"Oh, wow," Christine breathed, shocked at the realization that Ben might have a steady girlfriend. One who might even be living with him, though she doubted that by the lack of feminine presence in the apartment. But the fact that Ben openly displayed such an intimate picture of himself and the woman said a lot about his feelings for her.
Not sure what to think, she dragged her fingers through her hair, wincing as a few tangled strands tugged on her scalp. All she knew was that if Ben was in a serious relationship, then she had absolutely no business flirting with him the way she had been, and vice versa.
"You're awfully quiet out there," Ben called from the other room. "Are you doing okay?"
He was obviously done with his shower. "I'm good." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "And you're down to about twelve minutes. Are you still on schedule?"
He chuckled, and she felt a slice of guilt for enjoying the low, husky sound when there was a chance of him having a girlfriend.
"I'm way ahead of schedule," he said as she heard a shuffling sound coming from the bedroom. "All I have to do is finish getting dressed and pack a few things, and I'll be ready to go."
Still troubled by that picture, she finished her water, tossed the bottle in the kitchen trash, and gave Ben another two full minutes before wandering down the hallway to his bedroom. She had to know if he had a significant other in his life, and if he did, she needed to change her behavior toward him drastically. She'd never poached on another woman's territory, and she wasn't about to start now. She'd been on the other side of that scenario, and it hadn't felt good at all.
She stopped in the bedroom doorway and leaned a shoulder against the frame. As good as her intentions were, she wasn't prepared to find Ben looking so gorgeous and sexy. He had his back to her as he stuffed a few items into a duffle bag, giving her a few quick moments to take in his appearance. Fresh from his shower, his hair was still damp, though he had run a comb through the strands. He'd pulled on a pair of new looking jeans, but he hadn't gotten around to putting on a shirt yet, and tearing her gaze away from the mesmerizing ripple and flow of his incredible muscles as he moved was a difficult thing to do.
He zipped up his bag, then reached for a blue chambray shirt he'd laid out on the bed. As he shrugged into the garment, he turned around, saw her standing in the doorway, and gave her a half-grin.
"Did you come to check up on me?" he asked as he strolled toward the only dresser in the room.
He'd left the shirt open and unbuttoned, treating her to a delectable view of his abs, which were just as toned as the rest of his body.
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't wasting time."
"Trust me, I'm a very efficient, no fuss kind of guy."
She watched him open a drawer and withdraw a semiautomatic and a black holster. Even though she didn't like the thought of him carrying a weapon, she knew and understood that it was all part of the job. She was also grateful that he preferred to dress casually, rather than wear what seemed like the prerequisite suit and tie that most of the security agents in her father's employ wore while on duty-which also made their presence as bodyguards openly known.
As Ben clipped the holster onto the waistband of his jeans and tucked the actual holder just inside his pants to conceal the fact that he was armed and dangerous despite his laid-back appearance, she cast a quick glance around his bedroom. The furnishings were just as meager as the rest of the apartment, with a bed and the single dresser, leading her to believe, once again, that he'd just recently moved in. It was the only explanation that made sense for the lack of all those personal, intimate trappings that made a house a real home.
She brought her gaze back to Ben, both disappointed and relieved to find him buttoning up his shirt and covering up that magnificent chest of his so she was no longer tempted to stare at all that bare, naked flesh.
"I take it you haven't lived here long," she commented.
He lifted a dark brown brow. "What makes you say that?"
She shrugged. "The place looks deserted, like you just moved in."
"Actually, I've lived in this apartment for almost two years." Leaving the tails of his shirt untucked, he sat on the edge of his bed, pulled on a pair of socks, then slid his feet into brown leather loafers. "As for the place looking deserted, I've never needed much. That, and the military has a way of making your life as compact as possible. Most of the time, all your personal effects are what you can fit into a duffle or backpack, and I guess I just got used to living that way."
That made sense, yet in a way it made him seem so detached and a bit of a loner, as though he could pick up and move at any time with little effort. "Does your family live nearby?"
He hesitated, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. "No."
His tone of voice didn't encourage further questions, but there was something about the sudden change in his entire demeanor that prompted Christine to ask, "Where does the rest of your family live?"
"Like you, I'm an only child," he said, his tone holding a shade of impatience. "My father passed away a few years ago, and as for my mother… I have no idea where she is, nor do I care."
He was so matter-of-fact about his parents, and while she was curious to know more about his past and what had caused that twinge of bitterness she'd detected toward his mother, he stood up, grabbed his duffle and what appeared to be a computer carry case, then glanced at his wristwatch.
"I'm ready to go with four minutes to spare," he said. "Even after your little interrogation."
There was just enough humor in his voice to let her know that he wasn't upset with her, even if her questions had brought back what seemed like some unpleasant memories for him.
He passed by her on the way out the bedroom door to the living room, smelling like soap and warm male essence. She followed behind, then waited as he checked the answering machine on the kitchen counter for messages. Again, her gaze strayed to the pictures in the wall unit, specifically the one with Ben and the smiling, happy brunette.
God, she was such a glutton for punishment today. After their exchange in the bedroom about his parents, she ought to leave well enough alone, but she just couldn't walk out of his apartment without knowing about the woman in the photo.
"Ben?"
He grabbed his car keys from the counter and turned toward her, clearly ready to leave. "Yeah?"
She bit her bottom lip, her stomach suddenly churning with a bout of nerves. "I'm sorry, but I really need to ask you something."
Shifting his stance, he adjusted the strap of the computer case over his shoulder. "Okay."
She exhaled a deep breath and let the words out before her fortitude deserted her. "That woman in the picture with you." she said, indicating the shelf with the two separate photographs, "is she your girlfriend?"
His gaze slid past her to the framed print, a distinct pang of sadness etching his features. "She was my fiancée."
His answer, said in the past tense, confused her. If he was no longer engaged, then why did he have such a loving, affectionate photo of the two of them so openly displayed? "Was your fiancée?"
Those golden brown eyes, when they met hers again, were filled with a barely perceptible grief that made him appear, for the very briefest of seconds, raw and exposed. "She died in the Iraq War four years ago."
Startled by such an unexpected reply, her eyes widened and it took her a moment to shake off her shock and respond. "I'm so sorry, Ben," she breathed, her heart hurting for him.
"Yeah, me, too," he said gruffly.
He glanced away, but not before she caught a glimpse of a deeper torment and guilt she didn't fully understand. In the span of just a half an hour, she'd seen a whole different side to Ben, a man with many facets and a past devastated with loss on many levels. Beneath his charming smiles and easygoing nature, there was a wealth of personal pain and secrets he kept to himself, and was very reluctant to share. Not that she could blame him.