Virgin's Sweet Rebellion

Shock iced through Olivia as the blood drained from her face. ‘No comment,’ she whispered, but the reporter had sensed he’d struck a nerve and so he pushed on.

‘There must be some reason Ben is throwing you over...’

‘Back off,’ Ben said, and Olivia stilled at the quiet, deadly venom in his voice. The reporter was oblivious.

‘Were you hoping dating Ben Chatsfield would save the family business—or help your struggling career?’

‘No...’ Olivia’s voice cut off as if someone had grabbed her by the throat. But no one had; it was the reporter who was being grabbed, and Olivia watched in disbelief as Ben yanked the man to his tiptoes by grabbing the front of his shirt.

‘Back. Off.’ He stared at the man, his knuckles white as he held him by the shirt, and the man stared at him goggle-eyed as cameras snapped.

‘Ben,’ Olivia said quietly.

Slowly she saw awareness dawn in Ben’s face. He released the man’s shirt and took a step back. Took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded once, although whether in apology or acknowledgement Olivia didn’t know. Then he took her by the hand and led her to the sanctuary of a waiting cab.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HE’D THREATENED A MAN.

Ben had to keep his body from shaking as he slid into the cab, angled his face away from Olivia. He had no idea what she was thinking, how horrified she must be. Adrenalin raced through him and he raked his hands through his hair before doubling over as nausea suddenly swamped him.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked quietly.

He clamped his jaw tight as an icy sweat broke over his body. Then he straightened, keeping his face turned away from her. ‘I’m fine.’

Except he wasn’t fine, not remotely. In fourteen years he’d never come so close to doing another person bodily harm. He drew a shuddering breath as the nausea crashed over him once more.

‘Pull the car over,’ he snapped to the driver, and alarmed, the man screeched to the kerb.

Ben threw the door open, bent over and was sick in the gutter.

Olivia sat there, frozen in shock, as he shut the door, then eased back against the seat and closed his eyes.

‘Drive,’ he said, and with an alarmed look for the pair of them, the cabbie pulled back into the traffic.

* * *

Olivia stared at him, his eyes still closed, his face pale, and was torn between comforting him and demanding answers.

In the end she said nothing, figuring they both needed a moment to compose themselves, and then the cab was pulling up in front of The Chatsfield and a bellhop was opening the door. She slid out of the taxi and Ben followed, striding ahead of her into the hotel.

He seemed set to keep walking and just leave her there with nothing but a nod goodbye, but Olivia wasn’t having it.

‘Ben,’ she said quietly, and he stilled. Said nothing. ‘We need to talk.’ She waited, her heart pounding, conscious of the people all around them, the curious looks. She did not want to have a showdown with Ben in the lobby of The Chatsfield, but she wasn’t going to let him walk away from her either. Not after everything that had happened tonight. Everything that she didn’t understand, but knew she wanted to.

‘I know,’ Ben said, and with an air of resignation he turned towards the bank of elevators.

Neither of them spoke again until they were in the privacy of Olivia’s suite. She dropped her clutch and wrap on the hall table and went to the living area.

‘I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to raid the minibar.’ She went to the bar in the corner and pulled out a small bottle of cognac, twisted off the cap and downed half of it in one long, burning swallow.

She hissed as the alcohol blazed through her, and then turned to face Ben. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his face expressionless yet with a weary resignation to the hunch of his shoulders. Silently she handed him the bottle.

With the barest quirk of a smile he took it and had a long swallow.

‘Tell me what’s going on,’ she said.

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his face still blank as he put the little bottle of cognac on top of the bar. ‘You saw what went on.’

‘I saw you nearly hit a reporter and then get a case of the shakes when you got in the cab...’

‘I wasn’t shaking,’ Ben cut her off quietly.

‘Are you going to pretend you weren’t sick in the street either?’ His expression closed right up then and he looked away. ‘Ben.’ She took a step towards him, arms outstretched. ‘Ben, you’ve said and done things I don’t understand tonight and I need to understand them, for my own peace of mind, and maybe for yours. Please don’t shut me out. I have no idea what’s going on or what is...tormenting you, but I want to know.’ She took a deep breath, her own emotions scraped raw, so close to the surface. ‘I want to help.’