Triple Dare

by Regina Kyle

  Ivy’s grip on the sink went from firm to white-knuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Your loss. Or not.” Sasha chuckled at her own bad joke, then pushed past Ivy and lurched unsteadily for the door. At the last second, she turned back with a knowing smile that dripped contempt. “But you might want to at least fix your dress. The skirt’s tucked into the top of your panty hose.”

  16

  IVY WAS CLICKING through the wedding photos on her laptop at the kitchen counter a few days later. She was weeding out the wheat from the chaff before she uploaded the good ones to Dropbox for the bride—and her mother, Ivy was sure—when her cell rang. The overseas number was familiar, and it gave rise to a mix of anticipation and dread.

  “Now, Andre,” she half teased without preamble. “I told you I’d call you when I was ready to come back to work.”

  “But ma mie,” he said in his lilting French accent, his voice a touch wounded. “What I have for you is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

  The corners of her mouth curved into a smile, both at the nickname—what was it with her and all the foreign nicknames? Her mother. Her father. Andre—and the overexaggeration. According to Andre, every opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime. “What is it this time? The cover of Italian Vogue? A week shooting another famous model in the Turks and Caicos?”

  “Bah,” he scoffed, his disdain evident even thousands of miles away over the phone. She could just imagine him waving a well-manicured hand in annoyance. “You’ve been there and done that. This is the celebrity wedding of the year. Maybe even the decade. And they want you to have exclusive access. No competition. No assistants. Just you.”

  Great. Another wedding. Except for this one she’d probably have to fly halfway across the globe to do the same thing she’d done not seventy-two hours ago practically in her own backyard. And she wouldn’t have Cade backing her up. What might have been tempting a few months ago suddenly didn’t seem all the appealing. “Can’t you do it?”

  “Sadly, non. The bride wants you and you only. You shot her last year for Marie Claire.”

  He named a model whose on-again, off-again relationship with a certain rock star had been tabloid fodder for months.

  Ivy gave a low whistle. “Damn. Those photos will go for a pretty penny.”

  “And then some,” Andre agreed. “Precisely why you can’t say no.”

  I can and I will, Ivy thought. Sure, the money was good. But she had money. She’d made plenty over the past few years and invested it wisely with Gabe’s help, giving her a nice little nest egg.

  What she didn’t have—and desperately wanted—was more time with Cade. He hadn’t said a word about moving out, but seeing the way he’d handled those stairs at the waterfall she knew that was high on the list of coming attractions. And then there was Sasha’s warning. As much as Ivy hated to admit it, she had a point. Ivy had known going in that this relationship had an expiration date. She just didn’t want it to be over quite yet.

  Or—truth be told—ever.

  “Can I think about it?” she asked, stalling for time.

  “Bien.” She could almost hear him removing his wire-rimmed glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “But think fast. She needs an answer by the end of the week. The wedding’s the weekend after Labor Day at some private estate in Belize.”

  Ivy checked the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator. Today was Tuesday. That gave her four days to come up with a game plan. “No problem. I’ll call you before then and let you know.”

  “Make sure you do,” Andre scolded, sounding like he was the parent and she a reluctant teenager. “It’s the—”

  “I know, I know,” she interrupted, laughing. “The opportunity of a lifetime. À bientôt, mon cher.”

  “What’s the opportunity of a lifetime?”

  Cade’s voice made her jump as she ended the call, just managing to fumble her cell onto the counter next to her laptop as it slipped out of her startled fingers. She turned around to find him in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, his feet spread apart like a prizefighter, one hand gripping each side of the doorjamb. Her heart swelled at the sight of him and she held on to the lip of the granite countertop behind her for support. If she ignored the cast on his leg, he looked like a fitness model in his tank top and athletic shorts, the finely developed muscles of his upper arms on full display. And then there were those damn forearms...

  “It’s nothing.” She waved her hand dismissively like she imagined Andre had done only seconds earlier. “Andre thinks every opportunity is a life-changing event.”

  “Your boss?” He shoved off the door frame and strode into the room, leaning against the counter next to her and overwhelming her with his closeness.

  She slid a smidge to the side, needing a little breathing room for sheer self-preservation. “More like partner, but yeah.”

  “So what is it this time?”

  “Some celebrity wedding.”

  “Can I come?” He did that brow-waggling thing he did when he was trying to be suggestive. “I’m good at weddings.”

  “One wedding and now you’re an expert?”

  “Hey, I fended off Maude and her randy band of geriatrics. In a cast. I’d say that qualifies me for the big time.”

  “It does, but I’m not going. And even if I was, the answer would be no. This one’s top secret. They haven’t even announced their engagement.” She turned back to her laptop and started scrolling through the pictures again, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.

  “What do you mean you’re not going?” He reached over and gently closed her laptop. “If it’s as secret as all that, those pictures will be worth a fortune.”

  She faced him, arms crossed in front of her chest. “You sound like Andre.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “He’s sixty-five years old, wears plaids with stripes, but somehow manages to pull it off, and treats me like a petulant child.” She shrugged. “You be the judge.”

  “Not exactly what I was going for.”

