by Linda Morris
He found Smithson and his companion seated on the bar stools that separated the kitchen from the living area. “Ah, Dunham. You’re here. Meet my daughter, Ivy. Ivy, this is Joe Dunham.”
He extended his hand reflexively for a handshake, but drew up short as she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Champagne-blonde hair, styled in a perfect swath, framed a delicately boned face and deep blue eyes. High cheekbones balanced a determined chin and a soft set of lips. Her eyes were an opaque blue, deep, not reflective. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he could have skipped right over her quiet, restrained beauty without noticing.
Joe Dunham, however, always paid attention.
Ivy Smithson wasn’t just in a different ballpark from his usual type of woman—she was a completely different sport. Still, something about her struck him in an inexplicable way, and he wasn’t the only one affected. He suspected she was, too, from the way her gaze skittered away. His interest sharpened not an hour after doing his damnedest to bed another woman.
Well, hell, he had never claimed to be a saint.
“Nice to meet you,” the woman murmured, still not quite meeting his eyes.
He found himself oddly charmed by her apparent shyness. She must be late twenties, he guessed. She should be beyond blushing at meeting a stranger. That she couldn’t hold his gaze he took as a compliment.
Where women were concerned, he took everything as a compliment, unless he couldn’t possibly take it any other way.
“Likewise. I didn’t know you had a daughter, Mr. Smithson.”
Ivy quickly looked at her father, eyes wide, and he sensed that his remark had generated a wee bit of tension.
“I keep my personal life separate from my work life,” Richard interjected smoothly.
What a crock. Smithson insisted on living in the same building where he worked, after all, but Joe let it slide. Life was complicated enough without borrowing other people’s problems. He wasn’t getting paid to pass judgment on Richard Smithson’s dubious parenting.
He cast another glance over Ivy. Her wool slacks, cream-colored blouse, and camel blazer were obviously high-end but seemed more like a uniform than personal expression. She looked like a woman who hid behind her clothes. Still, even her conservative clothes couldn’t quite hide her slim, toned figure.
Again, not his style. He liked curvy women, the less subtle the better. Oddly, he could see himself making an exception for Ivy Smithson under different circumstances, but that didn’t matter much. He kept his work and personal life separate. He wouldn’t foul his own nest by pursuing the daughter of his biggest client, no matter how many curious glances she sent him from beneath her long lashes.
Smithson gestured for him to take a seat and gazed out over the lake below. Joe pulled up a chair that turned out to be every bit as uncomfortable as it looked. When Smithson didn’t speak immediately, Joe didn’t prompt him. He knew from past experience the man couldn’t be rushed. Finally, Smithson turned to face him, his blue eyes a few shades lighter than his daughter’s, and immeasurably colder.
“Ivy is not my only daughter. I have a younger daughter, Daisy, who is twenty-three. Daisy is flighty and naive, prone to doing foolish things. Ivy here has told me that Daisy intends to marry.”
Daughters named Daisy and Ivy? Joe would never have given Richard Smithson credit for that much imagination. When the older man didn’t continue, Joe raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“The marriage would be a disaster. She’s hooked up with some character named Pock.” Joe didn’t miss the scorn in his voice. “He’s only out for her money, but of course she doesn’t see that. I’ve spent my life building my company, and I don’t intend for any of it to go to some punk who wants my daughter to support him while he runs around acting like a complete jerk-off.”
Ivy flinched, and Smithson put one apologetic hand on her knee. “I’m sorry for my bad language, honey.”
Joe suppressed a smile. Ivy was a grown woman, for God’s sake. She must have heard worse before, but she simply dipped her head in acceptance of his apology.
“So I assume you want a background check done on this guy?”
“You assume wrong. I want you to stop this wedding,” Smithson said.
“Stop it?” Joe repeated. Had Smithson lost his mind? “How do you expect me to stop two adults from getting married if they want to?”
Smithson simply shrugged.
