Against all common sense, he blocked her escape. “Wait. Tell me you didn’t feel something just now.” Damn. What did it matter? The kiss wasn’t supposed to mean anything—wasn’t that his thing? Meaningless kisses, casual hookups, no feelings, no strings…He was an idiot to be looking for answers he didn’t want.
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed, telling him exactly what he wanted to know. She’d felt the spark between them grow stronger, too. Instead of the kiss extinguishing whatever heat and tension was between them, it had only added fuel to the fire…one he desperately needed to contain.
But she shook her head. “Of course I didn’t feel anything.” She was lying. The chemistry between them was real for both of them. And she was just as terrified by it as he was. “Besides,” she continued, “you’re still a married man.” She sidestepped him and practically ran down the front steps, as the construction truck moved, freeing her car.
“And whose fault is that?” Ben muttered under his breath as he watched her drive away.
Chapter 11
Hockey was a mental sport. Success required more than size, strength, and speed. What happened off the ice in a player’s personal life could impact their game, something Ben knew well enough. But muscle memory had to take over at some point, didn’t it?
It could start anytime now. He skated toward the loose puck in the last period of the first semifinal game the following evening, but the round, black disc disappeared inches before he could reach it.
He looked up to see his opposition was a rookie player. He almost sighed with relief as he charged ahead. Other than the goal he’d scored at the beginning of the first period, Ben could do nothing right. His feet felt clumsy on his skates and he’d yet to achieve great speed during the game. Whenever he had the puck, it was stolen. His frustration mounted, resulting in poor decisions and even worse performance.
And it seemed his line was always up against the opposing team’s star players. This was the first time this new kid had shared ice time with him, and he was about to find out what happened when the puck was taken away from Ben Westmore.
He lowered his shoulder as he neared the kid, skating close to the boards, and held nothing back as he went to check him.
A second later he blinked, finding himself the only recipient of a run-in with the unforgiving advertisement for the local bank, whose words blurred for a brief count before he could shake off his own hit.
The buzzer sounded as he got to his feet. The new kid had scored, bringing the game to three to two. The clock read three minutes left in the game.
Shaking off his disappointing performance, he mentally prepared for the last three minutes of the game. He could tie this up and push the game to overtime. The coach always left him on in the final minutes, changing out the other players on the line every thirty seconds. Ben had brought their team back from a losing scoreboard countless times. He skated toward the blue line, but another player got there first. He frowned as he glanced toward the box. Must be a mistake…
But the coach was waving him in.
That shook him more than the hit.
He skated to the bench. “I’m good. Stupid bad timing on that check, that’s all.”
Coach Bencik gave him a concerned look. Which was the worst look of all. An angry look meant a player was pissing him off—usually for taking too many penalties. An annoyed look meant a player wasn’t passing enough or venturing out of their zone too much. But a concerned look meant a player—him—was playing like shit, and it could only mean a life-threatening illness was taking over.
“It’s one bad game, one bad night—sit out,” the coach said.
There was no point in arguing. Besides, he wasn’t at all confident he could bring the game back that evening, and his team deserved to have the best chance possible. Winning the first game in a playoff round gave a team confidence. It was better to be leading the series than playing catch-up with each victory. Fans hated to see their team lose on home ice. The next two games would be played away, so they needed a win while they had an advantage.
He wasn’t sure he was the man for the job. “Okay,” he nodded, climbing over the boards.
His coach shot him a different look—one he reserved for new players who complained too much or trash-talked in the locker room, never to back it up on ice. One that made even the most confident player question why they’d ever gotten drafted in the first place.
Ben’s disappointment in himself reached an all-time high.
“That’s it—no fight?” his coach said.
He removed his helmet, knowing the fight his coach had expected out of him was too late now. “I’m sorry, Coach, but I didn’t think it would work.”
Coach Bencik folded his arms as he turned away from him. “I want my star player back by Sunday night,” he said, and it wasn’t a request.
Back home after the 4–3 loss in overtime, Ben showered again, hoping the hot water would help ease some of the tension in his shoulders and neck. Then he mixed a protein drink, guzzled it, and despite it being after midnight, he opened his laptop to Skype Asher.
As predicted, his brother was awake. Asher was always awake—an insomniac since they were kids. Yet, he still functioned better than most people. “Hey, man, rough game,” he said as he appeared on the screen.
Ben ran a hand through his still wet hair. “That’s an understatement. See that embarrassing failed hit?”
Asher nodded. “I won’t lie, I enjoyed it a little.”
“Did you see me get pulled from the last three minutes?” If anyone knew how discouraging that was, Asher would. Playing a bad game was one thing; it shook a player’s confidence and added a weight to his shoulders that he wouldn’t be able to drop until he performed better. But losing a coach’s confidence—that was devastating.
Ash nodded again. “Saw. Sorry, man. I’m surprised you didn’t fight Coach on that—what’s going on?”
The concern in his brother’s voice and the truth of the sentiment expressed by his coach made Ben’s blood pressure rise. “I was bringing the team down, man. Would you have stayed on?”
