by Melissa Blue
A pang of longing clenched his stomach, breaking up the knots. “But you answered, which makes me think you wanted to talk to me.”
She chuckled. “I'm nosy. You told me you'd have business for four days, but it's been six.”
Her words were light but he heard the tension. “Were you worried about me?”
“I had down time.” Her voice had raised an octave. “Occasionally I felt a little disappointed when I looked out my window and there wasn't a half-naked man sweating.”
She'd missed him and it should have worried him how much more relaxed he felt just after a two minute exchange with her. He tried to think of anything he cherished in the last decade as much as that small truth.
In his early twenties he still held a small hope he could settle down and marry, but time and time again work had come first. He couldn't miss meetings to stare at a woman misty-eyed. He had to break thousands of dates because emergencies had cropped up during a takeover. Eventually he accepted his life was in the fast lane. Not many were willing or wanted to keep up.
Ivy was the first woman in a long time where he was moving slow enough to pay attention. Soon she'd see he man who didn't come home often, worked late and didn't believe in soft words.
He pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Sex. Stick to what you're good at. “Do you want me to make it up to you?”
“How?” she asked.
He lowered his voice and thickened his accent. “What are you wearing, lass?”
Marcus couldn't be entirely sure but it sounded like she'd dropped her phone. He swallowed his laugh.
“So...” She sounded breathless. “Um. You did ring me up for a booty call, just a long distance one.”
“No. I'm a visual man. I'd want a recording.”
“I'd only do that if there was a contract.”
“A contract?”
She laughed. “Yeah. If you leak the video, you'd owe me ten million. I'd want it notarized and everything.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
“Yup.” She laughed again.
“Aye, right. You're teasing.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He punched the speaker button then pulled his phone away to scroll through his contacts.
She huffed. “I'd bet money you're already thinking of at least five people who could write up a contract for you in the middle of the night.”
He was. “What's off the table for this video?”
There was a long pause. “You're serious?”
He started a text, waiting for her restrictions. “The thought of you naked and on camera has distracted me from a shite conversation.”
“With who?”
“Tavin.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You would wake someone else up in the middle of the night for this?”
She didn't ask for more details and that said a lot. He should have gone home to her. No matter how much that thought scared him. “It's barely afternoon in Scotland.”
“I'm both terrified and impressed. Also, I want to see if you could pull it off. I have to be at work by noon. An evening wedding, and this isn't a yes I'll actually go through with it.”
“You're stalling.”
“Fine,” she huffed. “Nothing solo. Nothing that looks like night vision. No boats. You have to be in it. It takes place at my house. You can only use your phone. Must only be shot on my good side, my left side. No money shots. And there's no way you're going to get a contract written up by noon for a dirty video of us.”
He hit “send text” on his phone and smiled. “Aye, you're probably right.”
“You're conceding. Do you already have it?” She sounded scandalized.
“No.” He laughed. “I'm not that good.”
Again silence. “Have you ever...”
It dawned on him then they hadn't really talked about their sexual history. “Never.”
“Is it because you're uncurved?”
He laughed so hard he forgot why he felt like shite. “I feel so inadequate it's made me camera shy.”
She muttered, “Seriously, what have you never done?”
“Not much.”
“That's not very specific.”
“Then ask me specific questions, lass.”
“I've never had sex outside,” she confessed and then snorted at her own joke.
God, she was cute. “Make a list. We'll do everything on it.”
“Right. You're corrupting me. I'll have you know I'm an Olympic-like professional at groping and dry humping with and without clothes.”
“Bet you are,” his tone turned a little sour at the thought of another man touching her.
But Marcus knew where this relationship was headed and he needed penance. He'd taken what he never should have touched, much less experienced. He was a shite. “Were you never in a long-term relationship?”
“For a year and a half. There were a lot of close calls in that relationship but there was always something that held me back. About a year and a half in I realized we weren't right for each other. And I'd stayed around because I loved his family. They were big, loud, nosy. I was an only child until my mother re-married. I got a sister out of the deal. Both sides of my family were really religious. Don't cuss, don't drink, don't smoke. No sex before marriage. After marrying, your life should focus on only your husband and kids. Cook, clean, stay in shape.”
She made a wistful noise that made his stomach knot again. “His family was big on church but they were bigger on acceptance. They were so different from mine. I can't describe it. Anyway, when I realized I was more heartbroken over not seeing his family again instead of him, I got over myself.”
She stopped. “I can't believe I just told you that. You probably don't want to hear about my ex.”
Nope, not a word. “What did he do for a living?”
“He taught high school.”
Bet he was a big proponent on abstinence. And what chance did Marcus have if a high school teacher didn't cut it? Five years back he'd taken a publisher, who almost exclusively made textbooks for children and made them a billion dollar company who now exclusively sold to universities and put out new editions every semester.
He pulled a hand through his hair. “What are you doing with me?”
“Don't you get any ideas about me,” she said in a playful tone.
