by Karen Booth
Farrell held his breath. Ivy’s story had slowed. It was as if every word had to be forced from her throat. He stood to join her by the fire. “You don’t have to say anything else, Ivy. I never meant to cause you pain. I was arrogant enough to think you should bare your soul to me. Because it would help. But instead, it’s tearing you apart. I can see it on your face.”
Her small smile was curiously sweet. “Your instincts were good, Farrell. And I appreciate the fact that you understand grief and loss. This thing that happened to me is part of who I am. I can’t forget it. Telling you is no worse than what I dream about at night.” She paused. “I’m not the woman I was before I left him. I’ve learned to trust my instincts. Fear doesn’t control my life anymore. Being here in Maine with you has brought me peace and healing. This is more than a job for me. It’s a new beginning.”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, barely a touch at all. “I’m in awe of your resiliency. You actually walked away. With a brand-new baby.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?”
Her bottom lip trembled. “New mothers aren’t supposed to have intimate relations until their six-week postpartum checkup. Richard forced himself on me. After that, I developed a terrible infection. Had to be hospitalized. My milk dried up, because I was too ill to pump.”
Farrell couldn’t bear it. He pulled her into his arms and held her. That was all. Simply held her. His body registered the fact that a desirable woman was pressed up against him. But he was in control.
“My God, Ivy. It’s a miracle you’re even standing here with me.”
She rested her cheek against his chest. He felt the shudder that racked her. “I know. They told me I could have died. Dolly was the reason I pulled through and went home.”
He stroked her hair, sifting his fingers through the short, fluffy strands. “Who cared for Dolly while you were in the hospital?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “He wouldn’t tell me. I have no idea if she was happy or sad or hungry or inconsolable. I left her with him, because I had no other choice. Knowing that has eaten away at me.”
“Look at her, Ivy. She’s perfect. Whatever happened or didn’t happen hasn’t had a lasting effect. I’ve never seen a happier baby.”
She sniffed, swiping her wet cheeks with one hand. “Thank you for saying that.”
He pulled the hem of his shirt from his pants and dabbed her face. “So when you were well, you left him.”
Ivy pulled back and looked up at him. Her long eyelashes were wet and spiky, but her color had returned. “You keep trying,” she said, with a tiny grin. “But you haven’t gotten it right yet.”
“What? What happened?”
She played with a button on his shirt. “Ten days after I got out of the hospital, Richard had a massive heart attack. The one they call the widow-maker. The EMTs said he was dead before he hit the ground.”
“Jesus, Ivy…” He was incredulous and horrified. “So that was what? Five? Six months ago?” He’d done some quick math with the baby’s age.
“Five and a half. I used the credit cards I found in his wallet. Paid for a private funeral. I had no idea who to notify, so it was just me and Dolly. When it was all over, I felt guilty, but overwhelmingly relieved. He couldn’t do anything to hurt me ever again.”
“Thank God.”
“I began cleaning out the house so I could sell it. Nothing but bad memories lingered in that place. I didn’t want to raise my baby there.”
“How was the market?”
“The sale went through quickly. Dolly and I moved to a nice apartment near the university. I bought a stroller. We began going for walks in the afternoon. I knew I would have to get a job, but I wanted just a little more time with my baby first.”
“Was there life insurance?”
“Yes, but not for me. As it turned out, Richard hadn’t been traveling for work at all. Richard had been living under an assumed name in a town fifty miles away. He had another wife and two older children.”
“Holy hell.” This was a damn soap opera, and not a good one.
“The other woman knew nothing about me and vice versa. When her ‘husband’ disappeared, she hired a private investigator who eventually found the trail. And found me, of course.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Everything ultimately went to her. Richard had a very basic will, with the other woman listed as beneficiary. They took all I had. Checking accounts, savings accounts, the credit cards, the proceeds from the sale of the house. Everything. The woman even demanded I pay back what I spent on the funeral and my living expenses in the meantime, but a judge intervened. He gave me five thousand dollars because he saw me as the innocent victim.”
“Then how did you get back to Portland?”
“I mentioned to you that I had been subscribing to the Portland newspaper online for a long time. It made me feel closer to home, closer to the happy days of my childhood. Katie’s sister placed an ad for a roommate. I saw it, and that was that. I bought an airline ticket and headed north. With only that small pot of money, I knew I had to make it last.”
“Is that all?”
A tiny frown drew her brows together. “Yes. Isn’t that enough?”
The hint of indignation made him smile. He lifted her chin, stared deep into her eyes. So much heart, so much everything. “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, Ivy Danby. Incredibly strong. Resourceful. You’ve been bent, but not broken.”
What happened next was not something he chose consciously. But no force on earth could have kept him from expressing what he felt…what her story had done to him.
He kissed her gently, trying to convey his utter admiration.
But from the start, the kiss was never in that column.
When their lips met, Ivy gasped. Or maybe it was him. Didn’t matter. Their souls connected for a moment. He’d told this woman things about Sasha that he’d never shared with another person. And by her own admission, Ivy hadn’t had any confidants up until now.
Their shared tragedies had burned through several layers of social niceties and demolished a host of steps couples usually navigate in a relationship. Suddenly, they were deeply involved.