Asher shook his head slowly. “But I’m not you. You would have stayed on, pulled it together, and brought the team back like you’ve done in the past. The first game in the semifinals isn’t exactly the place to get soft, Ben.”
Exactly the speech he would have delivered to any of his teammates or his brother in this situation, but not one he wanted to hear himself. He gave a quick “I’m out” wave and shut down the connection.
Tossing his protein cup into the sink with a loud clang, he headed into his bedroom and lay on the bed. His brother was right. His coach was right. He had to get his shit together and clear his mind before the next game two nights from now. All day, he’d been off. At practice, at warm-up…and as much as he’d like to have blamed lack of sleep, not having made it back to Denver until after midnight, he knew that wasn’t it. His mind wasn’t where it needed to be. He was allowing everything happening off of the ice to reflect in his playing.
It had to stop. He couldn’t let this court case or the media attention make him a different player. He couldn’t let this insane attraction to the last woman on Earth he should want destroy his concentration and put him off his game. On the ice, he knew who he was—a winner.
And while that may not be the case in this personal life, he had to focus on the game. The one thing he could control.
* * *
“Madison, what is this on my desk?” Olivia picked up the box of raspberry tea leaves and opened the lid. It smelled nothing like raspberries and looked like grass.
Her assistant hurried over with a smile and leaned around the doorframe. “It’s red raspberry leaf tea. It helps strengthen your uterus,” she whispered.
“Get in here, please.” She removed her suit jacket and draped it over the chair.
“Did you want me to make you a cup?” Madison asked, entering.
“No, thank you, and try not to men
tion my uterus.” She ran a hand down her pencil skirt as she sat. Thoughts of her uterus had competed with thoughts of Ben all night until she’d finally fallen asleep from mental exhaustion. The same day she’d gone ahead with her plans to have a baby, she’d given into a mind-blowing kiss from a man who couldn’t possibly be farther from father material. She had to be losing her mind. A month ago, she’d been certain this was what she wanted. Letting Ben Westmore’s delicious kiss cloud her certainty was stupid.
Now that the implantation was complete, she wanted to follow the doctor’s orders of relaxing and trying not to stress about it too much until she knew one way or the other. Stress was not good for her or a baby.
Which was why she’d decided to remove herself from this divorce case. She shouldn’t have taken it on in the first place, but she’d never have predicted she’d be desperately attracted to the man she was trying to keep married to another woman.
Coffee. Where the hell was her coffee?
Madison stood in the office looking determined as she showed her the box. “Read the label. It has all-natural ingredients.”
It could be fairy dust and unicorn wings for all Olivia cared. Caffeine wasn’t on the list, therefore she had zero interest. She was exhausted and she needed to get through the day. On top of her to-do list was scheduling a meeting with Kristina Sullivan, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Even if she could in all good consciousness remain on the case despite her attraction to Ben, she was starting to side with the opposition. Kristina’s reason to prolong the divorce, hoping Ben could help her son’s hockey career, wasn’t exactly something Olivia felt comfortable fighting for. She couldn’t argue in court that the couple should stay married when they weren’t—and had never been—in love. She wasn’t the best lawyer for Kristina…God, she was justifying.
Picking up her mug, she handed it to Madison, hoping it was enough of a hint.
Nope. “So many women in my family swear by this tea,” her assistant pushed on. “They all drank it while they were trying to conceive and poof—without hardly trying.”
She sighed. There’d been a lot more than a poof involved for her already. “My uterus is fine, and I’m not a tea drinker.” She nodded wide-eyed toward her still empty mug. By now the coffee would have been the perfect temperature to start drinking.
“Yes. Your coffee—I know.” Madison hesitated. “Caffeine is bad for the baby, so I thought you might want to get used to skipping your usual eight cups now so it will be easier once you know…”
Olivia thought about it. She had given up everything else in advance preparation, but coffee would be the hardest to let go of. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the one thing that got her through her days just yet. “I need my coffee…for now…and please take that tea. Hide it somewhere so no one sees it.”
Madison looked ready to argue, but she tucked the box inside her sweater and shrugged. “Fine. I’ll keep it in case I ever get pregnant. I’m terrified of labor, and this stuff is supposed to make it as close to painless as you can get.” She turned to leave.
“Wait.” Labor was something Olivia refused to think about yet—one thing at a time—but now that the girl brought it up…“What does this tea do?”
Madison needed little encouragement. “It’s a miracle tea. It helps strengthen the uterus walls, which makes the muscles stronger for delivery. You drink it every day until you get pregnant, then you stop until you’re in the third trimester, then you drink it like water every day—like six cups. Then as soon as you feel the first labor pain, you drink as much as hot as possible and before you know, baby is here.”
“Just like that, huh?” Nothing could be that simple.
“Do you want a cup instead of your coffee?” Madison asked, hopeful.
“No, I want my coffee.” If and when she was pregnant, she would begrudgingly give up one of her life’s only true pleasures, but for now, she was going to enjoy it. Could she also enjoy more of Ben Westmore’s kisses? She cleared her throat. “I’ll check this with the doctor first,” she said awkwardly, tucking the box into her drawer, out of sight.
