12 – Where There's Smoke

Ben passed her a tormented look. "You're kidding, right? Please say you're kidding."

Felicity smiled and shook her head. "Nope."

Standing before them, an unimposing brick building, was the National Museum of Roller Skating. Ben gave her the look again. "I didn't realize they needed a museum for roller skates."

"I used to love roller skating as a kid. Were you ever any good at it?"

He cringed away from the building in the classic male this-is-too-uncool-for-me attitude. "Roller skating? I don't roller skate. Maybe when I was ten, like once. Are you sure you want to make me go in there?"

She stepped behind him and pushed him toward the doors. "It's only fair for me to pick the next stop."

He took a few drag-footed steps, sighed exaggeratedly, and reached for her hand. "All right, let's go see your roller skates."

She smiled again, walking beside him to the doors. "Good. I brought my camera to get some pictures."

"You're not taking any pictures of me in this place," he warned, opening the door for her.

"Spoilsport."

- - - - -

As she moved from exhibit to exhibit, Felicity felt his eyes on her. The weight of his gaze made her shiver. She tried to ignore it. Toward the end of their tour, she came to a stop before an oversized black-and-white photograph of a couple skating. An elderly woman finished looking around and left the room. Felicity looked back to the photo. The couple in it had been captured in a mid-skate embrace, much like the moves often used in figure skating on ice. The woman, skating in front, had stretched her arm up to curl around her partner's neck, and turned her head to look back at him. His hands rested on her tiny waist. The photo was flowing, graceful…and, Felicity thought with an unsettled shiver, sensual.

As if her notion had been a cue, Ben came up behind her, so close that she could almost feel his warmth. "This one's nice."

The low pitch of his voice sent chills down her spine. "Yeah," she said lightly, trying to shrug it off.

Ben's hands settled on her waist, imitating the man's pose in the photograph. "Okay, roller skating isn't totally stupid." A note of levity had entered his voice, totally at odds with the very serious way he drew closer to her until his chest brushed against her back. His arms snaked around her midsection and he bent to kiss her cheek.

Butterflies rioted in her belly. It's just an innocent kiss. Quit overreacting! Her cheek prickled where his stubble had brushed it. She remembered he hadn't shaved that morning.

With one eye on the photograph, he murmured, "Looks like there's more going on there than just skating."

The levity was still there in his tone, but this time Felicity heard the hint of something more. The fact that he'd picked up on the undertones in the photo told her he was paying more attention than she'd thought. Her heartbeat thrummed with unspoken questions.

Before she could formulate her next words, Ben drew away and moved to the next part of the exhibit. She stole a glance at him, but he was studying a display of old skate patents.

Most of the time when she looked at Ben, she could see the veneer of guardedness, that aloof exterior he must have developed during childhood. He didn't have that right now. He didn't seem bored, or indifferent, or even annoyed that she'd dragged him in here to pore over silly roller skating memorabilia. He looked…

Happy.

- - - - -

They drove until late afternoon, had a picnic dinner at a state park, and continued on until sunset before finding a room for the night. Next door to the motel was a bar and grill. Since they weren't tired yet, they agreed to go. The place was jam-packed with people. Seeing a table, Ben challenged her to a game of air hockey. He lost the first game but trounced her on the second and third. "I demand a rematch. That last shot wasn't fair," she growled in amusement.

"It's fair in Covington rules," he shot back loftily. "Admit it, I won."

"You did not."

"I did too. I won. Are you going to be a sore loser?"

She flopped back against the table and crossed her arms. "I'm never a sore loser."

Ben rounded the table. "Then admit I won."

She glared at him, managing to stifle a giggle. "I didn't realize we were playing for stakes. What's the big prize?"

He reached forward and pulled her closer, kissing her thoroughly. Dizzy and a little breathless, she looked up at him.

The same expression that had been in his eyes the previous night, that smoky look, flashed across his features. They stared at each other, and the rest of the room began fading out.

In the next moment, Felicity heard a shrieking, high-pitched siren. Sprinklers went off overhead. She yelped as cold water rained down onto her. "What the—?"

Ben grabbed her hand. "Fire alarm. Let's get out of here."

They dodged between the groups of people heading toward the exit. Felicity tripped on the leg of a chair, but Ben's grip on her hand kept her from falling. She stumbled but kept her feet.

He glanced back. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I wonder what's going on."

They wound their way out of the building. Out on the street, they heard fire truck sirens blaring.

Felicity came to a halt beside a young woman in a neat blouse and skirt. Her attire marked her as one of the waitresses. "What happened?"

"Grease fire in the kitchen. Stupid new kid didn't watch what he was doing," the waitress muttered.

The hostility in her tone made Felicity's eyebrows shoot up. She shrugged and exchanged a man-is-she-pissy look with Ben. "Why don't we just go back to the motel?"

Ben took her hand again, threading his fingers through hers, tugging her away. "Already gone."