In Shady Grove: About That Night Part 7

"These theories you have about me are fascinating."

"You don't really think so, but there's more. For instance, when I asked if you could keep a secret, you said if the price is right, which tells me you don't do anything free. No favors from you."

"Favors come with strings attached."

"I won't argue. People are inherently users. They'll take and take and take until a person has nothing left to give. Then they'll move on to the next poor soul they can suck dry."

"A cynic."

She lifted her gla.s.s in a mock toast. "A realist. Something we have in common. You're also neat-no clothes lying around, cluttering up your s.p.a.ce, no shoes to trip over. A place for everything and everything in its place, if I had to guess. You have a hard time separating yourself from your work," she continued, gesturing to his laptop and the contract he'd been reading when she'd knocked on his door. "How am I doing?"

His shoulders went rigid. He didn't like her reading him so clearly when he couldn't get a handle on her. h.e.l.l, he didn't even know her name.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he said tightly.

"Only one?" she murmured before sipping her champagne. "I must be losing my touch."

He had to bite back a sudden grin. d.a.m.n it, but he appreciated her quick mind. Her self-a.s.surance and intelligence.

s.h.i.+t. He was in so much trouble.

"You seem to know quite a bit about me," he said. "But I don't even know your name."

"That's easy enough to fix." s.h.i.+fting forward in a movement that did some really interesting things to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in the tight, white s.h.i.+rt she wore, she held out her free hand. "I'm Ivy."

It didn't suit her. It was too innocent, too sweet, when she was all female power.

He held her hand, liked the feel of her palm against his. "Ivy," he repeated softly, and her eyes darkened. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, wanting to see if he could fl.u.s.ter her the way she'd fl.u.s.tered him. "Just Ivy?"

"Is that a problem?" Her gaze was steady, her expression amused. Not fl.u.s.tered in the least.

But when he let go, he noticed the unsteadiness of her hand, how she curled her fingers into her palm.

"I like to know who I'm talking to." Wanted to know more about her.

"You're talking to me."

"I could find out easily enough," he pointed out. All he had to do was make a call to the front desk or ask to speak to the restaurant's supervisor.

"You could, but there's no reason to. You and me? We aren't going to be friends."

"We're not?"

"Hardly. Look, we both know there's a...pull between us. A strong one. I didn't come up here so we could get to know each other better, just as you didn't ask me to have a drink with you within five minutes of meeting me so we could swap life stories. We want to explore this attraction between us. Why pretend it's something other than what it is? I don't need it prettied up. I don't need small talk, persuasion or seduction, and I sure as h.e.l.l don't need promises." She laid her hand on his arm, scooted closer, her fingers warm, her scent surrounding him. "I want you, Clinton," she said, drawing his name out as if tasting it on her tongue. "Tonight, all I want is you."

Desire slammed into him like a wildfire, threatened to burn away his willpower and common sense. Her agile mind and sharp sense of humor intrigued him. Her face and body attracted him. But it was the combination of everything-her looks and personality, her intelligence and wit-that left him speechless. Breathless.

Made him want her with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

She was dangerous to his self-control. His pride.

He had to figure her out. Had to do whatever was needed to gain the upper hand.

Even if part of him was screaming at him to take what she was offering and leave it at that.

"You declined to have a drink with me," he reminded her. "Refused to even speak to me."

"Still stuck on that, huh?" She patted his knee. "How about you build a bridge and get over it?"

"You changed your mind when you found out my last name."

Letting her hand rest on his leg, she raised her eyebrows. "Wow. I'm not sure if you're giving yourself too much credit. Or not enough."

He grinned. "Believe me, darlin', I give myself plenty of credit."

"Just not everyone else. Or maybe," she continued softly, "it's just me you don't think too highly of."

What he thought was that she was just like everyone else. No matter how much he wished she wasn't. He had to question everything. Everyone. He was a Bartasavich.

And he had to know that wasn't why she was here.

