Men at Work: Through the Roof / Taking His Measure / Watching It Go Up

Ben’s eyes snapped in annoyance.

She hit him again, and he grasped her wrist and held it. She threw her Chanel purse at him with the other hand, began to cry and then aimed a fist at his solar plexus. He commandeered it, too, before she made contact, staring down at her with those dark, unfathomable eyes of his.

“That’s right, Benny, you show her who’s boss,” some lowlife hollered.

“How did you find me?” Ben growled.

“What do you care?” She struggled in his grasp, all too aware that her cool, carefully calculated image had gone up in smoke. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell his perspiration and the leather of his tool belt and the cool mint of his breath as he held her captive. “Let me go!”

In spite of her anger, a sexual current shot through her, a primal response to the ripped expanse of muscle, the rock-hard chest inches away from her. A mere glance from Ben could cause her nipples to ache and, at the moment, his eyes roamed over her from head to toe.

Her mouth went dry and her knees almost buckled at the look on his face: Hungry, punishing, loving—all at the same time. He looked as if he wanted to screw every inch of her—and it made her feel faint.

Another male voice called, “This little filly is on the market, Delgado?”

Ben’s mouth tightened.

“We’ll take her off your hands, buddy,” yelled another one. More whistles and catcalls ensued. A guy with three belly rolls grabbed his crotch suggestively.

Ben silenced them with a look and loomed over her protectively. “Damn it, Marina, why did you come here?” He released her wrists and shook her gently by the shoulders. Then his mouth crushed hers and his arms wrapped around her as if he’d never let her go.

All thoughts of killing him flew out of her head as she helplessly kissed him back. He lifted her, she wrapped her legs around him. Before she knew it, they were off the concrete slab in a hail of lewd, encouraging cheers and Ben was striding toward the construction trailer with her.

She forgot about power, about dignity, about hurt. She couldn’t care less about his dirt or his sweat or his ripe male odor. All that mattered was him plastered against her, his lips to her lips, his chest to her chest, his sex to her sex.

The bulge in his jeans pressed into the scrap of lingerie at the heart of her, and she almost came before they got to the trailer door.

Frigid, artificial air washed over her as he wrenched it open, stumbled up the steps and inside and locked the door behind them. Then he set her on top of a battered vertical filing cabinet, rucked up her skirt and tore off her panties.

His face pressed between her thighs, his tongue pushed in side her and she screamed helplessly. He didn’t stop when she convulsed and beat her heels on his back, just pulled her forward, settling his big hands under her buttocks and feasting on her until she came again and again and finally begged him to stop.

He pulled her skimpy top and bra down around her waist and devoured her breasts, suckling the tips until she thought she’d die of needing him inside her.

He tore open his fly, freed the hard, heavy length of him and scooped her up again. Then he drove into her with a primal groan.

She spasmed around him again immediately, colors bursting behind her eyelids, while he drove harder, faster, deeper, sliding against her flesh until the tensing of his muscles, the guttural groan, the last mighty thrust told her he’d come, too.

“Dios mío, Marina. Dios mío. Te amo.” One hand still supported her bottom, one clasped her to him.

Just hearing his words almost made her come again, all by herself. He loved her. He loved her… Everything was going to be okay. This was all just a big mistake, an emotional reaction on his part.

They collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily, Marina calm and blissful. “Whose trailer is this?” she asked.

“The foreman’s. He’s at a meeting, lucky for us.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said.

“Neither did I.”

“I was going to cut you off for the next five years.”

He sat up; was silent. Pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

“Ben tell me—what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m working construction.”

“Why did you leave me that letter and disappear? When are you coming home?”

Ben sucked in a breath and got to his feet, six foot two of naked, sweaty sex-god. His abs were like steel; his biceps as big around as her thighs. He pulled up his boxers and jeans without a word.

Marina sat up, pulled down her skirt and narrowed her eyes on him. Surely, his body language wasn’t telling her what she thought it was? “Ben? You are coming home?”

He sighed wearily. “It’s all in the letter, querida. What else do you want me to say?”

She began to shake. “You can’t mean that stuff.”

He folded his arms across his naked torso and raised his stubborn chin. “I mean every word of that stuff, as you call it. I will not get married until I can take care of my wife. And right now I don’t have two cents to rub together.”

“Ben, this doesn’t make sense. We love each other. I have millions of dollars—you don’t need to have those two cents! I don’t need to be taken care of. What’s mine is yours, baby, you know that… I didn’t even ask you to sign a prenup. I wouldn’t!”

His voice emerged deadly calm and quiet. “I am not a parasite. I will not live off of my wife.”

“Ben, be reasonable. If our situations were reversed, I would take help from my fiancé when I needed it!”

He held up a hand. “No.”

“Marriage is about love, not finances. It’s about being there for each other—”

“Marina, this discussion is over. I will not take your money. I will not take your charity.”

“Then call it a loan, if you have to! Just don’t leave me, don’t hurt me like this, please, Ben. I love you…” She began to cry again, to her shame.

“Come here, mi corazón.” He pulled her up off the floor and gathered her into his arms. “Shh. Shh, Marina. Te amo, never doubt that. I love you. But I will not let you make me less of a man.”

“I’m not doing any such thing!”

“Not intentionally, mi vida.”

“Not at all! Please, don’t be so pigheaded, so stupid—”

He pushed her away but held her by the shoulders. His eyes went dark and cold and his tone hardened. “Don’t you ever call my integrity stupid. You’re lucky I’m not some vividor who will move in on you and wallow in your money, use you, rob you blind.”

She stared at him through still-streaming eyes. “Oh, I’m lucky, am I? Because I’ve had the good fortune to fall in love with a man who puts his pride ahead of everything else? A man who is such a coward that he leaves me in a letter—”

“Goddamn it, Marina! I couldn’t face you, and that’s the truth. I didn’t want to see you cry. Beg. Debase yourself—”

She gasped. Then she drew back her hand and slapped him, hard. Right across his arrogant, prideful, stubborn, macho cheek.