“Just stop it,” Smithson repeated. “Put a stop to the wedding. Whatever it takes. I’ll pay you well.”
Joe leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs at the ankles. One of his canvas hightops had come untied. He fixed that while he weighed his next words. Smithson’s fat bank account made him a valuable client, and he didn’t want to lose him, but the man’s intense opposition to his future son-in-law gave him the willies. He needed to find a tactful way to say that. Oh, hell, tact had never been his strong suit.
“Just so we’re absolutely clear, you’re not asking me to hurt anybody, right?”
Ivy’s eyes flew wide. She had obviously never considered that her dad might want the guy dead or beaten up. Either she was naive or she had more faith in her father than he had. Possibly both.
“No. At least, only as a last resort.”
“Dad!” The word burst from Ivy, accompanied by a look of recrimination. “You can’t hurt Pock!”
“Pardon me, but Daisy’s over the age of eighteen. She can marry anybody she wants, and you can’t do a damn thing about it,” Joe interjected.
“I’m willing to pay you well,” Smithson reminded him. He believed his money could buy anything, no matter how ridiculous, and that rankled Joe. Taking orders didn’t sit well with him under the best of circumstances. Following orders he didn’t like really ticked him off. His tendency to question his superiors, especially the stupid ones, had gotten him forced off the Chicago Police Department.
“I’m not just interested in your money,” he said evenly, struggling to retain a hold on his temper. His gut tightened. God knows, his big mouth had gotten him in a hell of a lot of trouble throughout his life. Now, however, he tried to master it, and he wasn’t going to let this over-monied piss-ant get the best of him so easily. “I’m interested in staying out of jail. I can’t stop two adults who want to get married, no matter what one of their dads thinks about it.”
Smithson’s eyes narrowed, and he was clearly about to let loose when Ivy stepped forward.
“I have an idea.” Her soft voice cut cleanly through the tension. “Pock and Daisy are in Vegas, so you’ll have to go there. Take me with you.”
“What?” Both men’s heads pivoted toward her.
“You have to find my sister, right? But you can’t really do anything to stop her once you do. You don’t want to do anything illegal—none of us wants that.” She shot a meaningful glance at her father, who at least had the good grace to look chastened. “And simply telling her that Dad doesn’t want her to get married, well, that won’t do any good. You know Daisy. It would only make her more determined, coming from you.”
Smithson started to argue, but Ivy raised one hand. “Dad, you know it’s true. If you said hot, she’d say cold. It’s the way she’s been since she was little.”
Smithson didn’t answer, which Joe figured was as close to an admission as they’d get.
“But you think you could talk her out of it?” Joe guessed.
She nodded. “I’m certain I could.” For the first time since he met her, her voice rang with confidence. He pondered the idea for a moment. “In fact,” she said, “I’m not sure Mr. Dunham’s presence is even necessary.”
“And how would you find your sister on your own?” Joe asked.
“I know my sister pretty well,” she said with a shade of defensiveness. “She stays at the Bellisimo every time she goes to Las Vegas. My sister is a gambler, Mr. Dunham, in more ways than one. I’ll simply fly out there, check in, and find them. She mentioned he’s got an MMA bout scheduled there soon. With any l
uck, I’ll be able to catch her before the wedding and reason with her.”
Smithson shook his head. “I don’t like it. I don’t trust you alone with this Pock character. He might get rough, and I want you to have protection.”
Before she could argue, Joe cut her off. “I agree with your father, Ms. Smithson.”
This might be a fool’s errand, but this fool’s errand would pay his rent for a few months. As long as Smithson didn’t ask him to do anything illegal, he didn’t want her talking him out of a good-paying job. Leaving aside his mercenary motive, the idea of Ivy Smithson flying across the country to confront her unpredictable sister and her bruiser boyfriend unsettled him.
“What if you’re wrong? What if this Pock guy doesn’t take kindly to your meddling and decides to get physical?”
“I’m not wrong. Besides, Daisy and I have our problems, but she would never let him hurt me.”
