His Ultimate Temptation

“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!”