Part 33 (1/2)
When I saw you again, I realized that might not have been a good thing to learn. Now I think it may be too late to change.”
Tara looked at Ben without moving her head.
Instead she s.h.i.+fted her eyes, and her lashes made phantom shapes on her cheeks.
”And now here you are. Stronger than me because you learned how to live with what you've been dealt. Stronger than me because you didn't just struggle on, you really lived your life. Stronger than me because you recognized that love has failings and you accepted mine, then turned around and welcomed me with open arms again. You want honesty, Ben? I am honestly shamed by you and your understanding, and I truly do still care.”
”And what,” he asked, ”do you honestly want?”
”For you and me?” Tara moved her head on the back of the chair.
”I don't know. I'm not that courageous. I'm coming back to you again and again, almost hoping you'll throw me out and make the decision for me.”
”So far I haven't had the urge,” he chuckled.
”But I'm not even sure we can get to it until you figure out what you want from this thing with Bill Hamilton.”
”I just want it to be over,” Tara said, then qualified her statement.
”I want my life back.”
”Then take it back. He's stealing all the things you love. Your security. Your sense of control. Take them back, Tara.”
”I can't do anything to jeopardize my license, my standing as an attorney, and I don't want my life back at the expense of justice,” she insisted.
”I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to make a decision that's based on something other than written rules. You've got to make a decision that will let your conscience rest. There are ways. There are things you can find out about Bill Hamilton.
Bring pressure to bear wherever you can. On Woodrow, on George Amos, on Bill, on Donna. Do it, Tara. Don't just look straight ahead. Start playing Bill's game.”
”I've never played like that before. I don't think I can do it and still keep my integrity.”
”Anything's possible, Tara,” Ben said and reached for her hand. He touched it with his fingertips.
Those eyes of his looked right through her.
”Anything at all.”
”I may make it worse.”
”You may make things better.” He wound his fingers through hers.
”Take a chance.” He tugged on her hand and she pulled away. He tugged back and she was his. He reached up and touched her shoulder.
”Life can be what you want it to be, Tara. All you have to do is want it badly enough.”
He murmured and he whispered and he guided her down until she sat in his lap. Tara curled atop him and her head lay exactly where she had wanted it*against his broad and strong chest. He buried his lips in her silky hair and they sat together like that for a very long time.
”Can you?” Tara whispered as she climbed onto his bed.
”I mean .. .”
”I know what you mean.” Ben laughed in the darkness at all the things she found so curious that he had come to take for granted. He was on the bed beside her, lifting his legs, graceful in the shadows because of his strength.
”I didn't even see you leave the chair,” she whispered.
”I thought it was harder than that. I thought it should be*harder.”
Tara lay on her side, her black hair tumbling over the pillow and the spread and over her shoulders.
Ben pushed it away so that it streamed behind her. He smiled sweetly and touched the b.u.t.ton at the high neck of her sweater. He popped the first. Tara lay her hand at his waist, feeling the muscles underneath his s.h.i.+rt, trying not to imagine the rest. He popped the next b.u.t.ton and his fingers touched her throat. She shuddered, still looking him in the eye, hoping he would see she wasn't ready.
”How do you get out of that thing so easily?”
Tara's voice shook; she gestured toward the chair.
Ben gave it a quick glance as if he'd forgotten it was there. Head back on the pillow again, he moved closer.
”Upper body strength,” he murmured, amused at her anxiety, determined not to let his own show.
They should have done this in high school, but then maybe the memory would have made it more difficult for them both. He moved. He kissed her.
She kissed him back. Ben Crawford was in heaven.
Tara Limey, in his arms again, at last.
”Do you .. . ?” she said against his lips.
”Adore you?” he asked.
”Yes.”
He kissed her again.
”Do I hurt? No.”
He lay his lips against her cheek.
”Can I do what other men do? Yes.”
The kiss was longer this time, his mouth open, his hands coming slowly up her sweater.
”Will you have to work harder? Absolutely.” He slipped the sweater over her head, then kissed the swell of her breast.
”But you've always been such a hard worker, Tara.”
She sighed, she s.h.i.+vered, and she put her arms around him and pulled herself closer. With each breathy word, each tender touch, the questions became as unimportant as the answers. Tara rose to the challenge, but worked no harder than he. The man she loved was complete, more so than any man Tara Limey had been with.
She had touched his legs, but desire had made them as lovely as if they could have wrapped around her. Later she would remember to cry for them*she never had in all these years*but at that moment, those wonderful minutes when they kissed and touched and his hands went everywhere, and her arms and legs covered him, Tara thought only of what was and not what could have been. That was the first thought on her mind when they lay together, covers over them, naked bodies molded together, her head on his shoulder, his arm under hers.
”I've made a decision,” she said lazily.