by Elise Faber
Nope. Luke wasn’t going anywhere.
Three
Bec
She drank greedily from her mug of coffee, wishing her bloodstream could immediately absorb the caffeine.
No sleep made for a grumpy Bec.
Especially when the cause of her lack of sleep was Luke fucking Pearson.
Her ex-husband.
Or not, according to him.
“Bullshit,” she muttered, scowling as she strode down the hall and into her office. The few enterprising interns who’d began to mirror her work schedule—in early, leave late—skittered out of her path, eyes going wide, and the non-tired, non-muddled-by-Luke portion of her brain forced herself to suck in a breath and relax the lines.
The Darden glare wasn’t needed at six in the morning.
Despite Luke and despite the fact that she’d stayed up all night, watching the camera, waiting for her ex to leave or at least fall asleep so she could run.
She never ran.
Except from Luke.
Sighing, she shut the door behind her then sank down into her desk chair. Her office was plush, a visual representation of the thousands of hours she’d spent clawing her way to partner in one of the top employment law offices in the nation.
She’d focused on employment law because of an unpleasant incident at her first internship.
For lawyers, they’d been really fucking stupid.
The disparity between the hours she’d put in and the opportunities she’d been given versus those of her male coworkers had been so big it was almost hysterical.
Billionaire tech-founder for a father or not, Bec had busted her ass. And ultimately, her father didn’t really matter, not when the other interns—all male, as she was the only female—each came from equally powerful families.
Yes, she was privileged to have been given the internship at a prestigious firm in the first place, but that was pretty much where any advantage had ended for her.
She’d spent the better part of three months twiddling her thumbs in her cubicle.
Until she’d watched one too many of her male colleagues be pulled into an important meeting with a higher up or invited out for drinks or given an opportunity to work on an interesting case.
She’d been invited to get coffee.
Seriously.
Top of her class at Harvard Law during her first two years, and she’d been regulated to coffee pickup.
Which would have been fine, she didn’t mind paying her dues, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t send interns out for coffee regularly, but she made sure all her interns took a turn at the underling stuff and that they all got a chance with the big, interesting cases.
But ultimately, her not-so-fun internship had been a good thing. It had shifted her focus from corporate to employment law. She’d graduated number one in her class, and then passed the bar on her first try.
And because she was done with privilege, she’d applied for jobs under her mother’s maiden name. No more hanging on Daddy’s coattails, no more opportunities because of his connections.
Nope. She’d made her own way.
And Luke had been by her side the whole time. They’d met at boarding school, friends then lovers then, unbeknownst to both of their families, they’d become husband and wife.
He’d moved with her when she’d gotten into Harvard, had gotten accepted into the business school there, readying himself to take over his family’s company.
He was driven, sexy, and he got her.
He loved that she was tough, that she didn’t take any shit.
Until he hadn’t.
Ugh.
“Nice, Bec,” she muttered. “Nice little trip down a fucked-up memory lane.” She set her coffee down and booted up her computer, shoving all thoughts of Luke deep down, back in the locked box in the depths of her heart, icing it over and throwing some barbed wire on top for good measure.
It was airtight, with more security than Fort Knox, and she knew no feelings would dare escape.
She had work and friends.
You have work. Only work. You don’t care about anything else.
The thoughts were in Luke’s deep drawl and thoroughly unwelcome. He didn’t know her. Not any longer. She worked long hours because she loved it, but she also had a life outside the office.
She was fine.
Hell, she was even a godmother to Abby’s baby, Emma.
That was something.
That was something normal, not something a cold, robotic, work-a-holic—
And damn, why, after a full decade, did those words still hurt?
Because they’d been shouted at her by the one man she’d opened her heart to, the one man she’d loved and been vulnerable to, and—
Yeah, that.
Sighing, she took another sip of coffee and settled down to work, pushing Luke from her mind, shoving away all thoughts that didn’t revolve around their doomed marriage, and focusing on what had become her one true love over the years.
The law.
Bec dove headfirst into the safe puzzle of the law.
The knock at the door wasn’t welcome.
It must still be early if someone was knocking at all, because her secretary knew that a closed door meant no freaking interruptions.
None.
None.
But before Bella was in, sometimes people forgot.
New people.
Annoying people.
“Come in,” she growled, when the knock came for a second time, the idiot on the other side not recognizing that a closed door and no answer meant go the fuck away. She kept eyes focused on the screen, fingers hovering over the keys, typing paused midsentence as she waited for the intruder to speak.
When they didn’t, she finished her sentence, sighed, and glanced up.
Then nearly knocked over her coffee.
Luke was inside her office, leaning against the closed door, paper bag in one hand, tray with two cups in the other.
That wasn’t the worst part.
