His Ultimate Temptation. Susan Crosby

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      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.”

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