“What ideas?”
“That you have to save me from you. I know what we are, Marcus. I know what you are.”
What you are. “Good. You know.” His voice grated out.
She sighed and it didn't sound comfortable. “I should let you get to sleep.”
“Night.”
She hung up first without another word. He threw his phone on the table. Marcus didn't know what he'd hoped for, but the only high point was that he couldn't have felt any lower after talking to his father.
Silver fucking lining.
Closer to midnight than eleven the next day, the chaos of the wedding had finally started to die down. The DJ had signed on to go until four in the morning and she hoped the wedding party gave up well before then.
Just in case she'd sent her assistant and cleanup crew to corners to nap during the lull. For the last thirty minutes, she'd found a table in the corner to polish off wedding cake and finger food she'd stowed away just for this occasion.
The newlyweds were slow rocking in the middle of the banquet hall. The fairy lights were entwined with orange tulips, pink calla lilies and white roses. The couple looked tired but happy the day was over, and likely because their lives were just starting.
Ivy hated them. It was irrational, but she was tired and Marcus hadn't tracked her down as she'd expected.
Okay. Okay.
She'd hoped her thoughtless words would bounce off his teflon-like cockiness and he'd climb up her steps with a contract and notary, beating her noon deadline for the challenge. He hadn't. He hadn't even sent her a text. The sharp claws of guilt dug their nails into her gut.
Marcus wouldn't argue he was a heartless CEO. He might even say that described him period, but he was all heart with her. And her words had hurt him. Ivy couldn't live with that. Pulling her phone out of her clutch, she punched in the address to the banquet hall in a text to Marcus.
Meet me here.
No reply came so she dumped the last of her food and began the process of taking down arrangements no one had stolen for their own. She worked quietly and almost invisible to the last stragglers as she put arrangement after arrangement onto her rolling tray. The flowers would last for a few more days, but soon would die. She could use them as compost for her garden.
Once she had enough in the company's van, she skulked back to a corner table in the banquet hall. The newlyweds were still dancing, their gazes locked, looking happy and in love.
Yeah. She hated them.
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Before she could turn around, hands wrapped her shoulders in an comforting embrace and then she caught his scent—expensive cologne, sun and freshly cut wood. She glanced at him and already his mouth found hers.
One of Marcus's warm hands cupped her cheek, tilting her head up so he could take her mouth, take her under. She didn't know if the kiss meant he'd forgiven her for the thoughtless remark or if it didn't matter because they were lovers, not something more. But how could she care when he was tipping her world?
Just when she started to feel like a puddle of limbs and moans, he pulled back, his gaze unreadable.
“You called,” he said.
His hand still rested on her cheek but his thumb caressed her jawline. From the intensity practically wafting off him, the kiss was only a hello after not seeing her for a week. She blinked, trying to find a train of thought that didn't involve really, really dark corners where she could tear off his dress shirt and jeans and say her own hello back.
Right. She'd texted him when guilt had decided to have her for a midnight snack. And he'd come, without question.
Wait.
The couple was pretty high profile and had guards at the door. You needed a badge or a wedding invitation to cross the threshold.
“How'd you get in?”
His shark-like smile pretty much told her he had his ways. She laughed. “Never mind.”
Marcus straightened, his attention skipping over the room. “Posh,” he noted before taking the seat next to her. “I'm guessing you were bored.”
The words were thrown out in a flat tone but she caught just a hint of the edginess. If he was still annoyed with her, why had he come, no questions asked?
“I'm sorry,” she rushed out before her mind could give her excuses why the words weren't necessary.
He folded his hands in his lap, his brows up. “For?”
Of course he was going to make this tough. Either his testosterone wouldn't allow him to admit a handful of words had hurt him or he wanted her to spell out the reasons her words were shitty.
Because both were a strong possibility, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying I don't need to apologize?”
He dropped his gaze. It was an act of vulnerability that stilled her heart for a moment. When would this man stop surprising her? Who did he see when he looked at her to even know he could be vulnerable? She swallowed because the weight of that was hard to take in. Her sister was right. She'd felt horrible all day because she'd brought him even a small amount of misery. And now she wanted to make them even.
Ivy held up her hand to stall him from giving an answer. “I lied to you.”
Again, his brows went up. “Aye?”
“I told you I waited because finding the right man had taken on epic status. That's true. I had like this mental spreadsheet, a checklist of all the right qualities.”
“What's the whole story then?”
“Until my mother remarried I was an only child, making me the youngest grandchild. My grandparents doted on me. They'd take me to church, to luncheons, everywhere. And I'd hear them talk. So and so was a fast girl. So and so was with a man she should have left a long time ago. So and so damn sure shouldn't wear white at her wedding when she had three babies. It colored my view of being a woman and sex. And marriage.”
He looked around the room again and then brought his gaze to hers. “Did it make you believe you were nothing without a man?”
