him.

He turned. She was drying her hands on a towel, one hip propped against the counter, her hair loose and wild around her shoulders, soft and golden in the fading sunlight. His chest warmed at the sight.

“Just Carter,” he said, pocketing the phone. “Security looks good. He and Mac talked to a local rancher this morning—Connor McCall, Mac’s cousin. Knows Duke. Doesn’t like him.”

Laurel chuckled. “Sounds like everyone around here knows Duke.”

“Too many know him. Not enough trust him.”

She came closer, pressing a glass of iced tea into his hand before tucking herself under his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a few stolen seconds, it was.

The comfort. The quiet. The feel of her right where she belonged.

But even as he held her close, the weight never fully left his chest.

Because quiet this deep?

Wasn’t just peace.

It was a warning.

Laurel leaned her head on his shoulder, her hand drifting to rest against his chest. “Still tense,” she murmured, her fingers brushing lazily over his shirt.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stood there, watching the streetlights flicker on down the block, their glow soft and distant.

“I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted finally, placing a kiss to her head. “And I hate that it makes me second-guess moments like this.”

She shifted to look up at him, her gaze warm but steady. “Then stop. Just for tonight.”

Bad idea.

Bennett flexed his jaw. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Then let me help.” Laurel reached up and slid her hand along his jaw, her touch feather-light and as soft as the lips she brushed against his.

That did it.

His restraint, already frayed at the edges, snapped like old thread.

He haphazardly set his glass on the coffee table then cupped her face in his hands and took over the kiss.

Deep, thorough, and slow. No urgency, just heat and gratitude and with a hunger that had nothing to do with safety and everything to do with her.

Laurel melted into him instantly, her fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, stroking his flesh like she’d done plenty of times before.

His dick twitched.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Still want those sandwiches?”

“Not even a little,” she breathed, tugging him closer.

They moved together, step by step, until her back met the edge of the couch. She dropped onto it, her legs already parting to welcome him as he followed her down.

And just like that, the quiet wasn’t so quiet anymore.

She arched into him, the delicious press of her curves against him triggering something raw.

Something real. He braced himself over her, watching her eyes darken as he slipped a hand beneath her shirt, his fingers gliding over bare skin.

She was already warm, already ready for him, and the soft little hitch in her breath nearly wrecked him.

“Laurel,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the hollow beneath her ear.

She gasped. “You saying my name like that should be illegal.”

He grinned against her heated skin. “Not the first time I’ve been accused of being trouble.”

“Mmm, maybe,” she whispered, curling her fingers into his shirt. “But you’re my kind of trouble.”

That undid him.

He removed her shirt slowly, like unwrapping something precious—because she was. Then he leaned back just long enough to drag his own over his head. She rose up slightly, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

His erection shot to full tilt.

Before he could swallow his tongue at the sight of her gorgeous breasts bouncing, beckoning, her hands were on his chest, grazing over muscle, teasing along the dips and curves she clearly already knew and enjoyed.

He did, too. Each brush of her fingertips lit him up like a fuse, unraveling the tight control he wore like armor everywhere but with her.

He caught her mouth in another kiss, deeper this time, his tongue thrusting past her lips, and he groaned when she met him stroke for stroke. Needing more, needing everything, he slid his hands down to the waistband of her jeans.

She gasped against his mouth, lifting her hips, already reaching to undo the button. Together, they pushed the denim past her thighs and off.

She was just as hungry. Just as ready.

Blood roared in his ears as he stripped her bare, savoring every last inch of skin like it was a gift he’d never tire of unwrapping.

Her hands trembled, but her touch was sure as she made quick work of his belt and buckle, her fingers hungry, breath catching as zippers whispered and clothes fell away.

He looked down at her, flushed and open beneath him, golden strands fanned across the cushions, lips kiss-swollen, eyes holding nothing back. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just need for him. That look—hell, that look—slammed into his chest like a freight train, smashing every wall he’d built.

His pulse thundered. Heat surged low and sharp, tightening everything inside him. His body was already straining, painfully hard and aching to be inside her, but it wasn’t just need. It was her. The way she saw him. The way she trusted him.

The woman had him but good. And he didn’t care.

His voice came out low, almost ragged. “You undo me, Laurel. Every time. I don’t know how the hell you do it, but when I’m with you, everything else fades.”

Laurel’s breath caught, her chest rising against his as emotion flickered across her face, raw, vulnerable, real. “I feel the same,” she whispered, her voice a little shaky. “You see me, Bennett. And somehow, I’m not afraid when you do.”

Then she touched his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing the stubble along his jaw as she pulled him into a deep, hot, demanding kiss that sent awareness skittering down his spine.

His mouth moved over hers, almost frantic, fueled by the sharp edge of need coiled so tightly inside him, it threatened to snap.

One hand cupped her breast, thumb circling the already-tight peak, drawing a gasp from her throat that he swallowed with another kiss.

She was incredible, amazing, perfect, and driving him crazy.

His other hand gripped her hip, anchoring her, fingers digging in just enough to remind them both that this was real.

That this was now.

She arched beneath him, chasing every touch, every brush of his skin against hers, her hands roaming his back, his shoulders, sliding into his hair as her nails lightly scratched his scalp. His whole body shuddered in response.

He dragged his lips down her neck, nipping and licking along the sensitive column as her legs encircled his waist, drawing him closer until there was no space left between them. Then her hips tilted in invitation, and the heat of her pressed against him ripped a groan from deep in his chest.

His dick twitched, hard.

Summoning the strength to hold onto his control, he fumbled blindly with one hand, reaching for his jeans in the crumpled pile on the floor. When his fingers found the foil packet in the pocket, he broke the kiss just long enough to tear it open and roll the condom on.