Bad Divorce Read online

  Oh. He’d also showered.

  And left his room for coffee that didn’t come with a twenty percent markup.

  Take that, judgy cleaning lady.

  He’d even grabbed a coffee for Heather—pinging Becky for her favorite, so never let it be said that he wasn’t going full-board with wanting to make a good impression on the CEO of RoboTech. He didn’t typically chase connections, happy with his medium slice of the pie, but this was Heather O’Keith. She was a hugely successful businesswoman—her multi-billion-dollar corporation could eat Pearson Energy for breakfast—and fucking up with her wouldn’t bode well for the future of his company.

  But that wasn’t the only reason. Luke was also putting in extra effort because she was Becky’s close friend.

  He didn’t want to disappoint either of them.

  It would also be nice if Heather liked him, at least a little bit.

  He checked in at the security desk, received a temporary badge, and was told to have a seat in the lobby area. Rachel, Heather’s assistant, would be down in a few minutes to collect him.

  Luke’s ass had barely touched the leather before a woman with warm brown hair and eyes and a lovely smile stepped off the elevator and strode toward him. He stood when it became clear he was her target and shook her hand.

  “You must be Rachel.”

  She nodded, eyes tracing over him in a way that was completely assessing and yet also completely absent of sexual interest. “I am.” A beat. “So, Luke Pearson, you’re the one who got our calm, cool, and self-assured Bec so riled up.”

  “My Becky is perfectly capable of kicking anyone who riles her up straight to the curb.”

  One finger tapped her chin. “Hmm. Then why is she keeping you around?”

  Luke grinned. “No clue. But I’m going to do my best to stay around.”

  “You’ll do, Pearson. I just think you’ll do.” Rachel inclined her head in the direction of the elevators. “Come on. Heather’s just finishing up with a call.”

  Thirty minutes later, he was packing up his briefcase with a huge smile on his face. The woman hadn’t disappointed. She was brilliant and a straight-shooter, even pointing out several flaws in his project that he’d missed and would need to be addressed before the project rolled out, but RoboTech would be happy to be an investor in the venture.

  Luke was glad he’d postponed his flight back to Texas until that evening. Her green light meant he could get the board to vote on the project while he was there, and then he and his team would be able to get started.

  His initial thoughts had been rolling out the trials in six to eight months, but RoboTech’s involvement and the infrastructure they already had in place—including several warehouses and a laboratory in the Central Valley—meant that his timeline would be less than half that.

  For the first time in years, Luke wasn’t in survival mode, wasn’t doing something because he was obligated or trying to save his family. He was excited about work.

  Heather stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Luke.”

  He glanced up at her. “Sorry, my mind was racing ahead with ideas. Did you have anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  “Yes.”

  His gut sank. Shit. Maybe she was having second thoughts.

  “Is it the storage numbers? My engineers truly think they can transfer it to the batteries at a rate of ninety-five percent.”

  Heather waved a hand. “I’ll have my team confirm all the calculations before rollout. I’m sure they’re competent, but . . . never mind. This isn’t so much business as it’s Bec.” Eyes narrowing, she fixed him in place with a glare.

  His gut sank further.

  “You hurt my friend.” She crossed her arms.

  “I—” He sighed. “I was a fucking ass. I let the best thing in my world slip through my fingers.”

  “Hmm.” Those arms stayed crossed, those eyes still narrowed.

  He did some narrowing of his own. “Becky has decided to give me a second chance to prove I’ve grown out of my asshole tendencies, and I’m not giving it up.” She opened her mouth, but he pressed on. “And if that’s why you’re investing in this project—to get me to walk away from the best thing in my life—well, fuck it because business doesn’t mean as much to me as my Becky does.”

  “Hmm,” she said again.

  His temper spiked. Was this just a waste of his time? A way to test him and find him lacking?

  “You know what?” He thrust the file with the tentative contract offer at her. “Fuck this. I love Becky. Always have, always will. I’m not leaving her.” Furious, he started for the elevators.

  “Luke.” She caught his arm again.

  “I’m not using her—”

  “I don’t believe I accused you of that.”

  Her calm tone finally penetrated his temper, and he thought back at her words. Heather hadn’t given any indication of thinking he was using Becky for her connections. Nope. That was all him.

  He winced. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

  A flash of white as Heather grinned. “Not as badly as you think. I like that you’re defensive of Bec—or Becky as you call her. She deserves someone who cares enough to fight for her.” She squeezed his arm. “Your Becky isn’t a weakling. She’ll chew up and spit out anyone spineless.”

  Luke raised a brow. “I’m not going to let her push me away.”

  “See that you don’t.” Heather handed him the file back. “I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was too scared to jump. Take my advice, and just dive in.”

  He snorted. “Good advice if I wasn’t already in over my head. Fuck, if I don’t love her to the moon and back—” He shook his head. “Damn, what kind of drugs did you put in the water you served me? Because I did not just say that.”

