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 Rolex Philip had insisted on her wearing, and which she had left behind in London ‘—it’s half-past ten! I wonder if the doorman can get me a taxi?’
‘Jaime!’
The way Ben said her name should have warned her. But it didn’t. She was so intent on extricating herself from what had become an humiliating situation that the idea that Ben might actually mean what he said didn’t occur to her. She thought he was just being nice. She thought he was trying to save her embarrassment. But, in fact, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
‘Jaime,’ he said again, as she would have gone past him, stepping into her path with sober intent. ‘Jaime, don’t go.’
‘What?’ Her nervous gaze flickered over his face and away again. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve got to. It’s late and—and I—–’
But, as she spoke, his hand had taken hold of her arm, sliding from the narrow bones of her forearm to the quivering muscles of her biceps. And he had bent his head to press his lips against her shoulder, his tongue moistening the flesh through the folds of satin.
‘Ben…’
Her use of his name was less certain, and as he continued to hold her against him all her limbs grew shaky. What did he want of her? she wondered raggedly, and memories of the way Philip had used her returned to flood her mind with terror. Philip had been gentle once, she remembered. In those early days it had pleased him to pretend that this time he wouldn’t hurt her, but she had very soon learned that his words were just more lies. Later on, he hadn’t even pretended. He had known he was just wasting his time, and she shuddered at the thought of what he had done to her.
And, as if her trembling limbs had communicated her fear to Ben, he lifted his head. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’ he asked, and the anguish in his face made her swiftly