  The alarm on her phone went off, telling her it was five o’clock. Time to text her dad and make sure he took his meds with dinner. Her thumbs flew on the keypad as she talked. “You’re home early. Weren’t you supposed to go to the Half Pint with the guys tonight?”

  “Change of plans.” He plucked the phone out of her hand and set it on the counter. “And nice try, switching subjects. But you’re not getting off that easy. We’re discussing your schedule, not mine. Specifically your upcoming trip to...where did you say this shindig was?”

  “I didn’t.” She squinted up at him. “Trying to get rid of me?”

  “Hardly.” He braced a hand on the granite on either side of her, trapping her between the counter and his hard, hot body. “But it’s just a couple of days, right? Your dad’s well on his way to a full recovery. The new staff at the nursery can pick up the slack. And I’ll be fine on my own for a little while.”

  No, it wasn’t just a couple of days. If she said yes to this, she’d be saying yes to going back to her old life. She’d have no excuse when Andre called again. And he would call again. And again. And again. But she didn’t know how to explain that to Cade without revealing that he was the reason she wanted to stay. Sasha’s words of warning echoed in her head. It won’t last. So she stuck with the safe, if completely untrue, approach.

  “Trust me, it’s no big deal. Andre’s a huge drama queen. We get offers like this all the time and turn most of them down. We even said no to George and Amal.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed some higher power wouldn’t strike her down for lying.

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded, afraid to tempt fate by voicing the lie again.

  He frowned. “You’re going to have to go back to work eventually, you know.”

  Did she?

  “I am working.” She reached behind her and patted her laptop. “We have the Levenson bar mitzvah this weekend. And a pet portrait
tomorrow.”

  Cade shook his head. “That stuff is small potatoes.”

  “Not to the Levensons. Or Mrs. Thorpe and her Chihuahua.”

  “You know what I mean.” He took a step back and ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. “There’s a big difference between photographing celebrities and taking pictures of a barking, hairless rat.”

  Yeah. The dog is a thousand times better behaved, she thought. And knows how to follow directions. “Maybe I like small potatoes.”

  “No one likes small potatoes.”

  “Please.” She put a hand on one of those manly forearms she loved so much. The fine, golden hairs teased her palm. “Trust me on this. I’ll know when it’s time to go.”

  If that time ever comes. And it won’t, if you ask me to stay.

  Ask me to stay.

  Her Jedi mind powers must have deserted her because Cade ignored her silent plea. “Okay. I’ll trust you. For now.”

  “Thanks.” She rose up on her toes and bussed his cheek, his sexy stubble tickling her lips.

  He turned his head and captured her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless. “Wanna go get something to eat?”

  Leave it to a man to think of food after a kiss like that.

  “How about we stay in tonight instead?” Ivy asked when she’d regained her composure and could put words in a meaningful order. “My mom sent over a lasagna.”

  Good thing. Ivy’s own cooking skills were sorely lacking. It wasn’t like she had much chance to practice on the road, hence her burning of the pasta and the resulting need to be rescued from the indignity of the doggy door. Cade had it all over her in the chef department, thanks to his years of practice at the firehouse.

  “And after dinner?” He circled his arms around her, pulling her close.

  She melted into his embrace.

  “Why, dessert, of course.” That much she could handle, with a little help from the Rolling Pin.

  “Cream puffs?” he asked, reading her mind. Sure, when it came to sex he could tell what she was thinking.

  “I thought we could finish what we started when we were so rudely interrupted all those weeks ago.”

  “Do you have the blindfold?” His voice was a low, husky growl filled with raw, animal need that made her shiver with answering desire.

  She nodded and blushed, suddenly unsure of herself, something she usually wasn’t with Cade. But this, what she wanted to ask him...was it too much? Would he resist? Sometimes what was good for the goose wasn’t good for the gander. She took a deep, shuddering breath and plunged full steam ahead. “I thought...maybe...you could wear it this time.”

  He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “As you wish.”

  * * *

  CADE PADDED TO the kitchen for a glass of water. Damn, the woman was unpredictable. And inventive. And exhausting. No doubt when she woke up she’d be ready for another round. Was it three? Or four? He’d lost count. Whatever round it was, it wasn’t going to happen unless he got some hydration.

  He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard next to the sink and shuffled to the refrigerator, catching a glimpse of his naked form in the stainless steel and smiling. He liked not having to worry about wearing his brace—or anything else—at night. Liked knowing that the only person who could catch him wandering around in the buff was Ivy. Liked imagining what would happen if she did.

  Liked her.

  Loved her.

  He’d stopped fighting his feelings, given up his idiotic plan to put some distance between himself and Ivy. Time was their enemy, and he wasn’t going to rob them of any more of it. That was why he’d blown off the gang at the Half Pint. The thought of another night apart, when for all he knew she’d be on a plane to who knows where tomorrow, made him literally sick to his stomach.

  And what a night it had been. Cold cream puffs and hot sex with Ivy beat darts and watered-down beer with Sykes and Hansen any night of the week.

  Cade poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser on the refrigerator, sucked it down and poured another. He leaned against the counter as he drank, watching dust specks dancing in the moonlight that filtered in through the window above the sink.

