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Benjamin followed Lynn’s instructions with exactitude. She’d put her trust in him, and he intended to deserve it.
It was possible he was taking the whole routine a little too intensely. If he failed at getting Oscar to sleep, the world wouldn’t come to an end. This wasn’t a pass/fail test.
It only felt like it.
He counted as he thumped Oscar gently on the back, figuring one-hundred and eighty would be close enough to the required time limit. As she’d warned, the boy stirred when Benjamin stopped patting and stepped cautiously away from the crib, but his lids were heavy and his head dropped back onto the mattress. By the time Benjamin eased the door shut, leaving the requisite two-inch gap, he appeared to be asleep.
Lynn was on the couch in the living room. She had changed out of her jeans and T-shirt, which Oscar had dampened during his bath, and put on a loose dress with short sleeves and a hem that swept to her feet.
She held out her hand, offering the bottle of beer he hadn’t finished during dinner. He took it and she lifted her wine glass from the low table in front of her. “Sounds like he’s out.” She curled up her legs, tucking her feet under the fabric of her dress and shuffling back into the corner of the sofa. He sat half a cushion away. She’d been...not exactly distant this evening, but cautious, wary. She hadn’t acted like the woman who’d given him such an affectionate welcome home earlier today, and he didn’t feel he had the right to snuggle up any closer, no matter how much he wanted to.
“I did everything just the way you said.” His beer wasn’t cold any longer but he took a sip anyway.
“Yes, well, that’s no guarantee. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a parent it’s that routines don’t last. I’ve learned to be flexible.” She quirked a small smile. “And flexibility is not one of my talents. I like things neat and orderly and don’t like surprises and last-minute changes.”
I guess we’re doing this. A chill trickled down his spine and his gut clenched. The talk he’d been dreading for almost a week was unavoidable now. He wished he knew which way he wanted it to go.
There was nothing to it but to be honest. “Not that I like curve balls, but in sports you learn to go with the flow. Game plans are always changing, adapting. In my personal life, though, I have a bad habit of letting things simply happen, even avoiding issues until I’m forced to do otherwise.” Until recently, that was. Taking the job with the Canyon Cats, vowing to get them to the championships, reconciling with his mother and Jujhar—making those decisions had been terrifying. He had been opening himself to failure—again. He sucked in a breath, seeking calm. “I always figured that, if you have no expectations, no goals, you can’t be disappointed.” Or disappoint the people you love.
“I assume there’s a happy medium somewhere.” She propped her elbow on the back of the couch and rested her head on her hand. “Here’s the thing. I can’t toy with Oscar’s future. Whatever I do, it has to be good for him.”
“I won’t argue with that. Can’t argue with that.”
“That being said...” Lynn’s gaze flickered past his shoulder, and then focused on him again. The sign of nervousness relieved some of his own growing tension. “He’s too young to remember much of anything yet. I comfort myself with that when I screw up, which happens on a daily basis. He’s getting used to you, of course, and he likes you, but if you suddenly disappeared I don’t think he’d be scarred for life.”
He wasn’t sure whether she was comforting or cautioning him. What about her? Would he be that forgettable to Lynn? “What are you getting at?”
She sipped her wine, and then sipped again. “What I’m trying to say is—I can’t use Oscar as an excuse. Not with you. Which means I have to decide what our night together meant for me. For us. Was it the start of something—or the end?”
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LYNN’S CHEST WAS TIGHT, her gut watery, an uneasy juxtaposition that made her queasy. She felt vulnerable, exposed, unbalanced. Having a plan didn’t guarantee success. Just look at her engagement to Lance. And though she hadn’t meant it that way, her question to Benjamin just now had the air of an ultimatum.
His gaze dropped to the bottle in his hand. He picked at the label with a fingernail, shredding the glittery paper.
The longer he remained silent the more fiercely her stomach curdled. She opened her mouth to backtrack, to soften her stance, when he finally spoke.
“What do you want from me?” He slid her a glance from the corner of his eye. “I can promise that you’ll be the only one while we’re together. I can’t promise anything more than a day at a time.” He didn’t have to spell out why. If his career took him to a different city, he wouldn’t let their relationship stop him. His chin dipped, further hiding his expression. “I know that’s not what you’re looking for.”
It wasn’t, not in the long term. But she’d told the truth when she’d said Oscar had taught her to be flexible. And maybe this was one of those times.
“Here’s what I know.” She shifted forward and touched his forearm. He looked up from mangling the label and met her gaze. “I like you. You’re a good, kind man. You’re sexy as hell. You make me feel desirable and beautiful.”
