Lauren wobbled over to the built-in wet bar and began opening cabinets. “Want a drink?”

“No.” He walked over to the bar and shut the cabinet door authoritatively. “And neither do you. Unless it’s coffee or tea or something else that will sober you up a little”

“Tea!” she scoffed. “That’s for old ladies and British people. And I really need to get some sleep, as you pointed out. Thanks to cheap-o Nadine and her cut rate travel arrangements. So no caffeine. But I could use a little nightcap, just something to help me sleep.”

Ben shook his head and led her away from the bar. “Sweetheart, you look like you’re going to keel over any second now. One more drink and you’ll be comatose. How about a soda?”

Lauren grimaced and shook her head, one hand clutching her belly. “I’ll pass. I think that ceviche we ate isn’t agreeing with me. Maybe some bad scallops.”

“Why don’t you sit down then?” he suggested. “And take off those boots before you fall over.”

Instead of following his advice, she propped a booted foot on the arm of the sofa and smiled at him provocatively, the short, flirty skirt of her dress riding up high enough to expose the tanned, toned muscles of her thigh. “You don’t like my boots, Ben?” she purred in a throaty voice. “Weren’t you the one who told me I should wear a dress or a skirt more often? And I couldn’t very well wear sneakers with a dress like this.”

He gulped as she ran her hands enticingly over her breasts and ribcage before trailing a finger down her exposed cleavage.

“Lauren,” he admonished, willing his massive erection to subside but quickly discovering that such a feat was a lost cause. “Come on, knock it off. You know this is just the booze talking. And speaking of talking, no time like the present, sweetheart. What did you want to discuss earlier today?”

Lauren smiled, and to Ben the smile looked a bit sad. “Did you know that you’re the only person who’s ever called me sweetheart? Most guys say babe or baby or honey.”

He returned her smile. “And you’re the only woman I’ve ever called sweetheart. But you’re avoiding the subject, Lauren. What did you come to see me about today?”

She lowered her foot to the floor and began to walk towards him slowly, suddenly as serious as he had ever seen her. “I came to tell you,” she began hesitantly, “that I was finally ready.”

“Ready for what?” he asked, puzzled.

She was standing right in front of him now, her eyes half-shut as she whispered, “For you to explain. To tell me about Big Sur. I decided that I needed to know the truth, whether I liked what I would hear or not.”

Ben was startled, because of all the things he’d guessed she wanted to discuss, this had not been one of them. “And what exactly prompted this decision?”

Lauren shook her head. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Because I just decided that I don’t feel like talking right now.”

He sighed, realizing that in her present inebriated state talking probably wasn’t such a great idea anyway. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why don’t you feel like talking anymore?”

She gave a wicked little laugh just before she slid her arms up around his neck, pressing her curvy little body flush against his. “Because I feel like doing this instead,” she whispered, and then tugged his head down to meet hers.

The first brush of their lips against each other felt like a lightning strike, or a flame bursting to life. The kiss was wild, hungry, and definitely dirty, a tangle of tongues as they sought to devour the other’s mouth. He kissed her as though he was starved for the taste and feel and smell of her – because he was. He slid his hands into her thick, tousled curls, holding her head still as one kiss morphed into a second and a third, going on and on. At some point she took one of his hands and drew it to her breasts. He squeezed one full mound roughly, and then could only stare in spellbound lust as she deftly unfasted the halter top of her dress, letting the fabric drift to her waist and expose her gloriously bare tits.

“Christ,” he rasped, his hands cupping her reverently, his thumbs brushing over the erect nipples before bending down to suck one pale pink tip into his mouth.

Lauren’s hands clutched his head close, her breath escaping in short, staccato pants. “God, that’s so good,” she breathed. “It’s been so long, baby. I’ve missed this so much. Missed you so much.”

“Lauren.” Her name left his lips in a groan – or a prayer, he wasn’t sure which. He slid his hands down to her buttocks, holding her still as he rubbed his cock against the sweet, hot notch of her thighs. He was so hard, so starved for her, that it was right on the edge of being painful. All he could think about was tearing her underwear off, getting inside of her as quickly as possible, fucking her hard and fast until they were both screaming in release. And then really getting down to business after taking the edge off a little.

He had just slid his hand beneath her skirt, was barely an inch away from slipping his fingers inside the soaking wet crotch of her flimsy thong, when he felt her pushing against his chest.

“Don’t. Stop,” she pleaded raggedly. “Oh, God, Ben. You’ve got to stop now.”

Her almost desperate pleas finally penetrated his lust-addled brain and he let go of her reluctantly. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he grunted, his body screaming for release and none too happy that he’d halted its progress towards that end.

Lauren clapped a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. “Uh, try not to take this personally but – oh, crap!”

She dashed into the kitchen, her heels clacking noisily on the wood floor. She didn’t even bother turning a light on as she rushed over to the sink, and was immediately, rather revoltingly, sick.

“You have got to be kidding,” he muttered darkly. “Talk about bad timing, huh?”

Telling himself – though he didn’t really mean it – that this was all for the best under the circumstances – those circumstances mainly involving his complicated relationship with Elle – Ben heaved a sigh of resignation and followed Lauren inside the spacious, well-equipped kitchen. As she continued to vomit into the sink, he simply held her long hair back until she gave one final shudder. He got her a glass of water and then dampened a dishcloth to wipe off her face.

Lauren was pale and shaky as she rinsed the sink out, and she looked ready to drop at his feet like a ragdoll.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “I blame that damned ceviche. Definitely some bad fish there.”

Ben smiled knowingly. “Yeah, it was the ceviche all right. And maybe a few too many pisco sours. As well as that last round of tequila shots. Ah, don’t forget the red wine.”

Lauren let out a groan and clamped a hand over her mouth again. “Okay, enough. Maybe I did have a little too much to drink tonight. But it was mostly the ceviche.”

“Whatever you say,” he agreed amiably. “Look, you’re obviously in no shape to talk about anything tonight. Not to mention that things got awfully out of control just now. Speaking of which.”

He tried to ignore how badly his balls ached as he clumsily retied the top of her dress, covering up her bare, tempting breasts. But he knew that it wouldn’t be nearly so easy to forget the sight and feel and taste of them.

“Time for you to get some sleep, Lauren,” he told her in his best no-nonsense voice. “After all, you’ve got a busy couple of days ahead of you and that’s even before you arrive in the islands. But you can be damned sure that the minute you’re back I’m finally going to have my say. And for once in your life you’re going to shut up and listen.”

He couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to her forehead, the sort of kiss one might give to a small, frightened child. And then he left while the few fragments that remained of his willpower were still intact.