Praise for Susan Crosby’s series, Letter to Reader Title Page SUSAN CROSBY Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Epilogue Teaser chapter Copyright

Praise for Susan Crosby’s series,

HIS MOST SCANDALOUS SECRET (SD 7/98):

“A simply wonderful storyteller. Ms. Crosby brings

us all of the trembling joy and fiery magic of falling

in love for the first and the last time.”

—Melinda Helfer, Romantic Times Magazine

HIS SEDUCTIVE REVENGE (SD 8/98):

“Ms. Crosby dishes up a spectacular

reading experience in which pure magic

shimmers on every page...a love story that has

‘instant classic’ written all over it.”

—Melinda Helfer, Romantic Times Magazine

Now get ready for the next heart-stopping

Lone Wolf. Ben O’Keefe is fiercely protective of

all those he holds dear. But only one woman will

prove to be HIS ULTIMATE TEMPTATION.

Dear Reader,

All of us at Silhouette Desire send you our best wishes for a joyful holiday season. December brings six originals, deeply touching love stories warm enough to melt your heart!

This month, bestselling author Cait London continues her beloved miniseries THE TALLCHIEFS with the story of MAN OF THE MONTH Nick Palladia in The Perfect Fit. This corporate cowboy’s attempt to escape his family’s match making has him escorting a Tallchief down the aisle. Silhouette Desire welcomes the cross-line continuity FOLLOW THAT BABY to the line with Elizabeth Bevarly’s The Sheriff and the Impostor Bride. And those irresistible bad-boy James brothers return in Cindy Gerard’s Marriage. Outlaw Style, part of the OUTLAW HEARTS miniseries. When a headstrong bachelor and his brassy-but-beautiful childhood rival get stranded, they wind up in a 6lb., 12oz. bundle of trouble!

Talented author Susan Crosby’s third book in THE LONE WOLVES miniseries, His Ultimate Temptation, will entrance you with this hero’s primitive, unyielding desire to protect his once-wife and their willful daughter. A rich playboy sweeps a sensible heroine from her humdrum life in Shawna Delacorte’s Cinderella story, The Millionaire’s Christmas Wish. And Eileen Wilks weaves an emotional, edge-of-your-seat drama about a fierce cop and the delicate lady who poses as his newlywed bride in Just a Little Bit Married?

These poignant, sensuous books fill any Christmas stocking—and every reader’s heart with the glow of holiday romance.

Enjoy!

Best regards,

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

His Ultimate Temptation

Susan Crosby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN CROSBY

is fascinated by the special and complex communication of courtship, and so she burrows in her office to dream up warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines to satisfy her own love of happy endings.

She and her husband have two grown sons and live in the Central Valley of California. She spent a mere seven and a half years getting through college and finally earned a B.A. in English a few years ago. She has worked as a synchronized swimming instructor, a personnel interviewer at a toy factory and a trucking company manager. Involved for many years behind the scenes in a local community theater, she has made only one stage appearance—as the rear end of a camel! Variety, she says, makes for more interesting novels.

Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.

For Ken. For everything. With love.

And for Robin and Rachael, who help keep our streets

safe for our children.

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.

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.

Pediatrician visits were costly, however, and a baby’s needs were constant and expensive. Their dreams of Leslie being a stay-at-home mom were about as substantial as morning fog. They needed income and health benefits, period.

Without talking to Ben, because she knew he would veto the idea, she applied for the police academy, waiting until she was accepted before telling him. She came from a long line of San Francisco police officers, had grown up around cops gathered around the kitchen table and telling work stories. It was a world she felt comfortable in, and the job paid better than most for someone of her limited experience.

The bonus, however, was that Ben would have less to worry about financially. She’d been so excited when she’d told him, so happy to be pulling her own weight and helping to provide for them so that Ben could pursue his dream.

Then, everything collapsed. He’d been hurt that she hadn’t consulted him, and angry that she’d taken a job that put her at risk. At first stunned by how vehemently he fought with her about it, she became just as adamant about entering the academy. Nothing was the same after that.

