“A little better than a free skating lesson,” she whispered as she passed his chair.
His body sparked to life at the challenge mixed with unexpected flirtation in her tone. Resisting the urge to pull her down onto his lap to teach her a different kind of lesson, he simply winked at her, then reached into his coat pocket for his checkbook as she walked away. He quickly ripped off the check on top for twenty thousand and wrote a new one for twenty-five.
His mother raised an eyebrow. “Competitive much?” she asked, draining the contents of her wine glass.
“It’s for children,” he said, putting the checkbook back and returning his gaze to the woman at the podium.
“Good evening, everyone. Kingsley Family Law is honored to sponsor such an amazing organization. The tremendous work the physicians do at the Colorado Center for Children is commendable, and we are happy to support such a great place for children and their families. We hope to be involved in partnership with this organization for many years to come, and I encourage all of you to open your hearts and your wallets this evening. Don’t forget there are a lot of great silent auction items up for grabs,” she said, grinning at him.
She thought his item contribution was a joke? He smiled. Let’s see how she feels about it when she’s the highest bidder.
* * *
It was time to go.
In fact, time to go had come and gone hours ago.
She collected her clutch from the empty seat next to her. Olivia’s new mission in life was to get as far away from Ben Westmore as possible. Being one of the best-looking men she’d ever had to tear apart in court was one thing. There, his easy, charming demeanor was inconvenient…but out on the dance floor, spinning his mother around was entirely too much.
Damn.
This case would be so much easier if Ben had been an asshole, or at least not the adoring, fun-loving son he appeared to be at that moment.
Her common sense reminded her this could be just a fantastic show to prevent his name from being dragged through the mud, but her gut told her this was exactly who he was—a good guy beneath the ego. Quite possibly a great guy. One currently married to her client.
And therefore she was in trouble.
From now on, she’d deal directly with his lawyer. The way it was supposed to be.
Chatting up his mom at a charity event and learning more about her opposing client’s adorable childhood antics than was safe hadn’t been professional. In two hours her attraction to him had grown exponentially, and she was out and out in love with his mother. Who could resist the woman? Funny, sweet, a hard-ass on her children when she had to be. Exactly like the mother Olivia had had and lost. Exactly the kind she hoped to be. Beverly Westmore’s priority was her family. And the jealousy she felt for Ben was outweighed only by the urge to be part of such a close-knit, supportive family.
She had to get out of there.
Ben’s gaze landed on her from the dance floor and her mouth went dry when he winked. God, that simple gesture had her common sense abandoning her. Staying a second longer was not a good idea.
“Leaving already?” Ben said behind her as she reached for her wrap.
His forehead glistened with sweat, and at his side, his mother was smiling as though she were having the time of her life.
Her current oversensitive maternal instinct kicked into high gear. The possibility that someday she too could have a son or daughter to be so obviously proud of made her chest tighten. “I have an early morning.” Turning to his mother, she said, “Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Westmore. You have a talented son.”
Ben grinned. “Was that a compliment from the enemy?”
“On your reputation on the ice only,” she said, hating that she was being drawn in by his flirty tone and banter. Leave. Now. Walk. Away.
“You two should dance,” his mother said. “I need a break.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Oh no, I can’t. I really should go.” Dance with Ben Westmore? No chance in hell. He couldn’t possibly think that was a good idea either…
Yet there it was, his hand extended to her expectantly.
He had to be out of his mind.
Surely, he felt this weird, completely inappropriate attraction between them.
Her eyes narrowed. Or did he have an ulterior motive?
Was all his charming flirtation an act to soften her up? A hope that those crystal baby blues would have her swooning too much to do her job?
Without thinking, she said, “Sure, why not?” She refused to let him believe that he’d had his desired effect on her. Setting her clutch and wrap on her chair, she took his hand and followed him to the dance floor.
Thank God the sound of her heels clicking against the tiled floor helped to drown out the steady, loud thumping of her heart.
She wasn’t a great dancer, and if he was as graceful on the ice as he was on the dance floor, then no wonder he was the team’s MVP player three years running. Okay, so she’d done her research on him; it was part of the job.
She hoped she could hold her own for one song…Wait, what happened to the fast-tempoed music they’d been playing for an hour?
Gone.
The slow, soft chords of an Ed Sheeran song began instead.
Shit.
Ben didn’t seem to have an issue with it as he spun her once slowly, before capturing her other hand in his and pulling her into his chest. She stiffened at the closeness and straightened her spine in an effort to create a gap between their bodies, as he started to sway.
“Relax,” he said smoothly, his gaze locked on hers, his expression soft, unfazed—the look of a man not dancing with the lawyer who could ruin his life or at least playoff season. She had to learn this guy’s secret, because there was no way he was this unaffected. Yet, his hands weren’t sweating the way hers threatened to, and the only heartbeat she could hear thundering was her own.
She forced a slow and what she hoped was unobvious breath. “I am relaxed. I’m not the one who should be worried.”