  The night had been perfect in every way—save one. Cade couldn’t shake the feeling Ivy wasn’t being entirely truthful about the whole celebrity-wedding thing. It sounded like a bigger deal than she was making it out to be. And that meant this Andre guy was right, and she was passing up the chance of a lifetime.

  Why? For her father? For him? Would she really choose him over her career? Would he want her to?

  Out of the corner of his eye he caught the bright pink case of her cell phone on the other end of the counter, mocking him. He knew her pass code. They’d exchanged them one night in a raunchy, two-person game of strip truth or dare. It would be easy for him to locate Andre’s number, call him and find out what was really going on.

  But he’d promised to trust her. And as much as he doubted her story about George and Amal and celebrity weddings being just another gig, he intended to keep his promises to her.

  With a groan, he polished off his water, put the glass in the sink and headed back to the bedroom.

  Cade was still reminding himself of his promise to trust Ivy the next morning when the house phone rang. He answered it and was met with a barrage of rapid-fire French. At least, he thought it was French. In the midst of the tirade, he caught Ivy’s name and the words sérieux and pressant.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted when the caller paused to take a breath. “But Ivy’s not home right now. This is her...”

  What was he? Her live-in lover? Her boy toy? He settled on the annoyingly generic.

  “This is her friend Cade.”

  “Ah-h-h-h.” The caller drew the word out like he was savoring it, rolling it over his tongue to see how it tasted. “Now I understand her reluctance to leave Stockton and all its...charms.”

  “Can I give her a message?” Cade asked, choosing to ignore the obvious implication and taking up the pad and pen Ivy kept by the phone.

  “Please. She is not answering her cell.”

  “She’s at the nursery. Reception’s spotty.” Plus, it was hard to take a phone call when you were shoveling shit.

  “Tell her Andre called. There’s been a change of plan. The wedding’s been moved up two weeks, to the weekend before Labor Day. Something about needing to stay one step ahead of the gossip magazines. Anyway, the bride needs an answer by the end of business today, your time.”

  Now it was Cade’s turn.

  “Ah. So you’re Andre? Can I ask you something?”

  “Will you give her the message?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then ask away.”

  Cade hesitated, knowing once he started there was no turning back. “This wedding...it’s a big deal?”

  “Mais oui.” Andre’s voice was emphatic. “C’est une très grande affaire. Or, as you Americans say, a very big deal. It is not every day one gets offered exclusive rights to an event like this one. It could open all sorts of doors for Ivy.”

  Busted.

  “Thanks, Andre. I’ll give her the message as soon as she gets in, which should be—” he looked at the clock on the stove...8:05 a.m. “—in about an hour.”

  “Merci to you, too, mon ami. Take good care of our Ivy.”

  Our Ivy.

  But only Cade’s on loan. And the lease had just expired.

  He hung up the phone with a click that echoed in the quiet kitchen. Hard as it was, he knew what he had to do. It would be easier this way, for him and for her. A clean break, quick and relatively painless, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  Except it wouldn’t be painless. Not for him.

  Still, he had to go. He’d been ready to move back to his apartment for almost a week, and they both knew it. And if he didn’t leave, Ivy would miss this big opportunity. She might be okay with that now, but what about in ten years? Or twenty, when she was still taking pictures of small-town
brides and pampered pets? He didn’t want that on his shoulders. No way. He’d had enough of that kind of resentment from his parents to last a lifetime.

  He picked up the phone again and dialed.

  “Brannigan,” his buddy answered on the first ring.

  “Can you come get me in half an hour?”

  “At Ivy’s?”

  “Yep.”

  “The lady of the house too busy to chauffeur you around this morning?”

  Damn. Cade was hoping Trey would be too tired or hung over to ask him many questions. “Something like that. I’ll give you the details when you pick me up.”

  “Okay. See you in thirty.”

  His ride secured, Cade made his way to the guest room and started emptying out his belongings, pulling clothes from the dresser and the closet and shoving them in his duffel bag. When he was done, he threw in his toiletries from the adjoining bathroom on top of it all and zipped the whole thing up with five minutes to spare before Trey was due to arrive.

  He used the time to write Ivy a note. He’d never been much of a wordsmith, but he couldn’t leave without saying something. After a few false starts, he settled on short, simple and to the point. When he was done, he picked up his duffel bag and walked out the door without looking back.

  17

  “HOW ARE THINGS with you and Cade?”

  Noelle sat back and eyed Ivy from across the farmhouse table in their parents’ kitchen, sipping her omnipresent herbal tea. She’d driven up for a short visit before flying out for a monthlong European tour. But with one of the part-timers working at the nursery that morning, their mother had announced she was taking their father for a much-needed haircut, giving the sisters a little bonding time before Ivy’s session with Mrs. Thorpe’s Chihuahua. And Noelle had apparently decided to use the opportunity to grill Ivy about her relationship status, or lack thereof.

  “And don’t bother denying there’s a you-and-Cade,” she said as Ivy opened her mouth to do just that. “Gabe told me he walked in on you two getting creative with cream puffs.”