"Weren't you the one who said people were users?" he asked. "I need to know who you are. Why you changed your mind."

IVY WASN'T SURE whether to smack the man upside his too-handsome head or laugh outright. She was practically in his lap, her hand on his thigh, and he wanted to talk about why she was there?

There was obviously something wrong with him.

And, possibly, something amiss with her, as well, since she was enjoying their verbal battle so much. When they finally came together, it was going to be explosive.

A thrill shot through her, antic.i.p.ation climbing. She could hardly wait.

She smoothed her hand up his leg an inch. His muscles tensed, and he grabbed her hand to stop her from exploring any farther.

Too bad. She liked the feel of him. Solid and warm. She sensed there was an edge to him underneath the expensive clothes, a power he kept carefully contained.

She couldn't wait to be the one to make him lose that control. "The beauty of a situation like this is that I can be whoever you want me to be."

"I want you to be honest."

She almost scoffed, but then she looked at him, really looked, and saw that he meant it. He was attracted to her, yes, that much was clear, but he wasn't going to give in to his desire. Not until he got what he wanted.

Silly, stubborn man.

But he wouldn't be the only one who was going to lose if he sent her on her way. And really, telling him what he wanted to hear wasn't a big deal. She was still in charge. Still the one deciding how much to share. And how much to keep hidden.

It didn't have to change anything, didn't mean there was anything between them other than s.e.x. Uncomplicated, no-strings-attached, possibly mind-blowing s.e.x. A one-night stand between two virtual strangers who would go their separate ways in the morning.

That last realization cinched it. She didn't have to worry about opening up, just the tiniest bit, to a man she'd never see again. Nothing she told him would matter after tonight.

"There's more to you than you let on," she said.

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You wanted to know why I changed my mind. You think it's a game, and it's not. Well, maybe not completely." Her throat was parched, so she took a long drink then set her gla.s.s down. Tugged her hand from under his. "I had every intention of keeping my distance from you. I thought you were exactly as you seemed. Arrogant. Bossy." She pursed her lips as she considered him. "Ent.i.tled. Uptight-"

"I get it," he said, his tone all sorts of dry.

But he didn't correct her or try to claim he wasn't those things. She could appreciate a man who knew his strengths as well as his weaknesses.

"As the night went on you surprised me. You didn't flirt with other women after I turned you down, which makes me believe you weren't out to get laid."

His laugh was a quick burst of sound that sc.r.a.ped pleasantly against her skin. "Let's not get carried away."

She returned his grin. "You weren't only out to get laid. If you were, plenty of women at the party would have been willing to give you anything you wanted. So I knew you weren't just out to scratch an itch. Plus, you did your best to keep your mother sober-and off the dance floor-and you tolerated her thick-necked date, which means you feel responsible for her well-being or, at least, her reputation, and care about her feelings. You sat with your father for almost an hour, which means you're patient."

And she didn't even want to think about what it said about her that she'd noticed how long he'd sat by the wheelchair, talking to the uncommunicative man. How upset he'd seemed.

"You came to my room because I'm a good son?" he asked, clearly not buying it.

Except it was the truth. Just not all of it.

She edged closer, her knee pressing against his. "I realized it was unfair of me to make a.s.sumptions about you based on how you looked."

People did that to her all the time. They saw her face, her body, her clothes and thought they knew her.

She'd long ago stopped trying to get them to see her as something more than her looks. Why bother? It wouldn't change anything. It was easier to play along.

"And in doing so," she continued, "in walking away from you, I'd miss out on seeing where this attraction between us led."

One corner of his mouth turned up, making him look younger. More approachable. But the heat in his eyes, the way he watched her reminded her that he was still a dangerous man. A potent one. "So you're admitting the attraction was mutual from the start."

"I don't deny the obvious. But now it's your turn."

"My turn to admit the obvious?"

Keeping her eyes on his, she shook her head slowly. "Your turn to make the next move."