“Women can’t always control what their men do. I see it all the time in my line of work. Besides, it never hurts to have a little extra insurance. I can be that insurance.”
After a moment, an expression of annoyance flashed across her delicate features.
“We’re wasting time. I need to get back to my apartment and pack if Joe and I are to leave soon,” Ivy said, lids dipping for a moment, acknowledging she’d lost the battle.
Smithson smiled, the tolerant expression of someone who had never doubted he would get his way in the end.
“I’m sure you’ll want to get home to bed to get a good night’s sleep. We’ll be leaving early in the morning,” Ivy said.
What was he, seven, that he needed somebody telling him when to go to bed? “I would have preferred to be doing something other than sleeping, but that’s off the table, thanks to the two of you.”
Richard Smithson couldn’t quite muffle his laugh.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Ivy said. Her skin grew mottled, way beyond a blush. “We’re your clients. It’s hardly professional of you to be bringing up sex.”
“Did I bring up sex? I don’t think so. What a conclusion to jump to, Ms. Smithson. I simply meant that I missed the end of the Blackhawks game to come here,” he lied.
Her chin rose. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She departed without bothering to respond to his last potshot. He’d been talking about sex, and they both knew it.
As she walked away, Joe let his gaze linger on her a little longer than he probably should have. For a slender woman, she had a nice ass. Not J-Lo curvy, but close.
Smithson waited a beat until Ivy had disappeared from view. “I take it you understand, son, that I don’t plan on rescuing one daughter from a money-hungry opportunist in order to lose another one.”
His arctic eyes left no doubt about his message. The old man had obviously noticed the direction of his gaze.
Being told what to do rankled, as usual. More than that, he took offense on Ivy Smithson’s behalf. Did the old man honestly think nobody would want Ivy except for her money? He was blind if he thought that. Her standoffishness rubbed Joe the wrong way, but even he couldn’t deny her beauty. And hey, just because he thought she was an uptight prig didn’t mean every guy would. Some guys probably liked ’em prim and proper. Just not him.
Joe snapped his gaze back to Smithson. “I understand, sir. I’m all business.” He meant it. He didn’t need a warning from the old man to remind him of what he already knew.
Smithson’s smile wasn’t friendly. “See that you keep it that way.”
Ivy Smithson wasn’t his type, and not just physically. He preferred no-nonsense women who knew who they were and what they wanted. Not shy types who blushed easily and catered to their father’s every whim. Ivy’s deference to her father bugged him, although he didn’t know why. Why should he care that a grown woman let her father push her around? In this case, it meant a lucrative payday for him.
On his way out of the building, he whistled all the way down in the elevator, imagining all the ways he was going to spend Richard Smithson’s money.
Chapter 2
Joe parked his Charger at the regional airport and headed for the terminal. He’d assumed they’d be hopping a commercial flight to Vegas. Ivy had set him straight with a call to his cell on the drive home last night. “Dad’s jet departs from Dupage County Airport,” she’d informed him with a casual air that reeked of entitlement, to his ears. “Be there at six a.m.”
“Sure,” he’d said through a taut jaw. “Anything else I can do for you?”
The words were innocuous, but the brief silence on her end told him she’d read his irritation. “No, that will be all. Goodbye.” She ended the call with a click.
God, regal much?
He couldn’t explain why Ivy got under his skin. All of his clients had money. All of them acted like they were entitled, yet none of them made him as mad as Ivy did. Why?
Because you’d like Ivy to see you as a man, a little voice whispered, instead of just treating you like the hired help.
The ringing of his cell saved him from this particularly idiotic train of thought. “I set you up at the Bellisimo, since that’s where the fight is,” his assistant Sheila said without preamble. “Besides, that’s where Daisy always stays.”
“And how do you know where Daisy Smithson stays in Vegas?” Really, he should stop being amazed by the things Sheila knew.