Nope, the really horrible, terrible, awful part was the expression on his face. Soft and almost gentle, with the slightest smile on his lips. It called to that part of her locked deep within, despite the ice and barbwire and steel-reinforced rebar. That paired with the curl of brown hair falling across his forehead, his biceps bulging under the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and his jeans . . . well, he’d filled out in the last decade because his thighs . . .
Thick, muscular, and yum. Her own thighs reacted to the sight, squeezing together, a hint of dampness in between.
Just from a look.
Fuck.
Her body still remembered his.
And he knew it, based on the way his mouth curved into a sinful—and egotistical—grin.
He was beautiful, and he also knew that.
Which, luckily for her, was enough for her to remember the past, to remind her who she was in the present—that she was tough and smart and didn’t fall for cocky assholes.
You’d like a little cock—
Enough.
She was Rebecca Darden. She didn’t cower or avoid. She faced shit head on, and she was certainly strong enough to face her ex-husband.
“Luke.”
His brows rose at the icy tone, but it didn’t seem to have any other effect on him. He didn’t turn and leave like any other man would have done in his place. Instead, he pushed off the door, rose to his full height—still six-foot-three but no longer the lanky boy from the past—and crossed over to her desk.
After plunking the tray and bag on the wooden surface, he sank into the armchair across from her.
“Becky.”
Her temper pulsed. “It’s Bec.”
He stared at her, raised a brow. “Bec,” he repeated, and she tried to ignore the fact that it didn’t sound right coming from his lips.
She wasn’t his Becky anymore.
She waited for him to say anything else, perhaps to explain why he’d intruded on her at work, barr
eling through her office defenses, interrupting her morning.
But instead, he just sat silently in that chair.
Stifling a sigh, Bec turned her attention back to the brief on her screen, going back a few sentences, trying to remember her place so she could find her flow again. Luke was perhaps as stubborn as she was and, her lawyer skills aside, she’d never been able to pry information out of him.
Wait and see.
That was the only tactic that worked with him.
Wait and see if his disappointment grew.
Wait and see his back when he’d reached his limit and walked away.
She got it. She was a hard sell for most guys, difficult and not a woman to cut anyone any slack, but Luke was supposed to have been different.
She had been different with him.
And it hadn’t mattered.
Enough.
Bec reread the sentences again, found the place she’d left off, and with another stifled sigh, she pushed on with her work. It was challenging at first, but after a few tooth-pulling sentences, she managed to find her focus, and pretty soon she was absorbed in the case again, fingers pounding across the keyboard, words filling up the screen, and . . . then she was done.
Stretching her neck from side to side, she saved the document then leaned back in her chair.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Because Luke was watching her.
Part of her brain had known he hadn’t left, but that had been a distant part, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to be staring at her while she’d worked. She could have imagined him waiting her out while scrolling through his cell phone, but studying her as though she were the most intricate, fascinating snarl of law language he’d ever encountered?
No.
Not that. Never that.
“Why are you here, Luke?”
“I’ve missed you.”
Crack went the ice around her heart.
Four
Luke
He’d spent close to an hour watching Becky work, memorizing the little frown between her eyebrows, fingers itching to smooth back the lock of her hair that had slipped free of her ponytail.
Luke used to tuck those strands behind her ear, used to trail his hand along her neck, loving the way she’d shivered at the touch.
Eventually, she glanced up at him, eyes going a little wide, lush lips parting.
“Why are you here, Luke?”
He told her the truth. “I’ve missed you.”
For a second, he thought she might tell him that she missed him, too, that the decade apart wasn’t actually a huge barrier between them being together in the here and now.
Then her face locked down. “No.”
“No?” He raised a brow.
“No.” Becky popped to her feet, started pacing. “No, you don’t miss me. You can’t miss me. It’s been ten years without a word, Luke.” She stopped at the window, facing away from him, hands on her hips. “What?” she asked, whipping around to face him. “You saw the article in the New York Times about my work and decided to fuck with me? Or maybe the Pearson family business needs an influx of cash? Have you managed to run it into the ground in just five years?”
God, this woman could take him from zero to livid in under one second.
A heartbeat before, he’d been admiring her beauty, the soft lines of her lips and jaw, and now he . . . well, he was still admiring her lines, except he wanted to bend her over her desk and admire the curved lines of her ass or kneel between her thighs and admire the lines of her pussy with his tongue.
Except, then he processed her words. Five years.
His temper eased.
His mouth curved. “How’d you know I’ve been running Pearson Energy for five years?”
Becky’s shoulders went stiff. “What?”
Luke stood, walked over to her. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
“Fuck no,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “I’ve been busy living my own life, not pining after you.” But her eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, they slid to the side, focusing on some point over his left shoulder.
Gotcha.
One step closer. Near enough to smell the familiar scent of her. Peaches and bourbon. The south in one inhalation, even though she was a Yankee.
