His Ultimate Temptation

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.

Two

Ben heard the distant sound of humming and the sizzle of something frying. And he could smell—he sniffed the air—sautéing onions. Was there a more-mouth watering fragrance on earth? Erin must be anxious to get to the slopes.

Shutting the bedroom door behind him, he followed the scents and sounds to the kitchen. It wasn’t his junior-chef daughter, however, who stood at the stove humming “Jingle Bells.” It was his ex-wife.

He leaned against the door frame and watched her. She looked competent as she sliced mushrooms with a large chef’s knife, the rocking motion she used an indicator that this wasn’t the first time she’d handled such a utensil efficiently. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes...

“You’re cooking,” he said finally, unable to hide his amazement.

“Jingle Bells” faded away. She turned around, knife in hand, a smile on her face. “Good morning.”

Lord, she looked good. She wore a long, loose, red cotton shirt over black leggings. He could see the ridges of her undershirt, scooping low. No bra. She hated bras, believing they were designed by a torturer bent on sadistic pleasure. Her breasts weren’t small, but not large, either. Perfectly formed, easily aroused. His gaze lingered, traveling down her long legs, stopping at her bare feet.

He’d almost forgotten her other aversion—shoes were the second most torturous of man’s inventions. He hadn’t forgotten nibbling on her toes in a shared bath. The picture branded itself in his mind as clearly as if they were neck deep in bubbles right then, teasing each other. Who would’ve thought that toes could be erogenous zones?

“Still not talkative in the morning, I see,” she said, her cheeks flushing.

“When did you learn to cook?”

“Erin’s been teaching me what you teach her,” she said, the pink in her cheeks deepening. “And then, of course, there was the matter of survival. How could any decent mother raise her child on a consistent diet of cereal and fast food? The amazing thing is, I kind of like to cook.”

She seemed to retreat a little then. Embarrassed? Uncomfortable? He didn’t know.

“I’m not a quarter as good as you, of course,” she continued. “But we’re eating healthy.”

“You’ve put on a few pounds. You look good, Les.”

She turned away to add the mushrooms to the onions. “I work out now. The pounds are muscle, I think.”

“Need any help?” he asked, moving beside her at the stove.

She made a quick sidestep and grabbed a bowl containing beaten eggs. “Nope. Thanks. Table’s already set. Fried potatoes are in the oven staying warm, along with some cranberry-and-nut muffins. I’m just going to cook the eggs. Coffee’s ready.”

“Not waiting for Erin?”

“She’ll be up.”

“I didn’t hear any noise from the bedroom as I passed the door.”

“She’ll wander in. Timing is everything.”

He wondered how she could be so cheerful, after what he’d seen during the night. Especially when he could see the aftermath of tears in how fragile she still looked. “You’re feeling better this morning.”

She dumped the eggs in the pan with the onions and mushrooms. He handed her the salt and pepper without thought.

“Thanks. Amazing what a little sleep will do. Ben, if you really want to help, you can quit hanging out watching my every move. It’s hard enough cooking for a master chef. With you critiquing—”

“I wasn’t critiquing. I’m still in shock.”

“Life goes on, doesn’t it?” She stirred the eggs. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get your vacation started. I’ll clean up when we’re done, then hit the road.”

“I think you should stay, Les.”

She frowned at him. “I can’t do that. Where would you and Erin go at this late date?”

“Nowhere. I mean, I think we shouldn’t lie to Erin or disappoint her. We’ve always put her first. We can do this for her, too.”

She held the spatula motionless in her hand as her gaze connected with his. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Looking away she started pushing the mixture around the pan again. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Merry Christmas Eve.” Her timing impeccable as predicted, Erin wandered into the kitchen, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep okay?” Ben asked.

“Of course she did. She had all the covers,” Leslie said. “You are a real blanket hog, my darling daughter.”

Leslie watched Erin snuggle against her father. It had been all she could do not to kiss him good morning when she’d turned and seen him propped against the door, like something out of her dreams. And now, his offer to stay.

