by Regina Kyle
Too bad he didn’t want her. Oh, well. Qué será, será, lots more fish in the sea and all that crap.
“What is this, a photo shoot or the Spanish Inquisition?” His slow smile took any sting there might have been out of his words. “And I thought Gabe was the king of cross-examination.”
“Please.” She walked back to the tripod and patted her Nikon D3. “He may be an attorney, but I can expose as much through this lens as he can in court.”
“So how about we get started?” He nodded to the bottle still in her hand. “You gonna use that thing or not?”
She stepped back and studied him as impartially as she could, taking off her love-struck schoolgirl glasses and donning her seasoned, award-winning photographer hat. She bit her lip, nodding as she noted the way the light reflected off his well-developed pecs, the dusting of golden hair leading to his navel, the shadowy vee where his hips met his thighs.
“Not.” She set the bottle on the floor, plucked the camera off the tripod and pocketed the lens cap. Cade was a full-fledged, red-blooded, all-American male. Every woman’s dream. He didn’t need phony enhancements or photographer’s gimmicks to make him look good. This shoot called for something different. Something daring.
Something...real.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Turn around. And put Bilbo on your shoulder.”
He faced the backdrop and draped the cat over his left shoulder. “Trying to get my best side?”
“Something like that.” She hit the power button on the Nikon and peered through the lens. “Good. Now look at Bilbo.”
Cade turned his head and stared awkwardly at the cat.
“Relax.” Ivy lowered the camera. “Pet him. Talk to him.”
He scratched the cat between the ears. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything.” She brought the camera back up to her face, determined to focus on the interaction between man and beast and not Cade’s buns of steel in that obscene thong. “Tell him how cute he is. Regale him with the details of your latest conquest. Recite Green Eggs and Ham. Just have fun with it.”
“Did you hear that, little guy?” He stroked down the cat’s back, pulling lightly on his tail. “We’re supposed to be having fun.”
Bilbo’s loud purrs increased, and his pink tongue stole out to lick Cade’s sexily stubbled chin. Cade threw back his head and laughed, flashing a million-watt smile that transformed his already handsome face into a thing of beauty.
“Oh, my God, that’s perfect.” Ivy snapped away as she moved around him, trying to capture every possible angle. “Don’t stop. That look will have these calendars sailing off the shelves.”
For the next hour, she posed him. Standing. Sitting. Reclining on a dusty settee they dragged out of the office and brushed off. Of course, that meant she had to feel that hot, hard flesh scorching her palm every time she adjusted an arm or repositioned a leg.
All in a day’s work.
Right. Then why hadn’t any of the professionals she’d photographed over the years—men as muscular and manly as Cade—made her heart flutter, her breath catch and her fingers tingle with the need to do more than touch?
Fortunately—or unfortunately—she’d had to do less and less touching as the shoot went on and Cade loosened up. He was a natural, better than some of the models she’d worked with. And Bilbo was a regular feline ham, mugging it up like he was born to be in front of the camera.
They were quite the pair. Women would go gaga over them.
Over him.
Ivy snapped the lens cap on the camera with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the ugly pang of resentment that started in her stomach and yanked at her heart.
“Okay.” She returned the camera to the tripod and reached for the cat. “I think we’ve got what we need. And Bilbo has to get back to the shelter before closing time.”
“I can bring him.” Cade stood, his hold tightening on the wriggling kitten. “It’s on my way.”
“Your way to what?” She swiped a stray, sweat-dampened hair off her cheek and went to lower the thermostat. “The firehouse is in the opposite direction.”
“I’m not on duty tonight. I’ve got a date.”
“Your Gibson’s girl with the banging...math skills?”
He whipped off the Santa hat and pressed it to his chest in mock horror. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“Since when are you a gentleman?” She took the cat from him and pushed him toward the changing screen in the corner. “Go get dressed. I’ll put Bilbo in his carrier so you can drop him off and be on time for your hot date.”
And she could get back to her dad and the nursery and quit fantasizing about God’s gift to womankind.
As if.
2
“SHE’S BEAUTIFUL, HOLS.” Ivy looked down at her infant niece and brushed a knuckle over one alabaster cheek. “A perfect little angel.”
“Sure, now that she’s sleeping.” Holly sank into the Adirondack chair next to Ivy’s, stretched out her legs and ran her toes through the grass. “How is it I rock her for hours without success yet you hold her for two seconds and she’s out like a light?”
Ivy frowned at the dark circles under her sister’s eyes. Anyone else in Holly’s position—Broadway playwright, married to a movie star—would have hired someone to plan her daughter’s christening. Turned it into a media event. But not Holly. She’d insisted on doing everything herself and keeping it small, just family and a few close friends.
“Auntie’s magic touch, I guess.” Ivy tucked the lemon-yellow fleece blanket under her niece’s tiny chin. It might be spring, but evenings were cool in Connecticut, even with a blaze roaring in the fire pit.
“Too bad you’re not around more. I could use a bit of that magic every now and then.”
Holly’s husband, Nick, came up behind her and dropped a kiss on her upturned forehead. “How’s that for magic?”
“It’s a start.” Holly pulled him back down to her and kissed him soundly.
