Marry Me (3 page)

* * * * *

Ben was counting the seconds until Julia was due at rehearsal. He couldn’t wait to see her again. He’d spent the morning writing then had a shower and a wank and was still too keyed up to sit still. He did his half-hour warm-up, glancing at the door every few seconds.

She finally arrived, looking even more fantastic than she did in his head. Her hair was tucked behind one ear, the rest falling down across her face. A white fitted shirt clung to her chest, curving over her tiny waist and flaring around her rounded hips. Her dark skinny jeans and funky patent leather heels made her already long legs look endless. She could easily be a model rather than someone behind the scenes, except that she seemed to want to be anywhere but in the spotlight.

The shy smile she gave when she saw him sent ripples of heat through him. He strode over, resisting the urge to swoop down and kiss her. “Hey, how’s your day been?” He helped her hang the garment bags on the hooks by the door.

“Crazy. Sorry I’m late.” She unzipped one black nylon bag and handed him a slate-blue shirt.

“Brilliant. That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

“Don’t say that ’til you’ve tried it on.”

“Okay.” He placed the hanger over the empty hook and pulled off his t-shirt. The immediate flush that crept across her cheeks filled him with hope. He kept his eyes on her as he buttoned the shirt, cuffing up the sleeves. “Well?” he asked, turning to look in the long mirror on the door.

She ran her hands across his back, checking the seams on the shoulders. He wished the fit wasn’t so good so she’d need to do alterations and would have a reason to keep running her hands over him.

“Looks great. Is it comfortable?”

He flexed, rounding then stretching his back. “Perfect.”

She smiled. “Good. You should hang it back up so it stays that way.”

He chuckled. She was trying to act all businesslike but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. “So, have you decided? Will you join me for dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” she said with no hesitation.

“If I’d known I was going to get that enthusiastic a response I’d have asked you to marry me again.” Her cheeks flushed a darker shade. “Can I pick you up at your flat? We should be done here by seven, but I want to shower so I should be able to be there by eight.”

She paused, her eyes searching his.

“Unless you’d rather meet me at a restaurant.” He didn’t want to be presumptuous.

“No, eight is fine. I’ll be ready.”

Rehearsal seemed to last forever, which was ironic because the band kept yelling at Ben for rushing the tempo. He didn’t care, he just wanted to get on with his evening. Now that he was a block from her apartment he felt the nervous energy swirling in his gut again. He scanned the buzzer for her name then pressed the button. When she didn’t answer he buzzed again. He checked his watch. It was five past eight.
Is she standing me up?
He was about to pull out his cell when he realized he didn’t have her number.
Bugger.
He heard a noise up above, followed by the sound of her voice. “Ben?”

He stepped farther out onto the curb and looked up to see her leaning out her window. “The intercom is broken, I forgot to tell you. I’ll be down in a second.” He watched as she closed the window and flipped the latch.

At least she’s here. But she still won’t let me up to her place.
He’d had a feeling she wouldn’t. As calm and smooth as she was while working, she clearly had issues with being alone with a man.

Before he could give it more thought the door swung open and she was there, looking even more beautiful than she had earlier. She’d swept her hair into a messy updo with loose strands framing her face and trailing enticingly down her neck. She’d forgone the tailored shirt in favor of a short black dress and knee-high boots.

“You look lovely,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks.” She slung her purse onto her shoulder, tucking the strap beneath the collar of her leather jacket. “I didn’t know what to wear. Where are we headed?”

“A tapas place in the West Village. Fancy a stroll or shall we cab it?”

“We can walk.”

She turned to head uptown and he stole a glance at her curvaceous bum before striding to catch up with her. “Oh,” he said, “almost forgot. These are for you.” He handed her a small, clear plastic bag filled with foil-wrapped chocolates.

“Thank you.” She looked puzzled.

“See, they look like daisies. I’d have brought you a real bouquet, but I was afraid you’d think it was some sort of ploy to get up to your flat. This way you still get your flowers but you can tuck them in your purse and keep me safely on the street.”

She smiled and tugged at the yellow ribbon that held the bag shut. She pulled out one shiny piece. “I’m sure these are much tastier too. Want one?”

“Sure.”

She handed him one then took another for herself and stuck the rest of the bag into her purse. He watched as she unwrapped the candy and took a bite.