She gave him her answer in her next words, but didn’t look to see his reaction. “I think I’ll have to sleep on the couch tonight, instead.”

“Why don’t you just sleep with Dad? He probably doesn’t hog the covers. He’s used to sharing.”

Leslie’s gaze locked with Ben’s for five long seconds. Two pictures fought for control in her mind—Ben sleeping with another woman while Erin was staying overnight, which she didn’t believe he did. And the other, more vivid image—her sharing his bed again. She wondered whether Erin’s suggestion was as innocent as her expression indicated. Ben’s expression, on the other hand, was far from innocent.

“The couch will be fine,” Leslie said finally, dumping the contents of the frying pan into a serving dish. “Breakfast is ready. Take a seat. Both of you.”

“But, Mom, I heard you tell Aunt Mimi that you’d give anything if you could sleep with Dad one more time. Now you can.”

Leslie didn’t dare look at Ben, who hadn’t budged. She could feel the heat of his gaze burn through her clothes, the memory alone teasing her nipples instantly taut, achingly hard, needing his mouth there to take the ache away. Liquid heat gathered low in her abdomen from remembering his touch, remembering the feel of him joining with her, that full, wonderful, indescribable sensation that started slow, built fast and then took its time reaching a satisfying peak after hovering near the edge of danger for a long, long time. His big body blanketing hers, his hands cupping her rear, pulling her closer. His thrusts strong and sure.

He took a step toward her.

“Sit...down,” she said, her words harsh and curt. She plopped serving dishes in the middle of the table, then retreated to the bedroom, feeling stripped naked and vulnerable. And aroused. Why couldn’t she feel this way with

Alex? Why didn’t his kisses make her want to throw caution to the wind, scream her pleasure to the rooftops, cherish his body until he did, too.

Ben. It was always Ben. Sex between them had been phenomenal, even their first time, the night they graduated from high school. They’d told their parents they were going to Santa Cruz beach for an all-night grad party, but had already arranged for a hotel room instead. They’d spent the night exploring each other’s bodies, granting themselves the freedom to go all the way after years of increasingly intimate kisses and caresses had brought them to a point they couldn’t deny any longer. It had been an incredible night, too, sweet and overwhelming at the same time. And the sex had only improved since then, the intimacy complete.

She’d figured it would be like that forever. Just them. No one else. Ever. Well, they’d almost had forever. But he’d been with other women since their divorce, she was sure. Living with that knowledge was painful.

A light tap on the bedroom door snapped her into the present. She took a couple long strides and pulled open the door.

“You all right?” he asked, his face a mask of unreadable expression.

Why couldn’t she look at him and know his thoughts any longer?

At that moment she hated him. Hated that he could still turn her inside out and upside down. No one should have that kind of power over another person.

The hate faded as fast as it had come, and she settled for an honest answer. “No, Ben. I’m not all right. I haven’t been all right for a long time. And every time I think I’m on the right track, something shoves me off. I’m tired of living like this.”

“If I’d known it was going to be this hard, I wouldn’t have—”

“I know.”

“We’re stuck now, aren’t we? Erin knows you’re staying. We can’t change it.”

Weary, Leslie rubbed her forehead, picturing her daughter’s face. Her sparkling eyes. The freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. The wide grin and bubbly exuberance.

Okay. I can do this, Leslie thought. She wouldn’t be alone with Ben. Erin was here, too. Temptation tempered by the presence of a child. It could work. It would work.

It had to.

“Just don’t look at me like you did in the kitchen, okay?” she said. “Keep your distance, and I’ll keep mine. Somehow we’ll get through this.”

When they returned to the dining room, Erin’s gaze slid from one parent to the other. Her hands were locked together in her lap; her plate was empty. “Are you mad, Mom?”

Leslie kissed the top of her head as she walked by, then took a seat and picked up the nearest serving bowl. “I’m all right.” She smiled. “Your dad was shocked that I could cook. You hadn’t told him you were giving me lessons.”

Erin frowned. “That’s always been the deal. I don’t talk to Dad about you, and I don’t talk to you about Dad.”

