Bad Divorce

by Elise Faber

  She stiffened and jerked away. “Of all the disgusting, egotistical, asinine things I’ve ever heard. I have to convince you? I don’t have to do a damn thing, Pearson.”

  Fuck, but he loved when she called him by his last name.

  But he couldn’t let that distract him. Not when he had Becky where he wanted her, not when she would sense such a vulnerability and take ruthless advantage.

  Luke crossed his arms. “Then, I stay.”

  “Ugh!” She threw her hands up. “What then, Luke? What do you want from me?”

  “A kiss.”

  Becky stilled. “What?”

  “One kiss. You don’t feel anything, and I’ll leave,” he said. “But if you do feel something, I get to stay for a while.”

  Gray eyes narrowed. “How long’s a while?”

  “Ten dates. One to make up for every year I fucked up. I get to choose the days, times, and locations. I’ll work around your schedule,” he added when she started to protest. “But you’ll have to promise to not purposely block or avoid me. At the end of it, if you decide that you’ve had enough of me, I’ll leave. No negotiations, no fight.”

  Her brows pulled together for a moment before relaxing. “Fine. Not that the terms matter, since your little experiment won’t prove anything. One kiss, which will be nothing, and you’ll leave, sign whatever I send to you.”

  “One kiss,” he agreed, “and I’ll sign. But I get to kiss you. No cheater smack of your lips against my cheek, like you’d kiss a child.”

  Her face fell before she could hide it, and Luke was glad he’d thought of and closed that particular loophole.

  Silence then a heavy sigh. “Fine. But when I don’t feel anything, you’ll go.”

  “Deal.” He extended his hand.

  She placed her palm in his. “De—”

  He tugged, knowing he had to act before she had time to erect all her defenses against him. The movement brought her close, her front pressed tightly to his, her mouth mere centimeters from his. Gray eyes darkened, lips flushed pink. Wisps of her blonde hair escaped her ponytail and curled around her face. Luke watched her blink, knew he couldn’t let her regain herself, couldn’t let that control reappear.

  Sex had never been their issue. Their chemistry was off the charts, and he was affected by their proximity himself, considering he was rocking a boner like a sixteen-year-old.

  But Becky was smart and strong and stubborn as fuck. To win this battle, she’d suppress even the most overwhelming need.

  In this one moment, Luke needed to be smarter, stronger, more stubborn.

  Because this was his shot.

  And he wouldn’t get another chance.

  He bent, flicked his tongue against her lower lip. Becky jerked, lips parting, and Luke took his chance. He pressed his mouth to hers.

  Heat.

  Sparks.

  Right.

  He angled her jaw, lining up their lips, slipping his tongue inside to tangle with hers. She stiffened, staying lax, and his gut clenched. It was a Hail Mary, pure panic on his part to snap her out of herself that prompted him to nip her bottom lip. She jumped, stiff for one long heartbeat before she melted against him, breasts flush against his chest, soft curves he was desperate to caress.

  But he’d promised one kiss.

  And nowadays, he kept his promises.

  He slipped his tongue back between her lips, finally coaxing hers to dance intimately with his. Her hands came up, wrapping around his neck and finally, finally she let herself be taken over by the kiss.

  Victory and relief flooded through him in equal waves.

  But he knew he couldn’t let himself completely lose his mind. He needed to stay sharp with his Becky or he’d lose the biggest gamble of his life.

  So he pulled back way before he wanted to, loving that her eyes had slid closed, that her body listed toward his. Luke cupped her cheek and pressed one more kiss to her forehead before stepping away.

  “Not unaffected,” he said softly. “I win.”

  Lids flashed open, reddened lips parted to speak—

  “I’ll call you,” he said and high-tailed it out of Becky’s office, closing the door behind him.

  This thing with Becky wasn’t one battle.

  It was a war. And in war, a man had to know when to make a strategic retreat.

  He had ten dates to plan.

  Five

  Bec

  She stared, stunned and beyond turned on, at the closed door to her office.

  What in the fuck had just happened?

  Bec sighed, returned to her chair on shaky legs—not that she would ever admit such a thing to anyone—and sank down into the plush leather.

  “Luke Pearson happened,” she muttered. “The low-down, sneaky bastard.”

  Except . . . he hadn’t kissed like a bastard.

  “Ugh.” She pounded a few keys on her computer, opening her email and weeding through her inbox while stewing on the problem that was her ex. She cleared everything important before pulling up a browser and searching for the number for the Carey County clerk.

  One glance at her clock showed her that with the two-hour time change, they should be open, and so she dialed the number.

  Two rings, one ten-minute conversation with a very friendly employee—way more friendly than her local California office—and Luke’s story had been confirmed. The courthouse had burned down, all in-house records were lost, and because they hadn’t yet switched to having files backed up electronically, anything that was in the middle of being processed there had been lost.

  Everything that had been stored off-site was fine and those documents were now in the electronic system.

  Which meant that according to Carey County, they were still married.