The palm of his hand spread across the exposed flesh of her back and she prayed the tingling sensation in her spine didn’t result in goose bumps. “So you’re saying I should be?” he asked, turning them in rotation to the steady beat. Despite her resistance to this dance, her hips betrayed her by swaying in sync with his, and her feet kept time with his every step. He led with a silent authority that she was forced to follow. And for the first time in her life, she wasn’t hating giving up control.
“I think so, yes. My client is…”
He brought their joined hands between them and placed a finger to her lips.
Her heart all but stopped.
“Why don’t we save the shop talk for the courtroom? Let’s just enjoy this dance.”
She swallowed hard, but nodded. Dancing in silence, she could do that.
Unfortunately, Ben seemed eager to chat. “How long have you been practicing law?”
He expected her to remember stats as his hand on her back dipped slightly lower, his hold drawing her even closer? It had been far too long since she’d been enveloped in the arms of a man who felt and smelled so strong, so confident…How long would it be again if she went ahead with her plans for a baby? She pushed the thought aside when he stared at her, still waiting for an answer. “Twelve years,” she said, cutting out her time as a junior lawyer and intern, so as not to age herself. She knew from his online Wikipedia page that he was thirty-four, two years younger than she.
“Do you love what you do?” he asked.
“If I say no will I get the inspirational ‘do what you love and it will never feel like work’ speech?”
“Is that a no?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I really do enjoy my job.” She couldn’t say watching families get ripped apart by bitter divorces was something she loved without sounding like a sociopath, but she enjoyed her career.
“Can I ask why only professional athlete divorces?”
“I wa
s dumped by a jock,” she said.
Ben laughed. “So one guy ruined it for us all, huh?”
She nodded then shook her head. “No. Everyday cases—with normal, everyday husbands and wives—just seemed a little too…real,” she said.
His blue eyes burned into her and his grip tightened on her hand. “So, guys like me aren’t real?”
She swallowed hard. He felt real…He felt more than real—he felt amazing. His arm wrapped around her felt deceivingly safe and his hand holding hers felt warm and secure. God, she could see herself giving in to these painfully real feelings…“You’re probably one of the more real ones,” she said, hoping he didn’t detect the slight quiver in her voice.
He nodded slowly as though unsure whether her words were a compliment. “Have you ever been married?” he asked, rotating them in time to the music.
“That’s crossing a line into personal.”
“Kids?”
“That’s less personal?” She raised an eyebrow.
He smiled. “Guarded much?”
The effect of his smile from a safe distance was knee-weakening. This close, it was downright dangerous. She quickly averted her gaze to the other couples on the floor. “How long is this song anyway?” She felt trapped the way she had in tenth grade when Robbie Gropes-a-Lot Harris had tricked her into dancing with him at the winter formal to “November Rain”—the full eleven-minute extended version. Except Ben’s breath smelled minty fresh and not like tacos, and his arm draped across her lower back made every fiber in her being spring to life, making her want to flee for a completely different reason than the one Robbie had evoked.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Damn right. And it should be her making him uncomfortable. There needed to be a power shift between them and fast. “Of course not.”
He pulled her closer. “You make me uncomfortable,” he murmured, his expression suddenly serious. Every inch of her body was pressed to his and she could barely catch a breath. Dancing was a really bad idea—a torturously bad idea. Being in his arms reminded her of all of the things she’d sacrificed for her career, of all the things she’d told herself she didn’t need…
“G-good,” she said, her voice cracking. “As I said, my client…”
“I don’t mean the divorce case. I mean you.” He touched her cheek and her skin burned. Thank God he was holding her so tightly because she couldn’t trust her legs.
Their stare locked and held for what could have been a lifetime, as everything seemed still and quiet around them.
Still and quiet.
The song had ended.
She yanked her hand free of his and stumbled away from him, inhaling a gulp of air into her deprived lungs. “Well, dance is over. I’ll…uh…see you.”
He nodded, the charming polite smile back on his face and for a second she wondered if she’d imagined the intensity in his gaze seconds before. “Goodnight, Olivia.”
Olivia.
Her own name sounded foreign coming from him. She longed to hear the sound again, and she was an idiot for wanting something so dangerous. The NHL’s biggest playboy had just worked his charm on her, and she’d lost all common sense.
She turned and headed straight for the table, leaving him on the dance floor.
She had to pull it together, but she also had to admit the unfortunate truth. Never before had she been tempted to kiss the enemy.
Damn hormone injections.
Chapter 7
Seven pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly around the dining room table. Ben ignored each and every one as he reached for the mashed potatoes. He scooped three big spoonfuls onto his plate and set the bowl back. Reaching next for the carrots and peas, he helped himself to a generous portion, despite having zero appetite.
He could sense they were all perched on the edge of their seats, waiting to pounce, and he refused to acknowledge the tension around the table.
