Kiss and Makeup (4 page)

“—and he had to stay in the hospital for three days so they could give him antibiotics intravenously.”

“Okay, enough, enough!” She jumped onto the bed beside him, scrambling into a sitting position and staring down at her feet. “Oh, God! My feet are itchy. Is
itchy
a symptom of cellulitis?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes went wide.

“Well, probably.” He didn't remember
all
the details of the story...just the gross ones. “Do they feel swollen? Like there's a bunch of pus accumulating under your skin, getting ready to erupt and—”

Chloe recovered enough to sock him in the arm. “Shut up with the gory details, wouldja?”

Ben rubbed his arm where her punch had landed. Chloe crawled over to the end of the bed. She braced one hand on the very edge of the mattress and reached toward her coat, which was hanging on the back of a chair that was just out of reach. Her fingertips brushed the thick material, but she didn't quite get purchase on it. He watched in fascination as she set herself up for another attempt.

“
What
are you doing?”

“I left my suitcase in the bathroom, and if you think I'm setting one bare toe on that hideous, infested carpet then you're way dumber than you look,” she said over her shoulder.

He shot her a tight smile.
Ha, ha
.

“So I'm going to stand on my jacket, slide my way over to the bathroom, and get myself some socks.”

“Or you could just ask me to get your suitcase,” he pointed out, getting to his feet.

She gazed up at him with such wonder that he honestly believed the idea had never occurred to her. “I... You don't have to. I mean, I can do it myself.”

“I'm sure you could, eventually. But I'm happy to help, because if you slip and contract cellulitis, the amputation would ruin your sister's big day.” Ben smiled angelically and dodged when she chucked a pillow at him.

Her ugly suitcase was sitting on the toilet. “You should really have a lock on this when you're flying,” he advised, grabbing the scratched-up plastic case and heading back into the bedroom. He dropped it on the suitcase stand and set it down beside her. She threw open the lid to reveal bedlam inside.

“You know, most people fold stuff before they put it in the suitcase, just FYI.” Ben resumed his position on the bed beside her.

“Thanks for the packing tips.” Her voice sounded less than sincere as she hunted through the chaos. She rescued a ratty sock from inside the suitcase and jammed a foot into it. “Wow. That looks sexy.” She stuck her foot in the air so Ben, too, could admire the purple, elastic-challenged sock that was slouched around her ankle.

“Yeah, well, it's sexier than athlete's foot.”

“Amen, brother.” She reached out to give him a high-five before quickly pulling on the other sock. She closed up her suitcase. “Okay, now that that's taken care of, on to more important things, like food.”

He reached over to the nightstand and dumped the contents of the plastic ice bucket on the bed between them. An avalanche of candy spilled across the sheet. “Dinner is served.”

“Whoa. What'd you do? Knock over a vending machine?”

“I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for—salty, sweet,
stale
,” he offered, rapping a rock-hard, prepackaged Danish against the headboard with a disconcerting
tap
,
tap
,
tap
, “or all of the above—so I got one of everything.” He lobbed the Danish at the trash bin on the floor beside the television stand. It landed inside the plastic container with a heavy
thud
.

She did that cute nose-scrunch thing again as she deliberated over the colorfully-wrapped mound of sucrose and diabetes. “SunChips, Skittles, Aero Peppermint. And I'm taking the cherry Life Savers,” she decided, grabbing each of her picks from the junk-food dog pile as she named them. “You know, in case of emergency.”

Ben nodded contemplatively, undoing the buttons at his wrists. “Those are some bold choices, Masterson.” He rolled up his shirtsleeves in preparation for his own selection process. “Personally, I'm more of a traditionalist. I'm going for the Doritos with a side of Mike and Ike, Jolly Ranchers to cleanse my palate, and Twix for dessert. You want to split the pretzels as an appetizer?” he asked, ripping into them and holding the miniature bag in her direction.

