Never Too Much Read online

  Annoyed, Ben followed her. She wanted to put distance between them, both physical and emotional. He was doubly determined not to let her.

  Just as she reached the front of the building, he caught her shoulder and brought her around fast and hard into his chest. She grunted with the impact, started to object, and Ben caught the back of her neck, then bent to kiss her again before she could pull away.

  His last kiss had been gentle. This one was hungry, meant to gain her cooperation.

  Sierra held herself rigid, her mouth tightly closed, for about three seconds before she made a small sound of surprise, and her lips softened. Ben took instant advantage, thrusting his tongue inside, tasting her deeply. But kissing her affected him, too, and the kiss slowly became deep and hot and devouring.

  He didn’t want to stop, but knew he had to.

  Against her lips, he whispered, “Indulge me on this, Sierra. Have lunch with me; let me help you unpack.”

  She dropped her forehead to his chest. Ben could feel her warm breath on his flesh, through the open collar of his shirt.

  He shuddered.

  Retrenching rather than pushing her, he released her and stepped back.

  She looked warm, confused. Beautiful.

  “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Be neighborly, honey. Don’t disappoint me, okay?” He left before he said anything more. It wasn’t his plan to beg her or even cajole her. He wanted her to want what he offered enough that she’d give in to him. On everything.

  When he stepped into the motel, he turned and glanced back through the window. He could just barely see Sierra, still standing where he’d left her in her yard. She hadn’t moved an inch. He smiled in satisfaction.

  Until he heard his grandmother’s strident, outraged voice behind him. “Ben Badwin, you get more disreputable by the day. Have you no sense of decorum at all?”

  Ben cringed but quickly wiped all expression from his face. He turned, fashioned a mocking grin, and said, “Hey Aggie. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter Seven

  Sierra’s work gloves had left dirt on his shirt and in his hair. He’d taken time to change and clean up, but his temper hadn’t cooled at all. The very last thing he wanted to do was visit with his cantankerous grandmother. He’d intended to sweet-talk Sierra, to do a little more verbal foreplay while they shared an intimate lunch.

  Now he had to contend with Agatha Harper.

  Hoping to end her visit before Sierra arrived, Ben hurried through the hotel and into the diner by way of the kitchen. He was dismayed, and satisfied, to see Sierra standing in the front doorway. At once, she made eye contact with him. Looking resigned, she started in his direction. Shit.

  He’d finally gotten her to come to him, but he couldn’t give her his full attention.

  Agatha sat at a booth, her back rigid, her gray head held erect, her aristocratic face twisted in distaste as if she expected to find a cockroach in her seat. Like he would have bugs in his place.

  Ben ground his teeth together and walked past Aggie to greet Sierra. She was halfway through the diner when she caught his frown, and faltered.

  The second Ben reached her, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  She’d showered and changed into work-worn jeans that sported holes in the knees, a sleeveless white blouse and ratty sneakers. Her damp hair hung loose to her shoulders and sure enough, she’d gotten too much sun. Her nose, forehead and cheekbones were pink.

  She was the most irresistible female he’d ever known. “My grandmother showed up.”

  “Oh.” Her smile was forced. “I’m sure you want to chat with her. We can do lunch another time. You know I need to work anyway.”

  He’d been anticipating that reply, even counting on it. But now, being perverse, he said, “No. My visit with her won’t take long. You can wait for me in the break room. Okay?”

  She started to reply, then her gaze drifted from his face to look over his shoulder. He could tell by her expression just exactly what—or rather whom—she saw. Annoyance swamped him, and he turned.

  “Aggie.” Wearing his most enigmatic expression, Ben brought Sierra forward. He and his grandmother had called a tacit truce of late. They still twitted each other, but there was no real bite to their antagonism, and in fact, Ben often thought she enjoyed bantering with him. Given the bloom in her wrinkled cheeks, she enjoyed cursing, too, a new vice for Aggie, which she blamed on him.

  With their easier camaraderie, he hoped to get through this meeting without any bloodshed. Not always a possibility; sometimes it seemed Agatha deliberately sent his temper through the roof. “This is Sierra Murphy. She works across the street.”