  Even though she had paperwork that said she’d filed for divorce ten years before.

  Sigh.

  It would really be a simple fix to push through a divorce now. No judge would deny them, not with the papers signed and the filed stamp clearly on them, but . . .

  She had promised Luke ten dates.

  What in the fuck had she been thinking?

  She was Rebecca Darden, supposedly an intelligent lawyer. And she’d been manipulated by her ex-husband.

  Husband.

  Yeah, yeah. A technicality.

  But why had she agreed to those terms in the first place? It wasn’t like her to agree to anything that might put her at a disadvantage.

  So . . . why?

  Why agree to the kiss-slash-no feely-slash-ten dates plan?

  Oh yeah, because she’d been overconfident and thought she could control herself around Luke. Which was a fucking joke since he’d always been able to make her melt. But she also couldn’t deny—and dammit she really hated admitting this, even to herself—that she’d wanted to see if he could actually make her feel something.

  And he had.

  Oh boy, he had.

  Her thighs clenched just remembering.

  She sighed, picked up her cell, and leaned back in her chair, considering. It only took her a few minutes to face facts. She was in over her head, and that could only mean she had one recourse.

  Bec needed to bring in the girls.

  My apartment. Tonight at 7 pm. I’ll provide wine.

  A year ago, she never would have sent the text, but today, with her group of dirty best friends, she knew when she needed to call in reinforcements. They’d supported each other through thick and thin, and Bec knew they would have her back.

  Abby replied first.

  You okay?

  Bec sent back:

  Physically I’m fine. But I think I’ve just been put in an emotional blender.

  Abby:

  Damn. I can’t believe someone got the best of Bec Darden, but I’m in and I’ll bring something filled with a suitable amount of carbs.

  Cecelia chimed in.

  Colin and I are in Scotland. I’ll conference in.

  Then Rachel.

  I’ll bring my
actual blender. I think this might call for more than wine.

  Heather:

  I’m in Berlin with Clay. I’ll kick him out and be ready. A beat. Who do I need to kill?

  Seraphina:

  I’ll bring something to soak up Rachel’s booze.

  After thanking her friends, Bec grinned and set down her cell. Her girls were the absolute best, and she didn’t know what she would do without them.

  Probably lose her mind, that was what.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Luke might have already absconded with her brain.

  Ten dates?

  Fucking nuts.

  The doorbell rang at a quarter to seven, and Bec hurried to answer it. She was still in her work clothes, having only made it home and inside a few minutes before.

  “Hey,” she said, swinging it open without looking through the peephole. “Come in. I’m—”

  The words stuck in her throat.

  Luke was outside her door. Again.

  And he looked sexier than should be allowed in a pair of faded jeans, boots, and a fitted navy sweater.

  “Hi,” he said and pushed past her into the apartment, leaving her standing there, still holding the doorknob.

  She let it go, grabbed his arm, and tried to shove him back out into the hall.

  “I changed the code,” she said. “I swear, I did.”

  He plucked her fingers from his biceps, clasped them in his. “You did.” A shrug. “Turns out I’m good at picking your codes.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Senior prom was a good night.”

  Her heart pulsed.

  It had been.

  And how in the hell had he remembered the date? Furthermore, how had he known she would use it?

  “Don’t think that was about you,” she grumbled, tugging at their still-laced hands and trying to shepherd him out the door. “I was tired last night, and it was the first thing I thought of.” She glared. “I have plans tonight. You need to leave.”

  Before her friends saw him.

  That was a scene she really didn’t want to deal with.

  The verbal details would be bad enough. She didn’t need to contend with the physical perfection of the specimen that was Luke.

  “What kind of plans?”

  His growly tone made her pause and narrow her eyes at him. “None of your fucking business, Pearson. We may still be married, but you don’t have any right to know what I’m doing and when I’m doing it.”

  He cupped her cheek. “There’s my Becky.”

  She jerked her head away. “Bec.”

  “Bec,” he repeated. “I won’t mess up your plans. I only came to give you something and to get your number. I promised to call,” he added at what was no doubt a confused expression on her face.

  She hadn’t been confused about the number part, rather the give her something part.

  Was it a sexual reference?

  Because, honestly, she wouldn’t mind if Luke gave her something along those lines.

  But then he held out his hand, and her heart skipped a beat.

  On his palm sat a tiny glass dolphin.

  She’d always loved dolphins. And chocolate for breakfast.

  And he remembered.

  Another tiny fissure appeared in that icy box deep in her heart, and panic promptly spiraled out from that point, spilling into her gut, making her hands shake. Luke seemed to realize this and carefully set the little dolphin on her console table then pulled out his phone.

  “What’s your number, sweetheart?”

  Bec shook her head. This was too much, too soon. She was too vulnerable and couldn’t risk . . . her heart, her happiness, herself.

  “415-555-2345”

  It wasn’t Bec’s voice that’d provided her cell number. She turned, saw that Abby, Rachel, and Seraphina were gathered in the hallway.

