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How could a man with no understanding of adjectives like "husky" and "throaty" make his voice sound so sexy? Even when asking a far-from-sexy question? Jewell shook her head and built up enough nerve to move beneath the covers. She reclined back on the pillow and Benjamin moved closer so he looked down at her.
"The NYSE closed up about fourteen points. The California software firm you wanted to watch is up a dollar twenty-five a share. Bernanke is threatening to lower the interest rates again. Nothing too earth-shattering.”
Benjamin leaned closer and touched the base of her throat through the open collar of her pajama top. Despite the restraint she tried to maintain, Jewell closed her eyes and a low moan shuddered up from her chest. Hungry for the simplest touch for the past two days, this sensual contact amplified her senses two-fold. His fingertips ran the edge of the shirt to the valley between her breasts, then back up to her collarbone. With tremendous effort, Jewell opened her eyes and looked up at him.
Benjamin's eyes were dark with arousal. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Her body ached. She'd come close to making love to him once, and her body already hummed from his nearness. Her mind screamed for sanity, warning her that this was neither the time nor the place. But for now, she could not deny his touch.
"Thank you for putting up with me," he said and continued to caress her skin.
She nodded, the only answer she could give. In a purely reactive response, Jewell drew up one knee and turned more in his direction. More than anything, she wanted to wrap her arms around his body and pull him down to her.
Benjamin shifted and moved his entire body closer to hers. The crisp hairs on his thighs brushed her legs and she ran her ankle up the side of his calf. His lips covered hers in a slow, drugging kiss that left her short of breath and hungry for more. The heat of his mouth led a path down her throat to her shoulder and along the base of her collarbone. Jewell moved her hands to his side and the muscles of his back flexed and relaxed beneath her palms.
It was so easy to melt into him.
Neither had to explain why Benjamin stopped before it went too far, or why he shifted to stretch out beside her, tucking her head beneath his chin. This place, this house of tension and anger, was not the place she wanted to remember as the place she made love to Benjamin the first time. Or, maybe any time. And if she felt that way, his opinion on the matter was probably much stronger. Jewell closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh as Benjamin turned off the light. He circled his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer, and kissed her forehead.
"You just wait until I get you back to Boston," he said in the darkness, and she smiled against his bare skin.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"Staying here isn't good for you, Ben."
Benjamin dragged a bite of his prime ribeye through his mashed potatoes, avoiding the response he knew Logan expected. Jewell sat to his left, and Abigail Prescott to his right with the rest of the Prescott family wrapping the round table at one of the finer steakhouses in Hartford. He'd made a comment when he sat that he was the thorn between two roses, and it had garnered a smile from Abigail. She wasn't family, but she was almost as important to him as Victoria, just like another younger sister.
Logan and his wife Patricia sat across the table, with Prescott between Patricia and Jewell. This was the first time Ben had been home since Prescott's wife Gladys died six years before. It seemed strange to sit with the Prescott family and not have Gladys with them.
Benjamin took his time chewing the steak. The only person at the table who signed was Jewell, so they all would just have to wait while he ate. He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and took a sip of merlot before meeting Logan's eyes across the table. "I'm not leaving her. Not until I know what happened."
"We have no idea when that's going to be," Logan emphasized with a wave of his fork through the air. Patricia raised a subtle hand and guided his fork back to his plate before au jus dripped on the white tablecloth. "The doctors won't even say when they're going to bring her out of the medical coma. Are you going to stay in that house of misery until she does?"
"No," he answered quickly, glancing toward Jewell. Her face was down, her attention riveted to her seared scallops. "I've registered a suite at the Crowne Plaza until this is resolved."
Jewell raised her chin enough to look at him and offer a smile. He'd told her his plans that morning over breakfast, and she had neither agreed nor disagreed. She simply nodded her head and squeezed his hand. Even now, she avoided giving an actual opinion.
He wasn't sure if he was happy she hadn't disagreed, or frustrated that she left the decision completely on him.
"For how long?" Logan asked, now emphasizing his point with a wave of his buttered roll. Benjamin had a passing thought that Logan would do well to learn ASL since he already spoke so much with his hands. Logan pointed the roll at him. "Just how long do you think Bulwark is going to let one of their best managers just disappear for weeks at a time? I mean, I'm sure you can do some of whatever it is you do," he said with a flip of his hand, making it clear he didn't know, "from your laptop, but for how long?"
"Do you think my job is more important to me than my sister?"
"No, of course not," Prescott interrupted. "But, other than Victoria, your life is not here in Hartford. It never has been. Victoria is going to be fine, and just how do you think she'll feel if you lose everything you've worked to gain because of her?"
Benjamin sat back and tossed his napkin on his plate. "Don't try to motivate me with guilt, Prescott. I won't have it."
Prescott raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm sorry. I didn't intend it to come off that way."
Jewell reached beneath the table and laced her fingers through his, drawing his hand to her lap beneath the tablecloth. Benjamin drew in a deep breath through his nose, and released it slowly, letting go of the anger Prescott's question had inspired. He knew his godfather was probably trying to help, but Ben Prescott and his children couldn't begin to understand the reasons Benjamin didn't want to leave Victoria without protection of some kind. Even if it was only his presence when she woke up and told the world the truth.
"I apologize, Prescott. I know you have Victoria's interest at heart, but there is more here than you understand."
"That you suspect Jon shot Victoria? I understand that." Prescott shifted, setting his elbow on the table to rub his finger across his upper lip. He had had a mustache for years, and the action was probably habitual. "Ben, we all want to find out the truth as much as you do."
"I don't need to find out the truth, I just need her to tell it. I know what happened. There's no doubt in my mind, Prescott."
"The only person still convinced that Dillon Ferguson shot your sister is Jon himself. And that's only because he's declared it so many times he's started to believe it."
"You don't think Dillon Ferguson shot Victoria." It was no longer a question.
