How exactly did she choose the perfect father for her child?
Panic crept into her chest, and her grip tightened on the file folder on her lap.
Well, she wouldn’t reach a decision by freaking out.
She took a gulp of hot coffee, burning the back of her throat, before setting the cup aside and returning her attention to the file.
This donor was Caucasian, five-foot-eleven, and 180 pounds…dark hair, brown eyes…So far so good. Profession: marketing manager for a hotel chain.
She paused. Marketing people were generally outgoing, personable, outside-of-the-box thinkers…She’d always been drawn to personalities like that, having been the complete opposite.
Or at least since her parents died.
Over the years, not much had changed. Career-focused and driven, she still didn’t attract much friendliness in her life.
Was a baby to fill that gap?
It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned her intentions of starting a family alone, and loneliness might be part of the reason she was doing this—the desire to have someone in her life she could care about, who would care about her. But another part of her knew she was hoping to recreate a part of her past she’d lost long ago. The part with her parents. The short, precious part where things were different. When she’d felt safe and loved and supported. Her aunt had been a great role model for her—a successful corporate law attorney, she’d taught Olivia the value of hard work and determination, but she’d never been the nurturing type…unlike Olivia’s mother.
She pushed all thoughts of her past aside as she continued to read. Heart issues on his maternal side and diabetes on his paternal side…Diabetes ran in her family as well. Too much of a risk.
She closed the folder and reached for another.
This guy was six-foot-two, two hundred pounds, blue eyes, and dark hair. A pro athlete.
An image of Ben Westmore flashed in her mind, and she almost set the file aside without reading further. Sure she’d thought about it the other day, but she hadn’t been serious…
It was ridiculous. No doubt Ben Westmore had donated plenty of sperm in his lifetime. All wasted, of course. None at a fertility clinic, destined for greatness.
And while she wasn’t thrilled by the idea of a pro athlete donor, the more she read, the more this one appealed. No medical history to be concerned about. Thirty-two and Catholic.
She put him in a maybe pile and sighed.
This wasn’t exactly other women’s idea of a fun Friday night, but at least she knew two things—she’d be going to bed alone and at the end of the evening she’d have a father for her unconceived child.
* * *
Ben stared at the financial statements in his hand as he rode the elevator to the Kingsley Family Law Offices. He refused to read too much into the fact that he’d decided to hand-deliver them to Ms. Davis instead of couriering them the way Sanders had told him to. His lawyer was out of town that week, and Ben didn’t trust the time-sensitive and private documents to anyone else—that was all.
It had nothing to do with wanting to see Olivia Davis again. That would be stupid.
Entering the offices a moment later, he straightened his tie and cleared his throat. The young receptionist was on the phone, but her eyes widened when she glanced up. “Mom, I’ll call you back,” she said, standing. “Hi. What are you doing here?” Her cheeks flamed and she removed her glasses. “I mean, do you have an appointment?”
He smiled. “No, but I have some documents to drop off to Ms. Davis. Is she available?”
“Is she representing you?”
“No.”
“Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m sorry…”
“Holy shit—it’s Ben Westmore,” a booming male voice said to his right.
Ben turned and extended a hand to an older man with thinning gray hair and coffee stains on his white dress shirt. “Nice to meet you…”
“Lyle Kingsley—senior partner at the firm.” His smile faded slightly, and he lowered his voice. “Are you looking for representation?”
“Actually, I…”
“The firm is currently representing his wife,” Olivia said, coming out of her own office.
Her expression as she approached was one of annoyance and slight apprehension. Unlike the day they’d met, today she was dressed more casually in a pair of tan dress pants and a figure-hugging black sweater that put her hourglass figure on full display. The boatneck design of the cashmere accentuated her collarbone, stealing his focus, and made her neck appear long and slender. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and the memory of its softness made him regret his decision to come. If possible, this polished casualness with a hint of sexy shook his confidence more than the power suit she’d worn.
“Why wasn’t I aware of this?” Lyle asked her.
Watching Olivia squirm was actually fun. She was trying to maintain an outwardly calm and unfazed appearance, but she was failing miserably. Yet when she shot daggers at him from her gorgeous dark eyes, it was his mouth that went dry and his palms that sweat.
What the hell? Why was he feeling nauseous? She was the one in hot water with her boss.
“It’s on this afternoon’s meeting agenda,” she said tightly.
“Can we talk over here for a sec?” Lyle said, moving away from the reception desk toward Olivia’s office. “Just a second, Ben.”
“Take your time.”
Trying to appear as though he wasn’t straining to hear every word, Ben picked up a magazine and flipped through it. She’d taken on a case without her boss’s approval? Admittedly, she didn’t strike him as a woman who would have even asked. Her stubborn independence was evident in the fact that she’d been ready to spend her day in the cherry blossom tree rather than accept his help.
“He’s in the playoffs,” he heard Lyle say.
“That’s not my problem,” Olivia said.
“This has to be affecting him, and we need him on his A game…”
A scoff from Olivia. “This isn’t about hockey.”