The timer went off, interrupting her thoughts. Grateful, she transferred cookies to a cooling rack, then slid the last pan into the oven.

Her arms crossed, she paced, waiting for another ten minutes to tick down, wishing again she could share her problem with Ben. When she’d first become a police officer she’d tried to share what happened daily, but he shut her down, preferring not to know, even refusing to go on a ride-along with her to see what her job entailed. She learned to build a wall in front of her emotions when she drove home from work each day, leaving her job behind—and a big part of herself. In time it had become easier and easier to keep her work life separate.

The phone rang, startling her. If it was Gabe, he was going to get an earful from her.

“Hello?”

“Are you ever a hard woman to track down.”

“Alex?” His usually friendly voice was tinged with curiosity and irritation. “How did you find me?”

“I’m the FBI. I can find anyone.”

“No, really. How did you know where I was?”

“I was getting a little desperate. I called your friend Gabe. What’s going on, Les? Why’d you disappear without calling me?”

Oh, she knew what Gabe was up to. He’d figured that Ben would answer the phone and get jealous that another man was calling her. Honestly, Gabe was hopeless—and she loved him. “Did you hear what happened?”

“Yes. I wish I’d heard it from you.”

“Has it hit the news?”

“Newspaper and television.”

“There’s your answer, Alex. I didn’t want to be home to see or hear it.”

“So, where exactly are you?”

“A little cabin in the mountains.”

“Do you want company?”

She could picture him, his hair neatly combed, his eyes probing for something deeper. As an FBI agent, he was good at his job. As a friend, he was considerate and caring.

“Actually, I’m not alone,” she said, wishing she didn’t have to. “Ben and Erin’s plane had trouble, so they changed plans and came here. We surprised each other.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute. “And you’re staying?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“How nice for you.”

Sarcasm? she wondered. Alex kept a tight rein on himself, rarely revealing his emotions. He was a good, strong man. And he understood her job—the pressures, the frustrations, the atrocities. He listened, asked questions, paid attention to the answers. Why didn’t her heart flutter for him instead of Ben?

“Please, Alex. This is all so complicated.”

“You know how I feel about you. This is going to change everything.”

“The reasons for my divorce haven’t changed. He doesn’t want to be married to me.”

“You’ll be sharing a family holiday, isolated except for each other and your memories. Erin fantasizes about her parents reconciling, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.” And so do I.

“What happens when her fantasy doesn’t come true? What will you do to prevent her from getting hurt, Les? What will Ben do? How much will you sacrifice for Erin?” His voice quieted. “How am I supposed to compete?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Last week you said you would have an answer for me by New Year’s Eve. I’d bet my life that the answer’s going to be different now. No, don’t say anything.” He paused for just a second. “Do what you have to. I always knew what I was fighting.”

He hung up.

Emotions swirling inside her, Leslie moved to the window, not wanting to think about hurting Alex. Needing to think about something else.

Loneliness spun a web around her. She didn’t have anyone to lean on. Maybe she never had. Ben was someone she could count on, but not lean on.

No. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. It was her responsibility to find the intimacy she craved. Not just physical closeness but an emotional connection that had been missing for too long from her life.

When the cookies were done, she shrugged into her jacket, pulled on her gloves, stuffed a few cookies from the first batch into her pocket and went for a walk, determined to improve her mood. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

A time of peace.

Painted on the brilliant winter-blue sky were dabs of white clouds. A frosty wind sang a tantalizing chorus that made her smile and lift her face into the breeze. She stopped and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds, feeling the sting of winter against her cheeks.

Some people loved spring the best, the universal time of renewal. She loved winter, because winter brought Christmas, a time when anything could happen.

She opened her eyes and turned to look at the cabin, with its snow-covered roof and picturesque curl of smoke from the chimney.

A car came up the road, such a rare sight that Leslie couldn’t help but stare at it and the driver, a man in his mid-forties, with beefy arms and a florid face. He stopped and rolled down his window.

“Merry Christmas,” he called out.

“Merry Christmas.”

“You own this place?”

“Why?”

He smiled tolerantly. “I’m looking for a place to rent, away from the hustle and bustle of the ski traffic. This would work for me.”