“Why not?” Instead of taking one pretzel, though, she took a handful, and Ben liked that about her. She balanced them in a precise stack on her knee. “So does the wife know you leave the ring off while you're away on business so you can lure pajama-clad strangers into sharing hotel-bed dinners?” she asked, crunching into a pretzel.

Ben shook his head. “Single and loving it.”

Chloe's laugh was smug. “There's a shocker.”

“So what about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Well, I know you're a Masterson by birth because on the plane you said there was no Mr., but that still leaves plenty of options.”

She shook her head as she started on the SunChips. “Also single. Mostly loving it, except when I'm on the phone with my mother, dodging the grandkid discussion. I did, though. Have a boyfriend. We broke up about five months ago. He cheated on me,” she explained, answering his unspoken question. “A couple of times, actually. It was all very cliché. I have horrible taste in men. Spider and I were a mistake right from the beginning.”

Ben choked on his pretzel. “You dated a guy named Spider?”

Chloe nodded.

“Wow. Was he a professional wrestler?”

“No.”

“Did he have superpowers?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “He owned a tattoo parlor.”

“That was going to be my next guess.” The chip she hurled in his direction bounced off his chest and landed on the sheets. “So where did you meet
Spider
? Intermission at
La Bohème
? Church book club?”

“I met him when he gave me these.” She set her chips on the pillow and reclined, tugging the waistband of her shorts down enough to reveal a pair of small birds etched just inside her hip bones, one on either side of her abdomen.

Ben almost swallowed his tongue. Christ, he ached to touch her. His hands flexed involuntarily, resulting in the decapitation of several pretzels unfortunate enough to be left in the bag he was holding. He set it on the mattress beside him and took a deep, steadying breath. And he'd thought the star on her arm was haunting him.

“Which is kind of ironic when you think about it,” she continued, oblivious to his slack-jawed appreciation of her body, “because swallows mate for life.” She snapped the elastic back into place and, instead of resuming her sitting position, she rolled onto her tummy.

Is she commando under those shorts?

“Anyway,” said Chloe, reaching toward the pillow to retrieve her dinner as though her extreme hotness hadn't just evaporated every speck of moisture in his mouth, “I finally kicked his ass to the curb when I walked in on him and his latest conquest christening the kitchen table
I
paid for. And the rest, as they say, is history. How about you?”

Ben managed to work up enough spit to moisten his tongue. “I have never dated a guy named Spider.”

“C'mon, Ben. I showed you mine.” Chloe fished the last chip from the bag, crumpled the empty packaging in her fist and tossed it awkwardly over her shoulder in the direction of the garbage can. It hit the end of the bed and rolled onto the navy carpet. “Spill it. How did your last relationship go down in flames?”

Melanie's face flashed in front of his eyes. He felt like a dick for giving Chloe a hard time. He was the king of clichés.

The boss's daughter. The heirloom ring. The proposal eclipsed soon after by her announcement that she was leaving him. For some douchebag lawyer who was her father's age and had enough money to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed. They'd walked down the aisle six months after she'd ditched his ass. They'd recently celebrated a year's worth of wedded bliss.

Ben shook off the humiliating memory.

“Nothing to tell.” Ben poured some M&M's into the palm of his hand and held them in Chloe's direction.

“Love 'em and leave 'em, huh?” she ventured, selecting the three red ones from the mix and eating them simultaneously.

Ben transferred the remaining candies from his palm to his mouth and gave her a “whatcha gonna do?” shrug. “What can I say, Chloe? I'm a lone wolf. I don't play by society's rules.”

Smiling, Chloe tore open her Skittles. “Perfect. Then
you
can be the one to spike the punchbowl at the next family reunion. I'm tired of being the black sheep of the Masterson family.”

He grinned. “Much as I'd like to be in on your diabolical plots, I probably won't be scoring an invite to the party. Grandpa and Grandma Masterson couldn't have children. My dad was adopted.” He selected a blue M&M's from the package and tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

She froze, sexy green eyes wide. “We're not twelfth cousins twice removed?”

The idea hadn't even occurred to him, but he realized now it had been dominating her thoughts. And why wouldn't it be? Unlike him, she couldn't have been sure they weren't related.