Finally it was his eleven-year-old niece, Taylor, who summoned the courage to speak first. Or maybe her mother—his sister Becky’s—kick from under the table prompted her to ask, “So, Uncle Ben, when do I get to meet my new aunt?”
He shot his sister a look. He used to like his niece, until recently, when she started demonstrating far too much of her mother’s annoyingness.
Becky shrugged and leaned forward, looking eager to hear his response. Her baby girl, Lily, was in her arms, sucking obliviously on a bottle.
Lily was his new favorite family member, her inability to speak placing her on top of the list.
He scooped a lump of potatoes onto his fork and dipped it into the gravy boat in front of him. “Don’t believe everything you read in the tabloids,” he said.
“So, you didn’t get married in Vegas on New Year’s Eve?” his brother Jackson asked, holding a tray of their mother’s honey-glazed ham—the primary reason he’d come for dinner—ransom until he responded.
“It’s all a misunderstanding. I’m taking care of it.”
“So, we won’t get to meet her?”
He snatched the tray of ham and stole the end pieces with the crispy glaze, hoping his family would shut up about all of this long enough for him to enjoy the only home-cooked meal he would get until the fourth of July—if his team made it to the playoff finals.
When. Not if.
“Of course not.”
“Actually, Becky and Jackson, you two would have probably met her already,” his mother said.
He dropped his fork. “Really, Mom?”
“What?” She frowned at him. “I’m not the one who got married and doesn’t remember.” She turned her attention to Becky, the oldest, and the one who might have the best recollection of their time in elementary school. “Do you remember Kristina Sullivan from school in Denver?”
Becky tapped her fingernails against the table as she thought.
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t remember much about Denver.”
Good. They’d all been too young. He reached for his fork, the smell of the slightly burnt honey glaze overpowering the nauseating family discussion.
But then across from him, Becky’s eyes lit up. “I do remember. Wasn’t she that little girl everyone teased?”
His stomach turned and he continued to chew the piece of meat, not trusting himself to speak.
“Her parents were terrible, and they lived in that trailer park outside of town. Is that her?”
His mother nodded. “That’s her.”
Becky looked sad. “I heard she was taken away from her parents a year after we left Denver. She grew up in foster homes.”
He forced himself to swallow and avoided Becky’s gaze.
“That’s so sad,” Abigail, Jackson’s fiancée, said.
“The team’s lawyer is handling it?” Jackson asked.
“Yes.”
“Does Kristina have representation?” Jackson asked.
His mother nodded. “Yes. And she’s absolutely lovely.”
Ben shot his mother a look. “Really?”
Beverly waved a fork full of potato. “As if you haven’t noticed. I saw the way you looked at her at the charity event the other night.”
Becky kicked him under the table.
“Ow…what the hell?”
“Language!” his mother said.
“You’re hot for the opposing lawyer?” His sister looked disapproving, but not entirely surprised.
“I’m not hot for her…I was trying to charm her into leaving my balls alone.”
“Ben, not at the table,” his mother said.
“You started it,” he said, pointing his fork at her.
“What’s her name?” his niece asked, taking out her iPhone.
“None of your business,” he said. “And no phones at the table.”
His niece shrugged. “I’m sure the tabloids will announce it all soon enough, and I’ll Google her then.”
He sighed. “Her name is Olivia Davis.”
Across from him Abigail’s express
ion confirmed his worst fears. He was screwed.
“She’s that good, isn’t she? She’s going to destroy Sanders in court.” Appetite officially killed, he dropped his fork and sat back in his chair.
Going to the charity to see her had been a bad enough idea, but he hadn’t been able to resist. He’d wanted to see if the connection in her office had been real. Flirting with her and holding her close while they danced had only confirmed it…This insanity needed to stop. Now. For years, he’d kept women from getting too close, and Olivia was the last person he should break his own rules for. She was too beautiful, too smart, too tempting, and she was making him feel too much.
Seeing her laugh and joke with his mother last night had warmed him in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d only ever introduced one woman he was dating to his family, and Janelle had never gotten along so well with his mom. Olivia and Beverly had chatted all night like old friends, and he hadn’t even minded his mother sharing stories about him.
“I won’t lie to you Ben. She is pretty fantastic,” Abby said, shooting him a sympathetic look. “I didn’t know she’d changed firms or moved to Denver…she was in L.A. before.”
Part of him wished she’d stayed there. Another part remembered how it felt to have her in his arms.
Jackson shook his head. “Look, man. You messed up. After only a couple of months, what’s the most damage this Kristina Sullivan could actually do to your bank account and reputation? She can’t be entitled to much of a settlement, and well, your status with the ladies was starting to take a dive anyway.” His brother’s attempt to ease his stress failed. “Hang in there—you’ll be divorced in no time and back to playing the field.”
Not if Olivia Davis was a good as he suspected she was.
* * *
The Grumpy Stump was loud, busy, and exactly what Ben needed that evening.
Maybe This Love Page 6