Triple Dare

by Regina Kyle

  “No.” He hadn’t. He smiled, remembering Ivy at her most fearless, accepting every crazy dare they threw her way, never backing down, never giving up.

  “Well, for some stupid-ass reason I don’t even want to begin to understand, her mind’s set on you.” Gabe’s prosecutor glare got even darker. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” Cade chugged his beer, thumped the empty stein down on the table and stood. “But I’m going to start by digging my invitation to the calendar benefit out of the garbage.”

  “Good.” Gabe sat back, the harsh lines around his eyes and mouth disappearing as his expression relaxed. “Because I haven’t ruled out kicking your ass.”

  18

  BELIZE WAS BEAUTIFUL, even in the rainy season. The deep, rich blue of the Caribbean, the bright colors and exotic sea life on the barrier reef, the easygoing charm of the beachside towns—Ivy loved it all.

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh salt air. Reclining in her beach chair, she stretched her arms over her head and dug her toes in the warm, fine sand.

  It might be the rainy season, but in keeping with their charmed celebrity lives, the bride and groom had had sunshine for their nuptials, and the good weather stuck around for the remainder of the week. Lucky for Ivy, since the happy pair had offered her the run of the estate guesthouse for the remainder of their seven-day rental while they jetted off to honeymoon in an undisclosed location. It was more than she deserved, given her meltdown.

  She took another long, deep breath, relishing the smells and sounds of the ocean—the rhythmic pounding of the waves against the shore and the calls of the seabirds flying overhead. The breeze ruffled the palm fronds, and she sighed. She was going to miss this place. But she couldn’t run forever. Sooner than she’d like—tomorrow morning, when her flight left Belize City—she’d have to face the music.

  The music being the uncertain mess she’d made of her life.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come home with you, ma mie? You know how I love a good gala.” Andre, her savior when she’d hit rock bottom, took up residence in the chair beside her and handed her another one of his fruity, alcoholic concoctions. She didn’t ask, just drank. Whatever it was, it was bound to be delicious. Andre’s creations always were.

  “I appreciate the sentiment.” She reached over and patted his arm with her free hand. “But you’ve done enough already, coming all the way here to rescue me. This is something I have to do myself.”

  Even if seeing Cade again would be the equivalent of ripping her heart out, stomping it to smithereens and putting it back in, just to rip it out and start the process all over again.

  “Yes, it was a real hardship, traveling to an island paradise and snapping a few photographs.” Andre gave her a bemused smile and sipped his own drink. “Not to mention waiting out the week here with nothing to do but imbibe, ingest and unwind.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ivy said for what must have been the thousandth time. “I don’t know what came over me. One minute I was scouting locations for the best backdrops, the next I was bawling like a baby.”

  Unfortunately for her, that minute was two days before the wedding. On the plus side, there had been enough time—barely—for Andre to hop a commercial flight, and the couple had agreed to the last-minute substitution.

  “I’ll tell you what came over you.” He sat up, put his drink in a cup holder on the arm of his beach chair and took her hand between his. “L’amour. The thought of photographing a romantic destination wedding, with all the trimmings, was simply too much for you to bear with your recent déchirement.”

  “Déchirement?”

  “Heartbreak.”

  “My heart is not broken.” She sipped her drink. He’d mixed cranberry juice and grapefruit juice with some sort of alcohol. Rum, maybe. Or triple sec. She wasn’t much of a drinker.

  “Menteuse.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze before releasing it to reclaim his glass. “Liar.”

  Yeah, she was a big, fat liar, all right. If she was Pinocchio, her nose would be ten feet long.

  Ivy lay back, closed her eyes and covered them with her forearm, hoping Andre would get the hint and end the conversation.

  “Will your Prince Charming be at the ball?”

  So much for subtlety. Picking up cues had never been Andre’s strong suit. Or more likely he just chose to ignore them.

  She sighed. “I assume so. He’s one of the models.”

  “Aha!” Andre put his cup back in the holder and rubbed his hands together. “We must devise a plan.”

  “A plan?” She risked a glance at him from under her arm. “To do what?”

  “Why, to win him back, naturellement.”