“The owner doesn’t rent it.”

“I’d pay top dollar.”

Leslie shook her head, instinctively wishing for her weapon, even though he hadn’t made a move to get out of the car.

He held something out the window, toward her. “Would you give him my card and tell him I’d pay him enough to make it worth his while?”

“It’s not for rent.”

His face flushed redder. He jerked his arm back in the car and took off, tires spinning before gaining traction on the snowy road. As he drove out of sight she realized he’d asked her to give him his card, to tell him he’d pay a lot of money.

Was it just an expression? Or did he know the owner was male?

Considering Sebastian’s precarious position, and the reason he was in hiding, she was suspicious.

But why would he have offered a card which obviously would have contained his phone number if he meant Sebastian harm? Okay, that was a good point. Her job made her far too suspicious of people in general.

Which was a sad fact of her life.

Three

After dinner they sat in front of the fire, Erin cozy between her parents, reminiscing about Christmases past. The year she’d gotten a bicycle. Her first Barbie. Her first cookbook.

Leslie watched Ben stoke up the fire. He’d aged well, was just hitting his prime. And yet she could remember the teenage boy clearly. His body was different now, mature, but his smile still crinkled his eyes in the same way, whether he was being devilish or kind.

She traced his firm buttocks and legs with her gaze, admired the long, sturdy limbs—

She shook her head. “I think it’s time for bed, young lady,” she said to Erin, touching foreheads, “or Santa won’t come.”

“Santa?” Erin scoffed. “That’s for babies.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re my baby, and I say that Santa won’t bring you what you want most unless you get to bed. We’re on a different route this year, you know.”

“I already got my presents from you at home.”

Leslie stared meaningfully at her until Erin rolled her eyes and stood.

“Will you both come kiss me good night?”

“You bet.”

“Five minutes.”

“We’ll be there.” Leslie watched her go, then noticed Ben watching her as well. “This is her last Christmas as a little girl,” she said, leaning her elbows on her thighs and resting her chin on her fists.

He returned the poker to the stand beside the hearth. “Why do you say that?”

“She’ll be twelve next year—middle school. Chances are, she’ll start her period between now and then. We’ll be arguing about her wearing makeup and weird clothes.” She sighed. “I love this age. She’s still cooperative and happy. She’s only a little moody. And smart! It’s scary sometimes, how smart she is.”

She didn’t want to start a serious discussion with him, wary of his strangely contemplative mood since he and Erin had gotten back from skiing. Suddenly it occurred to her that he was leading up to telling her something important. Maybe he’d gotten really serious about someone. Maybe—Oh, God, maybe he was going to remarry. He wouldn’t tell her tonight, of all nights, that he was remarrying, would he? She couldn’t handle that now. Please don’t tell me that, Ben. Not tonight.

“It’s gone by fast.” He sat on the couch. “Do you feel old, Les?”

His question surprised her. “Sometimes I feel that life is flying by, but I don’t feel old. I refuse to believe that thirty-two is over-the-hill.”

“I feel really old sometimes.” Ben surprised himself with the admission—and instantly regretted it when she turned her head and studied him. “Maybe old isn’t the right word. It just feels like I’ve been on a treadmill, or one of those hamster wheels, running endlessly.”

“You pretty much have. But I thought you had achieved everything you wanted.”

“Professionally, yes. I guess I’m feeling ready for a change.”

She rubbed her hands along her thighs, a gesture Ben couldn’t interpret.

“More hotels?”

“I don’t know. I never intended to have this many. So far I’ve been able to create completely different environments for each location. I believe I could build more with the same success. But I’m tired of traveling.” He shook his head. “Yet the personal touch is what’s made them a success. People want to know who they’re doing business with.”

“Sounds like you’ve got some decisions to make.”

He hesitated. His conversation with Erin this morning had stuck with him all day. He didn’t know how much of it to relate to Les. She apparently had enough on her mind. Even now she couldn’t seem to sit still. He wondered if she knew how Erin was struggling with their divorce. Their not-so-perfect divorce.