“Look around, Olivia! The Avalanche are closer to the cup than they have been in years. All of Denver is buzzing about hockey these days, and no one wants Westmore to choke again.”
Ben almost choked at that moment. He’d led the team to the playoffs twice already; people had to get off his back. He wasn’t the only one on the team. Sure, the playoffs made him a little edgy and nervous, but the misconception that he suffered from playoff anxiety had to stop.
The not-so-private conversation behind him wasn’t helping. “You know what, I just needed to drop these off, so…” He placed the envelope on the reception desk.
“Wait,” Lyle said, but his office phone rang.
“That’s the courthouse calling,” the receptionist said.
“Shit…okay, I have to get that. Sorry about this.” He shot a disapproving look Olivia’s way before turning back to Ben. “Good luck with the semifinals.”
“I’ll try not to choke,” he said as the guy disappeared into his office.
Olivia picked up the envelope from the receptionist’s desk.
“Did I get you in trouble with your boss?”
“No. These your financials?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Could have couriered ’em.”
So she was in trouble. He grinned. “Thought I should stop by to make sure you didn’t need rescuing again. You know, a high heel caught in a sewer grate or skirt tucked into your pantyhose.”
Her own quick, slightly embarrassed smile nearly put him on his ass. The way it transformed her features had him dazed. Gone was the serious, determined lawyer, and he was given a glimpse of a different woman. One he’d be tempted to get to know better, under different circumstances.
Shifting from one foot to the other, the smile faded and she looked uncomfortable, as though she regretted relaxing her guard—ever so briefly. “Thank you for these.” She
waved the envelope then checked her watch. “I need to get back to work.”
He nodded. “Right…Yeah, I have to get to practice…”
She paused, studying him. “There’s a lot riding on these playoffs, huh?”
“Just about everything,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty.
Her brows furrowed. “It’s only a game.”
Spoken like someone who wasn’t a sports enthusiast. It was true that he wasn’t saving lives out there on the ice, but she couldn’t possibly understand the pressure of thousands of fans depending on their idol to bring home the win. The pressure of being an idol. The pressure of proving to himself that he was as good at the sport as everyone believed—or hoped—before time ran out. He didn’t want to retire with the regret of not having tried hard enough. “This could be my last chance to prove I can bring home the cup. I’m not getting any younger, you know?”
Her jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered. “Actually, I do,” she said, her gaze locked on his, a look in her dark eyes that made him think she just might understand. He wondered what she might be chasing. From what he knew of her, she was successful in her career, but was there something else missing in Olivia Davis’s life?
They fell into silence, and the unexplainable connection vibrating between them was something he hadn’t been at all prepared for. He resisted the urge to invite her to coffee to continue the conversation, to dig deeper into the inappropriate yet undeniable attraction. The temptation to once again break the touch barrier was overwhelming—the soft sweater, the curves of her body, the scent of jasmine lingering on the air clouded his common sense, made him forget that she was off-limits.
Her expression was hesitant, as if she was waiting for him to say something to break the tension but also a little fearful of what her own response would be. For the first time around a beautiful woman, Ben was at a standstill—he couldn’t pursue her, yet he couldn’t turn and walk out of the office.
“Call from Isabelle…Call from Isabelle…” Damn. Reaching into his pocket, he hit Dismiss. He hadn’t returned any of the calls from the women in his digital black book in weeks, but the timing of them was killing him. Returning his attention to Olivia, he saw the moment was gone.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Well, thanks again,” she said before turning on her three-inch heels and disappearing into her office, where the door shut a little too loudly.
* * *
Shit, shit, shit.
Olivia dropped the envelope onto her desk and bit her lip as she paced her office.
What the hell was that? The electric tension between them had her pulse soaring and her knees slightly weak. The way his gaze had drifted over her had made her want to retreat to the safety of her office, but retreating wasn’t something she did. The obvious interest in his expression had her feeling all kinds of uneasy, and she hoped she could get through this case with as little interaction with him as possible. He was far too tempting, and feeling something for the opposition was certain to mess with her ability to represent her own client’s best interests.
But damn, it had been more than just a superficial attraction. She’d actually experienced a connection with Ben Westmore. The first real connection she’d had with anyone in a very long time.
That cell phone had impeccable timing. But thank God. She’d needed the reality check. Ben Westmore was a player, and she wouldn’t be played.
Unfortunately, the uneasiness in the pit of her stomach remained. There had been an obvious attraction when they met—the man was gorgeous, and she’d have had to be dead not to feel one—but the momentary connection a few minutes before had been different. His vulnerability had struck a chord in her.
Last chance…Not getting any younger.
She knew exactly how he felt.
She forced several deep breaths, the list of reasons he was off-limits replaying on a loop in her mind. Rebecca the redhead with long legs, Isabelle, and no doubt countless other women quickly rising to the top.
She needed to pull it together.
Yet the brief glimpse he’d given her of a man running out a timer had been too real, too familiar.
For that split second, it had almost felt like Ben Westmore might be the only person who would understand her own ticking clock.
