Betting on Love

by Mary Beesley

  That seemed like a loaded question.

  Dean had had what sounded like a very fun, very short ride with Blair. He was still recovering. “Should I let her in?”

  As if Leo might kick her out of the building. He’d never turned anyone away. Anyone that got past security on the ground floor at least. That was the tightly controlled gate. Leo stood up and walked through his private office’s double doors. Dean’s desk was to the right, and in front was an open space with a cluster of tables and chairs for collaborations and meals. A few heads looked up, tracking the beautiful woman’s progress. She wore slacks and a sweater and a tilted-down face, as if she were trying to hide.

  “Welcome.” Leo held his office doors open for her.

  She waltzed in, her subtle perfume clouding his focus. The swing of her hips destroyed it entirely.

  “Nice to see you.” He closed the doors and gave Dean a look through the glass that meant get back to work.

  Dean grinned.

  Leo turned his back on his assistant. He was the one that needed to get back to work.

  Her gaze traveled over the custom furniture and panoramic view. “This is nice.”

  “Thanks.” He sat in his ergonomic chair.

  She perched on the edge of the seat across the desk from him. “I assumed you were just being nice on Saturday night when you mentioned a job. You were feeling guilty I was wearing an apron instead of a tie.”

  “I didn’t see any apron.”

  She conceded a small smile. “You know what I mean. I wasn’t going to come today, but I just wanted to say thanks anyway. It was a nice gesture, but you don’t owe me anything, let alone a job. And—” She took a deep breath as if bracing herself. “—we didn’t start off on the best foot, so I wanted to apologize.” Blue eyes speared him, nearly knocking his breath away. “I’m hoping we can have a do-over. A fresh start. For our parents’ sake.”

  He loved her.

  She was perfection.

  He stared at her big eyes and strong features. That mouth. His heart thumped harder and faster. The world seemed to crash all around, leaving only Tempest.

  She stood, her expression downcast. “Well, think on it. I guess I’ll see you in a couple weeks at your mom’s.” She turned to leave.

  He leapt to his feet, his pulse frantic. He darted around his desk and slipped his hand over hers. She twisted to face him. She left her fingers in his.

  “You forgive me for lying about my name?”

  “Yes.”

  His grin stretched his cheeks and expanded his chest. “And I was serious about a job here. You’re smart and have great work experience. We’d be lucky to have you.”

  Her cheeks pinkened in a way that made his belly warm. She glanced through the glass doors. Dean snapped his attention back to his computer. She looked down at their touching palms. “Thank you, truly, and I’m sure it would be amazing to work here.” She lifted her hand out of his, leaving him cold. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “What? Why?” He wholeheartedly agreed. It was a terrible idea. But he didn’t want her to leave.

  Her lips parted, revealing the tips of her white teeth. “Because it’s hard enough trying to figure out how to be your sister. I don’t think I can handle working under you right now.”

  He couldn’t help it. One brow rose.

  “How professional.” Her voice was flat, but her face flushed.

  He leaned against his desk, failing to think of something clever and charming to say. Instead he stared at her while imagining her on her back across his desk. Her eyes darkened as she held his gaze.

  “So is this off-limits?” His gaze dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

  She swallowed. She drew her arms around her ribs like a shield. “It’s probably better this way. Less risk.”

  “Risk isn’t always the enemy. It can open the door to incredible gains.”

  She folded in on herself a little more. “Who knows what could happen to us in the long term? Our parents are getting married. We’re going to be family for the long haul. There would be no clean breaks, no escape.”

  He hated everything about that answer. His ribs squeezed his heart. “Okay.”

  ****

  It was Christmas Eve. Tempest hadn’t talked to Leo since meeting him at his office, but she hadn’t stopped thinking about him. She replayed their conversation over and over. He’d basically admitted to wanting more. And she’d rightfully put a stop to that. She’d been logical and calculated. She wasn’t dictated by hormones. Blair had been no help. Blair’s life—and love—motto was always, go for it!

