“She does that,” a big, brassy voice cut in. “The baby is a boy, right? So be careful. Lauren is famous for helping herself to men that aren’t hers.”
Lauren’s face began to flame even before she heard other conversations stop around them. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “Miranda,” Lauren said icily. “How’ve you been for the past two years?” She gave her old adversary the once-over. The woman was draped in diamonds, because her husband had had a good run in the NHL before he retired from the team last year.
Miranda Chancer tossed her hair and grinned. “Good,” she said with a chuckle. “Same old, same old.”
“Is that right?” Lauren said, easing little Xavier back into his mother’s arms, because her hands had begun to shake. “I would ask if you had any new hobbies. But I can tell that spreading lies is still your favorite pastime.”
In the dreadful silence which followed, Lauren turned away, her heart racing. She took three steps toward the elevator banks, but someone squeezed her elbow. Hyped up on adrenaline, she whirled toward her captor.
Mike.
“Hey,” he said. “God. That was . . . Are you all right?”
She didn’t let him finish. “I’m fine.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and made her escape.
He followed her, but Lauren was fast. She made it into an elevator, and as the doors slid closed she saw him halt, his worried face studying her as she disappeared.
Lauren felt a hot slap of shame for sinking to Miranda Chancer’s level. She’d delivered an artless insult—even less clever than the one a thirteen-year-old had delivered only moments earlier. And, hell. At least Elsa had a shot at growing out of such uncouth behavior.
Damn it. She’d lost her cool, and right in front of the team. And Mike.
As the elevator slid higher, she wondered how much he’d heard, and whether he’d seen her fawning over that baby, too.
Life was simpler five weeks ago when he wasn’t around all the time. Please, Lord, she prayed. Let them win this next round in five? I’m trying to move on, here. But I need your help.
An hour later she’d managed to relax. This was accomplished via the overpriced single-serving bottle of cabernet she’d removed from the minibar, and the spread of magazines across her lap. The television was tuned to a singing competition of some kind. It wasn’t interesting but the laughter made her feel less alone.
She heard a rapping sound, like someone knocking on the door.
Lauren muted the TV to see if it would repeat.
It did.
With a sigh, she tiptoed into the suite’s living room and crept closer to the peephole. Since her phone was off, she had no idea if Nate was looking for her.
It wasn’t Nate. Lauren froze there and waited for Mike Beacon to give up and retreat back down the hall.
But he knocked again. “Come on, Lo. I heard the TV mute. It was one of those talent shows you used to watch. Open the door.”
Damn him. “Don’t kill my buzz,” she said through the door. “I’m over it already, if you came to apologize for . . .” Miranda? Elsa? Abandonment? He could really take his pick. “. . . for whatever.”
He chuckled. “Just let me in, okay? I just want to see you.”
She closed her eyes and clenched her fists against the urge to open the door. But he was right there on the other side, asking to come in. Was there any chance she was about to send him away?
Something went thunk against the door.
“What was that?” she asked.
“My forehead.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Not at all. Just miss you.”
Somehow those were the magic words. She reached for the door knob and opened it. “Want to get drunk?”
He chuckled. “Maybe? Rough day? Want to talk about it?”
She tried on that idea in her head. I was hoping to be pregnant right now, so I shamed Chancey’s wife. Nope. That sounded too crazy to say out loud. “I’ll be fine. I missed a doctor’s appointment in New York today. No big deal. It’s just that things just didn’t work out like I planned.” Again.
“This time it’s not my fault,” he said, tossing his tie onto the coffee table. “Where’s the TV?”
She pointed at the bedroom.
He shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes. Then he went to sit on the bed. She watched as he grabbed the clicker and unmuted the TV, where a man’s voice began to belt out Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.”
Mike made a face. “He’s not gonna win! Listen to that.”
For a second she was just frozen there on the carpet, trying to wrap her head around this moment. It might have been any night from the happiest year of her life. The TV on. Idle chatter. Mike looking pleasantly weary from one game or another.
It was like traveling backward in time.
She had to work to unstick herself and walk toward him. “Want a beer from the mini bar?”
“Am I breathing?”
Another knife to the heart. He used to say that all the time.
She fetched him a bottle of Dos Equis, opened the top and brought it to him. With her wineglass in her hand, she climbed carefully onto the other side of the bed and sat beside him. “Where’s your family?” she asked, watching the singer strut around on the stage.
“They went to bed.”
She gave him a sidelong glance, wondering what he expected to happen now. “We can’t have sex,” she blurted out.
His eyes didn’t leave the screen, but he covered her hand with his. “Why?”
“I could get pregnant right now.”
His chin whipped toward hers. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice almost inaudible.
He gave a sexy little growl and shifted his hips. “And why is that a problem? Is that the doctor’s appointment you missed today?”
Lauren shivered slightly. She grabbed the clicker and bumped up the volume on the TV.
He let her have the distraction for a moment. But then his thumb began to slowly stroke her wrist. That jerk. He knew she’d have trouble resisting his caresses.
She pulled her hand back. “I can’t be casual about this.”
“It’s not casual at all. Not to me.”
“But if I conceive, then there’s a new person who’s smack in the middle of all our old troubles. It’s complicated. I need to think about that.”
Now he turned to look her in the eye. “So you are thinking about it, then?”
Busted. It had been hard to think of anything else, but she didn’t admit it. She just held his gaze.
Mike looked away first. “You take all the time you need. I’ll just sit here and mind my own business. Forget I’m even here.”
He took a swig of his beer, and a different singer waltzed onto the stage to a round of applause.
Lauren tried to watch the show. But his nearness was the mother of all distractions. And he took her hand again. A couple of minutes later he dragged a roughened finger up the sensitive skin at the inside of her forearm. When he reached her inner elbow, she stopped breathing. And when he lifted her palm to his lips, she bit the inside of her cheek.
The new singer was, if possible, worse than the first. She had a warbly voice and she’d chosen an old jazz standard that deserved better.
Mike let out a giant groan.