Her assistant smiled as she stood. “Fair enough. I’ll get your coffee.”
“Thank you.”
When Madison left the office, she typed “red raspberry leaf tea” into Google search. Just how did this “miracle” tea work?
Her cell phone rang and she reached for it absently, her eyes scanning the amazing claims of this tea. This herbal medicine site was confirming everything Madison claimed…it also had her computer’s antivirus claiming her computer might now be infected. Great. “Hello—Olivia Davis speaking,” she said into the phone, shutting down the site as Madison set her coffee in front of her. “Thank you,” she whispered, taking a sip.
“This is Emelia Michelin from the Colorado Center for Children’s fundraising committee. How are you?”
“Great. Is something wrong?” Had she forgotten to sign her check? With Ben’s unsettling gaze on her that evening, it was quite possible. When he’d held her on the dance floor, she been thinking of nothing else except how wonderful it felt to be in his arms.
“No, nothing’s wrong…just wanted to remind you of your payment for your silent auction item.”
Silent auction? She hadn’t bid on…Her mouth dropped. He didn’t.
She swallowed hard, setting her cup on her desk, afraid she might snap the handle with her death grip hold. “Can you remind me again what I bid on?” She forced a light laugh.
“Sure. You bid six thousand dollars for a skating lesson with Ben Westmore.”
She closed her eyes. “That’s right, I’d totally forgotten.”
“Well, we thank you for your generosity. Before your bid, the highest was five thousand. People usually don’t jump that much from bid to bid.”
Of course not. A thousand-dollar increase was crazy. “Well, it’s for a good cause,” she said, mentally calculating the funds in her savings account. She didn’t want to write a check she couldn’t cash.
“Thank you again. The check can be made out to the hospital, and we hope you enjoy your skating lesson.”
She clenched her teeth, fighting the memory of Ben’s kiss.
She must have been insane to agree to have dinner with them at the lake house. She blamed her confused, exhilarated emotions that day for everything. There was no other explanation for why she’d readily spend time with a man she was going up against in court, why she’d let him engage her in unsafe conversation, or why she’d returned his untimely kiss as though he were a source of oxygen.
She sighed. Enjoy the skating lesson? Probably a little too much. Disconnecting the call, she reached for her checkbook and wrote a check for an auction prize she had no intention of redeeming. Then she sent Ben Westmore an invoice.
* * *
Ben felt better. The wake-up call warning from his coach and a good night’s sleep had been what he’d needed. His mind was back in the game, and for over an hour now, the memory of kissing Olivia Davis had not crossed his mind.
And, the clock resets.
If only the kiss had sucked. If only the kiss had been enough to satisfy the urge to do it again. It hadn’t.
Rotating his shoulders, he stretched, warming up for the game. He’d managed to relax a little after practice that morning, and he felt ready. As long as he could push everything else aside and focus on sixty minutes of ice time, he would be okay.
Winning the first away game would shatter the other team’s confidence and tie up the series. Being down by two games and playing catch-up was not something he wanted to deal with. That was the team’s downfall the last several times they’d made it to the semifinals. Not this year.
His teammates all looked ready for the game, but he knew they were watching him to see if he could pull it together. He was ready to prove he deserved to wear that C on his jersey tonight.
He took a breath. Good. Another solid five minutes of not thinking about Olivia.
In his locker,
his phone chimed with a new email message.
Leave it. Anything important would be a call or text…
Reaching into his bag, he retrieved the phone. Opening the inbox, his mouth went dry. The message from the woman driving his thoughts wild for the last few weeks had a two-word subject line: Not funny.
He knew what this was about.
He read the short message.
You owe me $6,000. Invoice attached.
He sat on the bench. She was right. The auction bid was meant to be a funny, jerk-face move. He’d had every intention of paying the six grand and providing the lesson to watch her squirm a little more…but not now. Not after that kiss. He’d pay her back immediately, but there would be no lesson.
Safer to deal with things through his lawyer and stay away from her. The more distance he could put there, the better, and soon enough she’d just be some woman who tried—and failed—to ruin his life…with the most tempting body and irresistible lips…
Hitting Reply, he typed, That’s one expensive kiss and grinned despite himself.
Her reply was instant. Don’t try to be cute. You can keep the lesson, I just want the money.
He hesitated, then typed, I understand if you don’t trust yourself around me. He hit Send and put the phone away, immediately regretting it. Damn—he was stupid. Flirtation seemed to be an autopilot reaction for him. Continuing this dangerous cat-and-mouse game with this woman was the worst thing he could do. The power she held over him since the day they met was a foreign feeling to him, and it had nothing to do with the court case. No other woman had ever occupied his mind this long. She needed to get out. And spending more time with her certainly wasn’t the answer.
Luckily, he knew she’d never take him up on the skating lesson. She was immune to his juvenile tactics.
A second later, her reply was back.
Anytime, anywhere, Westmore.
Shit. She’d called his bluff.
Chapter 12
I can’t believe you don’t know how to skate.”
Maybe This Love Page 10