Читать книгу His Ultimate Temptation - Susan Crosby, Susan Crosby - Страница 8

One

San Francisco Police Inspector Leslie O’Keefe closed the door to the lieutenant’s office behind her, pushed her aching shoulders impossibly straighter and let the sound of voices guide her to her desk in the next room. Her heart slammed against her sternum as she passed through the doorway. Conversation skidded to a halt. Expectant eyes turned toward her.

Now what? The last thing she wanted was sympathy.

Forcing unconcern into her expression, Leslie sat at her desk, dragged a pad of paper in front of her and began writing notes to attach to her active files—the files she had to leave behind for someone else.

Within minutes the room emptied, the shift over, but curiosity was still electric in the air. People said good night as they passed by her desk, some even patted her shoulder, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t allow more than a hmm of acknowledgment. She didn’t lift her head until the room was empty, then after a minute she set her files on the desk beside hers, aligning the folders precisely.

She had to go now. Home. To an empty house. Her eleven-year-old daughter, Erin, had left that morning with Leslie’s ex-husband to spend Christmas skiing in Aspen. Leslie wouldn’t be alone for long, however. Her friends would drop by as the news spread. The phone would ring. Where could she go to escape the unwelcome sympathy? She needed to let herself give in to everything she was feeling, alone, then she could pretend she was all right.

First, she needed to cancel her dinner plans. She stared at the telephone a long time before the number she’d dialed hundreds of times surfaced in her consciousness.

“It’s Leslie,” she said when her longtime friend Gabriel Marquez answered. If he’d been single instead of recently married, she might have unburdened herself to him.

“Since when have you needed to identify yourself, Les?” he asked.

“I was, um, trying to do two things at once. Listen, can I have a rain check on dinner?”

“What’s wrong?”

His tone of voice told her he heard below the surface of her words. They’d known each other too long for her to hide much from him. Her eyes stung at the relief that knowledge brought. She swallowed hard, coming to a decision about what she needed to do.

“I just realized I can’t stand the thought of spending Christmas at home without Erin. I need to know if anyone is using the cabin over the holidays. Is Sebastian there?”

A heavy silence preceded his answer. “That would be too dangerous for him, I would think. His name is on the deed.”

“You and Chase aren’t going anywhere, and Ben’s taken Erin to Aspen for the holidays, so I’m going to head to the cabin for a few days.”

“Les—”

“This is a good time, with Erin gone. I’ll be fine alone, so don’t worry about me, okay?”

“What’s going on?”

“I just need to be by myself, Gabe. I’ll tell you why when I get back. And don’t worry,” she repeated. “Ben is supposed to call me at your house when he and Erin arrive at their hotel, which should be within the hour. I guess he’ll need to know where to contact me, but don’t tell anyone else.”

His response was slow to come. “Drive carefully,” he said finally. “It’ll be midnight by the time you get there, and probably icy. If you don’t have chains, get some. Better yet, borrow Sebastian’s Jeep so you’ve got a four-wheel-drive. It’s been sitting too long, anyway.”

“Good idea. Tell Cristina I’m sorry for canceling out at the last minute.”

She murmured a quick goodbye then hung up, her plans giving her purpose now...focus. Essential tasks awaited her—clothes, food, car. Then the long drive from San Francisco to North Lake Tahoe, to the secluded cabin with its thousand memories—and one painfully fresh new one.

Leslie was in no danger of falling asleep at the wheel during the long drive up the mountain road. Anger and insecurity gnawed at her, even as she tried to ignore the day’s events by singing Christmas carols continuously. She roasted chestnuts with Mel Tormé and guided Rudolph through his foggy night until her throat felt raw. Her bells stopped jingling. Her night turned silent.

Which left her mind free to wander during the final minutes of her journey. She should examine the incident that had turned her world upside down, but she didn’t want to think about it yet, afraid of what she might discover. Instead, she focused on the cabin.

She would find peace and privacy there, the solace of happy times. It was her first visit since her divorce, over two years ago. Over three years, technically, adding on the legal waiting period preceding the final decree.

Her first trip without Ben. Her first trip alone in all her thirty-two years.