“You are. Anyone that doesn’t see that is blind.”
Her heart swelled. “Be that as it may, all those things put together make me want to take a chance on you. I know everything could change tomorrow.” She swallowed down old fears. “For now, day to day is good enough for me.”
“I don’t know if I deserve that. Deserve you.”
She searched his face. His eyes were solemn and sincere and wistful. She slid her fingers up his bicep to his shoulder, to the taut column of his neck—
—and pinched his earlobe.
“Hey!” He flinched away. “What was that for?”
“That’s for selling yourself short. You deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy. Maybe we can’t guarantee how long that happiness will last, but coming into any relationship with that outlook will doom it from the start.”
He rubbed his earlobe and scowled at her, but he’d lost the rather pathetic look that had irritated her. “You sound like Jujhar.”
“Who?”
“A friend. He said much the same thing a little while ago.”
“He sounds like a smart guy.” She placed her wineglass on the coffee table and knelt on the cushion, bringing herself closer to his heat, his scent. “I’m all for a sensitive man. I like that you’re modest and not some arrogant asshole that expects everything to fall into his lap. But I have one son. I’m not looking for another child to coddle. I want a man who is strong and determined and willing to fight for what he wants. Is that the kind of man you are?”
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NO. I’M NOT.
Benjamin was thankful his instinctive denial remained unspoken. It wasn’t what Lynn wanted to hear.
It also wasn’t the truth. Not completely, anyway.
He’d been strong and determined and willing to fight for his goals once. But the vagaries of sport and life, including mistakes and injuries and plain old bad luck, had battered him, eating away at his confidence so slowly he hadn’t even realized it. Not for years. Not when his father had challenged him with love and pride. Not when Jujhar had told him so with blunt affection.
He was working on getting it back. Getting the Canyon Cats to the playoffs would be the first step. Winning the championship would be the next. After that...who knew?
Maybe he had something to learn from Lynn. Something about making goals and being flexible—and taking chances.
She was waiting for his answer. Lines creased her brow and the fierceness had faded from her eyes.
He wanted to bring it back. Wanted to feed off her passion and vigour and conviction.
“Yes.” It didn’t come out as firm as he wanted and he cleared his throat. “Yes, I am that kind of man. I think.”
She shook her head. “Don’t waffle. Don’t temporize. If you’re in, you’re in all the way, for as long as we have. If circumstances change, we’ll deal with them then.”
“I’m in.” He straightened his spine, the bottle gripped in his hand like a torch, like a spear. “You said I was good and kind and sexy. That I make you feel beautiful.” She opened her mouth and he held up a palm. She closed it. “I could say the same about you. Maybe not the beautiful part”—a smile tugged the corner of his mouth and he saw an answering one on her lips—“but the rest for sure.”
“Okay then. We’re agreed.” All of a sudden his lap was full of warm, soft woman as Lynn straddled him, hiking her skirt up so he caught a flash of bare thigh. “We’re dating.”
Something about the word didn’t sit quite right, but he was too busy enjoying the pressure of her ass on his thighs to quibble. “I guess we are.”
“Don’t guess. Believe.” Her lips on his were a declaration and a promise. His mouth opened immediately and the kiss deepened, tongues tangling, tantalizing. He pulled her closer and she rose on her knees, curling over him. Her hands clamped his shoulders, her arms cradling her own breasts, plumping them so they brushed his jaw, his neck stretching to keep his mouth locked onto the deliciousness that was Lynn.
She wriggled off his lap and he groaned in disappointment—until she took his hand and tugged him up, leading him down the hall to her darkened bedroom. She set to work on his clothes, unbuttoning and unzipping and untucking. On his part, all he had to do was ruck her dress up and over her head. Unhooking her bra and thumbing her panties down was the work of an instant, and they fell onto the bed, a tangle of hot skin and quivering muscles and devouring mouths.
Their mating was fast and frantic, nearly silent in deference to the baby but possibly more intense because of that. He tried to slow down, to steep himself in her, but she was having none of it. She scored him with her nails, trapped him between her thighs, and he gave into her ferocity. A tug on her hair had her arching and pleading and a rush of liquid heat told him she was more than ready.
He scrabbled for a condom in the bedside table and plunged into her while she still shuddered from her orgasm. Her close-mouthed shriek flexed her throat as she tossed her head back and he rode her, engulfed in her depths, welcomed into her soul, until he, too, flew off the edge of eternity, his mind blank, his body shuddering, as he emptied himself.