What a balancing act Erin performed. In trying to shield her from any potential conflict between them, she and Ben had also put her in the difficult position of not talking about the good times they had together.

She glanced at Ben, who was obviously contemplating Erin’s words as well. His gaze shifted to Leslie; his mouth tightened.

“That’s a nice sweater,” Leslie said to him, wanting to find some way to ease the rough start they’d all had.

“You haven’t seen it? Erin gave it to me at home, so that I could wear it skiing the first day.”

“Carly took her shopping, men they wrapped it before I got to see it.” Leslie pulled apart a muffin and bit into it, the tangy cranberries an alarm clock to her mouth.

“Carly’s really worked out well for you,” Ben said.

“I wish I’d met her sooner. She’s been wonderful. She does all the housework, except we share the cooking among the three of us. And, of course, the biggest reason for her being there—I don’t have to worry about what to do with Erin if my hours get crazy.”

“I’m old enough now to stay by myself,” Erin announced.

“No, you’re not,” both parents responded in unison.

“Honey, sometimes you don’t even wake up when the telephone rings right in your ear. You’d probably sleep through an earthquake,” Leslie said, her gaze meeting Ben’s for a second, glad they agreed on this issue.

“If I knew I had to be responsible, I would be.”

“Maybe. But the fact is you’re like Sleeping Beauty under the witch’s spell.”

“But, Mom—”

“Your mother’s right,” Ben interrupted. “No discussion on this one, kiddo.”

“Anyway, where would Carly go?” Leslie. asked. “We’re her family now. She needs us, too.”

“I’m surprised you left her alone on Christmas,” Ben said.

“She took a job caring for an Alzheimer’s patient for the time Erin was supposed to be gone. She got the chance to make some extra income over the Christmas break.” Pausing, she looked at Ben expectantly. “So—what do you think? Does breakfast meet with your approval?”

“It’s good, Les,” Ben said, devouring a muffin.

“I packed lunches for the two of you, too.”

“The two of us?” Erin frowned at Ben. “Why can’t Mom come skiing?”

Before Ben could reply, Leslie said, “I didn’t bring my skis, honey.”

“But, Mom....” Erin apparently decided she wasn’t going to change Leslie’s mind, because she turned instantly to her father. “Make her come.”

Ben didn’t want to get into a debate. They were all on edge. Spending the day together couldn’t improve the situation. “You can rent equipment, Les.” He picked up his empty plate and carried it to the sink.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass.” She came up beside him. “Just leave the dishes. It’ll give me something to do. You two get going before it gets too crowded.”

Ben hustled Erin out to the car amid further protests.

“We’ll be back by five,” he called to Les as she stood on the porch and waved goodbye.

“It’s not fair,” Erin grumbled when they rounded the first bend. “Mom loves to ski. You should’ve made her come.”

He shot her a glance. He couldn’t remember seeing her so belligerent. “So, are you going to spend the day mad at me? Because if that’s the way it’s going to be, I’ll drive back to the cabin—” he saw her eyes light up “—and drop you off.”

Her mouth fell open. “You mean you’d go without me?”

“I’m on vacation.”

She tapped her feet against the floorboard for three turns of the road. “I suppose it isn’t all your fault.”

“No kidding.”

“I suppose I should be mad at Mom, ’cause she’s the one who didn’t come.”

“Why don’t you skip being mad at anyone and have a good time, instead.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Too easy.”

He laughed, appreciating his daughter’s maturing sense of humor.

“So how come Mom’s really at the cabin?”

Erin’s question blindsided him. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Dad. No way would Mom spend Christmas by herself. No way. She would’ve gone to Grandpa’s or to Uncle Brad and Aunt Mimi’s. Or Uncle Chase or Uncle Gabe—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart.” He didn’t want to speculate about it with Erin, not when he was only speculating himself.

“Well, it’s true. She gets, like, totally sappy about Christmas.”

Ben chuckled. “Yeah.”

“I kinda like it a lot, too, you know?”

He glanced her way.

She stared out the passenger window. “I kinda didn’t like being gone over Christmas,” she said quietly. “I mean, I like being with you, Dad, but Christmas is—well. it’s special, you know?”