“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Her breath caught.
He pressed his advantage. “I should have never let you go.”
Lips parted, eyes went soft.
He brushed the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. “I was an ass.”
Truth, but also the wrong thing to say, because the moment his words processed, Becky’s face went hard and she started to turn away.
Luke caught her arm. “We were good together, sweetheart.”
A scoff. “Like oil and water.”
“No, like forever.” He shook his head. “If I hadn’t been such an idiot, we would still be together. We were forever, sugar pie.”
Becky yanked her arm free, marched over to her desk. She scooped up one of the coffees, brought it her lips, and guzzled the now-cooled drink. Then she peered into the paper bag and froze.
He crossed back over to her, leaned a hip next to her on the desk. “I remembered.”
Her sweet tooth. That she’d rather have chocolate for breakfast because it contained the same number of calories as a coffee cake or bagel with shmear or—
She rolled down the top of the bag and shoved it away. “You need to leave. I looked at my records last night. Everything was signed and filed correctly.”
“Of course, it was,” he told her. “That was never even a question.” She was an excellent lawyer and there was never any doubt she’d crossed her T’s and dotted her I’s. “The issue wasn’t with your paperwork, but rather that the county courthouse burned down.”
Finally, her gaze rose to meet his.
“Because of the fire, the paperwork was never processed. And according to Carey County Texas”—where Pearson Energy was headquartered, where they’d gone down to his local church and had a secret wedding—“we’re still married.”
Those pretty hazel eyes widened. “How would you even find that out?”
And now it was Luke’s turn to not look at her. His eyes skittered away, one hand came up to rub the back of his neck. “I was engaged,” he admitted, daring to glance back at her.
Dimmed.
Any lightness in her expression disappeared, just flicked away as effortlessly as though someone had flipped a switch.
“Ah. And so I’m in the way of your latest conquest,” she said, coolly. “What is she? Porn star? B-list movie actress? No, it had to be a supermodel.”
Considering Luke had dated all of those over the last decade, he couldn’t exactly fault her logic. There was also the fact that Tiffani—yes, Tiffani with an I—had been a model. She was also a jewelry designer and an entrepreneur, and successful in her own right.
She just wasn’t Becky.
And luckily, he’d discovered that before the actual wedding.
Becky read the truth on his face.
“Ah,” she said, a smirk curving her mouth. “I’m right. A model.”
“Tiffani is very talented,” he said, feeling obliged to stick up for his former fiancée. She was a beautiful woman, both on the inside and out, and incredibly sweet.
They’d gone down to pull their marriage license from the courthouse a week before their wedding, only to be informed that he was still married.
Shock. Embarrassment. Then . . . relief.
That he didn’t have to marry Tiffani.
Yes, he was a fucking asshole to have felt that way, but it had also lined the pieces up in his mind, fitted them together in perfect symmetry for the first time in an eternity.
“Tiffani,” Becky muttered and rounded her desk, putting the block of wood between them. “I’ll put something together, make sure it indemnifies us both monetarily for the last decade.” Her gaze met his. “No spousal s
upport, no properties to separate. It’ll be quick and painless and get you back to your Tiffani.”
“No.”
One brow rose. “No?”
Luke strode around the desk, getting very close to her, loving that her lips parted slightly when he was near. It gave him hope that somewhere deep inside her, she might still feel something for him, that she wasn’t as cool and detached as she was pretending to be.
Of course, it also made him want to kiss her.
“No,” he said again. “Pushing you away was the biggest mistake of my life. Now that I have you again, I’m not letting you go.”
Her hands plunked onto her hips. “But here’s the thing, Pearson, you don’t have me.”
“Maybe not.” He held her gaze, saw the flicker in those gray depths.
“So, I’ll take care of the filing, and—”
“No.”
The tops of her cheekbones went bright red; fury flickered across her eyes.
“I don’t want a divorce, sugar pie,” he said. “I want to give us another try.”
Becky exploded into motion, shoving him back, moving past him . . . or trying to anyway. He snagged her wrist. “Sweetheart—”
“No,” she snapped this time. “No. You don’t get to throw me away like trash and then just waltz back into my life. You don’t get to decide that because all your other options didn’t work out, you’ll return for your leftovers.” She jerked her wrist out of his grip. “I’m worth more. I deserve more. I don’t need you in my life, Luke. I really fucking don’t.”
“I know.”
That froze her in place.
“I need you.”
Her jaw dropped open as he closed the distance between them. “But if you can convince me that you really don’t feel anything for me, that your life is perfectly fulfilled without me, then I’ll go.” He ignored the fire in her gaze and gently touched her cheek. “I’ll let that door hit me on the ass and sign whatever pieces of paper you send my way.”
She lifted her chin, opened her mouth—
“If you can convince me that you feel nothing.”
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.”