  Dinner tonight was with the blended family. She didn’t like that word—blended. Like they were now a smoothie that was supposed to be pink but had too many ingredients, so it came out puce. Silvia had wanted to host again, but she’d gotten sick and was only now feeling better. Tempest thought her dad should host, but Leo had beaten him to the baton. So that’s how Tempest, wearing a short plaid dress with black tights, ended up standing with Jo’s family at Leo’s front entry. Zena welcomed them inside. The house was still perfect, clean and bright, and tonight, smelling like fajitas. They’d all agreed—it was Jo’s doing—that they’d skip the holiday gift exchange. They’d leave that for next year when they all knew each other better and there would be less pressure. Tempest tried not to think about the sweet torture of doing this again next year. And the year after. Tempest had brought a nice bottle of wine and a box of truffles for the host. When Leo appeared, she handed them over instead of sharing a hug.

  “You guys look like a matching couple.” Jo’s gaze traveled from Tempest’s green and red tartan dress to Leo’s plaid sweater.

  He paled and didn’t respond.

  “Thanks for having us,” Tempest said.

  “Come on in.” He guided them down the hall past the office and formal sitting and into the main room. Vintage ornaments decorated a tall, skinny Christmas tree.

  “That’s gorgeous.” Jo stepped closer to study an intricate red truck ornament. “Did you do this tree?”

  “Not at all.” Leo turned toward the kitchen. “And I might have had a little help with dinner from Joe T. Garcia.”

  “I love that,” Benji said, his hungry gaze drifting toward the food.

  Garlic, cumin, and lime scented the air. Tempest salivated at the lineup of to-go containers with rice, beans, guacamole, and enchiladas. Dad was already there with Silvia. He beamed from ear to ear. Tempest decided she’d suffer though a thousand family dinners with Leo if her dad was this happy. He kissed his daughters and patted his grandchildren’s heads.

  “Food’s not getting any hotter.” Leo looked to his mom. “Do we stand on ceremony here, or can we act like family and eat?”

  Silvia stood from her seat at the dining table and smiled at the people gathered. “Thank you for having us all over, Leo. Zena, will you say grace?”

  After the blessing, Tempest helped Hannah dish her plate. She sat at the corner of the table with her niece, her focus entirely on keeping the little girl’s rice and chicken off the floor. The meal went a hundred times better than Thanksgiving, and both parents had a look of delighted gratification as they watched their offspring intermingle. After dinner, Silvia spread crafts on the table for the children. She sat with them, showing them how to make magazine-worthy snowmen ornaments. Hunter wasn’t interested, but after a hiss and a whispered threat from Jo, he didn’t try to get up from the table again.

  The adults moved to the sitting area. The only space left was on the couch, next to Leo. Tempest decided to find the bathroom instead. She glided down the hall, keeping her heels from clicking on the marble tile. She pretended she didn’t see the guest bathroom, moving on to peek behind the door at the end.

  His bedroom had pale gray walls. The king bed was made up with dark linens. A plush low couch sat at the foot of it. The nightstand on the near side had a lamp and four books stacked up, two biographies, a science fiction, and a thri
ller. The far nightstand had a photo of Leo and Zena with a good-looking older man standing between. His dad, probably. A mini bronze statue of a fox stood on the tall dresser. Nothing else. It was the opposite of Blair’s cluttered private space. Leo’s room should have felt austere and cold, but it didn’t. It felt like a place completely devoted to that big bed there in the center. The duvet invited her over with the promise of a feathery embrace. She peeked down the hall. No one coming. The party in the kitchen seemed far away, a different dimension.

  She slipped off her pumps and tiptoed to the bed. She ran a hand over the puffy euro sham. Her pulse soared. If she pulled back the covers, he might notice later. Far too risky. But she couldn’t stop herself from climbing up and lying on top of his bed. She picked his side, by the books, where she imagined his body weighing down the mattress every night. The bed was firm, holding her up, but not putting any unwelcome pressure on her joints. Her fingers played over the soft linen. This was what a bed should feel like. This was what money could buy.