  Agatha’s sharp speculation landed on Sierra, making Ben stiffen. “Yes, well, your definition of work needs help, young man.”

  Sierra puckered up in umbrage. She looked between him and his grandmother. “Just what does that mean?”

  “Aggie . . .” Ben put as much warning in his tone as he dared, considering they stood in the middle of the diner. Agatha could be unpredictable, and already they were drawing attention. Sierra had opened a new business. He wouldn’t let his grandmother say or do anything to damage her reputation. He took his grandmother’s arm and started her toward the kitchen. “Let’s go, Sierra. We can talk back here.”

  In military fashion, her pique plain to see, Sierra marched behind them. Agatha just sniffed and allowed herself to be led like a queen.

  The break room was empty, and Sierra immediately dropped into a chair. Ben kept one eye on his grandmother as he instructed the cook to bring them each a Coke and three plates of the day’s special.

  As soon as the cook was gone, Sierra leaned forward, her arms on the long table, her pride in evidence. “I know that my business doesn’t look polished yet, but I only just opened yesterday and then the storm hit. I can tell you, no one works harder than I do.”

  Realizing that Sierra had totally misunderstood his grandmother’s innuendo, Ben choked.

  Agatha corrected that posthaste. “I saw you both through the motel window. Quite shameful behavior. You were cavorting there for everyone to see.”

  Sierra shot upright. “Cavorting?” Her wide eyes slanted toward Ben, then narrowed dangerously. “People could see us?”

  Pleased with her results, Agatha motioned Sierra back into her seat. “No one noticed but me, however the fact is that anyone might have.”

  Twin spots of heated color pulsed on Sierra’s face. Ben growled. “All we did was kiss.” He prayed that was all Agatha had seen.

  “Kissing should be done in private.” She looked at Sierra. “You would be well advised not to let my grandson corrupt you. I’ve noticed that where the females are concerned, he knows no moderation. And of course they don’t help matters any by throwing themselves at him.”

  She was trying to warn Sierra off. Ben lost his temper and slammed a fist down on the table. Sierra jumped, but Agatha seemed unmoved. “Don’t go there, Aggie.” If she wanted to talk about corrupted men, he could bring Pierce’s name up real quick.

  She gave him a cool look. “Noah would be appalled.”

  “Baloney. Noah would understand, believe me.” His half brother had thoroughly debauched Grace before marrying her. Grace had enjoyed every second of it.

  Sierra looked between them. “Understand what?”

  “Noah,” Agatha said, still addressing Ben, “was in love. Do you have the same excuse?”

  Ben drew back, no appropriate reply coming to mind—and the cook appeared, presenting their food with a ludicrous flourish considering where he worked and the casual atmosphere of the diner. “Here we are. Eat up, and enjoy.”

  Sierra ventured cautiously toward conversation. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”

  Horace, Ben’s cook since he’d opened, grinned widely. “And tastes delicious, you’ll see. Ben here knows you need good food to make a diner work. He’s a sharp one.” With that, Horace went back through the door to the kitchen, wiping his hands o
n his apron.

  Agatha inspected her food, forked one tiny piece of chicken salad, chewed thoughtfully, and then tipped her head in approval. “Very tasty.”

  It amazed Ben how much her approval pleased him. “You expected gruel?”

  She forked another bite. “Did Grace tell you to call me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  Ben flopped into his seat and picked up a ripe melon ball with his fingertips. He popped it into his mouth. “The phone line goes both ways. Besides, I was busy.”

  Full of righteous disdain, Agatha said, “There’s this wonderfully civilized invention, Benjamen. It’s called a fork.”

  Sierra choked on a laugh. When Ben glared at her, she blurted, “Who’s Noah?”

  “He’s my brother.” And with a look, Ben dared Agatha to say any more on the subject. She pinched her mouth shut.

  “Do you have big family get-togethers?”

  Ben laughed. “Hardly.”