“That’s really good.” She made a small happy sound that made his knees weak.

He popped his piece into his mouth. The creamy chocolate melted against his tongue, sweet and delicious, but all he could think about was tasting her.

Chapter Three

Julia couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much. Twice she’d almost spit her wine out and once she’d nearly choked on an olive. He was launching into a story about the band and she could tell he was gearing up for another wisecrack. “Wait, before you go on please let me swallow this bite.”

“Of course. Never want to interfere with a lady swallowing.”

She coughed as she struggled the mouthful down. “You’re terrible.”

“But in a great way.” He looked so pleased with himself she couldn’t help but smile.

The waiter came to clear their plates then brought over dessert menus. “Care for something sweet?” Ben asked. “I promise, I won’t say anything funny until you’ve finished eating.”

His eyes twinkled in the flickering candlelight and she found it hard to imagine saying no to anything he asked.

They shared a crème brûlée and a seven-layer chocolate ganache cake. Ben stabbed the last bite of cake and held it out to her. As tempting as the forkful looked, she declined. “It’s all yours.”

As he ate, she couldn’t help thinking how extra sweet his lips must taste. Liquid heat pooled inside her.
What am I going to do when we get to my place?
Her heart pounded at the thought.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I can’t have sex with you yet.”
Oh my God, I can’t believe I just said that.

He looked startled but quickly recovered, a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s all right. That sort of thing is generally frowned upon in restaurants.”

She snorted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. I was just thinking about you walking me home and my no guys rule.” She realized she’d been assuming he even wanted to sleep with her.
Oh God.
Her stomach twisted with embarrassment.

He reached out and took her hand, stroking his thumb gently against hers. “Look, Julia, in case you haven’t realized, I like you. I want to spend time with you. But I don’t ever want you to feel pressured to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She searched his eyes. He looked so sincere she felt like crying. “I don’t feel pressure. I’m just not very good at the dating thing.”

“That’s okay, neither am I.”

She remembered what Niles had said.
Married his childhood sweetheart. One-night stands with groupies.
But she wasn’t really supposed to know any of that. “Maybe not good is an understatement. My last boyfriend was…a nightmare. When we broke up, I swore to myself I’d never be in that position again. I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

Julia’s words hit Ben hard. He’d spent the last three years trying to avoid being hurt. He knew exactly what she meant. “I understand,” he said, though he was wondering what had happened that had caused her so much pain. “I promise you, we can take things as slow as you’d like.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Though I suppose this means you’re still not ready to marry me.”

She smiled. “No.”

“But I can walk you home?”

“I’d like that.”

* * * * *

The streets were unusually quiet as they strolled. Ben slipped his fingers into Julia’s and was surprised when she gripped his hand tighter than she had the previous night. The attraction between them was clear, he just wondered what pace to set. They arrived at her building and he stopped in front of her. Their fingers were still entwined and he ran his thumb across the silky skin of her wrist. “I’m going to have to start selecting restaurants that are farther from your flat so we can have longer walks home.”

She smiled and he bent his head to kiss her. Her lips were warm and soft, molding perfectly to his. He breathed her in, wanting so badly to touch her but afraid to scare her off. He swept his tongue against hers and she responded with a low moan. The sound sent a rush of heat straight through him. He cupped her face and felt her relax against his hand, opening herself more fully.

Not wanting to get carried away, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against hers. “I suppose this is good night.” His fingertips stroked her satiny palm.

She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You can come up for a little while. If you’d like.”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. They were dark and round and he could have stared into them all night. “Are you certain?”

She tightened her grip on his hand and tugged him toward the door. He followed her up the steep, narrow staircase.

“Sorry if it’s a bit messy,” she said.

“I’ve lived on a tour bus for weeks at a time, I don’t think I’ll notice.”

Her loft was open and spacious. High ceilings, wood floors, whitewashed walls. All the color came from the furniture, large cherry-wood pieces and sumptuous overstuffed chairs, rich burgundy and burnt orange. Enormous prints hung on the walls. A small kitchen with stainless steel appliances graced one wall, pots and pans hung from a metal rack above a freestanding island with barstools. The main space was divided, half as a lounge with sofa and table, the other half as her workspace. Silver racks held hangers full of clothing and metal shelves of fabric lined the wall above a sewing machine. Tall, black lacquered Japanese screens obscured an area he guessed contained her bed.