  She shifted her legs, her dress hiking up as her tights slid over the cool cloud of fabric. She looked up at the white ceiling and giggled. She had no idea what had possessed her, but this was a delightful rush.

  The door swung inward on silent hinges. She froze, body pinned to the bed. The door opened wider, and Leo stepped into his bedroom.

  He looked down at the carpet, barely stopping himself from tripping on her red heels, and then he looked up and saw her. His gaze traveled the length of her legs, covered with only thin nylon.

  His jaw dropped. He swallowed. “What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse and uneven.

  Heat rushed up her body and over her face. Horrors. She must look like she was lying in wait for him, propositioning him at a family party in the most blatant of ways. Well, naked would have been more brazen. What must he think after the last thing she’d said to him was they could never be together? Crap. She had not intended to be a terrible person tonight.

  Careful to keep her thighs together, she swung her legs over the side and stood. “I was just seeing if your bed is as comfortable as it looks.” She leaned over and smoothed out the wrinkles on the duvet, popping her bum up and arching her spine just a touch as she bent forward. She wasn’t usually a tease, but she was embarrassed and reaching for any shred of power, even if it was underhanded. And now she was intentionally being a terrible person. Finally she straightened up and turned to face him with a frown. She put her fists on her hips.

  He stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, his expression unreadable. “And was it?”

  “More, actually. Congratulations on a supremely successful sleeping situation.”

  His brows rose. “Thank you?”

  She nodded. “You’re welcome.” Chin up and features cold, she walked forward, picked up her shoes, and waltzed out.

  ****

  She’d been lying on his bed. On his bed. What the blazing hell? Her already cruelly short dress had been hiked up to wazoo. Why was she wearing that to a family party anyway? And then to slide off his bed just to bend over it. He was never going to get that image out of his brain. What was she trying to do to him? At least she’d had the decency to look surprised to see him show up. Although it was his room. She was the invader here. And she’d caught him without his shields up.

  He sat on the edge of his bed. The heat of her body lingered on his duvet, tickling his fingers. He folded forward, hands on knees, heart pumping. He inhaled, then hissed out all the air again when he caught a whiff of her jasmine scent. Panting through his mouth, he went down the list of the basic program codes he knew for python before he was steady enough to stand up straight. But emotions still surged.

  Well, Stormie. Two could play this game.

  He peed, just to prove to himself he was relaxed enough to do so. After washing his hands, he brushed his teeth to get off the fajita flavor and put on lip balm. Feeling ready for battle, he strode into the family room. Tempest sat in his spot on the couch, talking to Benji. She didn’t look at Leo when he entered. Fine, then. Leo angled toward the kitchen where Mom worked with the kids on crafts. Hunter, his face screwed up in anger, leaned over his little sister’s shoulder and scribbled with a blue marker on Hannah’s snowflake drawing.

  “Hey!” She whirled, scissors up and fire in her eyes.

  Leo leapt. His hand wrapped her wrist, pulling the blades away from Hunter’s nose.

  “He ruined my thing,” Hannah said.

  “She ruined mine first,” Hunter said.

  “I did not.”

  “You did too. And you spilled the glitter on me on purpose.” He motioned to the glistening silver down his navy shirt, like the sky on a clear night.

  Mom reached her hands toward the children, panic growing on her face.

  “Hannah,” Leo said, “why don’t you come with me? I have something to show you.”

  In a flash, excitement replaced her annoyance.

  “I want to come to,” Hunter said.

  “You can both come if you promise not to fight.”

  “We promise,” they both said in eager unison.

  His mom gave Leo a grateful look as she stood to clean up the explosion of paper shavings.

  Leo glanced at Jo, but she was talking to Zena, her body angled away from her children in the kitchen. He led his unknowing accomplices down the hall and into the room with his Steinway. He pulled out the familiar tufted seat and sat down. He flexed his fingers. His mom had put him in piano lessons after he beat leukemia. She’d heard music was good for healing anxiety. He’d taken to it like a fish to water. Music theory had flowed into his analytical brain and taken up residence. He loved the rules, the precision, how a string of simple notes together could make something powerful, a lot like computer code. He also loved the flexibility music allowed for creativity and personality.