Rounding the final bend of the road, she pulled into the driveway, the car that had been trailing her for miles continuing on after a friendly beep of farewell. A full moon reflected light off the snow, silhouetting the log structure, a small, two-bedroom cabin offering few modern amenities. Handmade quilts on the beds and photographs on the mantel told the history of the five friends who had constructed the cabin twelve years ago. She would find her answers here in the place she’d helped build, the place where they’d shared family vacations. Where Erin was conceived—

She derailed that train of memories instantly, as well as a darker picture—Ben bringing some other woman here, to their place.

Shutting off the ignition with a violent twist, she rested her forehead against the steering wheel, her body too tired to maneuver the car into the narrow garage, her mind too cluttered with painful images. She forced herself out of the Jeep, then made several trips up the icy path to deposit her belongings on the porch. Even though the nearest cabin was a half mile away, the scent of wood smoke drifted in the night sky, the fragrance making her anxious to get her own fire going, the soothing crackle of burning logs suddenly necessary to her sanity. She could cry until morning, if she felt like it. No one would see or hear her.

Her key slid into the lock easily; the door swung open on silent hinges. Warm air hit her face. Warm? With just her fingertips she tapped the door wide and peeked in. Embers glowed in the stone fireplace. Embers?

“Hold it right there.”

The commanding voice rammed an ice pick into her frozen fear, splitting it into pieces, then relief flashed like fire through her. How could he be—

Lights came on, bright and startling, revealing a tall man with dark, sleep-rumpled hair and stunned hazel eyes that stared down the barrel of a hunting rifle pointed directly at her. A man wearing only sweatpants, leaving his chest bare. Drained of fear, she studied that broad, perfect chest and shoulders, the flat abdomen, then the line of dark hair that disappeared temptingly behind the fabric.

Great. The perfect punctuation to her horror story of a day—her ex-husband. Almost naked.

“Les.” Lowering the tip of a rifle, he swiped a hand down his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Irritated that he’d undoubtedly caught her drooling over him, she crossed her arms. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in Aspen.”

He set the rifle aside. “And you’re supposed to be working.”

“I’m taking a few days off,” she said, taming away to drag her suitcase, ice chest and grocery bags from the porch into the living room before she shut the door on the cold night.

“You volunteered to be the on-call inspector, because Erin wouldn’t be home.”

She shrugged. “I changed my mind. Why are you here?”

He took a few steps toward her, away from the bedrooms. “Our plane was grounded because of a mechanical problem. When the airlines announced a delay of at least six hours, Erin and I talked it over and decided to come here instead.”

“And miss spending Christmas hobnobbing with fellow celebrities?”

“I don’t have to defend my actions to you, Les, but I got back yesterday from a long business trip, as you know. And Erin was just as happy to come here and ski at Alpine.”

Leslie hung up her jacket, then carried the ice chest into the kitchen, setting it on the floor beside the refrigerator. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t go, either. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

“You’re staying?” he asked, following her into the kitchen.

Irritated that his thoughts were echoing hers, she faced him abruptly, planting her fists on her hips. “You expect me to find someplace else? After midnight?” A horrible thought struck her. “Oh, God. You brought someone with you. You brought a woman.”

“With Erin here?” he fired back.

“Mom?”

Leslie jerked her head toward the doorway as Erin shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the light.

“It is you! What are you doing here, Mom?”

“The question of the day,” Leslie muttered in return, drawing Erin into a hug, squeezing her as if she hadn’t seen her for a week instead of less than a day. “Looks like we both had a change of plans.”

Erin stepped back, smiling at one parent, then the other. “We’ll all be together. Just like it used to be.”

Leslie locked gazes with Ben. One of them had to tell Erin her dream wasn’t going to come true. Ben’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

They never argued in front of their daughter. Their communication, usually by telephone, was always civil. They never rehashed the past. And they always put their daughter first in any decision. They were calm. Reasonable. Responsible.

They had The Perfect Divorce. Everyone said so, and she and Ben agreed.

But Erin’s fantasies couldn’t be allowed to take root. Too much disappointment would follow. For once, Leslie was in no mood to be civil. She needed to be alone. She needed to cry. But Ben wasn’t taking the initiative....

“Erin,” she said, resting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “It’s just for the night. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“No way, Mom. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. It’s your most favorite time of the year.” She pulled back, then eased past Leslie. “I’ll make some hot chocolate for all of us, okay? Mom, you can put your stuff in the bottom two drawers of the dresser. Dad, you should put some more logs on the fire. Mom looks cold.”