  Abby flashed her a thumbs-up.

  “Thank you, darlin’,” Luke said. He started to leave, paused next to Bec. “I’ll call you later.”

  And for the second time that day, she was at a loss for words.

  “It’s good to see you, Abigail.”

  Abby smiled beatifically up at him. “You, too, Luke.” Then her eyes narrowed, and that smile faded. “You hurt her again, and I’ll cut you.” Rachel and Seraphina nodded in agreement.

  Luke blinked. He’d lifted his arms as though to hug Abby, but froze mid-reach, eyeing the three women. “I won’t,” he promised solemnly.

  Bec snorted. Yes, it was laced with derisiveness.

  No, she didn’t care.

  Abby glanced at her. “Time to go, Luke.”

  He slanted one more look at Bec, and she didn’t have to be smart or a lawyer or the top of her class to see it was filled with promise. She only needed to be a woman, to be Luke’s woman.

  Luke Pearson was back.

  And he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

  Six

  Luke

  He’d just sat in the driver’s seat of his rental car when his phone buzzed. Considering he’d just sent a text to Bec, he assumed it would be a retort that would make his ears bleed.

  The thought made him grin.

  Then he opened the message.

  That grin faded and his stomach twisted, because contrary to what he’d hoped, the message wasn’t from his Becky, but rather from his mother.

  I’ve given you a lot of rope, Luke.

  I won’t let you hang yourself with it.

  -Mom

  A man takes one leave of absence from the company he devoted a good portion of his adult life to, and everybody freaks out.

  I’m fine, Mom. Enjoy your time in the Maldives. Love you.

  The “ . . . ” appeared on his screen, signaling a forthcoming reply, and Luke closed his eyes, praying for patience. His mom was not what one would call tech savvy—for one, she still signed her messages ‘Mom’—and he knew that any message he received would be a long time coming as she typed out one . . . letter . . . at . . . a . . . time.

  Sure enough, it took a solid two minutes for her to send:

  You haven’t been yourself since your engagement ended.

  Of course, he hadn’t. One moment he’d been prepared to walk down the aisle, to marry a woman he thought he loved, and the next, his life had taken a sharp right. Luke had been relieved—knees shaking, hands trembling, heart pounding relieved—that they couldn’t pull the license. He’d known then he couldn’t marry Tiffani. That she deserved better, more than an asshole like him.

  And Luke realized how much of a fucking idiot he’d been all those years before. He’d lived in blissful ignorance for a long fucking time, pretending his marriage imploding had been Becky’s fault—she’d filed the papers after all—but then he’d realized they were still married and . . . he’d allowed himself to remember everything.

  How good it had been between them. How bad it had been at the end. What she’d done. What he’d done.

  And, newsflash, his behavior had been appalling.

  He’d held the thing he loved the most about Bec against her, had been jealous of her drive, of the career she was trying to build, of the early success she’d found when he’d been stuck with only two options: a shitty position, looking forward to years of paying his dues or caving and going to work for his father.

  He hadn’t caved, but he’d ended up in the family business anyway.

  And before that? Luke had done everything in his power to push Becky away.

  Not surprisingly, he’d succeeded.

  I’m trying to change that, Mom. California is good for me.

  He’d started the car and pulled out of the parking garage before his mom’s reply came.

  Change things faster. The business won’t hold forever.

  Yeah. That Luke knew firsthand.

  Sighing, he drove to his hotel, back to the empty suite, to his laptop filled with emails about business concerns he wasn’t supposed to be tackling during his time away, back to emai
ls he was answering anyway.

  What else did he have to do?

  His life was empty, and the one woman he’d truly loved in his life didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Rightfully so, but . . . he was still bordering on pathetic.

  Sighing, he dialed his COO, Brian, and went over a few of the more problematic issues, before promising to fly back to Texas for an important meeting the following week.

  After they’d dealt with the pressing business concerns, Luke mentioned an idea that had been bouncing around in his brain since he’d come to California. Brian was a flat sort of guy, limited emotions, few words, and so Luke took his, “We should definitely explore that further,” as a raring endorsement.

  Hell, the other man had even included an adverb, and that never happened.

  “Do me a favor,” Luke said before he hung up, “pass along the grapevine that I’m working while here, okay?”

  There was a pause then, “Your mother?”

  “My mother,” Luke agreed. “Help me put her at ease.”

  “Done.”

  Then the call disconnected and . . . silence.

  Luke was alone again, but that had been a common enough occurrence over the years, and so he was used to it.

  He clicked on the TV, called room service and ordered a hamburger, fries, and, what the hell, he added a slice of chocolate cake.

  Luke Pearson sure knew how to live.

  Seven

  Bec

  Abby closed the door and leaned back against it, staring at her with a glare that rivaled Bec’s own signature Darden Death Glare.

  “Put that away,” Bec snapped, waving a hand through the air and turning toward the kitchen. “I’m going to spill everything, okay? That’s why I called this emergency meeting for the Sextant.”