Chapter 5
Man, when you fuck things up, you fuck them up good.”
Telling his buddy Owen about his latest disaster may not have been the best idea, but Ben was going crazy. “It’s not funny.” Since the dropoff at Olivia’s office two days before, he hadn’t been able to shake thoughts of her from his mind. She was a beautiful woman, but he’d had beautiful women before. There was something else about her…a quiet vulnerability under the strong exterior that he’d caught a glimpse of. The way her expression had softened for just a moment, resulting in a heated spark between them. Emotions were things he reserved for family and maybe a handful of close friends, yet his momentary lapse of judgment in lowering his guard had exposed him, and he didn’t like it. “I’ve never been this…conflicted over a woman before.” And it was driving him insane.
“Relax. It’s just because she’s the first woman you’ve been attracted to since puberty that you weren’t able to get in the sack within three hours of meeting.”
“Maybe you’re right. It’s the pent-up sexual energy messing with my brain.” That had to be it. Usually he exhausted that energy, and then the woman was a beautiful but distant memory. The more distant the better.
Unfortunately, this attraction felt different, like it came with a new set of rules—ones his body and mind didn’t understand.
“Well, obviously you can’t deal with it in your usual way, so what are you going to do? It’s not just affecting your brain, it’s affecting your game…again.”
“Said the team’s mascot,” he said grumpily, readjusting his hockey bag on his shoulder. He knew it was true—he’d had a shit practice—but he didn’t like hearing it.
“Hey! I used to play, remember. And in fact, my points in my last season were…”
“Better than mine this season, I know. But that was six years ago.” Owen had once been an offenseman for Colorado before he’d decided serving his country as a Marine was a better purpose in life. But his second tour overseas had taken the sight in his left eye when an undetected land mine had exploded. His sniper career over, he’d returned to Denver with a Congressional Medal of Honor for bravery, but no future in either the military or the NHL. Except as the Avalanche’s mascot—a big, furry, Saint Bernard. Yet, his friend never complained about what might have been had he continued playing…just reminded everyone how awesome he’d been at one time. “How long are you going to use that pick-up line to get dates?” Ben asked.
“As long as it will work.” Owen switched the bag containing the mascot costume to his other shoulder as they left the locker room. “Unlike you, I wasn’t born a walking aphrodisiac.”
“True enough.” Seeing the Major Junior signups posted to the stadium announcement pegboard, he stopped. “Hey, do you know any of these kids?”
“If you’re looking for me to take out your future competition for MVP, my sniper days are over my friend,” Owen joked, checking the list.
Ben’s gaze zeroed in on one name. Brandon Sullivan…Kristina’s kid?
“What’s up?”
“This kid here. I think he might be the reason I’m in this situation.” It would explain a lot. But if Kristina thought staying married to him would help her son make it to the major leagues, she was wrong. This sport didn’t give a shit about who you knew—it all came down to talent.
“Who is it?”
“The kid of the woman I…you know…”
“Shit, man. She has a kid?” Owen shook his head.
As Ben turned away from the board, his cell phone chimed in his pocket. A text from Sanders.
Have you seen this?
Clicking the link, he saw the cover of Sports Now magazine. Apparentl
y four months after the fact, someone had released a photo of him and Kristina leaving the Vegas chapel. “That’s convenient,” he mumbled, tossing the phone to Owen.
Owen squinted. “She’s beautiful even blurry,” he said.
Ben snatched the phone back. “Whose side are you on, man?” Had Kristina leaked the photo to the press? Not exactly the way to get him to help out her kid, if that was her angle.
“No real sports fan reads that garbage. It’s like the soap opera daily for sports.”
His friend was right. Still, it was on every newsstand in America with the big bold caption—MOST VALUABLE PLAYER WEDS UNKNOWN IN VEGAS.
Kristina wouldn’t remain an unknown for long.
* * *
So much for keeping things quiet. Olivia studied the picture of Ben and Kristina in Sports Now magazine as she sat in the examination room at the medical clinic. The blurry snapshot showed the two leaving the Vegas chapel. They were laughing, and if she didn’t know better, she’d actually believe the two of them were in love and happily married as the image depicted.
Pulling the paper closer, she peered at Ben.
His genuine smile and deep-set dimples on the cover of the magazine brought back thoughts of how he’d looked at her in her office, and her stomach knotted.
“It’s just the hormone injections,” she told herself as she tossed the magazine aside. This shot, this publicity was a good thing for her client. Drunk or not, Ben Westmore looked happy in that photo.
Which irrationally irritated the shit out of her.
She released a sigh and checked her watch. How much longer would they keep her waiting? She was a hundred percent certain of her decision to go through with the egg extraction, but her nervousness grew the longer she waited. The doctor had explained the process, and while she wasn’t thrilled about the idea of an IV and being sedated for the fifteen-minute procedure, she’d feel no pain, and in an hour she’d be on her way. And it wasn’t as though it would be too late to back out even after today’s procedure. Until the implantation process, she could still change her mind. Which she wouldn’t.
Maybe This Love Page 4
