Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

His eyes stayed right on hers instead of the breasts she’d exposed. “You’re a glutton for punishment, babe.” But he sighed and closed his eyes. “Okay.”

Babe. He hadn’t called her “babe” in…well, thirteen years.

More steam escaped from the tub, swirling around them, creating an ambiance of intimacy. Ben stood right there, a breath away, hair falling over his forehead, eyes closed, a sexy little smile curving his lips. Inviting. Beguiling.

All it would take was one word from her, even a touch, and he’d jump in without looking, jump right into a relationship with her again, or at least a sexual one.

But she never jumped without looking, and certainly not with a man with a foot already half out the door.

All she had to do was get better and he’d be gone, she reminded herself as she soaped her body. So that’s what she’d do, she’d get better, fast as she possibly could.

THE RESTLESSNESS was going to kill her. Early dawn light filtered in Rachel’s room as she struggled to get herself out of bed the next morning. She reached for her wheelchair, then hesitated.

Her various aches and pains seemed to be lessening every day, albeit slightly, and she decided today was the day she tried to go without the dreaded, hated chair. She wanted to walk, damn it, and determined to do just that, she grabbed the cane she’d gotten from the physical therapist yesterday, the one who planned to torture her today as well.

Carefully, holding her breath, she stood. Wobbled, but held her own. So far so good. She felt unsteady and weak, ready to collapse at the slightest breeze.

But upright was upright and she’d take it. The early morning was silent as she made her slow, painful progress to the bedroom door. Opening it, she saw the hall was still in shadow. The only light came from a glow from a night-light in the hall bathroom. Shuffling her way down the hall she peeked in. On the counter sat a dark blue toothbrush. Not Emily’s.

Ben’s.

Funny how just one piece of plastic could cause such conflicting emotions. Late last night when she hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d come into her room with a deck of cards and had taught her naughty card games he’d picked up in Nigeria. Or somewhere.

The man was something. He’d had her laughing. Laughing.

She made it to her studio for the first time since the accident. Just walking in here used to set her creative juices flowing. She’d yank open her shades on the wall of windows, grin with pure joy at the sight of South Village in full swing far below and go to work.

She waited for some of that joy to hit her. Even just a little.

Nothing. Nothing but a tightening in her chest that suggested panic. And exhaustion from the exertion of getting here.

Her easel was set up, with a blank sheet of paper on it. Just as she’d left it on the day of the accident. There was a note on the pad, with her own words teachers versus administration written on it. She stared down at it blankly, knowing she’d written that before being slammed by a car, before hitting the pavement at thirty miles per hour, knowing the words should signify what she intended Gracie’s next strip to be about… But for the life of her she couldn’t remember writing the words, much less what she’d intended.

It didn’t matter anyway…it was just a cartoon.

Helplessness and uselessness had become old friends since that day, and they hit her again now. Suddenly she wanted to do something new, something…important. She thought of Ben’s work, and how many people he’d helped, and closed her eyes. Frustration choked her. She wondered how long someone could live with so much frustration before just blowing up.

She weaved, her muscles violently trembling with the strain of being upright, forcing her to sit in the love seat. She gripped the cushions at her sides and refused to give in to defeat. How she was going to get back up and to her room without asking for help was beyond her-especially since that help would probably come in the form of a tall, sleepy, sexy man-but she wouldn’t ask.

She’d stay right where she was, thank you very much.

Staring around the room that used to be her favorite haven, she fought tears and wondered how her life had come to feel like a prison. Nothing was the same. Not her job, not Emily, who didn’t seem to need her anymore, not her house, not anything she’d counted on to be constant and calming and hers.

Certainly not with Ben’s undeniably demanding presence. A presence she should be grateful for, as she knew what it cost him to be caged here. But because of him, even her relationship with Emily had changed. She’d watched her daughter turn to someone else for comfort and love. The loss of their closeness, which was all Rachel seemed to have at the moment, left her on shaky ground, and she covered her face with her hands.

“Rachel.”

Jerking her head up, she faced the one man who’d always shattered any control she’d had. Too bad she had none left to shatter. “Damn it, you went away once. Why won’t you go away now?”

