The Street Where She Lives

“For one of her trips with you while I recoup. Fine. Great,” Rachel added. “Thank you for that.”

“Don’t thank me for caring about my own daughter. Emily is everything to me.”

“I thought that was your camera.”

That caused a shocked silence.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked softly.

The present and the past commingled, and for a moment she couldn’t tell where she was or when. He’d always had his Canon around his neck. He’d had an amazing talent for reaching past his subject, capturing the heart and soul in a way that had never failed to steal her breath. At seventeen, he’d been determined to use that talent as his ticket out, knowing the odds but not giving up.

Ben never gave up.

Compared to his outspoken and obvious ways, Rachel fought her battles differently, internally, but she didn’t want to be so cruel as to hurt him with words simply because she was in pain. “I’m sorry. I know you care about Emily.”

“Damn right I do. She needs both of us. How else will she ever learn to do certain things? Feeling, for instance.”

Once again, she considered kicking him. “You don’t know me anymore.” Every word was a trial to get out past the sheer exhaustion creeping through her body, but she wouldn’t collapse, not until she was alone. “It’s immaterial anyway. You can’t take off with her right now, she’s in school and summer break isn’t for another month.”

Emily didn’t look relieved, which was her first hint. Her second was Ben’s direct, unwavering stare.

She stared back, the truth sinking in. “No. No.”

“Afraid so,” Ben said evenly, even lightly, though his eyes alone expressed his own unsettled emotions. “I’m staying. Until you can care for yourself.”

“You’re my help?”

“Yep.”

Being so tired made remaining even moderately social difficult. Being in pain and betrayed on top of it—by her own daughter no less—made it impossible. “I’d rather go to a convalescent hospital.”

Emily shifted closer. “Mom.”

She’d deal with Emily and her betrayal later. “I mean it.”

“Fine.” Ben rose in one smooth, swift motion, making her dizzy when he looked down at her from his full height, his gaze inscrutable for once. “I’ll just take you there myself.”

“Now?” she croaked.

“As opposed to never? Yes, now.” He put his tense, lived-in face uncomfortably close to hers. His eyes flashed. “You don’t want me here, then you can’t stay either. You didn’t expect Emily to handle the burden—”

“No, of course not.” Burden. Lovely.

“Well, then…” He moved behind her. Strong, tanned hands reached for her chair. Tough forearms with long blue veins over ropy muscles flexed as her chair shifted.

He’d do it, she decided. Yes, he would, because if there was one thing she remembered quite clearly about him, it was that he never bluffed. Hadn’t she learned that one night so many years ago, when she’d let her fear of intimacy overrule her, when she’d rashly told him to get out of her life, and he’d done exactly that without a backward glance? “No.”

Before she could draw in another ragged breath, her chair stopped. Once again, Ben’s face filled her vision. Expecting pity, she braced herself.

Instead, she got anger.

“Are you done being a child about this? Because if you are, great. We’ll stay right here. We, as in you and me. Together.”

“I’d have been better off with Attila the Hun,” she muttered.

“You probably would have,” he agreed grimly. “But I promised Emily.”

And though he would do many things, one thing he wouldn’t ever do is go back on his word. “You’re crazy to do this. You can’t do this, we can’t stay together, it would be…”

“Like old times?” he mocked.

His direct gaze was unflinching, reminding her just exactly how they had been together and how good it had been. “You have no idea what it’s like,” she whispered.

“You mean being forced by circumstance to give up on everything?” He laughed harshly. “Yes, I do. I grew up that way.”

“Ben—”

“Forget it. It doesn’t change anything.” He squatted in front of her chair, setting his big hands on her arm-rests, his leanly muscled body crowding into her space. “But I’m a fair man. I’ll make you a deal.”

Her traitorous body actually wanted to lean closer. Her nose wanted to wriggle and catch a better scent. Her body wanted…his. “You’ll go after all?”

“Nope.”

His fingers touched hers again, making her wonder if his body was reacting in the same way as hers. “Something not quite as good, but it’ll have to do.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“Soon as you can physically kick me out, I’m gone. What do you say to that?”

They both knew that even at her physical peak, she couldn’t have budged his long, powerful frame, not if he didn’t want to go.

He might appear lackadaisical to some, even easygoing. But that slow, lazy way he had of moving was deceptive, like a sleeping leopard. She knew exactly how tough, how resilient he was. Or at least how he’d been.

“Deal?”

Again, her past and present mingled together, leaving her blinking fiercely to keep the sudden tears of frustration to herself. She would not cry, not in front of this irrational, infuriating man. “Deal. But only because I’ll be better very soon,” she vowed.

Damn his far too good-looking hide, he let out a sardonic laugh that seemed directed at himself. “Believe me,” he assured her, surging to his feet in one graceful movement. “I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER FOUR

BEN PRETENDED that he could actually breathe in this too big, too terrifyingly normal house that he wasn’t welcome in, and managed a smile as Emily showed him around.

He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he was here. That he’d stepped foot inside South Village and hadn’t imploded on impact. That he’d seen Rachel, and had felt…something. She’d felt it, too, but given the attitude and daggers she’d shot him, she hadn’t liked it any more than he had.

The refurbished firehouse was interesting, if one was into huge, open, elegant spaces. The rooms had high ceilings and windows everywhere that showed off the interesting view of the city that never seemed to sleep. There was a firefighter pole right down the center of the place, and a spiral staircase of wrought iron. Braided rugs adorned the shiny hardwood floors, and artwork from around the world decorated the brick walls. So did photographs.

None of his, Ben couldn’t help but notice. No skin off his nose. He’d come into this house with a mental wall twelve feet thick just to keep Rachel out of his head, and no doubt, she’d done the same for him. She was good at building walls. Hell, she was the master at building walls.