“I think we’ve been dismissed,” Ben said to Leslie, an edge to his voice.

“Apparently.”

Dangerously close to crumbling, Leslie picked up her suitcase and headed across the living room, concentrating on getting through the next few minutes. She didn’t intend to unpack more than what she needed for the night.

Ben stopped her at the bedroom door, took the suitcase from her and slid it into the room. “Did Gabe know you were coming here?” he asked quietly, glancing toward the kitchen.

“Yes. Why?”

“When did you tell him?”

“I called him around six to cancel our dinner plans. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I actually decided while I was on the phone.” She let Ben’s tone of voice lead her down the same suspicious trail. “He knew you’d changed your plans, didn’t he, Ben? Gabe already knew.”

“We called him early this afternoon.” He paused. “He didn’t pass the message to you.”

“Didn’t say a word.”

“The matchmaker strikes again.”

“Damn him,” Leslie muttered. “He never gives up. And what about Erin? I’m really sorry.”

“We’ll talk after Erin goes to bed.”

Talk. She’d talked all day, it seemed. Officers, inspectors, lieutenants, captains. The Critical Incident Response Team. The head of the Employee Assistance Program. After all that, she needed silence. It was why she’d come.

“Fine,” she said, knowing her responsibilities as a mother would always take precedence over her own problems. “We’ll talk later. And, Ben?”

“What?”

Irritated at the temptation of his near nakedness—and his apparent unconcern—she eased closer to him. She was tall, but he was taller. Much taller. She knew every scar on his body, every football-induced injury, even how his shoulder ached when rain threatened. She knew the way his mouth tasted and felt, and the scent of his skin, spicy with aftershave. The way his beard felt in the morning-against her cheek, her throat, her breasts.

He didn’t move away from her. She glanced at him, but he gave away nothing in his expression. The lightning attraction that had struck her the day they’d met eighteen years ago still simmered. She wondered if he felt the same bubbling heat.

She could hear the clatter of mugs and spoons, and Erin in the kitchen singing about seeing Mommy kissing Santa Claus—the child wasn’t known for her subtlety.

Ben still hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound. He just watched her with probing eyes. Needing a reaction, Leslie trailed her fingertips down his chest to just above his navel, brushing the dark hair swirling there. His stomach clenched. Once upon a time that simple touch would have been enough. He would’ve backed her into the bedroom, stripped her impatiently, then...paradise.

She drew a slow breath at the neon flashes of recollection. Remember where you are. Who you’re with. Your daughter is close enough to see. And you couldn’t blame it on Gabe.

Cooled and embarrassed by her thoughts, she took a step back, finally remembering the request she’d set out to make. “Put a shirt on.”

“I didn’t ask for that, Les.”

“You didn’t stop me, either.”

“You caught me off guard.” Ben ran his thumb across her cheekbone, then dropped his hand when he felt her jerk back. That he’d been shocked by what had just happened would be a gross understatement. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything. Your being here. The way you just teased me.” How fragile you look, he thought, finally able to put a description to his impression since he’d first turned on the lights. Fragile. The word suited his mother and sisters. But not Les. Never Les.

His imagination? He didn’t think so. Her light green eyes looked bleak, her skin translucent. The short hair that flirted with her face seemed darker than normal against her unusually pale skin. He’d noticed recently that Erin’s strawberry blond hair was deepening to Les’s color, a mixture of chestnut brown, red and gold that reminded him of autumn. He could recall Les at fourteen, a feisty, self-avowed tomboy who contradicted the label by wearing her hair in a soft, silky waterfall down to her butt, not this short, no-nonsense style. Still, it looked soft—like her touch against his skin. Only Erin’s presence had prevented him from reacting, which both stunned and irritated him. He was over her. Completely over her.

He folded his arms across his chest. “What’s wrong, Les?”

“I’m just tired.”

“Hot chocolate’s ready,” Erin called. “Marshmallows for the lady, a sprinkle of cinnamon for the gentleman and extra chocolate for...me.”

Ben slipped into his bedroom to pull on a sweatshirt, then he stoked up the fire as his daughter commanded. He sat in a chair sipping his cocoa, vaguely listening to Erin tell her mother about their travel adventures.