Ivy’s heartstrings tugged as she watched them, immersed in each other, clearly ass-over-teakettle in love. Not that she begrudged Holly her happiness. Her sister deserved it after everything her sleazeball ex-husband put her through. But part of Ivy—the part that wondered how much longer she could go on globe-trotting—couldn’t help wanting a little of that happiness for herself.
She hid her melancholy with a lukewarm chuckle. “Would you two get a room already?”
Nick came up for air and waved an arm at the rambling clapboard house across the lawn. “We’ve got ten of them. We just have to get rid of our guests.”
“How about we get Joy in her crib first? She’s had a long day, and it’s awfully chilly out here.”
Holly started to stand but Nick stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. I’ve got her. You’ve done enough today.”
“I still can’t believe you kept Dad’s name thing going,” Ivy said, shaking her head at her sister. Their father loved Christmas and had played Santa in the local holiday parade for as long as anyone could remember. He’d given his children names reminiscent of the season: Holly, Ivy, Gabriel and Noelle. It had been a constant source of embarrassment as kids. And now Holly and Nick had followed suit with Joy.
“Did we really have a choice?” Holly exchanged a knowing look with her husband. “I mean, I married a guy with the same name as St. Nicholas.”
“And Joy was born on Christmas Eve.” Nick took the sleeping baby from Ivy’s arms. Joy stirred briefly, then settled into her father’s embrace.
“Why not Eve, then?”
“Too obvious. We were going for something more subtle.” Holly swiveled her head to watch Nick as he strode up the lawn toward the house. “Send Devin down,” she called after him. “And tell her to bring the stuff for the s’mores. It’s on the counter next to the stove.”
“Sure thing.” He disappeared into the increasing darkness.
“Too bad Noelle couldn’t stay for dessert.” Ivy stared across the grass to the dock jutting out over Leffert’s Pond. A rowboat bobbed at the end, partially obscuring the moon’s reflection in the calm, glasslike water. For the second time in as many minutes, she felt a twinge of envy toward her sister. Great guy. Great kid. Great house.
“I know,” Holly agreed. “She had to get back to the city for an early rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Mom finally get Dad out the door?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised he held out as long as he did. We offered to postpone the christening, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Stubborn Swede.” Holly gave a halfhearted shrug and tipped her head skyward.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Cade should be here any minute.”
Ivy barely stopped herself from bolting upright. She hadn’t seen Cade since he’d walked out of her studio two weeks ago. She continued to gaze out at the lake, her face an impassive mask. She hoped. “I thought you said he was on call.”
“Only until seven o’clock. That’s why he missed the ceremony. But he promised to stop by when he got off.”
Ivy closed her eyes against the image of Cade “getting off.” In the shower, head thrown back, one arm braced against the tile as he stroked himself to completion. In her bed, over her, under her, in her, until they both collapsed, exhausted but satisfied.
Damn. She thought she had it bad before. Seeing him nearly naked had sent her off the high dive into an ocean of lust.
“Are you okay? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine.” Ivy put a hand to her face. Red-hot. “A little too close to the fire, I guess.” She fanned herself. Like that was going to douse the inferno raging inside her.
“Rumor has it you got to see him in his birthday suit.” Holly leaned forward. “Is he as scrumptious as I think he is?”
“First off, he was not ‘in his birthday suit.’” Ivy put air quotes around the last four words. “He was wearing a thong.”
“That much, huh?” Holly snickered.
Ivy ignored her and played with the zipper on her hoodie. “Second, it was all business.”
“Some business.”
“And third, you’re married to People’s sexiest man alive. What do you care how Cade or any other guy looks naked?”
“Married. Not dead. I can still appreciate a fine male form.” Holly leaned in farther, resting her elbows on her knees. “So come on. Spill. How fine is he?”
Ivy let out a slow, resigned sigh. She hadn’t won an argument with her big sister in years, and it didn’t look like today would be any different. “Let’s just say December’s going to be a whole heck of a lot hotter next year.”
“December? That’s like a year and a half from now. Can’t you give me a sneak peek?”
“Nope. Photographers’ code of ethics.”
“There’s a photographers’ code of ethics?”
“Well, there should be.” Ivy tucked her knees to her chest.
“Fine. Be that way.” Holly settled back into her chair. “I suppose I can’t complain. I mean, you’re taking care of Dad. And the nursery. You know I’d stay and help, but...”
“It’s okay. You’ve got enough going on with the baby and your new show in rehearsals. It’s my turn to pitch in. Besides—” Ivy scanned the newly reconstructed dock, impeccably landscaped yard and sprawling house “—you’re letting me stay here. That’s not exactly a hardship. Especially when the alternative was staying with Mom and Dad.”
“They driving you nuts?”
Ivy could hear the smile in her sister’s voice. She smiled back. “Not yet. But close.”
“I just wish it hadn’t taken a heart attack to bring you home.” Holly reached out to cover Ivy’s hand on the faded wooden armrest. “I missed you.”
“Ditto.” A lump of guilt clogged Ivy’s throat. She’d fled Stockton, so desperate to reinvent herself she’d run from anything that reminded her of the girl she’d been. But in doing so she’d alienated herself from her family, too.