He picked up the thread of their conversation again. “Decisions. Well, I guess I haven’t really been away from the business long enough at a stretch to just let my mind wander.” And wander it had, all day, all the way back through their relationship. Eighteen years. It was a long time—and yet a drop in the bucket of what they’d expected to have.

“It’s my personal life that needs changing.” He angled toward her, deciding to tell her what happened with Erin that morning. “Les, we need to talk about—”

“Erin’s probably waiting for us,” she said, pushing herself up.

Caught off guard by her abrupt end to the conversation, he watched her walk away. He should be grateful the moment was ending, he decided. He probably would’ve said too much, expected too much from her.

When Les sat on the bed to kiss Erin good night, it was all he could do not to sit behind her, as he used to, the image of the past rising unbidden before his eyes. Bedtime had been a ritual for the three of them on the nights he was home. A story read, a gentle tease or two, prayers said, good-night hugs and kisses all around. God, he missed that.

A shard of loneliness sliced into him. He’d thought it would be better to be alone than to be hurt, but he wondered now if that was true. This was painful, this longing to be a family again and knowing it wouldn’t work. The same problems sat between them now as before. He’d fought hard to keep his family together. It hadn’t changed anything.

And the irony was that now that he could provide well for his family, his goal all along, he had no family. Just fragments of one, parceled out in short visits. At least if something happened to him now, Erin would be provided for, even Les, if she needed it.

He was proud of that.

Les stood, moving aside to let Ben hug their daughter.

“’Night, sweetheart.”

She held him extra tight and whispered in his ear. “This is how it’s supposed to be, Daddy.”

Guilt joined the rest of the turmoil inside him, choking off his ability to answer her. He couldn’t tell her everything would be like before, because it wouldn’t. So he kissed her good night then left.

Leslie followed a minute later. She found him resting his palms on the fireplace mantel and staring at the flames. Tempted as she was to rub his back or soothe him in some way, she kept her distance.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

The phone rang. Who would call on Christmas Eve? Gabe wouldn’t dare. Sebastian couldn’t. If it was Ben’s mother, Leslie would probably cry. She missed Maura dreadfully, the woman who had mothered her through her high school years, when she’d needed a woman’s influence. While they hadn’t lost contact completely, their relationship was different now, more distant, and not just in the miles that separated San Francisco from Chicago, where she’d moved when she’d finally remarried.

The call was for Ben. She couldn’t tell who was on the other end, except that it was business, which didn’t stop on holidays. She’d forgotten that.

Deciding to give him privacy, she slipped into her ski jacket and headed outside. The warmth of the cabin, which had wrapped her in memories and made her hopes soar, froze in the brittle snap of winter air, a stinging reminder of the tears that had turned to ice on her cheeks last night.

She leaned against the porch railing. After a minute she heard the front door open and close, then the sound of his boots on the wood planks.

“You didn’t have to leave,” Ben said, coming up behind her.

She turned abruptly, losing her footing. He caught her by both arms, keeping her upright as she peered at him through the dark. “I don’t have a present for you,” she said softly, painfully.

“I don’t have one for you,” he replied as softly, not letting her go.

“Oh, Ben. How did it ever come to this?” She clutched his jacket. “No. I won’t put you on the spot. I know how it came to this. I know what happened. In my head, anyway.” She loosened her grip, then pushed past him to return to the house, wondering what to do with the emotions threatening to burst from her.

He didn’t follow, giving her too much time to think. She glanced at the photos on the mantel, focused on the one taken twelve years ago when they’d all just finished building the cabin. Sebastian, Gabe, Chase, Ben and her—five twenty-year-olds poised on the brink of adulthood, the slates of their futures not blank, but filled with hopes and dreams. Goals. She and Ben had stayed on an extra night to celebrate Valentine’s Day alone, and from that night of passion had come Erin, a surprise but welcome gift. Leslie had switched from a diaphragm to birth control pills after Erin was born, knowing they couldn’t afford to be caught off guard again.