  “No drugs,” Rachel teased, joining them. “Just the power of the hmm.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “It’s her tactic. Gets even the most recalcitrant of peeps to dish all.”

  “Don’t give all my secrets away.” Heather smacked her. “You’re supposed to be on my side, remember?”

  Rachel smirked, leading the way toward the elevators. “This one is going to need all the help he can get if he’s going to take down our Becky.”

  Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble with this Becky thing.

  “True,” Heather said with a nod.

  They said their goodbyes, and he got onto the elevator when it stopped on their floor.

  “Oh, Luke?” Heather asked.

  He paused, finger on the button, holding the doors open.

  “Next time you talk to Bec, ask her about the time she kissed Sera.”

  His brows drew together, his finger slipped off the white circle. “Did you say kis—?”

  The panels slid closed to the sound of Rachel and Heather’s cackling.

  Well, he couldn’t let that information stand without immediate action. He texted Becky and laughed out loud when her response came before he’d reached the lobby.

  I’m suing the lot of them for defamation.

  He strode out of the elevator, headed for his rental car.

  Is this the point I shouldn’t mention you’ve now made one of my top fantasies come true?

  And instead of the sass he’d been expecting, Luke got heat.

  What are the other fantasies?

  He took a breath, glared down at his cock, mentally threatening it to behave.

  Come home and I’ll show you.

  The selfie she sent in reply had his cock hardening further, regardless of his previous threat. Her hair was down, eyes sultry, lips red and lush, and her tank top positioned low enough that her nipples were almost exposed.

  I thought of you just this morning.

  Had she–? Did she mean—?

  Luke’s brain wouldn’t even work in complete sentences.

  Two more days.

  Thank fuck for that.

  Fourteen

  Bec

 
She was unaccountably nervous.

  Like stupidly nervous.

  Harvard law graduate, and she was afraid of a pizza date.

  But Luke was going to be there in five minutes, and . . . she was wearing short-shorts. Why had she thought it was a good idea to squeeze into them again? She wasn’t twenty-one, and they weren’t on the beach eating cold pizza and drinking warm beer. Things had shifted. Her legs weren’t as lean, her waist not as trim.

  Hell, if she sat down, she’d have rolls.

  “That’s life, Darden,” she muttered. “Plus, real women have rolls. It’s a fact of—”

  “What’s this about rolls?”

  A masculine voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

  She turned, saw Luke standing just inside her door. He was wearing those faded jeans and a tight green T-shirt that brought out the emerald streaks in his eyes. Eyes that heated as he looked her over, down and then back up. His gaze was hot, scorching her as it took in every inch of her exposed skin.

  And considering she was wearing a very skimpy bikini top to go with the short-shorts, it was a lot of exposed skin.

  “Turn around,” he said, hoarsely.

  “What?”

  He swallowed hard. “Please, baby. If you care about me even the tiniest amount, please, please turn around.”

  Frowning, Bec rotated so her back was to him.

  “Oh, thank you Jesus.” She glanced over her shoulder, saw his stare go from hot to scorching. “I think you dropped something.”

  Bec had bent to glance down at the ground before she realized that he was messing with her. “Pig,” she accused, straightening with a glare despite her lips twitching and betraying her amusement.

  “Those shorts should receive a fucking Oscar.”

  She laughed.

  Ten seconds in Luke’s presence and she’d forgotten all about rolls.

  She knew feeling this way—sexier, less self-conscious because of a few words and a hot look—meant she should probably turn in her feminist card. She knew that other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter and that a man appreciating her body shouldn’t have any bearing on how she felt about herself, but dammit, sometimes having someone look at her and not see all the flaws her inner critic loved to point out felt really fucking good.

  Luke wasn’t worried about her legs or hips or stomach.

  Luke thought she was beautiful.

  And somehow, that made it easier for her to see herself that way, too.

  Bec knew she projected confidence to the world, that no one would suspect she was self-conscious or insecure, but . . . sometimes that protective armor got really heavy to carry.

  Sometimes she wanted someone to appreciate the person she was . . . on the inside and outside.

  Rolls or not.

  Warm hands slid around her waist, his slightly roughened palms making her shiver. “Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

  She rested her head on his chest, cuddling close, loving the feel of his fingers skating up and down her spine. “My twenty-first birthday.” His arms tightened, his body—lies, his cock—hardened, pressing against her stomach. “I didn’t bring in any sand, but I do have the pizza and beer.”

  “I think I’m still finding sand in places I shouldn’t,” he teased.

  “Hence, apartment picnicking on the ‘beach’”—she made air quotes then pointed to her TV, which was displaying a screensaver of the ocean—“rather than the real beach.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  She shrugged. “It’s not much, but I—”

  “It’s everything. Thank you.” He cupped her jaw in his palm. “I missed you.”

  And Bec knew he hadn’t just missed her body or the skimpy clothes or even the sass she constantly threw his way.

  He’d missed her.

  Talking to her, being with her . . . all of her.

