His Ultimate Temptation. Susan Crosby
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