Upstairs Downstairs Temptation (The Men 0f Stone River Book 2)

by Janice Maynard

  He kissed the top of her head. “You’re right. We did.”

  “May I ask you something?”

  Because he couldn’t see her face, he wasn’t able to analyze the odd note in her voice. “Anything,” he said.

  “I’d like to explore your body.” She touched his nipple as if to clarify. “I want to learn what you like. What you want. Is that okay?”

  Farrell didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Ivy’s guileless request sent hot arousal coursing through his veins, searing him from the inside out. Could he handle Ivy’s fairly inexperienced experiment? Did she not understand the power she held?

  “Absolutely,” he lied. “I’m all yours.”

  She began by kneeling at his side. Her breasts were small but perfect. When he tried to touch her, Ivy protested. “None of that. Put your hands behind your neck.”

  Already, his arousal was at fever pitch. But he obeyed. “Be gentle with me,” he begged, not entirely joking.

  “I love your body,” she said softly. “It’s so different from mine.” She traced the shell of his ear, tugging at the lobe. When she leaned over and put both hands on his collarbone, he trembled. Her breath was warm on his cheek.

  The look of fierce concentration on her face charmed and seduced him. She was so damn cute, so damn precious.

  He bit his lip to keep from groaning aloud when she ran a fingertip down his sternum. His hip bones were the next stop on her erotic route. Then she scooted over between his legs, spreading his thighs, getting comfortable. His body went on high alert.

  At first, she only looked. No physical contact. The fact that his sex was fully erect and oozing fluid seemed to enthrall her. She collected the drop of liquid on her fingertip and touched his lips. “Do you know what you taste like?”

  She was destroying him. “No,” he croaked. “Do you?”

  “I’m about to.”

  When she took him in her mouth, he shook as if he had a terrible jungle fever. Though she was ostensibly in control, her innocent delight in learning his physical attributes made him snap.

  With a muffled cry, he came, embarrassing himself and surprising Ivy. She wiped her mouth and sat back, her eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

  He could feel his face turn blood red. “Damn, Ivy. I’m sorry. You make me lose control.”

  A frown settled between her brows. “I don’t believe you.”

  He reared up, weight on his elbows behind him, and glared. “I’m a grown-ass man of thirty-two. I haven’t jumped the gun like that since I was a teenager. You arouse me, Ivy. Don’t you understand?”

  She moved off the bed and grabbed a robe. When she had tied the sash so tightly even Houdini couldn’t get into it, she backed up against the dresser. “You should go clean up. There are spare towels in the bathroom cabinet.”

  Just to annoy her, Farrell climbed out of bed and faced her, buck naked. He would bet a hundred dollars she wanted to look away, but his Ivy was a brave woman.

  He stalked her, grinning. “Do you like what you see?” Already, his erection was being reborn. When Ivy noticed, her eyes widened.

  “You’re a nice-looking man,” she said primly. “I won’t dispute that.”

  “But?”

  “You’re arrogant. And bossy. And I’m not sure I want to have sex with you anymore.”

  “Oh, really,” he drawled. “I think you’re lying.”

  Her affronted expression was priceless. “And I think you’re an oversexed Neanderthal.”

  “Don’t move,” he said.

  One quick trip to the bathroom, and he was ready to pick up where they’d left off.

  When he returned to the bedroom, Ivy still huddled in her terry-cloth armor. She apparently had too much pride to let him think she was scared. Which suited Farrell just fine.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her roughly. “Last chance, Ivy Danby. It’s my turn now. Do you want me or not?”

  Eleven

  Ivy was still stunned. Had she really aroused Farrell Stone to the point he lost control? That was what he wanted her to believe. Still, it seemed improbable.

  When he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as if she were his last chance at life, her knees went weak. Hot male flesh, lightly dusted with hair, felt alien against her smooth skin. Alien and delicious.

  Farrell’s body was a wonder. As a man in his prime, he had serious muscles and a body that was honed by hard physical labor. Though he had the funds to hire a hundred laborers, she had often seen him tackling demanding jobs outside the house.

  He tugged a lock of her hair. “I asked you a question, Ivy.”

  “Keeping on kissing me,” she begged.

  “Not until you admit you want me.” He made her yelp when he slid a hand between her thighs and entered her with two fingers.

  Farrell groaned. “You’re wet and hot, my sweet. Your body doesn’t lie. But I need the words.”

  It was Ivy’s turn to hover on the brink of orgasm. She shivered and ached and yearned for him to take her. “Please make love to me, Farrell. I want you. I want you to—”

  He put his hand over her mouth, his laugh more of a strangled wheeze. “I’ll take it from here, sweetheart.”

  Tackling the knot on her robe took longer than it should. But at last he had her naked again. Scooping her up in his arms, he managed the two steps to the bed and tumbled them both onto the mattress.

  Ivy’s skin was chilled. He pulled the covers over them and nuzzled her neck. He could think of a million and one ways he wanted to pleasure her, but those would have to wait. Tonight, missionary style needed to be enough. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. He sensed that sharing a bed with him was a huge step for Ivy. He would do nothing to make her regret it.