“If you think this is messy, I have to wonder what it looks like clean.”

She smiled. “I don’t really like housekeeping so I always assume the place is trashed. I guess you actually caught me on a good day.” She rested her hands on the butcher block island. “Can I get you a drink? I have wine. Beer. Sweet tea.”

“Sweet tea?”

“Old habit. It’s a Southern thing. Iced tea with tons of sugar in it.”

“Beer. Though I admit, I’m intrigued.”

“You can have a sip of mine.” She opened the fridge and handed him a bottle then pulled out a pitcher of tea and poured a glass. “You’ll either love it or hate it, there’s no middle ground.”

He took a sip of the deep amber liquid. “That’s actually quite nice. But I think I’ll stick with the beer. You said it’s a Southern thing. Is that where you’re from?”

“Born and raised in North Carolina.”

“Ahh, I thought I heard a hint of a Southern drawl.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “It still creeps in from time to time. I worked really hard at getting rid of it when I first moved to New York.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I moved up here when I was seventeen to attend Parson’s School of Design. Everyone else seemed so cosmopolitan and I didn’t want to sound like some hick.”

“I find it hard to imagine anyone ever thinking of you as a hick. I rather like a Southern accent myself.” He loved the shy smile that spread across her lips.

While Julia put the tea away, Ben strolled over to her work area. A drafting table was covered with sketches. “Are these all yours?”

“Yeah. They’re just ideas. Once in a while I get hired to do custom work, but I’m always sketching stuff for my fantasy line.”

“They’re brill. I know heaps of people in London who’d buy these in a heartbeat. Let me know if you’re in need of referrals.”

“Thanks. I wish I had time to sew samples. I’ve been doing so many fashion shoots lately it’s left no time for my own stuff.”

Ben settled himself on the overstuffed sofa. Julia sat at the far end, cross-legged, facing him. She took another sip of iced tea then set it on the end table. “Do you want to listen to music? Watch a movie?”

“Music. My brain’s too fried to follow a movie plot right now.” The truth was he wanted to keep talking to her. Adrenaline pumped through him just at the thought of being in her flat. Clearly she’d trusted him enough to allow him up, and he was flattered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” He placed his beer on the coffee table and perused her CD collection.

“It’s mostly older stuff. I haven’t bought much music lately. Haven’t had time.”

“I see you’re quite a fan of The Cure. Even I don’t have some of these.”

“They were my favorite band for years.”

“Mine too.” He pulled out
Japanese Whispers
and placed the disc in the CD player. The second he hit play, he realized the first song was
Let’s Go to Bed
.

Julia didn’t seem to mind. She rubbed the area just beneath her fingers.

“Hand cramps?” Ben asked, sitting back down.

“Yes. I hate them. I’ve been sewing so much lately my hands and feet get ridiculously sore.”

“That’s a classic drummer’s complaint. Here, let me help.” He reached for her.

She hesitated a moment then placed her hand in his. He rolled her hand between both of his, then went to work massaging small circles up the length of her palm. He ran his hand up each finger, one at a time, applying gentle pressure at the tips.

“You’re really good at that.”

“I ought to be. Took three classes in reflexology. Most people don’t realize how grueling drumming can be. Other hand?”

“Sure.”

He worked his way through each finger, feeling the tension release as he went. Her tension. Being so close to her, having his hands on her, feeling her soft skin against his, was causing heat to knot his entire body from the waist down. He could tell she was becoming more relaxed by the second. “I do feet too. Come, put them up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Come on, you’ve run your hands all over me measuring this and that, I promise your feet are safe with me.”

She swung her legs onto his lap as she reclined against the cushiony arm of the couch. He shifted so she wasn’t resting against the increasingly stiffening bulge in his jeans. He began the same routine, rubbing first, then pressing in small circles. Her eyes drifted close.
She’s so beautiful.
Her dark eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. Her lips, full and pouty, parted slightly. Within minutes she was asleep, breathing evenly.
She may not be willing to have sex with me, but clearly she’s okay with sleeping with me.
He chuckled and closed his eyes, letting the soft strains of music carry him away.