Читать книгу Mistress of the Underground - Lisa Childs, Lisa Childs, Livia Reasoner - Страница 11

Paige pushed past him and ran out in the hall. This time Ben didn’t just watch as she walked away; he hurried after her. “I never wanted you to quit, Paige. I only wanted you to take it easy…to take care of yourself.”

She’d had to take care of herself because he’d been too busy taking care of everyone—and everything—else. As he followed her into the bar area, he glanced at the blood on the dance floor and the wall.

That patient was a member of the secret society. His girlfriend, also a society member, had gotten a little too passionate and nicked his carotid. While he wouldn’t have died, necessarily, the blood loss had weakened him to the point of helplessness. Stitching the wound and administering a transfusion had brought back his strength—so much so that Sebastian had already taken him home and left Ben to clean up the mess.

Along with the blood, he’d been supposed to dispose of the flowers before Paige saw them again and followed through on her inclination to call the police. Hell, maybe she should; Ben hadn’t protected her before. He didn’t trust himself to protect her this time, either.

“I take care of myself,” Paige insisted. “What happened…it was…”

Something they’d never talked about before. Even now, he couldn’t find the words to express his regret and loss and pain. Instead he glanced down at the bottle he still held—the one with which she’d nearly clocked him. As softly and gently as he liked to caress Paige’s naked skin, he ran his fingers over the label on the Dewar’s bottle. Hello, old friend…

Scotch had brought him comfort many a night after Paige had left him. Too many nights.

If he’d had a little less control, he might have become dependent on alcohol. But he’d had too many people—both living and undead—depending on him. So he had fought off the temptation then, and he would do so now because Paige needed him. He had to stick close to her, to protect her without her realizing what he was doing.

God, sticking close to Paige…

His body hardened at the thought of being close to her again—as close as they’d been earlier in her office, him buried inside her. So that he didn’t reach for her, he stepped behind the bar to place the bottle next to all the others. He’d been in Club Underground so many times—too many times—but he had never really noticed how elegant the club was. Appreciatively he ran his hand over the sparkling granite surface of the polished mahogany bar.

“If you’re thinking about a career change, too, I could use another bartender,” Paige offered.

“I could no more stop being a doctor than you could stop being a lawyer.” Yet there had been times, since he’d learned of the secret society, that he’d wanted to quit. But they’d made it clear to him that the only way out for him was death.

She lifted and spread out her arms to encompass the darkened lounge. “Look around. No law books, not a contract in sight. I’m not a lawyer anymore.”

“Why not?”

“You know,” she scoffed. “You’re too thick with my brother for him to have kept his mouth shut.”

“He said it was your secret.”

She arched a dark blond brow. “And you couldn’t have gotten it out of him?”

He probably could have, but he wanted her to tell him. He wanted her to share her life with him. Shame washed over him at his selfishness. How could he expect her to share her life when he couldn’t share his?

“I can’t believe Sebastian dragged you down here over those flowers,” she said, neatly avoiding his question as he had so many of hers over the years. “He was the one who told me they were nothing—that they’d probably been delivered to the wrong place.”

It might have been what he’d said, but it wasn’t what Sebastian believed. He hadn’t wanted her to call the police because an investigation might uncover the secret society and put everyone at risk. Ben would have preferred that to having Paige at risk. He uttered a sigh of frustration. “He’s probably right.”

She nodded. “There is no other logical explanation.”

Even if she learned the secret, she would never understand it. Paige had never been able to accept that some things defied logic.

“I’m sorry that you came down here for nothing,” she said.

“How could I not?” he asked. “If you need me, I’ll always be here for you.”

Liar. She refrained from shouting at him, from letting all her resentment and pain spill out. He hadn’t been there for her…when she’d needed him most. When she’d left the office earlier, she should have kept running; she shouldn’t have let him stop her. “We both know better than that, Ben,” she gently reminded him.

He flinched as if she had screamed at him. “You’re right. You were right to leave me, too.”

“Oh, Ben…” God, they weren’t good for each other. They had nothing between them anymore but guilt and pain…and a crazy, irresistible attraction.

“I’m not Ben,” he said, with a luminescent gleam in his big, brown eyes.

“Oh, you’re not?”

He shook his head. “Who was I last night?”

“Stranger in a bar,” she said, as if reading a role from a playbill.

“So today,” he said as he ran his fingertips across the granite again, “I’m the lonely bartender.”

Somehow she suspected “lonely” wasn’t part of the role he wanted to assume, but already part of who he was.

“So who am I?” she asked him.

“Last night you were the sexy bar owner.”

“Still am,” she quipped, no matter that no one—including him—thought she belonged at the club.

His mouth lifted into a little grin. “No, today you’re a patron who left her purse here and came back after hours to pick it up.”

“I have a feeling that my purse is not the only thing I’m supposed to pick up,” she said, her pulse quickening with excitement.

“I have your bag back here,” he said, lifting the hinged counter so she could join him, “behind the bar.”

She smiled now. “Did you get this scenario from a country song? I didn’t think you listened to country.”

“I listen to everything.”

Even her? She shook her head. No, she would have had to talk for him to listen; he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t shared all his feelings during their marriage. She hung on to her smile, with an effort. “I thought you were just into that boring elevator music.”

“Come here,” he urged her, “and I’ll show you how boring I am.”

Weren’t they fighting because he thought it was crazy that she’d bought the bar? She’d rather not remind him of their argument. Better to distract him or herself from her fear that he was right.

“You know you should be wearing the uniform,” she said as she stepped behind the bar and walked toward him. She’d love to see him in the black pants and a pleated tuxedo shirt.

“I already changed out of uniform,” he said, gesturing toward the black pants and sweater he wore. The ones that had lain on her office floor just hours before.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing anything at all,” she suggested, reaching for the hem of his sweater. She dragged it up and over his head, tossing it onto the bar.

His chest was bare, except for the light mat of black hair covering the sculpted muscles. Despite his hectic schedule, he somehow found time to work out.