  Beneath the sheets, he found the flat plane of her belly with his right hand. Dipping lower, he touched her center and lightly stroked her clitoris. Ivy’s keening moan raised gooseflesh on his body.

  Incredibly, he felt his body yanking at the reins, racing toward the finish line again. Suddenly, he remembered what he had forgotten. Hell.

  He rested his forehead on her belly, his lungs gasping for air. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I forgot the condom. It’s in my pants pocket.”

  She opened her eyes, her gaze hazy. “Hurry.”

  The single feminine demand galvanized him. Moments later, he was back, pausing only to take care of protecting her. Then he picked up where he had left off. Her sex was swollen, entirely ready for him.

  Yet, oddly, he needed reassurance. He scooted up beside her and drew her closer for a desperate kiss. “Are you ready, Ivy? I want this to be good for you, for us.”

  She kissed him back, one arm curled around his neck. “If you make me wait one second longer, I swear I’ll poison your pancakes.”

  Her humor in the midst of his own sexual desperation made him gape, then chuckle breathlessly. She was incredible.

  Calling on all the control he could muster, he moved between her legs and positioned the head of his shaft at her entrance. Though she arched and scratched and pleaded, he took her slowly, inch by inch, increasing the torment for both of them. At last, he was all the way in, his sex wrapped tightly in her feminine heat.

  He could feel her heartbeat when he kissed the side of her neck. Shuddering, he pressed his cheek to hers. “You have a beautiful, perfect body, Ivy. Made for my pleasure and yours. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Perhaps he still saw doubt in her eyes. She didn’t answer.

  So it was up to him to prove it. He twisted her nipple gently. A rosy flush bathed her face. Her skin was damp and warm, her body limber and responsive in his embrace.

  When he scraped the furled nub with his fingernail, her pupils dilated. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Farrell...”

  The drowsy pleasure he heard in those two syllables squeezed his chest, fil
led him with elation.

  He moved then, one strong thrust, then another. Ivy cried out his name and arched into him. Small hands clutched his shoulders. Sharp fingernails scored his skin. Her climax went on and on as he reached between them and gave her added stimulation.

  When he was sure she had wrung every drop of pleasure from her release, he let himself pound into her, blind with hunger, lost to reason.

  In the end, he lost a piece of himself into her keeping. It terrified him, but there was no way to get it back. Ivy had stolen his obstinate refusal to live fully. Or maybe he had offered her his true self as a gift. Possibly the exchange had been unintentional on both their parts.

  But the deed was done.

  He closed his eyes and slept.

  * * *

  Ivy came awake in the dark, searching for what had awakened her. Automatically, she glanced at the baby monitor. But Dolly was sleeping peacefully. Then understanding dawned. The noise that had roused her was a gentle snore from the large man at her side.

  She gulped and closed her eyes, trying to pretend she hadn’t invited Farrell Stone into her bed. She might as well have coaxed a shark into the kiddie pool.

  What had she done?

  Lightly, she stroked his forehead, tucking aside the lock of hair that tumbled onto his brow. Moments later, the piece of hair was down again. In his sleep, he looked no less masculine, but far more approachable.

  A heavy arm pinned her to the mattress, holding her just below her breasts. One of her legs was tucked between his. They were entwined like longtime lovers, not participants in a one-night stand.

  Surely this was nothing more than that. Ivy had been lonely and hungry for physical contact. Farrell had needed to break his sexual fast.

  She shouldn’t make too much of this. But oh, how she loved having him to herself so intimately. His scent, a combination of warm male skin and something crisp and woodsy, marked her sheets.

  Maybe she shouldn’t wash them.

  The clock read four thirty. She had at least another hour and a half before Dolly awoke. Carefully, she slipped from Farrell’s embrace and made a quick trip to the bathroom. When she returned, her lover was half-awake, frowning that she was gone.

  “Come back to bed,” he demanded, the words husky.

  “I was planning on it.” He was a bossy man, for sure. But since their plans aligned at the moment, she wouldn’t complain.

  She dropped her robe on the floor and lifted the covers. As she climbed in, Farrell made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. He dragged her under him, bit the side of her neck and paused only to ask, “More, Ivy?”

  “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh, yes.”

  * * *

  The next time Ivy roused, it really was Dolly who interrupted her sleep. The alarm hadn’t gone off, but on the monitor, she could hear her daughter’s little morning noises.

  Ivy stretched, feeling groggy and sated. When she turned to the other side of the bed, she found the sheets cold and empty. But there was a note. Brief and impersonal, but a note.

  Dear Ivy,

  I need to get to the lab. Don’t worry about breakfast. I grabbed a banana from your kitchen.

  Later, Farrell...

  She frowned. Later, Farrell? What did that even mean? Her experience with “the morning after” was admittedly limited, but his blunt note wasn’t exactly the stuff of romantic movies.

  Then again, she and Farrell had been pretty clear about their expectations. He needed and wanted sex. Ivy had needed and wanted to feel normal again. Having sex with a man like Farrell meant she truly was healing.

  Well, mission accomplished for both of them. No reason to feel sad or let down. Today was no different from yesterday. Life went on.