How had it happened? Farrell groaned her name and started to pull away, a knee-jerk reaction to his fear of intimacy. When Ivy leaned in and kept the kiss connected, her innocent pleasure seduced him. He was swept along by a dangerous current.
Like a calm ocean that conceals the treacherous undertow below, Ivy hadn’t seemed a threat at all, until now. Abstinence wasn’t the only explanation for Farrell’s desperate hunger. He wanted her. Not just any woman. Her. Ivy had sneaked her way into his heart when he wasn’t looking.
Damn it, he was lost. He cupped her face in shaking hands and tried to rein in his desire to gobble her whole. Her life story had made him angry and hurt on her behalf and utterly determined to show her how wonderful she was.
He took the kiss deeper, one heartbeat at a time. Always waiting to see if Ivy was with him. Her slender arms curled around his neck and clung. Her modest breasts pressed up against him, even as his hands settled on her hips and dragged her closer.
His erection was hard and urgent. He ached to fill her and please her and give them both what they so desperately needed. There was a sofa nearby. Hell, his bed was only a few steps down the hall.
“Ivy,” he groaned. “I want you.”
“I want you, too, Farrell,” she whispered.
She kissed his chin, his nose, his eyebrows. Finally, she found his lips again. Her shy attempt at taking the lead twisted his heart and cracked it a little bit. When her tongue slid into his mouth and mimicked the kiss he had given her moments ago, his knees threatened to buckle.
“Wait,” he said hoarsely, trying to regain control of the situation. “I ne
ver meant for this to happen.”
Ivy jerked backward, almost stumbling. The stricken look in her eyes when he said those seven words made him hear how his protest might have sounded to her.
“I do want you,” he said urgently. “But we have to be sure. And you have to understand the ground rules.”
For the first time, she didn’t look young and innocent. In her hazel eyes, he saw evidence of every time she had been struck down by life. He witnessed her resignation and her cynical acceptance of reality.
“No, Farrell,” she said. “You’re the one who has to understand. I gave up believing in fairy tales a long time ago. Farrell Stone is the prince in the castle, and I’m the girl down in the cinders trying to survive.” She paused, her chest heaving. “Whatever this is…” She waved a dismissive hand. “I have no illusions. Am I interested in sleeping with you? Yes, damn skippy I am. But you don’t have to worry. All I care about in this life is my daughter and her happiness. I don’t need a man to coddle me or to protect me. My bogeyman is dead. So sleep with me or don’t sleep with me. But do me the courtesy of understanding that I’m not a naive little kid. I know the score. I always have.”
“That’s quite a speech.” Tension wrapped bands of pain around his head. Nothing about this was easy.
Ivy shrugged. “I believe in plain speaking.”
“Then how’s this?” he said, his jaw tight. “I want you, but I don’t want to want you.”
She flinched. Which made him feel like the worst kind of scum. Her chin lifted, and with careful dignity, she faced him down. “I know that, Farrell. You’re still in love with your dead wife.”
He wasn’t. Not anymore. At least not in the way Ivy meant. But perhaps it was better for both of them if he let the lie stand.
While he struggled for a response, Ivy stared at him, gaze bleak. Then she turned and walked away. “It’s time for me to take Dolly back to the cabin,” she said over her shoulder. “Good night, Farrell. Thanks for the wine and the listening ear.”
CHAPTER TEN
Ivy had never experienced such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. Telling Farrell about Richard had been difficult. Extremely so. Because she still bore the shame and guilt about her part in losing a decade of her life.
But that was nothing compared to the exhilaration of being kissed wildly by Farrell Stone and then being condescended to as if she were some silly teenager begging for scraps of his affection.
She heard him on her heels and walked faster.
“Wait, Ivy. Wait, damn it.”
She whirled to face him. “I don’t need you fighting my battles or feeling responsible for me. The fight is over. I don’t need you period.” She glared at him. “Well, yes, for sex. But I can find anybody for that.”
His eyes burned brightly. His lips pressed together in a menacing seam. “It’s raining,” he said. “I’ll escort you and Dolly back to the cabin.”
“Escort?” She gave him a derisive look. “What is this? 1840? I’m perfectly capable of getting wet in the rain.”
Farrell took her wrist and pulled her close. The heat radiating from his body made her breathless. “I’m imagining it right now,” he said, the words gravelly. Intense. “White skin. Raspberry nipples. Small, perfect breasts that fit in my hands.”
The words mesmerized her. Heat pooled in her belly. Her knees pressed together involuntarily. “Stop it,” she stuttered.
“Stop what?” He tangled his hands in her hair and brought his mouth down on hers. “Forget everything I said,” he groaned. “This is all we need to talk about. And frankly, talking is overrated.”
The kiss was deep and thorough. Ivy melted into him. Mortifyingly so. Where was her pride and her self-respect? She should slap his face.
But Farrell was so close and so perfectly masculine. And so gratifyingly hungry. His hands roved over her body, raising gooseflesh despite the warmth of the house. She wanted to jump into his arms and wrap her legs around his waist. Heat shot through her veins, dizzying and painful.