  Rules could be broken.

  Few people ever heard him play. Piano was his fortress of solitude. His secret world. But today Tempest had made him feel reckless and bold. And mad. It was time to pull out the big guns.

  “Don’t be shy. Come up here where you can see.” Leo motioned Hunter and Hannah to stand one on either side of him. “Do you play the piano?”

  They shook their heads.

  “How about a little game? I’ll play a song, and the first to recognize it wins.”

  Hannah looked unsure, but Hunter nodded.

  Leo played “Mary Had a Little Lamb” first to put the girl at ease, but still Hunter yelled it out in a rush before Hannah had time to open her mouth. Hunter also got “Star Wars,” “The Eensy Weensy Spider,” “Up on the Housetop,” and “Jingle Bells.”

  Hannah stood on Leo’s left with her short arms folded and a scowl on her face. Leo leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Silent Night.” He’d only played the first two notes before she yelled out the answer. Leo laughed; Hunter did not. Leo decided he’d had enough of this game and enough of a warm-up. Next, he played a jazz piece. The kids didn’t know what to say, but they both smiled. Only a gremlin could stop itself from being happy in the face of such peppy beats and fast fingers. Leo rarely had to use sheet music after playing a song more than a couple of times. The music stayed in his mind and hands like a familiar map. He could see exactly where to go next.

  “That’s cool.” Hunter’s hips started to move.

  “I want to learn to do that.” Hannah poked a finger out and struck a low D in the middle of his song. Leo tried not to cringe.

  When he finished, he twisted his wrists and swiveled his gaze between the two. “No one knows that one?”

  “Never heard it,” Hunter said, voice defensive.

  Leo chuckled. Footsteps sounded in the hall, but he refused to look up. He played a short modulation of “Away in a Manger”; it was Christmas after all. Hunter guessed it near the end, but Leo didn’t stop playing until he’d finished the song. He knew the audience he’d hoped for had gathered. When he looked over his shoulder, Mom, Christopher, Benji, an
d Jo with her baby sat in the room’s four chairs. Tempest stood, arms folded, against the archway leading into the room, like she didn’t quite want to get too close to the fire but couldn’t help being drawn in to his music. Just as he’d hoped.

  “You are amazing.” Jo’s voice was a warm gush.

  “I love hearing you play.” Mom held a hand to her heart.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt conversation or anything with my plunking,” Leo lied. “I can stop.”

  “Please don’t,” Jo said, her voice pleading.

  Leo, with a wave of gratification, swiveled back to the keys and closed his eyes for one breath before he opened them and set his fingers. A soft, slow start, a building of volume and tension, a sweep of twinkling fingers as he moved through one of his favorite Chopin pieces. And because he loved it, he knew he played it like a real musician. He carried the song in his heart. He played from his soul. The room was silent but for the storm of his music.

  When he finished, he turned with a sheepish slant of his shoulders, fighting an embarrassed flush of heat to his face. He might have gotten more carried away than he intended. He couldn’t believe he’d just exposed himself like that to so many. Jo had actual tears in her eyes.

  Tempest hadn’t moved from the wall, but she stared at him, dewy-eyed and looking more than a little pissed, her jaw clenched as if she were braced for a fight.

  Leo grinned, his gaze holding hers.

  She scowled.

  Benji’s and Christopher’s clapping broke the spell. Leo chuckled. He stood from the seat and accepted their compliments with a dismissive wave.

  “That would be perfect for the wedding,” Jo said.

  Christopher’s eyes brightened with hope. “Would you?”

  “No. I don’t play in public.”

  “But it’s your mom’s wedding, and everyone will just die over it,” Jo said.

  Leo opened his mouth to deny her more emphatically, but Benji stepped up to his wife and touched her elbow. “He doesn’t want to, honey.” A hint of iron hardened his voice, as if he were also reminding her that she was married and maybe she should stop swooning. She had the decency to school her face into indifference.