Dangerous Passions. Lynne Graham
arrived at lunchtime, and because the pub was such a busy place he invariably took her out for a meal. It gave them an opportunity to speak privately, and if what he had to say only took up a small part of the time it never seemed to matter.
He told her about his work, and the people he worked with, and Jaime confided her own hopes and aspirations in the secretarial course she was taking. But Ben had always had a gift for narration, and Jaime always sat, entranced, while he described the places he had visited, and the events he had reported upon.
She never thought their relationship was moving beyond that of casual acquaintances. It didn’t occur to her how strange it was that she and Ben should find such pleasure in each other’s company. That the pretexts he used to promote each meeting were becoming ever more flimsy simply didn’t register. Nor did the increasing frequency of those visits arouse any fears.
Then, just a few days before Christmas, Ben arrived in the afternoon. He said he had no especial reason for visiting her—except that he had brought her a small present—but he had been in the neighbourhood, and he wondered if she would join him for dinner.
Innocent enough, Jaime thought now, remembering her feelings then. She must have been crazy, she mused. It had never even occurred to her to refuse.
Of course, her parents hadn’t been keen. Even though Ben had proved himself such a good friend over the past year, they were still suspicious of anyone called Russell. But Jaime refused to listen to their advice. Ben had asked her out to dinner, and all she could think of was what she was going to wear.
She supposed she must have been half in love with Ben even then. There seemed no other explanation for the way she had behaved. Or perhaps she had just been desperate for affection, she reflected bitterly. Certainly she had made it easy for him.
She didn’t think of it before Ben came to collect her, but when he told her he was staying at the Crown Hotel she realised that, for once, he wasn’t driving home after visiting her. She remembered wondering if his wife knew where he was this evening, and then dismissing the thought as being unworthy of consideration. In all honesty, she hadn’t cared what his wife thought, which probably made what happened after a fitting punishment. But, at the time, she had been blind to anything but the delight of being with Ben.
Because it was Christmas week everywhere was busy, and after a noisy meal in town Ben suggested they go back to his hotel for a nightcap. In her more charitable moments, Jaime had to admit that the idea of having it in his suite had been as much her idea as his. But the bar at the Crown had been hectic, and the knowledge that Ben had a perfectly good sitting-room upstairs seemed too attractive to ignore.
Jaime had never been upstairs in the Crown before, and she was impressed with Ben’s suite, which had a sitting-room, dressing-room, bedroom, and bathroom. While they waited for a waiter to bring their drinks, she asked if she could use the bathroom, and Ben gave her a teasing grin before saying, ‘Be my guest.’
When she came out again, she could hear Ben talking to the waiter in the sitting-room, and, on impulse, she went through the doorway that led into his bedroom. She told herself she was curious to see how the room was decorated, but it wasn’t really that. It was the first time she had been in a man’s bedroom since her break-up with Philip, and she was anxious to know how she would react to it. The fact that it was also the room where Ben was going to sleep tonight intrigued her, and when she saw a maroon silk dressing-gown lying on the end of the huge four-poster bed she couldn’t resist running her fingers over the fine fabric.
‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
Ben’s voice from behind her brought her round with a start. She hadn’t heard the waiter leave, but evidently he had, because Ben was now standing in the bedroom doorway.
Jaime’s face suffused with colour. ‘I—yes,’ she said, her nail catching on the cloth as she withdrew her hand. ‘Um—I’m sorry. I was just—looking around.’
‘That’s all right.’
Ben propped his shoulder against the door-frame. He was looking at her with his intense green eyes, and Jaime felt a frisson of fear slide along her spine. She should never have looked in here, she thought, never stepped inside. Now Ben was between her and freedom, and it wasn’t easy not to panic.
Her palms were damp, and she tried to dry them out on the seat of the slim velvet trousers she was wearing. She had thought the soft trousers, worn with a full-sleeved satin blouse, both in a subtle shade of violet, were an attractive combination. But now she felt as exposed as if they’d suddenly become transparent.
‘Do you realise this is the first time we’ve been alone together?’ Ben remarked, when she said nothing, and she wondered how he could be unaware of her feelings. ‘Apart from the car, of course,’ he went on. ‘But that’s not quite the same.’
Jaime swallowed. ‘So?’
The word came out high, and squeaky, and Ben’s eyes darkened. ‘So—nothing,’ he said flatly. ‘What’s wrong?’
Jaime shook her head. ‘What could be wrong?’ she parried. ‘Did—er—did the waiter bring our drinks?’
Ben stared at her. ‘Yes. He brought them,’ he answered. And then, roughly, ‘For God’s sake! Why are you looking at me like that? What do you think I’m planning to do? Rape you?’
Jaime held up her head. ‘It has been done,’ she got out unsteadily, and Ben uttered an angry oath.
‘Not by me!’ he exclaimed, and then, just when she thought he was going to leave her in disgust, he pushed himself away from the door and came towards her. ‘I’m not Philip,’ he said harshly, halting right in front of her. He cupped her quivering chin with one hand, and turned her face up to his. ‘I’d never hurt you, Jaime. Surely you know that. For God’s sake, I care about you too much for that.’
‘Oh, Ben…’
Jaime could hardly bear to look at him. She felt sick and ashamed for doubting him. He wasn’t Philip. He was nothing like Philip. And, although she had no real proof, she instinctively knew she could trust him.
Acting purely on impulse, she turned her head, and pressed her lips against his palm. His skin tasted warm, and salty, and essentially male, and, although she tried to prevent it, an errant tear trembled on her lashes.
‘Hey…’ Ben’s voice was a little uneven now, and although he drew his hand away his thumb brushed abrasively across her lips. ‘Don’t cry!’ he protested. ‘Do you want people to think I’m a louse?’
Jaime lifted her hand to touch his face. ‘They wouldn’t think that,’ she assured him huskily. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m not much of a woman, am I?’
Ben captured her hand in his, and she knew his instincts were to thrust it back at her. But her words caused a spasm of frustration to cross his lean features, and almost against his will he pressed her open hand against his cheek.
‘Don’t say that,’ he told her gruffly. ‘Don’t let one bad experience ruin your life. You’re a warm, loving, beautiful woman. And I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t aware of it!’
Jaime’s tongue trembled against her upper lip. ‘And are you?’ she whispered. ‘Aware of it—of me, I mean? You’re not just saying it.’
Ben groaned. ‘No, I’m not just saying it,’ he declared, on an uneven breath. ‘For God’s sake, Jaime, don’t do this to me—to us! We’re friends. Don’t—spoil it.’
Jaime’s eyes showed her hurt. Drawing her hand away, she balled her fist, and pressed it into her palm. Of course, she thought unsteadily, Ben was married. He wasn’t really interested in her. He was just being kind. And she wasn’t making it easy for him.
‘I—I should be going,’ she said, looking anywhere but into his dark, defeated face. ‘Heavens—–’ she glanced at her watch—the plain gold watch her parents had given her on her eighteenth birthday, and not the jewelled