“I read the local gossip sites. You can learn a lot that way. She enjoys the casinos. So Daisy’s getting married to that Pock, huh? Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Could have seen that one coming a mile away. Anything to piss off her daddy.”
“You knew about this Pock guy Daisy is seeing?”
“It’s all over the gossip blogs.”
“You read those things?” This revelation temporarily distracted him.
“Of course! I’m surprised you don’t.”
“You’d be amazed how little time I spend on gossip blogs. I rely on you to keep me informed. One of these days, I’m going to have to give you a promotion.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears, honey,” Sheila said. “I’m going to get my investigator’s license real soon, and then you’ll be out of excuses for not promoting me.”
“God help the evildoers in this city when you have an investigator’s license,” Joe said with a laugh. “I almost feel sorry for them.”
He ended the call as he saw a limo pulling up at the terminal drop-off zone. Even from a distance he recognized the slender blonde emerging from the door held open by the chauffeur. He headed off to the terminal building. Time to get to work.
Maybe he should have offered her a ride to the airport, but he hadn’t wanted to be forced into her company any earlier than necessary. He couldn’t explain why, except that he sensed Ivy Smithson didn’t quite approve of him.
Fine. He didn’t approve of her, either. He wondered when he’d gotten so picky. Usually an attractive face and a good body were enough to make him kindly disposed toward a woman. Ivy had both of those, yet she got under his skin in some weird way.
A part of him wondered how deep her shyness went. If she couldn’t meet his eyes in front of her father, what would she do if he kissed her, or put his hands on her body?
He shook his head. Didn’t matter. She was a client. More accurately, she was the daughter of his biggest client. Even worse. He preferred brief hookups with uncomplicated women, especially ones he could leave without looking back. Anything else caused too much trouble. If he knew one thing about Ivy, on their short acquaintance, it was that she could cause him a lot of trouble.
****
The captain’s landing announcement pulled Ivy’s attention away from her laptop. She had been writing up a preliminary analysis of the Dürer “Adam and Eve” image for her dissertation, and her absorption in her work had taken her mentally a million miles away from her father’s jet.
Her father’s insistence that they travel in his private plane rather than commercial embarrassed her, but over the years she had le
arned the futility of arguing with him. Any flexibility he might have had on the issue came to an end after 9/11. He considered the security of the public airlines woefully inadequate for his family. Among the many aspects that likely irked him about Daisy’s elopement to Vegas was that she had no doubt flown commercial.
As she felt the plane begin its descent into Las Vegas airspace, she looked across the aisle to where Joe Dunham slept. Oddly, he looked gentler when he was asleep. Awake, the man radiated impatience—disapproval, even. In sleep, he looked younger, nicer, less intimidating. His old Blackhawks jersey had seen a few seasons, and his coarse dark hair stood on end in places.
Maybe she should wake him to tell him they were about to land? Nah. Better to leave him sleeping and out of her hair for as long as possible.
As the thought occurred to her, his eyes flicked open, capturing her gaze immediately. He went from an apparently deep sleep to complete wakefulness in a moment. His instant alertness carried an element of watchfulness she found disconcerting. She wanted to look away but wasn’t sure how to acknowledge the awkwardness of the moment, so she held his gaze, growing more uncomfortable by the second.
“Are we landing?” he asked. The banal question snapped the tension.
“Yes,” she said, her relief making her voice breathy. “We’ll take a limo to the Bellisimo.”
“Your family certainly knows how to travel in style,” he commented. The words seemed innocuous, but the blandness of his tone made the implied criticism clear.
“I don’t see any reason to be uncomfortable if I don’t have to be,” she countered, and could have immediately kicked herself for the prissiness of her response, especially when his lips quirked with amusement. He had a fine, sensual mouth, but she would have liked it more had it not seemed to be mocking her quite so often.
“Yes, the ninety-nine percent who never travel by limo don’t know how hard they have it,” he said.
“I don’t travel everywhere by limo, you know,” she defended, her cheeks growing hot. “I do know how to drive.”