“You going to start with that again?” He pushed away from the doorway and came toward her. From the look of his messed-up hair, bare chest and low-slung sweats, at least one of them had been sleeping last night. Irrationally, she resented him for that, too.

“How did you get here?” he asked.

“Walked.”

“You did?” He looked shocked. “You should have called for me to help you. You working?”

“Yeah.” With a bitter laugh, she gestured to her empty easel. “Working away.”

“Rachel-” He broke off when the phone rang, and since it was right by his elbow, he grabbed it without so much as asking if she minded.

“Hello?” His face went tense. “I thought you were going to call me back on my cell- Yes…you’ve got a lead on him?” Ben glanced at Rachel, eyes grim, jaw bunching, and went quiet as he listened. Given how his eyes narrowed, the news wasn’t good.

“Who is it?” she asked, only to be completely ignored. “Ben.”

He actually put up a hand silencing her. She glared at him, furious, but somehow her gaze ended up on his chest, then his flat, ridged belly, and the way his sweats sagged nearly down far enough to see-

“I’ll be right down,” he said, disconnecting with deceptive calm while danger rolled off him in waves. “I’ve got to run,” he said, one hundred and eighty pounds of carefully controlled temper.

“Who was that?”

“Tell Em I’ll be back for breakfast.”

“Ben-”

He was already at the door, but with an oath, he came back. Cupping her head with incredibly gentle hands, he tipped her face up. “It’ll be okay,” he said making a heartbreaking promise she didn’t understand but wanted to.

“Ben-”

“Shh.” He let his lips meet hers in a sweet, clinging kiss. “I’ll be back.”

Yes, but how to tell him that’s what she was afraid of?

She brought her fingers up to her lips and watched him go, wondering why she’d let him kiss her.

Because she’d lost her mind, that’s why. He’d been trying to distract her, and damn it, it had worked.

Struck by an overwhelming curiosity, she picked up the receiver of her phone and checked caller ID.

Unavailable.

Rachel lifted her head and stared at the door where Ben had just vanished.

From downstairs she heard the front door shut.

He was gone. Gone to meet someone…unavailable.

She hit star-six-nine to dial the number back. As it started to ring, her heart began to pound.

“Agent Brewer.”

Rachel stared at the phone.

“Hello?”

With a stammered apology, Rachel hung up and wondered what the hell was going on. Who was Brewer and what was the big secret?

BEN GOT CAUGHT in traffic on the way to meet Agent Brewer, delaying their meeting. The lead on Asada turned out to be a known accomplice, who’d been picked up in South America and was being detained and questioned.

“What did he say about Asada?” Ben asked.

Brewer shook his head. “He’s not telling. Not yet. But that he was picked up in South America is an excellent indication Asada is still there. They’ll find him. Soon.”

But Ben wanted more than just a promise. He wanted… Hell, he wanted this over. Unaccustomed to such fear, as he rarely got involved this personally in a story, he didn’t know what to do with it all.

But this wasn’t a story-this was his life. Emily’s life.

Rachel’s.

At the thought of her, his mind took him places he wasn’t prepared to go. Like back to the sponge bath incident from the day before. Rachel had stood in that bathroom nude, wet, glorious…and glared at him. Hadn’t mattered, not when he couldn’t tear his eyes off her curves, shimmering and molded by the water streaming down her tall, lithe body.

He was just a man, and a weak one at that. How was he supposed to maintain any sort of mental distance under these circumstances?

Thinking about Asada on the loose helped. “Soon could be too late.”

Agent Brewer, a twenty-year veteran and dedicated to his job-evidenced by the various awards on the walls of his small office-nodded. “I know your fear. But we’re doing all we can.”

Ben would be impressed only if Asada was caught. “If Asada’s still in South America, with his old contacts and in terrain he knows like the back of his hand, he can hide forever.”

“Better than being the States, hunting you down.”

“He could have men here. Men willing to do his bidding.”

Brewer sighed. “We’ve been reviewing tapes from L.A. International near the date of Rachel’s accident.” He pushed play on the remote on his desk, and images rolled across the TV on the wall, showing two dark-skinned men carrying briefcases, leaving a terminal at LAX. The date stamp was from six and a half weeks earlier. “These two men arrived from South America. We’re trying to track them down. Just wanted you to know what they look like.”