CHAPTER FOUR.

CLINTON STUDIED HER, as if he was trying to get inside her head, see into her soul. As if he wanted to know her thoughts, feelings and secrets.

She'd chosen to share a few of those with him, but the rest were hers to keep.

Such as how hard it had been for her to come here, to knock on his door. How she wasn't sure which had been a bigger mistake-refusing him earlier or changing her mind. How scared she was that he was going to send her on her way.

How she didn't want to be alone tonight.

But he couldn't know any of that. She kept her expression clear. Waited while he looked his fill, while he made up his mind.

"You're trouble," he finally said.

Tension burst out of her in a short laugh. That was his big revelation? "So I've been told. What's wrong with a little trouble?"

He looked at her as though she'd asked what was wrong with a little nuclear war. "I don't do trouble."

But he was getting closer to it. Literally. Leaning forward, he wrapped his big hands around her upper arms. Pulled her gently toward him.

"No?" she asked softly, her heart racing.

He shook his head, his eyes dark with want. "I fix things. Make the trouble disappear."

She'd noticed. Had watched him put out one small fire after another at the party, taking care of his parents, getting the busty blonde who'd been hitting on his brother to back off. Dancing with his niece when she pulled him onto the dance floor.

Ivy let her gaze drop to his mouth, linger there as she ran her tongue across her bottom lip. "Do you really want me to disappear?"

His fingers tightened, his nails digging into her skin. Though it killed her not to touch him, not to close the distance between them and press her mouth against his, she kept her hands in her lap. Stayed perfectly still. She'd meant it when she'd said the next move was his. He may not like playing games but he was partic.i.p.ating willingly in this one. And far be it from her to take away the man's belief that he had the upper hand.

As long as she was the one holding the best cards.

His hands slid up her arms slowly, across her shoulders. He stabbed his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck, his thumbs nudging her chin up. Her mouth parted. Her breathing quickened.

He tugged her forward. Later, much later, she would worry about that. About how he'd turned the tables. How, instead of coming to her, he was bringing her to him. But for now, with his palms warm against her cheeks, all she could think about was his touch. His kiss.

His head came closer, his features blurring. She wanted to shut her eyes, to lose herself in sensations, but she couldn't look away. He paused when their mouths were inches apart. The air surrounding them stilled. Thickened. All she could see was his face, all she could hear was the blood rus.h.i.+ng in her ears.

All she wanted was him.

His breath washed over her, and she made a sound in the back of her throat that could only be described as needy. Dear Lord, he hadn't even kissed her yet, and she was already acting like a fool, her brain fogged with desire. It was humiliating, needing him this much. It was dangerous, being this weak for a man. If Ivy wasn't careful, she'd lose her good sense and her pride.

She couldn't make herself care.

She lifted her hands to his chest, curled her fingers into his s.h.i.+rt and yanked him to her.

Yes, she thought as their mouths met. This was what she wanted. The flash of heat. The heady desire. His kiss was hard and hungry, his lips firm. Beneath her hands, he was solid. Warm. She'd expected finesse. Control. After all, he had both in spades. But what she got was an answer to her own desire, one that matched it. A heat that threatened to consume her.

His fingers tightened on her hair, the bite and tug ramping up her excitement as he tipped her head to the side to deepen the kiss. She slid her hands over the hard planes of his chest, up to his shoulders. Down his arms. He tasted of whiskey and smelled like heaven. She wanted to rub against him, imprint the feel of him on her skin, absorb his scent into her pores.

She pushed him back, trapping him between her and the back of the couch. His hands raced down her back, then smoothed up her torso, his thumbs brus.h.i.+ng the sides of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She s.h.i.+fted, lifting her leg only to give a grunt of frustration when her skirt trapped her. Not breaking the kiss, she rose onto her knees and pulled the material up her thighs, then straddled him so they were connected, chest, belly and pelvis. He lifted his hips, had the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her.