She tried to hide the gasp but knew he'd hear it and see the shock of his words on her face. This time she was the one to drop her gaze. “I really didn't want to be one of those girls people gossiped about. I wanted to do it right, whatever the hell that means.”
And then he came along. She was already edging toward the decision to say screw it all and live. She still couldn't buy wholeheartedly into kismet but his showing up in her life definitely put some points in its favor.
“So now I really don't know how to be in a relationship that involves sex. What's the right or wrong thing to say? And I'm a softie. I don't want to hurt you while I'm stumbling around just trying to figure out what I should do with my hands when we talk.”
He nodded and then offered up his hand, palm up. “Let me show you what to do with your hands.”
“Marcus,” she said with condemnation. How could he be dirty at a time like this?
He smirked at her, but she took his hand. He tugged her out of the chair and then placed her hands on his waist. In a dress shirt, denims and steel-toed boots, he looked out of place amongst the elegant decorations she'd helped make, but that didn't matter when he coaxed her into a slow rock to the music.
Pressing his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Is this how I was supposed to apologize? I can see why my response was lacking.”
He held her closer. She buried her face in his pec, just wanting to drag in the scent of him. She was in trouble. Knew it in her gut. He didn't know what kind of man he wanted to be. She could see his potential—the downfall of too many women. Who was the man standing right there in front of her? Would she take him as is?
Ivy didn't know. Didn't want to decide. Couldn't they just be lovers for a long while as she tried to get her bearings?
“You're tense. What's wrong?” he asked.
Maybe she could have answered without bias, but he took her lobe in his mouth and sucked the delicate flesh. Seriously. Where were all the warnings about how sex could deaden your brain cells? Women trapped in hopeless situations made a lot more sense in this context as her limbs weakened at the subtle seduction.
“Nothing,” she said.
Everything she had meant to say, but now he was placing kisses along the crook of her neck. To be fair to herself it wasn't just the physical things making her stupid with him. And, God, they hadn't talked about what happened if one of them caught feelings and she was.
How would that conversation go?
Marcus, I'm starting to do more than just like you.
Marcus, you don't think you're capable of love, but you show it in everything you do.
Marcus, I want you to look at me in a way that tips my world.
Yeah. There was no good lead to that. So she buried her face deeper into his shirt, taking in his scent that was so out of her league and tried her best to not fall any deeper as he rocked her slow to the music.
9
“Bain is going in for the kill. I think you should take their offer.” Grant hadn't even waited for a greeting after Marcus had answered his mobile.
He sat up from the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose while he tried to get his bearings. A week had passed since he'd accepted Ivy's heartfelt apology. He hadn't needed it. She'd told the truth. He was a certain kind of man. Proof of that was this exact situation.
Marcus was untangling their limbs as she slept peacefully, because work was more important than sleep...her. He rose from the bed, his bones sending up an ache. Penance. Whether or not she saw him for what he was, Marcus knew the truth and needed something to offset the real him.
So when she'd smiled at him after work six days ago, he took it upon himself to fix h
er cabinets and build her an island in her kitchen. Around day three, he'd called Tristan to come help because the table monstrosity wasn't just a memory yet. He was building up good karma for the day he'd hurt her. It was coming soon, much faster than he hoped. If he could walk away from her it would be a non-issue, but he couldn't.
He whispered to Grant, “They've offered the right kind of money. Now I'm just waiting for the veto power.”
“Why are you whispering? Is your lass there?”
His stomach twisted. Yours. “She's not mine.”
“Aye, right. If I came by for a visit from Scotland, would you wring my neck if I made a pass at her?
Over a decade of friendship and if Grant so much as smiled too much at Ivy, Marcus would stomp him into the ground. “I give Bain another week or so and I'll have everything I want.”
“Aye, right. You'd kill me dead if I looked at her too long.” Grant huffed out a breath. “When will I get to meet her? She's tamed you. You. I'm impressed.”
“I'm going to hold out until they promise me the shares that'll give me a large controlling interest.”
“What does she do?”
Marcus sighed, plopped on her couch and gave up. “She makes wedding bouquets and arrangements.”
“So she's a romantic.”
“She's a shark.” He smiled, settling into the couch. “I like her. That's all.”
Grant laughed. “You stopped talking business to talk about her. I really want to meet this shark then.”
Movement caught in the corner of his vision. She stood in the hallway, rubbing at her eyes. When had she stolen one of his shirts and taken it home? His brother's former team's logo stretched across her breasts. Her curls were bunched, lips swollen from sleep and he'd never seen a prettier woman.
“Why are you on the phone at three in the morning, Marcus?”
Grant made a whipping sound on the other end of the line. Apparently he'd heard her voice. Into the phone, Marcus said, “When I take Bain, I'm coming after Scotland next. Better spit shine your resume, friend.”
“Save the dirty talk for your lass. Phone me when you sign. I'll send champagne. It's been a rough couple of weeks for the both of us. To top it off, Kincaid showed up on my doorstep last night to crash.”