from him, now, before she did something really stupid. Like ask him to come home with her. She hoped he didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath that thought provoked.
Think about something else. A picture of the young widow and her kids popped into her head.
“Did you get that young mother’s phone number, Ben? I could give her a call tomorrow and see how the baby’s getting on.”
He shook his head and smiled lazily at her. “Still the head prefect, mm‐mm? Still looking out for everyone else?”
“No. Just concerned.” And then another picture filled her mind, unwelcome as a cold house in winter, and she couldn’t stop the words tumbling from her mouth.
“You had a funny look on your face, Ben, when she talked about the P‐lab burning.
Did you know about that case? Did you know people involved?”
He sat up, and she pushed herself up, too.
“Maybe I did.” He wasn’t laughing.
Her heart plummeted. She nodded slowly. “So you’re admitting you move in criminal circles?”
He stood in one smooth move, then extended a hand down to her. She took his hand and let him pull her up so they stood facing each other. His dark brows were drawn together, and any trace of a smile was gone.
“Why do you always want to think the worst of me, Kelly?”
“I don’t.” But she knew that wasn’t true.
“Maybe I’m a good guy in disguise.”
“My eyes tell me a different story.”
“You see what you want to see.” He took both her hands in his. “And if you thought I was one of the good guys, Kelly, would we be here tonight, doing this?” He leaned in and kissed her slowly and so thoroughly, she thought her insides would melt.
At last he pulled back, saying, “I don’t think so.”
His eyes were steady on hers. For ten seconds, twenty maybe, he said nothing, then,
“I think you’d rather I was Ben the bad boy, unattainable, untouchable, because then you have an excuse not to get involved. You can kiss and cuddle. Hell, you can even make love to me and walk away, without so much as a goodbye, like you did when we were twenty‐one.”
Julie Mac
He was speaking softly. “But if I was one of the good guys, I think you’d run a mile because then there’d be no reason not to get involved. And getting involved—committing—means risking having a man leave you high and dry.”
She shook her head slowly, from side to side. “No, you’re wrong, Ben. Totally wrong.” But she felt a weakness, deep inside, like a dam wall about to burst.
“Am I wrong? You’re twenty‐seven years old, with a child, but you’ve never committed to a man. You look at me and see a criminal, but you don’t mind me kissing you.
If I had a normal law‐abiding job—if I was a fireman…a policeman maybe…would you want me? Would you be letting me kiss you?”
She thought of the young widow and her two babies. She knew he was right.
“I’d respect you, of course I would, if you were a policeman or a fireman. But—” she looked away, focussing on the nearest street lamp “—those jobs are dangerous, and yes, you’re right, I couldn’t be with you because I’d be afraid of losing you.”
Losing you? This was crazy. Standing so close to him, breathing his scent, feeling the lingering heat of his lips on hers, was making her say the weirdest things.
She willed her eyes to find his again. “I’d be afraid…I’d be scared Dylan would suffer the same pain I knew as a child. It would be my childhood all over again.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words out loud.
“Life’s scary, Kel,” he said. “Life’s one big risk. And we can hide and hedge all we like, but that’s not living, is it?”
They stood in silence for a long moment. His words reverberated around her head; hurtful, stinging, but true.
“How about if I was a landscape gardener?” he asked presently, and she thought she heard the hint of laughter on his voice. “Would that be a safe enough
Think about something else. A picture of the young widow and her kids popped into her head.
“Did you get that young mother’s phone number, Ben? I could give her a call tomorrow and see how the baby’s getting on.”
He shook his head and smiled lazily at her. “Still the head prefect, mm‐mm? Still looking out for everyone else?”
“No. Just concerned.” And then another picture filled her mind, unwelcome as a cold house in winter, and she couldn’t stop the words tumbling from her mouth.
“You had a funny look on your face, Ben, when she talked about the P‐lab burning.
Did you know about that case? Did you know people involved?”
He sat up, and she pushed herself up, too.
“Maybe I did.” He wasn’t laughing.
Her heart plummeted. She nodded slowly. “So you’re admitting you move in criminal circles?”
He stood in one smooth move, then extended a hand down to her. She took his hand and let him pull her up so they stood facing each other. His dark brows were drawn together, and any trace of a smile was gone.
“Why do you always want to think the worst of me, Kelly?”
“I don’t.” But she knew that wasn’t true.
“Maybe I’m a good guy in disguise.”
“My eyes tell me a different story.”
“You see what you want to see.” He took both her hands in his. “And if you thought I was one of the good guys, Kelly, would we be here tonight, doing this?” He leaned in and kissed her slowly and so thoroughly, she thought her insides would melt.
At last he pulled back, saying, “I don’t think so.”
His eyes were steady on hers. For ten seconds, twenty maybe, he said nothing, then,
“I think you’d rather I was Ben the bad boy, unattainable, untouchable, because then you have an excuse not to get involved. You can kiss and cuddle. Hell, you can even make love to me and walk away, without so much as a goodbye, like you did when we were twenty‐one.”
Julie Mac
He was speaking softly. “But if I was one of the good guys, I think you’d run a mile because then there’d be no reason not to get involved. And getting involved—committing—means risking having a man leave you high and dry.”
She shook her head slowly, from side to side. “No, you’re wrong, Ben. Totally wrong.” But she felt a weakness, deep inside, like a dam wall about to burst.
“Am I wrong? You’re twenty‐seven years old, with a child, but you’ve never committed to a man. You look at me and see a criminal, but you don’t mind me kissing you.
If I had a normal law‐abiding job—if I was a fireman…a policeman maybe…would you want me? Would you be letting me kiss you?”
She thought of the young widow and her two babies. She knew he was right.
“I’d respect you, of course I would, if you were a policeman or a fireman. But—” she looked away, focussing on the nearest street lamp “—those jobs are dangerous, and yes, you’re right, I couldn’t be with you because I’d be afraid of losing you.”
Losing you? This was crazy. Standing so close to him, breathing his scent, feeling the lingering heat of his lips on hers, was making her say the weirdest things.
She willed her eyes to find his again. “I’d be afraid…I’d be scared Dylan would suffer the same pain I knew as a child. It would be my childhood all over again.” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words out loud.
“Life’s scary, Kel,” he said. “Life’s one big risk. And we can hide and hedge all we like, but that’s not living, is it?”
They stood in silence for a long moment. His words reverberated around her head; hurtful, stinging, but true.
“How about if I was a landscape gardener?” he asked presently, and she thought she heard the hint of laughter on his voice. “Would that be a safe enough
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