have. Being stuck at the same table didn’t mean she had to spend all night concentrating on Ben—even when a part of her wanted to do exactly that. Glancing around the table to see if she knew anyone else, she found a woman of similar age to her watching the whole incident with amusement. Tori felt her blood begin to boil. Why did strangers enjoy other people’s discomfort? The dinner hadn’t begun and already she wanted to leave.
Then the woman stuck her hand across the table. ‘Hi, I’m Rita McIntyre. That’s my husband, John, next to Ben.’
Tori drew on her reserves to push away her negativity and took the hand being offered. It was as warm as the friendly expression on Rita’s face. ‘I’m Tori Wells.’
Rita nodded. ‘I thought so. It’s really good to meet you. We’ve known Ben since he moved to Sydney from New Zealand. He and John worked together at Sydney Hospital and we all became firm friends, though we haven’t seen enough of him since he shifted to London. We’re trying to entice him back Down Under so we’re able to catch up more often. Our kids miss him a lot.’
Too much information. Instantly a picture of Ben kicking a ball around a yard with children filled her head. Ben cuddling an unhappy child. Ben buying the biggest ice creams available for kids. He’d have been a wonderful dad, given the chance. Tori gulped, nodded and looked around for a waiter. A glass of water wouldn’t go amiss. I don’t need to know any of this. It’s his life, nothing to do with me. But I wanted that with him, too. Nearly had it, in fact.
Ben grumped at Rita, ‘I’m not sure Tori wants to talk about me.’
Rita was made of sterner stuff. ‘Of course she does. Bet she’s kept an eye on your career, as you have hers. Isn’t that right, Tori?’
Eek. Ben’s kept up to date with what I’ve been doing? Now what? Tell the truth. It can’t hurt. ‘You’re right. I have.’ By the surprise on Ben’s face she should’ve kept quiet. ‘He’s done extremely well, but that was probably a given from the day he started med school.’ Whoa, Tori, haul on the brakes, will you?
She glanced around. Where was a waiter when she needed one? So Ben had also followed her career, which explained how he’d known she hadn’t changed her name. Seems neither of them had let go of the other entirely. Suddenly she felt warm inside. It was kind of interesting that Ben did want to know what she’d been up to, hadn’t written her off completely.
Glancing up at her ex standing beside her, Tori felt that warmth spread farther out into the corners of her body.
‘Thank you for your compliment. I’ve been lucky to have done well recently,’ he said.
They both knew about the luck, or lack of it. There was no conceit in his voice any more, just a quiet belief in himself. A steadier version of the man she’d married, that belief tempered with reality. But, then, he’d learned the hard way to be humble as far as his career went.
Rita grinned like she’d won a prize at the carnival. ‘Ben, sit down, for goodness’ sake. Snap those fingers and get us some drinks ordered. Tori and I have some serious talking to do.’ She turned her formidable gaze onto Tori. ‘Where did you get that dress? It’s amazing. I want one just like it. Maybe make that almost like it. Can’t be wearing the same, can we?’
Because of Rita’s forthrightness, Tori felt herself relaxing. She had nothing to hide from this woman. Except the same old story she hid from everyone. She shivered. Especially from Ben. ‘I went shopping yesterday straight after I arrived and had a shower to wash off the travel skin.’
‘Travel skin? I like that. I know what you mean. Spending all that time confined in a plane does make you feel less than clean, doesn’t it? You weren’t jet-lagged?’
‘Absolutely, but I’d arrived in France. I wasn’t spending the first hours sleeping. They have the most wonderful shops here. The shoes are amazing. How could I ignore those?’ She felt Ben take his seat, his thigh bumping against hers before he quickly shifted away, putting a small gap between them. Her teeth slammed shut. Even the slightest touch, unintentional as it had been, shot her temperature over the moon.
‘So tell me, where are these shops?’ Rita asked. ‘Or do you have time in your schedule to come with me?’
‘I hope so. I have a few gaps in my schedule. Let me look at the programme after dinner and get back to you on that. There’s a jacket I couldn’t make my mind up about. I’d value your opinion.’ Shopping was always a great way to spend an hour or three, and she’d also like to get to know Rita some more. Hopefully Ben wouldn’t see a problem with that, considering that Rita and her husband were his friends.
Then pine scent caught at her as Ben leaned forward. ‘What do you want to drink?’
Looking around, she saw a waiter hovering. ‘Sparkling water, please.’ Ben looked so cute when his eyebrows rose like that, sort of how she’d imagined he might’ve looked as a boy. Of course, he might be surprised she had given up drinking. He didn’t know that she’d believed her drinking had caused the miscarriage so she hadn’t touched a drop since that awful night. He hadn’t known she was pregnant at all.
Anyway, she’d only started drinking heavily in the first place when their marriage had been going pear-shaped and the alcohol had seemed to help her forget for a while, and had had the added benefit of sending her to sleep every night when thoughts of Ben and their failing love had otherwise kept her tossing and turning until the alarm had gone off in the morning. They’d been leading such separate lives by then that Ben probably hadn’t even noticed how reliant she’d become on alcohol to numb her sadness.
Everyone else ordered wine, and then introductions were made between the other guests seated around the table and as the conversation became general Tori began to enjoy herself.
Until, ‘Forget fabulous. You look beautiful tonight,’ Ben said quietly in an interlude between the main course and a speech from the leading French cardiologist. ‘Rita’s right. That dress is superb on you. Black always did suit your colouring.’
But it wasn’t the colour he was staring at. His gaze was locked on her cleavage.
‘Drop it, Ben,’ she muttered. If she’d known she was going to be seated beside him she’d have worn a sack. Yes, and he used to say you could make sacks look like fashion statements. Her nails dug into her palms. There were far too many memories unlocking in her brain. They’d obviously been hovering, waiting for this day to spring up and remind her of things that weren’t going to do her any good remembering.
When he finally raised his head there was only sorrow in his eyes. He used to be so smug, to the point of arrogant, because he’d always got what he’d wanted. But this Ben appeared different, softer and more careful of others’ feelings. She’d loved him to bits, and had been so proud of him when he’d refused to take the easy option his father had presented to save him from a blot on his CV. Doing that had to have taken guts, and obviously he’d done a lot of soul searching on the way. He’d grown, changed and yet was still her Benji. Benji? Who’s Benji? This man is Ben.
Why did her eyes keep slipping sideways to stare at the only man she’d ever loved? The man she’d once believed she’d be spending the rest of her life with. Benji. Or Ben. Whichever. The package was the same. Sexy albeit with a healthy dose of intellect in those mouth-watering eyes.
I remember every detail of that body. How you liked being caressed just above your hip. How your muscles tightened when I licked a trail down your stomach. Oh, hell.