He heard more than her words. Pulling to the side of the road, he shifted the car into park then turned to her. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“’Cause the agreement says I alternate Christmases.”

“Erin.”

After a few seconds she looked at him.

“They’re just words on paper, sweetheart. The only thing that matters is how you feel. If what’s been planned makes you unhappy you have to tell us. We’ll adjust. Please don’t think that you have to abide by everything your mom and I agreed to in court. We will always put your needs first.”

“That’s a lie.”

He touched her hair. “No—”

“It’s a lie. If you put me first you wouldn’t’ve gotten that stupid divorce in the first place.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, breaking Ben’s heart. She fumbled with the seat belt until it was undone, then she flung herself into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Daddy. She hadn’t called him that in a while. Dad, she said, usually with an inflection of exasperation. “You don’t understand, Dad,” was a phrase he heard all too often these days.

As he held her, he struggled to recall the reasons for the divorce—how Les had disregarded all the plans they’d made. How she’d excluded him in her decision to become a cop. Her accusations that he overprotected her, smothered her. How she’d never understood he was building his empire for her, for their children. He’d grown up so poor, and his mother had worked so hard. But his life would be different. He’d vowed that to Leslie right along with the wedding vows. And he’d worked hard, so hard, to attain financial security.

Then just when he had, she’d dug her heels in, refusing to move into the penthouse of his first hotel. Refusing to quit her job, even though they didn’t need her salary anymore, her supposed reason for joining the force in the first place.

She’d become independent. Self-sufficient Distant.

So he’d bought another old building, this time in the Silicon Valley, the technology mecca of California. And he just kept working. Another hotel in Seattle.

Nothing helped. Her job defined who and what she was. He didn’t. Nor did their marriage, which died a long, slow, painful death.

Aware suddenly of Erin pushing away from him, Ben shifted his focus to his sad-eyed daughter. He clasped her hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart I didn’t realize how much we hurt you.”

“It’s all right, Dad.”

Her world-weary voice, heavy with grim acceptance, made his very soul ache. He knew what it was like to be a child full of dreams. His had been squashed by the time he was Erin’s age, but he’d let his disappointments guide him down a different path—one headed to success and security. He’d vowed his wife and child wouldn’t suffer the way he had. His daughter wouldn’t ever go to bed hungry. There would be money for her education, even if he died young, like his father. Ben’s father had failed him, but Ben wouldn’t fail.

“Still want to ski?” he asked as she buckled her seat belt again.

“I guess.”

It was enough for now, he decided.

The breakfast dishes done, Leslie made her bed, then considered—and rejected—the idea of making Ben’s. He’d shut the door. She left it that way.

How should she spend her day of no responsibilities? When she’d been promoted from patrol officer to detective, her hours switched to a more-normal schedule, five ten-hour days one week, three days the next, and hardly any overtime. But the workdays were long and her days off always busy.

An entire day loomed before her now, waiting to be discovered.

After mixing a batch of cookie dough, she slid the baking sheets into the oven, set the timer, then wandered into the living room. One by one she took pictures off the mantel and relived the memories there. Their wedding, all of them looking so young in their grown-up clothes. Except for Gabe, that is, who’d been born to wear a tuxedo.

She dusted the glass with her fingertips. Who would’ve thought it would come to this?

She and Ben had planned a life far different from the way they were raised. His father had been declared missing in action in Vietnam when Ben was six, then proclaimed dead many years later, but by then his mother had declared Ben the man of the house—a role he’d filled at too young an age, without a man to guide him. And Leslie had lacked a female role model, her father never remarrying after her mother’s death when Leslie was eight.

With a sigh she returned the wedding photo then selected one of her pregnant with Erin, a sideways shot taken shortly before she’d given birth. How their lives had changed then. Ben was finishing up at the California Culinary Academy, his student loans already a burden, but their lack of medical insurance an even heavier weight. At least the birth had been normal and Erin healthy. They were in and out of the hospital the same day, keeping expenses to a minimum.