to behold any other day. He swiped his hand across his mouth in a desperate attempt to erase her sweetness. Mistake. He’d made a mistake, but he couldn’t tell who he was madder with—her, or himself. “Does that work?” he demanded.
“Does what work?” She had the damn nerve to look innocent and confused.
“That—using sex to trap me.” And he’d fallen right into it. Damn it, skin-to-skin contact was a major mistake. “Does that get you what you want?”
He braced himself for the crack across the face—he expected nothing less than outright condemnation and denial from her—but she didn’t smack him. Instead, a look of pain crossed her face for a second before it disappeared underneath something else. Something sad, which made him feel like the world’s biggest jerk. “You already said no—I wasn’t—”
Her eyes skimmed over his arms—and found his tats. Damn sleeveless T-shirts, he cursed silently. She could see the one that had Mom’s birth—and death—date. He thought about turning the other way, but that would be worse, because then she’d see the one for Moose, his dog. He crossed his arms and gave her his meanest stare. She didn’t even blink.
For a blinding second, he hated her—the way she seemed to look right into him, the way she made him feel like hell for being a jerk, the way she had the nerve to feel bad for him—he hated all of it.
When the hell would this break end? If he didn’t start beating his drums again right now, he was going to have to punch a wall or something.
Then she did something even weirder. She came to him, touched his tats and whispered, “I’m sorry.” And then she kissed him. After he’d all but called her a slut to her face, she kissed him—again.
This was different—softer, easier. Against his will, his arms uncrossed and then folded again, with her inside them. Her weight was warm and comfortable against his chest. She fit well there.
Something strange happened. The solitary quiet he usually felt when he thought about Mom seemed less solitary. It almost seemed like Josey White Plume understood how alone he felt surrounded by his brothers, how hard it was to always have to be the responsible one, how exhausting the daily battle with his father was, how damn tired he was of not being good enough. She understood it all and was happy to take some of the burden off his shoulders.
She broke the kiss and rested her forehead against him. Oddly, that was almost as good as the kiss. Forget the last time he’d gotten laid. When was the last time he’d held a woman—without feeling like she wanted something from him?
Josey’s chest rose and fell against his, strong and steady. Her arms were around his neck, holding their bodies together. For some stupid reason that should have everything to do with his groin but didn’t, Ben would have been happy to stand here and hold her all night long.
He didn’t get the chance. Right then, someone began to pound on the door.
“Benny! Zip it up, kick the chick out and let’s rock!”
Josey jolted, and Ben was forced to let her go. She straightened her top, shook her hair out and licked her lips. Could she still taste him, like he could taste her?
“I came for the music,” she said, her voice reaching his ears over the pounding on the door. “No strings attached.”
“No strings attached,” he agreed. So why did it feel like she’d just bound part of her to part of him?
The band continued banging on the door like it was a secondhand drum set. He didn’t need his spine rearranged, so he got out of the way.
Toadie, Stick and Rex fell into the room. Rex was giggling—a sure sign that he was happily on his way to roaring drunk. When they caught sight of Josey, the merry band of idiots came to a screeching halt. Toadie was the first to make his move. “Holding out on us, Benny? Or were you planning on sharing?”
Ben’s thoughts went in two directions. One part of him wondered how many shots they had done and if they would be able to get through the next set before Rex passed out on the floor.
The other part of him got real pissed, real fast. He wasn’t about to let these jerk-offs call her character into question—never mind that he’d just done the very same thing. Whether she was conniving or innocent, Josey White Plume was no floozy, happy to