  To Ben’s discomfort, Agatha looked wounded, and he regretted the gibe. Since Noah and Grace had married, she’d been trying to be less spiteful—and she’d openly accepted him. The thing was, he didn’t think he was ready to let it go. Not when she still didn’t accept his mother; not when they’d never really discussed the past.

  “We aren’t a large group,” Agatha explained. “My son, Pierce, died some time ago.”

  Full of sympathy, Sierra said quietly, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She turned to Ben. “Your mother is a widow?”

  “No.” He shook his head, wondered how to explain, then gave up. “She was never married to my father.”

  Agatha gasped. “Ben! Must you air our dirty laundry?”

  “Your dirty laundry.” As usual, the subject filled him with churning resentment. “My mother has nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Their gazes clashed for a suspended moment before Agatha faced Sierra. She gathered her aplomb with an effort. “There are only my two grandsons, my granddaughter-in-law, Grace, and myself.”

  Sierra looked both sympathetic and unsure, and no wonder. She’d inadvertently gotten caught in the ongoing family squabble—not that Ben really considered himself part of Agatha’s family. Well, sometimes he did, but more often than not . . .

  Sierra’s foot touched his beneath the table.

  Ben’s turbulent gaze shot up, locked on hers, and her smile soothed him like a soft stroke. She didn’t say anything, and their silent exchange hadn’t been obvious, but Ben felt comforted by her presence. He couldn’t recall any other lover who’d affected him that way.

  Drawing a calming breath, he stared at Agatha. “I was going to call you later on today. Did you need something?”

  She glanced pointedly at Sierra. “I have private business to discuss.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  Sierra started to push back her chair, but Ben caught her hand before she could dismiss herself. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Ben, really,” Sierra said in a rush. “I don’t mind . . .”

  “My grandmother and I have no private business. Isn’t that right, Aggie?”

  Agatha wasn’t a woman to be intimidated. “Fine.” She pushed her plate away and folded her hands on the tabletop. “I need you to attend a meeting with my lawyers.”

  Ben stiffened, inadvertently crushing Sierra’s hand in his. “Why?”

  A sort of wary caution crept across her features, though she tried to hide it behind bravado. “I’ve changed my will and I need you to look things over before we finalize it.”

  “Forget it.” He realized he gripped Sierra’s hand too hard and released her. Feeling turbulent, he stood to pace.

  “I will not forget it.” Agatha too, came to her feet. “You’re only being stubborn. If you’d just look things over . . .”

  He flashed her an irascible glare. “Not interested, Aggie.”

  They squared off over the table, both of them stiff, both of them too damn proud. Ben couldn’t bring himself to relent, so finally Agatha had to. “You are the most stubborn, hot-tempered, prideful person I know.”

  “Damn, think anyone will notice we’re related?”

  She huffed and her tone became imperious. “All right, know this you scamp.”

  “Scamp?” Ben did a double take. “What the hell kind of insult is that?” He laughed in genuine amusement. “Scamp, huh? You’re slipping, old girl.”

  Agatha frowned so hard, Ben thought she might have given herself new wrinkles. “I’m making my will out as I see fit, and you can’t do a thing about it.” Her chin rose, regal even in her anger. “If you choose not to take part, that’s your business.”

  “I’ll throw it away,” he promised, his humor dulled by her insistence. Agatha had only recently claimed him as her grandson, and she had yet to speak civilly to his mother. What Ben wanted from her, respect and a full acknowledgement of what her son had done to his mother, she wasn’t willing to give. So he’d take nothing.

  “You can’t throw it away.” Such a sentiment obviously stunned her. “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Whatever it is, whatever you leave to me, I swear to you, Aggie, I’ll toss it.”

  “Fine.” Her voice lowered, her anger smoldering. “It’ll be yours to do with as you please. If it pleases you to be so wasteful, then that’s what you’ll do. But you will get your share of my wealth.” In a regal huff, Agatha turned and swept out of the room.

  Ben watched her go, annoyed, offended, perplexed, then he slammed a chair into the table. “Goddammit.”

  Sierra sat in stunned silence. He struggled to get himself together.