Such a simple time then, for all of them. Who would’ve thought their lives would veer down such surprising paths. Ben and Leslie, divorced. Sebastian, in hiding after being falsely accused of a crime, trying to overcome paralysis and become strong enough to defend his good name. Chase, married and expecting a baby. Gabe—

Frigid air blasted into the room as the door swung open. Ben trudged in carrying a bucket holding a two-foot-tall pine tree.

“I spotted it earlier today,” he told Leslie, sweeping past her to set the bucket on the coffee table. “Can’t have Christmas without a tree, right?”

Certainly she thought so, but did he? “The ground was frozen, Ben.”

He gave her a look so cocky—and so familiar—it set her heart spinning like the Sugarplum Fairy dancing across a stage. Of course a little frozen earth wouldn’t stop him from accomplishing what he wanted.

This was the Ben she remembered—spontaneous, giving, fun-loving. He’d withdrawn from her so long ago. Long before the divorce. She never thought she’d see him like this again.

They found a tablecloth to drape around the bucket. From aluminum foil they fashioned ornaments to decorate it, then stacked his presents for Erin around it. Almost midnight, Leslie realized when they were done. Almost Christmas. Her most-favorite day of the year.

“Erin will be surprised,” she said, adjusting a foil wreath balancing precariously on the tip of one branch.

He met her gaze as she straightened. “It’s for you, Les.”

Tears welled. She blinked them back instantly. How much worse could she feel? She didn’t have anything for him—nothing that he wanted, anyway, although certainly something she wanted to give him.

“Don’t cry,” he said, his voice rough and tender at the same time.

“I’m not crying. You just make me so mad,” she said, curling her hands into fists.

“You’ve always insisted that Christmas is magic,” he said, his gaze intent.

“I do. It—” she swallowed as he closed the distance between them “—is. But you don’t.”

“Accept the gift in the spirit it’s given, Les.” He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

Her head turned as if pulled by a power magnet. She kissed him, a featherlight caress, then he groaned and pressed harder. Slivers of heat pierced her. This was Ben, the man she’d loved since she was fourteen. It was his mouth on hers. Finally. After a lifetime of denial, he was here again, teasing her with his tongue, searching her mouth, breathing raggedly, his demands growing stronger by the second. She matched him kiss for kiss, touch for touch, groan for groan.

He raised his head, confusion clouding his eyes. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, yet his arms tightened around her.

Her throat vibrated with sound as his hands curved over her rear and eased her closer, then he sucked in a harsh breath as her belly molded the hard male shape of him, familiar and yet not. Her arms twined around his neck, seeking balance as she moved against him. Grinding out her name, he dragged her leg over his hip, bringing her impossibly closer, keeping her there by sheer strength. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. The taste of him was wild and exotic and threatened to take her over the top as he said her name over and over between kisses growing more and more desperate.

Desperate? Leslie ended the kiss abruptly. Everything she didn’t want to happen was happening, and she was letting it. There could only be pain ahead. And another long struggle to move on. “Stop. Please, we have to stop.”

Reluctantly Ben turned her loose. He’d thought he could give her a simple kiss, the kind that longtime friends shared—something soft and quick, without any agenda or expectations for either of them.

“My fault,” she said, flicking lint he couldn’t see from her sleeve. “It’s been—” she made a little sound in her throat “—a long time.”

Did she mean a long time with him, or a long time, period? “Has it?”

“Well, I’ve dated. So have you.” She crossed her arms. “You’ve slept with your dates, I imagine.”

And you haven’t, Les? The thought staggered him. Made him feel like the lowest, cheatingest man alive. They were divorced. He didn’t owe her fidelity. So why are you so ashamed? his conscience asked.

Something warm curled up inside him at the possibility she hadn’t taken a lover. He acknowledged the thought as hopelessly chauvinistic. He lifted a hand to touch her, but she tossed her head, a gesture he recognized as self-preservation.

“I can’t go to bed until you do, Ben. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

He said a quiet good night, then left. Leslie let her knees buckle, and she dropped onto the sofa, then buried her face in her lap. She could still feel his arms around her, still feel his mouth move over hers in that special way that had always driven her crazy with need. She could feel his need in return, hard and strong and tempting. Of course she hadn’t slept with another man. How could any man compare?

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