  Click.

  That locked box hiding in the depths of her heart was open—dangerously, wonderfully open.

  She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him.

  There was no hesitation in Luke’s response. He tightened his hold and slipped his tongue between her lips, teasing her with a rhythm she remembered instinctually. They’d honed it over the years, perfected the caresses, the timing, the pressure, the speed.

  And just like it had a decade before, that rhythm took her from mildly turned on to almost insane with need. One leg hitched around his waist, and she all but climbed into his arms, desperate to get closer, rubbing herself against him, groaning into his mouth.

  “Baby,” he said, gently clasping the tops of her arms and setting her away from him. “We should slow down.”

  The thing about her itty-bitty bikini top was that it was flimsy. One tug of the right string and it would end up on the floor. Bec never wore it in public for just that reason. In fact, the only time she’d ever worn it—not including this time in her living room—was with Luke.

  Paired with these same shorts.

  When she was skinnier (a.k.a. had yet to grow boobs).

  Today? A good fifteen pounds heavier—hence, rolls—and she was threatening to pop right out of it.

  Her intent was exactly that, of course. She’d given Luke too much power in their relationship, too much control in deciding when to come back, when to go on dates, how far they were going to go.

  Bec was in this now.

  She’d made peace with going for Luke and all the potential heartache that might follow in his wake.

  And so, dammit, that meant she was taking some control back.

  Also, she really needed an orgasm that didn’t come as a result of her own handiwork, pun intended.

  “Pearson,” she said and arched her back deliberately, slipping one hand up her back and tugging. His eyes went huge as the bikini top slid to the floor. “Just in case you were wondering, I was hoping we’d celebrate with cold pizza and warm beer later.”

  He was frozen, jaw in a tight line, his hands still on her arms. “Becky—”

  “Bec,” she corrected, grabbing his wrists and placing his hands over her breasts. They both groaned at the sensation, his fingers flexing and causing little zings of pleasure to extend right down in between her thighs. “And by later, I meant much later, after you give me multiple orgasms and remind me how good your cock”—she reached down and squeezed the hard length of him—“feels inside of me.”

  “I—”

  She placed one finger over his lips. “Now’s the time to shut up and kiss me.”

  He nipped that fingertip, making her jump as more sparks of pleasure coursed down between her legs. She was wet and aching and—

  Luke swept her up into his arms, carrying her over to the blanket, but when he would have set her on the square of checkered material, Bec tugged at his shoulders. “Wait.”

  A painful expression crossed his face. “Second thoughts,” he said and gave a tight nod. “We’ll wait—”

  This man.

  She never felt like this with anyone else—never was tender and protective, never felt her heart actually pinch with the urge to make things better for him.

  She’d never loved another man.

  Never.

  The thought made her panic for a moment, to consider actually stopping, but then she remembered this was Luke, and Luke was different.

  And she was different with Luke.

  So, Bec put her lawyer mind to work. She tucked away those feelings—the panic, the relief, the hope, and the anticipation—and promised herself she’d spend plenty of time analyzing them later. That complete, she tugged Luke’s head down until his mouth met hers.

  Only when her lungs burned and her heart was threatening to pound itself right out of her chest did she break away.

  “I was just going to say, how about going to the bedroom?” Her head rested against his shoulder, and he still cradled her against his chest. “I’m too old to have sex on barely padded hardwood floor.”

  Luke’s body went stiff, but before Bec had a chance t
o worry she’d said the wrong thing—and face it, she often did say the wrong thing—she realized he was laughing.

  “Fuck, but I love you,” he said in between breaths. “I can never, ever predict what is going to come out of your mouth.”

  That panic from before?

  When she’d realized how much she still cared for—loved, okay, okay loved—Luke, well that panic she’d tucked away to deal with later reared its ugly head. He loved her? She loved him? How long would it last? When would she do or say something to make things change, to make Luke angry again?

  Or maybe she’d run away again. Be pathetic and cowardly and—

  No.

  No more.

  If she’d learned anything over the last decade, it was how to be fearless. She hadn’t had therapy, not like Luke, hadn’t been open to such a course in the past, not when every time she made herself vulnerable, things around her went to shit.

  Her work had been her therapy. The one thing to not let her down. She could be terrified, but if she was always prepared, if she devoted herself and practically lived in the office, feeding off the cases, if she just worked her ass off, then she could be successful, dammit.

  And it had worked.

  Eventually she’d been able to weave those slender tendrils of confidence into something larger. She’d found faith in herself, knew she was smart and capable, knew she could be fucking brilliant.

  And now, this was her chance.

  She’d managed to be fearless in her professional life, managed to carve out happiness there, with her friends and as thus, she could damn well carry that fearlessness over into her personal life.

  So, instead of pushing Luke away, Bec shoved the terror of the situation down and tugged him closer. Instead of throwing those words back at him in angry, hurtful bites, she tucked them into that empty space in her heart.

  One day, she vowed, one day she might even believe them.