He was going to kill Gabriel Marquez with his bare hands, something he’d wanted to do for years. How could Gabe toy with three lives? Erin was his goddaughter, and Les’s confidant. Ben could handle being thrown together like this. Normally, Les probably could, too. But not Erin. Not ever. The situation never should have come up.

He studied his daughter—the happiness on her face, her open pleasure of the moment. At least she lived a normal childhood, free of worries, her joy evident in the way she kept the dialogue running until the chocolate was consumed. After her eyes drifted shut and popped open a few times, he took the dishes into the kitchen.

Leslie took her unspoken cue and dragged her daughter up, then gently tugged her into the bedroom.

Erin flopped onto the bed, watching as Leslie unpacked what she needed in just a couple of minutes, sliding the clothes she would wear the next day into the dresser, tucking the mostly full suitcase into a corner, then setting her toiletries bag in the bathroom vanity, next to Ben’s. When she returned she stretched out beside Erin and brushed her daughter’s hair back from her face. The brilliant color fanned the quilt.

“This is so cool, Mom. So cool.”

“Honey—”

“I know. I know. Don’t get my hopes up.”

“It’s not even that. There’s nothing to get your hopes up about. It’s just an accident that we’re together. Your father and I love you. We also care about each other—in a special way. But our marriage is over. This trip isn’t going to change that.”

“Aunt Mimi says that you still love Dad.”

Leslie groaned inwardly. Her brother’s wife had a romantic streak more than a mile wide. “I do. We share a history and a friendship and you. It’s not a husband-and-wife kind of love, though.”

“Love’s love,” Erin replied with unshakable conviction.

“No, it’s not. But we’ll save that talk for another day. Why don’t you slip into your pj’s and get under the covers.”

“Will you tell Dad to come kiss me good night?”

“Absolutely. And I’ll be in myself to sleep pretty soon, too. Don’t mind sharing a bed with your mom, do you?”

“Nope.”

She kissed her daughter good night then followed the sounds to the kitchen where Ben was wiping down the counter. This was his domain. Among numerous other accomplishments, he was a master chef, as competent in the kitchen as he’d been on the football field. Anyone who thought him any less masculine because he loved to cook was way off the mark. He was all male, potent and unyielding. Dress him in a chefs jacket and he was still a defensive lineman, with a big, muscular body and a slightly crooked nose from two different breaks. Ben O’Keefe was one of those rare, lucky people who could safely walk the streets without fear of a mugging.

“She’ll be ready for a good-night kiss in a minute,” Leslie said, watching him drape a dish towel over the oven handle. She wondered if he had someone special in his life, someone who kept his bed warm and his arms full. Erin hadn’t mentioned anyone.

She wished she could talk to him about what had happened today, but he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t ever want to know details about her job. If he knew there’d been a shooting, and that she—

“Dad! I’m ready!”

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he passed by Leslie. “We’ll settle this.”

The command in his voice grated on her. She wasn’t one of his employees. She wasn’t even his wife.

Dragging her hands down her face, she ordered herself to stay calm, knowing an argument wouldn’t solve anything. She wandered into the living room and curled up in a corner of the sofa, thinking about Ben as she watched the fire.

He was the most goal-oriented person she knew, a driven-to-succeed man who had accomplished staggering success at a young age. Only thirty-two years old, and he was the sole owner of three exclusive, luxurious, extended-stay hotels boasting one-hundred-percent occupancy, with leases signed well into the next century and a waiting list for each facility. How many people could make that kind of claim?

In the beginning, they’d had so much in common. Raised by single parents in lower-class and lower-middle-class neighborhoods, they were used to making do with little. But Ben always had plans. Big plans. He’d conceived the idea for his hotels at age fifteen, then let nothing get in the way of making it work.

Including his wife.

“Oh, stop,” Leslie ordered herself, wincing at the hot scrape of words along her throat. She’d made her own contributions to the failure of their marriage. And now, at the most vulnerable she’d been in a long time, she would be alone with the man she’d loved for so long, the man she’d given up in the most terrifying and heart-wrenching decision of her life.

Decisions. There was another decision she needed to make, as well, one she’d put off for too long. She had been dating Alex Jordan for a while, and he was waiting patiently for her to take their relationship to the next level. She’d promised him a decision by New Year’s Eve.