  “Jesus, I don’t believe this.” Trying to blow off his anger, but unable to manage it, Ben ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at Sierra, saw she watched him closely, and wanted to groan. “I’m sorry, Sierra. It’s just that she takes every opportunity to rile me.”

  Sierra tipped up her Coke, ice cubes clinking, and finished it off. She was the only one who’d eaten all of her lunch. Sitting back, her hands laced over her full stomach, she said, “Looked to me like you both excel at annoying each other.”

  Ben grimaced. He hadn’t exactly shown her his better side. “Yeah, you can say that again.” Briefly, he wondered if anything interfered with Sierra’s appetite. But then, she worked damn hard and probably burned off a lot of calories that had to be replaced. “I seem to be the only one who won’t go out of my way to placate her.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re special to her.”

  Ben almost laughed. “Special? Hell, most times she acts like she wants to box my ears.”

  Sierra smiled with the faintest hint of amusement. “I noticed. But at the same time, she’s set on taking care of you. If she didn’t love you, you wouldn’t be able to rile her.”

  Ben didn’t let himself dwell on that possibility. He and Agatha would never see eye to eye, and he’d be damned if he’d let the differences bother him. “Did you enjoy the meal, if not the company?”

  “Actually the food was delicious, and the company was . . . fascinating.” She scrutinized him. “I’d already assumed your grandmother was rich, but seeing her confirms it.”

  “Rich? Yeah, extravagantly. So is my brother, Noah.”

  “But not you?”

  He pulled up a chair next to her, wishing he could change the subject. “Does it matter to you?”

  Her jaw locked and her eyes narrowed. “Yes, it matters. I’m not real partial to wealthy people who think they own the world.”

  Ben whistled. Now what did that mean? “You’ve known a few, have you?”

  Her mouth set, and he knew she wouldn’t answer him. More secrets. Sierra had a way of keeping his curiosity keen and his determination throbbing. Sooner or later, he’d get her figured out.

  He held out his arms. “Well, you can rest easy on that score, sweetheart. I’m as poor as they come.”

  She grunted. “Yeah right. You own your own motel.” “Right now, the motel still owns me.” H
e smiled at her. “And as for rich people, you’re right about my grandmother. She expects her money to get her just about anything she wants—including me. But she does have the occasional moment that proves she’s human with a touch of sensitivity. Plus she loves Noah to distraction. And despite being rich, Noah is as real as they get. He’s a good man.”

  Sierra frowned again, but not for the reasons Ben suspected. “Well, so are you. Doesn’t your grandmother know that?”

  Ben grinned. Damn, but she was defending him. Now that definitely felt like progress. “It’s a long story, and I’d rather seduce you than discuss my family foibles.”

  She caught his hand before it could land on her knee. With a chastising shake of her head, she placed it on the table. “I’ve got work to do, remember?”

  Like she’d let him forget. Ben gave her a mocking grin and asked, “Did you think I’d lay you out on my break room table? People eat in here.”

  She flushed, but grumbled, “With you, I never know.”

  Ben eyed the table. “Then again . . .”

  She surprised him by laughing, and even that made him hot. Ben decided she didn’t laugh often enough. He’d have to see what he could do about that.

  “Your mother is very different from your grandmother.”

  She’d made that comment as a statement, but Ben heard all her unasked questions. “I suppose you’re wondering about that little exchange concerning her?”

  She gave her attention to her empty glass. “I don’t want to pry.”

  Despite her averted gaze, her curiosity was plain to see. She was so transparent, so unique, she lightened his mood just by being herself. “Not a nosy bone in your sweet little body, huh?”

  She poked him in the ribs.

  “Okay. Here’s the short version: Pierce Harper, my father, Agatha’s son, got my mom pregnant when she was barely sixteen; then he walked. Wanted nothing to do with her or me.” He tried to make the telling as simplified as possible, with no emotional inflection. “It wasn’t the first time he’d abandoned one of his children, either. At least when I was born, I had my mom looking out for me.”

  “You’re really close to her, aren’t you?”