  She would ignore the pain in the pit of her stomach that was evidence of bruised feelings. That wasn’t an acceptable reaction to last night.

  Because Dolly was still happy with her teddy bear at the moment, Ivy dressed quickly and prepared a bottle before going into the baby’s room.

  Farrell might have left without fanfare, but Dolly was gratifyingly happy to see her mother.

  Ivy changed the baby’s diaper, put her in one of the cute rompers Katie had gifted them with and then sat in the rocking chair to feed her. Dolly had begun eating mashed bananas and Cheerios and a few other simple foods, but Ivy still enjoyed giving her a morning and bedtime bottle.

  When Dolly’s tummy was full, Ivy knew she couldn’t delay going up to the big house any longer.

  Though Farrell had waved off breakfast, he might come back for lunch since he hadn’t taken a sandwich. Ivy decided to make vegetable soup. It was still cool and misty today. Soup would hit the spot.

  She was nervous. Might as well admit it. How was she supposed to act this morning? Maybe she could take her cues from Farrell. For one crazy second, she contemplated walking over to the lab.

  But no. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, even if Farrell and Ivy had been a real couple, he had said more than once that he focused with tunnel vision when he was working on a project. He certainly didn’t need interruptions.

  The lunch hour came and went. She kept the soup warming on the stove just in case. Ivy ate and fed the baby. Put Dolly down for a nap in the study. Still no Farrell.

  At two o’clock, she heard her phone ding, signaling a text. Farrell’s communiqué was as terse as his pillow note.

  Ivy, something came up in Portland. I’m there now. Will return with Katie and Quin tomorrow morning. Farrell.

  She stared at the phone, feeling her heart shrivel in her chest. Was there really an emergency, or had Farrell left because he wanted to be clear about last night? That it was no big deal. Did he think she had the wrong idea?

  Even worse, maybe he was feeling guilty for betraying his wife. Sasha hadn’t intruded in the bedroom last night. At least Ivy didn’t think so. But what if Farrell had awakened this morning and found himself grieving for the only woman who’d ever captured his heart? The woman he still loved.

  The empty house and Ivy’s depressing thoughts combined to steal the joy from the day. She had been so happy here. A new job. A new friend. And yes, Farrell was her friend, despite everything that had happened.

  Perhaps he didn’t have the same regard for her.

  Would she have to leave? If one night in Ivy’s bed had spooked him this badly, it was possible they could no longer coexist.

  The prospect of going back to Portland was heartbreaking. She loved everything about Farrell’s enclave here in the northern woods. Some women might crave restaurants and nightlife and excitement. But Ivy had never really known that kind of lifestyle. To her, this private getaway was idyllic. If she had kept Farrell at arm’s length, the situation would have remained stable.

  Now, because she had let her feelings get out of control, she might lose her job and her home and have to start over yet again.

  To distract herself from her dismal thoughts, she climbed to the second and third floors to do one last reconnaissance. Though she touched up a mirror here and straightened a rug there, everything was in order. Farrell’s guest rooms were lovely. Each one had an individual theme or color palette.

  Clearly, some had ocean views and some looked out over the forest, but she couldn’t imagine any guest complaining about anything. Luxury stamped each square foot.

  She was both nervous and excited about the upcoming house party. Katie would be there to lend a hand with names or any of the million and one details that were bound to crop up. That was a comfort.

  But why had Farrell gone to Portland?

  What did it mean?

  Instantly, she made a decision. Farrell would have no cause to regret sharing her bed. Ivy would make it clear from the outset that she was not emotionally involved...that she intended to move forward with business as usual. If she let him know
by her attitude that nothing had changed, perhaps they could go back to what they’d had before. A cautious friendship.

  Wednesday dragged. Ivy would like to say she didn’t know why, but the cause was obvious. Farrell wasn’t here to lend his passion and energy to the house. She missed him.

  That was a problem. But she would deal with it.

  She and Dolly spent a pleasant afternoon and evening together. Ivy went to bed early. The next four days would be busy and challenging. She needed her rest. But her dreams were dark and disturbing. Farrell starred in all of them.

  Thursday morning, she was at the big house early. Katie—not Farrell—had sent a text to say the three of them—Katie, Quin and Farrell—would arrive before lunch. Would Ivy mind preparing a light meal?

  Of course Ivy wouldn’t mind. It was her job, after all.

  She jittered and watched the clock as she grilled chicken breasts and made a pasta salad. There were apples in the pantry that needed to be eaten, so she peeled and sliced them and threw together a fruit crisp.

  Soon, the kitchen smelled delightful.

  The sun had come out around ten, burning off the fog and drying out the surroundings. That was probably best when having foreign guests. Not everyone appreciated a rainy day the way Ivy did.

  When she heard car doors slamming just before noon, she peeked out a window and saw the three adults climbing out of two cars. Her heart jumped and began to beat sluggishly.

  Seldom did she have the opportunity to study Farrell unobserved. He looked even taller than she remembered. As she watched, he laughed at something one of the others had said. For a moment, he looked far younger than he was. This was the man Sasha would have known.

  When the two Stone siblings and Katie entered the kitchen, Ivy was able to greet them with a smile. “Just in time,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”