She couldn’t think about that now, though.

Erin. She’d think about her radiant sunbeam of a daughter, so unlike Ben, who was all thunder and lightning and wild storms, a man who’d tamed that side of himself so that he could fit into the world he’d chosen. She missed that unpredictable and uncivilized strength. She wondered if she’d ever told him how much she appreciated that about him. Probably not. Yet another mistake she’d made.

Ben came out of Erin’s bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Leslie let herself admire him for a minute, the tall, broad-shouldered, powerful man who was gentleness itself with his daughter—and so much more with Leslie.

Desire gripped her, staggered her. She tried to breathe against a flood of memories and what seemed like a lifetime of separation. This was a mistake. She couldn’t have a casual conversation with him alone. He would see how much she still wanted him. Needed him. How could he not see? She’d already abandoned her self-control once tonight.

“I’ll leave after breakfast in the morning,” she said abruptly, not looking at him, but aware when he sat in a chair beside her. “It’s your year to have her for Christmas. I won’t intrude on that precious time.”

A few beats passed. “What do we do about Erin?”

“I’ll say I was called back to work.”

“We agreed never to lie to her, Les.”

She finally looked at him. “Give me another option.”

After a minute, he shook his head. “This is Gabe’s fault. He’s the one who put us in this bind.”

“We both know we’re never going to change Gabe, so we just have to deal with it.”

“You’ve already forgiven him?”

“I’m focusing on damage control. We can’t tell Erin that we couldn’t get along well enough to share the same space for a few days, Ben. We’ve always gone out of our way to be civil with each other. And it’s your turn. Your Christmas.”

“It’s not easy having The Perfect Divorce, is it?”

“It’s paid off well with Erin.” Leslie waited. He didn’t ask her to stay. Her throat ached, but she stood and forced herself to speak. “It’s settled, then.”

After a few seconds he nodded.

And that tiny flicker of hope that still burned in her heart died.

He dreamed of a woman crying. Trying to soothe, he reached for her, wrapping his arms around her, tucking her close, his lips brushing her soft and fragrant hair until she quieted. Her hands flattened against his back, then dragged down his body. She was naked. So was he. He angled his head to kiss her and she moaned, her tongue meeting his, her body moving silkily against him. Heat pooled low in his abdomen, throbbing, aching. She whispered his name—

His eyes opened with a start. He struggled to catch his breath against the erotic images. Drenched in sweat, he tossed the bed covers aside and rubbed his face with his hands. So real. It had seemed so real.

There was no doubt who he’d held in his dream. She lay sleeping in the next room. oblivious. He glanced at the clock—2:00 a.m.

Needing a drink of water, he pulled on his sweatpants and headed for the kitchen, slowing as he reached the living room. Cocking his head, he listened, then he moved to the window, pulled aside the curtain and looked out.

He hadn’t dreamed it. Les was there, on the porch. Crying. And crying was a mild word for the sounds coming from her as she curled in a ball, an afghan wrapped around her, her face buried against her knees.

Letting the curtain drop, Ben leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the window. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry. Not even the night they separated, when they’d parted with angry words.

What could be this devastating? Certainly not a problem at work. In the almost decade she’d been with the department, she’d proven herself again and again, even to her father, third-generation S.F.P.D. Hugh Sullivan didn’t believe in women becoming police officers, much less detectives, a promotion Les had earned almost six months ago—Inspector Leslie O’Keefe, Domestic Violence Response Unit.

Ben had never gotten used to her being a cop, especially when she was in full uniform, which was when the reality of her work hit him the hardest. But she was good at her job, that much he knew.

So, what possibilities were left? A man? What else could cause tears to this extreme? Ben knew she’d been dating someone. He’d seen them sharing a candlelit dinner a couple of months back, the image popping into his head at odd moments since then. Now it flashed brilliantly.

Another man had held her. Kissed her. Made love to her.

Had he broken it off?

Pushing aside the curtain again, he looked at her. She’d stopped crying and was just staring at the night, her shoulders hitching every few seconds, like Erin when her tears were spent. The difference was that Les wouldn’t want his comforting, his protection.

Helpless, he returned to his bedroom, closing the door quietly, leaving her to her private misery.