Something had shifted in the way she looked at him. It was a slight change, almost indiscernible, but he felt it in his gut. And a little south of his gut.

She took a deep breath and Ben was treated to an eyeful of cleavage. God, her breasts were amazing. His hands flexed again.

His pulse raced and Chloe's breathing grew shallower. Her lips parted.

The piercing cry of the hotel telephone jerked him out of the moment.

He fumbled with the bulky receiver before bringing it to his ear. “Hello? Yes, this is Ben. No, I only requested one cot. Yes, I realize the room has a queen-size bed.”

His prey—or had she been the hunter?—took the opportunity to retreat, mouthing the word
shower
at him before grabbing her suitcase and disappearing.

* * *

S
HE
WAS
IN
BIG
, big trouble.

Chloe tipped her head back and let the warm spray of the shower wash the remnants of the day and the smell of chemically-approximated flowers—courtesy of the Value Inn's complimentary two-in-one shampoo—from her hair.

This wedding stuff had been stressing her out since the day she'd received the meticulously calligraphed invitation requesting her presence at her little sister's nuptials. Throw in a couple of icy phone calls with her mother and a return-airfare-from-Seattle-to-Buffalo-shaped dent in her savings, and, well, Chloe was on the edge.

And people on the edge did stupid things, such as blubber in front of a complete stranger, and then think dirty, filthy thoughts about him. And while she'd found Ben handsome from the start, something warm and wicked was bubbling up to the surface now, waking parts of her that had been dormant for...well, quite a while.

If not for the ring of the phone, she'd be letting Ben indulge a few of those parts right now. Suddenly the water sluicing over her body felt hotter. She ran her soapy hands over her breasts and across her stomach, the utilitarian washing of her body growing sensual. She would love to explore Ben's abs, to see if her brain had Photoshopped them in hindsight, or if they were truly as spectacular as she remembered. Her mind drifted lower and so did her hands.

Oh, God
.

She knew how long it had been since a man had touched her—going on five months now—but how long had it been since she'd touched herself? She couldn't remember the last time she'd indulged in the best stress relief available to womankind.

Sure, nothing beat a willing partner, but there was something to be said for being the one in control...of getting exactly what you wanted...right when you needed it.

Yes. Oh, yes
.

Chloe reached out to brace her hand on the wall but overshot and knocked the entire line of Value Inn mini bath products off the built-in shelf. They rained down to the tub with a series of bangs that jerked her out of the moment
.
Her heartbeat, already revving from her sexy daydreams, revved even higher with a shot of adrenaline
.

Seriously? First the phone, and now this?

Chloe knew when she was beat. With a sigh, she turned off the shower. She reached past the curtain to pull one of the white hotel towels off the metal rack above the toilet. Like all mass-laundered hotel towels, it was scratchy and barely reached the tops of her thighs when she wrapped it around herself.

The TV went silent as she stepped out of the tub. There were some muffled noises she couldn't quite place, and then the squeaky floor betrayed Ben's presence.

Chloe froze.

He was walking toward the bathroom.

Her hand flew to her chest, gripping the tiny towel in a tight fist. Her skin buzzed. Her heartbeat picked up. The light seeping under the bathroom door was interrupted by his shadow. There were only two inches of ramshackle door and a threadbare towel separating them. He was right...there...

“Chloe? You okay?”

Oh, man. His deep voice hit her right in the estrogen and her body picked up where it had left off in the shower. All that delicious heat flared back up. “Fine. Dropped something.” The ability to form full sentences had deserted her.

“Okay. Well, good news. According to the weather forecast, the storm's moving quicker than they thought. It's already stopped snowing out there. We should get out of here on time tomorrow.”

“Great.” She hoped the word didn't come out as breathy as it had sounded to her own ears.

“I'm going to head downstairs and see a man about a cot. Or a woman. I'm not picky. Judging by the ominous ‘no one's available to take your call' message I just got when I phoned the front desk, it might take a while. Wish me luck.”