If he let her go, she would beg. She knew it.
But Farrell showed no signs of ending the kiss. He nipped the side of her neck with sharp teeth. Bit gently on her earlobe. Thrust one of his legs between hers.
They were both fully dressed. Her virtue was as safe as a nun’s, at the moment. But holy hannah, she wanted him.
He was breathing hard when he finally released her. “I don’t want to fight,” he said, the words gruff.
She raised an eyebrow. “In other words, make love, not war?”
“It worked for an entire generation. Who are we to scoff?”
“Be honest,” she said. “Did you ask me to sleep at your house during the retreat so we can have sex?”
“God, no.” He stared at her, clearly outraged. “Why would I seduce you with a dozen people around?”
“Oh,” she said, deflated. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“I asked you for two reasons. I do need an official hostess, and I thought that you, as an outsider, could give me your perspective on how we present the company to our guests. I hoped the weekend would be fun for you, but that was a side benefit.”
“Okay. I apologize.”
“Go get the baby,” he said. “We’ll finish this at the cabin.”
* * *
We’ll finish this at the cabin.
Ivy parsed Farrell’s enigmatic words as she gathered up the baby’s belongings. Did he mean finish the conversation or finish this other thing they’d started?
Dolly was not happy about having her slumber interrupted. She was a warm lump in the port-a-crib. Ivy patted her back. “C’mon, love. I’ll let you go back to sleep in just a minute.” Ivy picked up her daughter and soothed her as she fussed. It was a bit late to realize that Ivy should have put on her own jacket first.
Oh, well. She wasn’t going to freeze in such a short distance. But Dolly definitely needed to be wrapped up in a blanket.
Ivy met Farrell in the hall. “How hard is it raining?”
“Pretty hard. Let me carry her, so you can use an umbrella.”
She clutched the baby. “You don’t have to go with me.”
His broad grin was unexpected. And it cut the sand from under her feet. “I’d like to, Ivy. If you don’t object.”
“It’s your cabin.”
He kissed her forehead. “But it’s your home, and I won’t intrude without an invitation.”
Well, crud. Farrell was being a perfect gentleman. Ivy wasn’t going to be able to call him out for pressuring her. “You’re invited,” she muttered.
His gaze heated, and a slash of red colored his cheekbones. “Thank you, Ivy. I accept.”
In the mudroom, they donned rubber boots and rain slickers. The light rain from earlier had turned into a monsoon. “Watch your feet as we go,” Farrell said. “Here. Let me have her.”
When they opened the door, the wind blew in, bringing the scent of autumn rain and wet earth. The wild weather echoed the upheaval in Ivy’s emotions. She stepped out into the black night…
* * *
Farrell was having fun. Traipsing through the driving rain with Dolly tucked up against his chest made him feel alive. Though he had long since recovered from losing Sasha, he realized in this moment that he seldom let himself do anything simply for fun.
Had he become a stuffy, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of guy? Did his brothers and his employees merely tolerate him? Did they roll their eyes behind his back and wish he would lighten up?
At the cabin, Ivy fumbled with the lock, opened the door and stripped out of her rain gear. “I’ll put her to bed,” she said. “You dry off. We should have both had umbrellas.”
He handed over the baby. “I didn’t trust myself to hold her one-handed. I’m not going to melt.”
Ivy searched his fac
e. For a moment, he thought she was about to say something. But she didn’t. She simply left him standing in his wet clothes, feeling as if his world was tumbling around him.
When she was gone, he kicked off his shoes. Even his socks were soaked. The rain slicker had kept him mostly dry, but the bottoms of his pants legs were damp. What sounded good right now was a hot drink.
He was still rummaging in the cabinets when Ivy showed up in the kitchen. “Do you have any of those tiny marshmallows?” he asked. “I’ve made some hot chocolate.”
“You’re in luck,” Ivy said. She opened a cabinet he hadn’t gotten to yet and tossed him a plastic bag. “This Mrs. Peterson person who stocked the kitchen must know you Stone brothers well.”
“She knows Quin. I suppose she may have picked up a few things about the rest of us.” He poured two mugs of frothy hot cocoa and dumped a handful of marshmallows in his. “You want some?”
“Cocoa, yes. But I’ll pass on the marshmallows.”
“You’re missing out,” he teased.
“Okay, fine. Give me five.”
“Five? Not four? Not six?”
“Too much sugar is bad for you.”
Farrell eyed her thin frame. “An occasional indulgence is a good thing,” he said mildly. “Makes life worth living.”
He carried the mugs to the table and waved at her to sit down. Cradling the drink in his hands, he leaned forward and took a sip. He jerked back, muttering a word that made Ivy give him a pointed stare.
“You burned your mouth, didn’t you?” she said.
“Maybe.” He looked her over from her tousled hair to her hazel eyes to her soft, unpainted lips. “Quin’s the impulsive one in the family, but I can take chances, too.”
Ivy blinked as her face flushed from her throat to her hairline. “Is that what I represent to you? Taking a chance? That’s not very flattering.”
Farrell had attended upscale parties where scantily-clad runway models mingled with the crowd. Never once had he felt for any of those women the need to persuade. To possess. To conquer.