A mistake she needed to rectify. And maybe helping out her parents was a good start.
“This where the party’s at?” Devin’s voice drifted down from the house.
Ivy turned and saw her ambling toward them, a tray balanced on one hand. Gabe walked beside her and a third, shadowy figure lagged a few paces behind them.
“Look what the cat dragged in.” Gabe gestured at the silhouette, whose features became more distinct with each step.
“Got room for one more?” Cade held up two six-packs of chocolate stout. “I brought suds.”
* * *
CADE TOOK A pull on his bottle of stout and leaned back in the weathered wooden chair, one of eight surrounding the fire pit. Holly had gone up to the house to see if her husband needed help with the baby, and Devin had followed a few minutes later, pleading exhaustion.
Leaving the Three Amigos to relive their glory days.
Sort of.
“That is so not what happened.” Ivy fixed her brother with a defiant stare.
“Is too,” Gabe countered. “I distinctly remember you falling into the pool in the middle of the boys’ swim team practice.”
“You’re delusional.” She shook her head, making her reddish brown curls, free from the bun she’d worn the last time he’d seen her, sway and shimmer in the firelight.
Cade stared into the flames, fighting the squeezing sensation in his gut. This—this feeling—was why he’d almost thrown Holly’s invitation into the circular file. But whatever issues he had with his mother, she’d raised him better than that. The Nelsons were like family to him, even more than his egg and sperm donors. They’d given him what his parents couldn’t—affection. Warmth. A sense of belonging.
And you didn’t skip out on family, no matter how hard it was for him to be near Ivy without getting turned on.
“Am not.” Gabe swigged his beer.
“Are too. Right Cade?” Even in the half glow of the fire, Cade could feel Ivy’s hazel eyes piercing him. “You were there.”
“Oh, no.” He waved a palm at her. “Leave me out. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“Traitor. I wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you hadn’t dared me to fill the pool with rubber ducks.”
Cade smiled at the memory. “You never could resist a dare. But you didn’t get the pool filled, did you?”
“Yeah.” Gabe chuckled. “Because she fell in.”
“I never said I didn’t fall in.” Ivy stuck out her chin defiantly. “Just not during swim team practice.”
“You know what that means?” Cade ran a finger around the rim of his beer bottle.
“Not a clue.” She pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her, emphasizing those full, firm breasts he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the photo shoot. “But I’m sure you’re planning to enlighten me.”
He shifted in his seat to hide the evidence of his reaction to her. “You owe me. One dare.”
Gabe’s chuckle turned into a guffaw.
“Oh, please.” Ivy turned to Cade, swinging that damn curtain of hair and sending another jolt of tension through his midsection. “That was more than ten years ago. You can’t be serious.”
“As ammonium nitrate.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Come on, Ivy.” He had no idea why, but he felt an instant, overwhelming desire for her to agree, as though some stupid dare would bring them closer together again. And why did he care about that anyway? She’d be out of town faster than a flashover as soon as her dad was on his feet again. It would be safer for both of them if he just kept his distance. So why couldn’t he? “For old times’ sake.”
“No way. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a professional, with a reputation to uphold.”
“I promise it won’t be anything illegal.”
“Yeah, right.” She dragged the toe of her sneaker through the grass.
“Or harmful.”
“Says the guy who m
ade me drink an entire jar of pickle juice.” Ivy grimaced. “And then eat all the salt at the bottom of the pretzel bag.”
Yeah, Cade remembered that one. She’d puked her guts out. For hours. He’d felt terrible about it, not that he’d let her know. “Give me a break. I was thirteen.”
“Which only means you’ve had seventeen years since then to come up with something even more diabolical.”
Any snarky response Cade could have come up with was preempted by his cell phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pants pocket, knowing—and dreading—what was coming.
“Shit.” He pressed Reject, turned the damn thing off and stowed it back in his pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Gabe crossed to a pile of wood on the opposite side of the fire pit, picked up a log and tossed it into the flames, making sparks fly into the cool night air. “Your mother after you again?”
“Nah.” Cade glanced at Ivy, wishing he didn’t have to air his dirty laundry in front of her. He drained his beer, then opened the cooler next to his chair, dropped in the empty and pulled out a fresh bottle. “Sasha. She keeps texting and calling. Even showed up at the station this afternoon bearing brownies.”
He grabbed another beer from the cooler and held it out to Gabe.
Gabe took it and returned to his seat. “The guys must’ve loved that.”
Yeah. They’d never let Cade live it down. They were already calling him Brownie Boy.
“Can I have one of those?” Ivy pointed to the cooler. “And who’s Sasha?”
“Cade’s girlfriend.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Cade amended, opening a bottle and handing it to her. Their fingers brushed and he felt a flicker of something electric pass between them. “As of two weeks ago.”
His date with Sasha the night of the photo shoot had been their last. Not that the session had anything to do with their breakup. It was pure coincidence he’d picked that night to call it quits.
Wasn’t it?
“Do I know her?” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t remember a Sasha from high school.”
“She’s a few years younger than us.”
“That’s an understatement.” Gabe snorted. “She’s barely legal.”