  “Who said anything about wanting to win him back?” Ivy abandoned the pretense of relaxing and sat up. “You forget, he dumped me. Via note. He didn’t even have the courtesy to do it in person.”

  “Or the courage,” Andre countered, sitting up beside her. “Have you considered that your Lothario might have thought he was doing what was best for you? And that writing a note was the only way he could do it without getting cold feet?”

  “I don’t understand.” Ivy scrunched up her forehead. “In what possible world is getting dumped best for me?”

  “If he hadn’t broken up with you, would you have taken this job?”

  “Probably not.” She dragged a toe in the sand. “Definitely not.”

  “There you have it.” Andre snapped his fingers decisively.

  “But I didn’t want this job.” She wanted Cade. She cast an apologetic glance at Andre. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” He nodded his acceptance of her apology. “But what if your young man...comment s’appelle-t-il?”

  “Cade,” she said.

  “What if this Cade didn’t want you sacrificing the career you worked so hard to build for him? So he made sure that wouldn’t happen by ending things. A preemptive strike, if you will. A noble gesture.”

  “What sort of twisted logic is that?”

  “Male logic.” Andre chuckled.

  “How do I combat that?”

  “With feminine wiles.”

  “I don’t think I remember what they are.” Her chin trembled. “If I ever even had them.”

  “Fortunately for you, I’m an expert when it comes to wiles, male and female.” With a flick of his wrist, Andre stood, bowed dramatically and held out his hand to her. “Come, ma mie. Let us scheme together.”

  She hesitated, biting her lip. “It sounds so...underhanded.”

  He dropped his hand. “Do you love him?”

  This time she didn’t have to think twice about her answer. “Yes. I’ve loved him forever.”

  “Do you think he loves you?”

  Snapshots flicked through her brain. Cade, sweating in his turnouts for the sake of a few extra dollars for charity. Laughing as he patiently showed her how to play a game on his Xbox. Smiling down at her in the morning, his cornflower eyes dark with desire, touching her, tasting her, making her feel like she was the most beautiful woman in the world despite her morning breath and uncontrollable bedhead.

  “I don’t know.” She nudged a stray hair behind her ear. “What if you’re right, and he pushed me away because of some misguided sense of nobility?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Feminine wiles?”

  “Non.” He shook his head. “I have changed my mind. For you, we must employ a simpler tactic.”

  “What’s that?”

  He held out his hand to her again. This time she took it and stood, wiggling her toes in the sand.

  “You must seek him out at this calendar celebration. You must tell him how you feel. And you must ask him if he reciprocates those feelings.”

  Ivy suppressed a smile at Andre’s formality. “You know you’ll lose me if he says yes.”

  “C’est la vie.” With a shrug, he put his arm around her and steered her toward
the palatial estate’s guest house. “Life goes on.”

  “What will you do without me?” She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked.

  “I shall weep. I shall mourn. I shall gnash my teeth and beat my breast.” He kissed the top of her head. “And then I shall photograph your wedding, bien sûr.”

  * * *

  “MY DEAR.” MRS. THORPE, president of the local chapter of the Humane Society and chairwoman of the shelter benefit, hurried over to Ivy the minute she stepped into the gym at Stockton High School. “We’re so glad you could join us. The calendar turned out beautifully.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it, Mrs. Thorpe. And thank you.” Ivy smiled and kissed the older woman’s cheek, admiring her classic Diane von Furstenberg sheath dress and matching pumps. It was nice to see a familiar face straight off. Hopefully a sign things would go smoothly and the evening would turn out the way she wanted. “You look lovely tonight. How’s Paco?”

  “He’s fine, the little scamp. Loves the rubber stick you gave him. So much safer than the real ones. No nasty splinters.” She shuddered at the thought of her precious Chihuahua injured by a rogue piece of wood. “And if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, dear, call me Susan.”

  “I’m sorry. Susan.”

  “Come on.” The older woman hooked her arm through Ivy’s. “I’ve reserved a seat for you in the front row, next to me. The runway show is starting soon.”

  “Runway show?”

  For the first time since she entered the gym, Ivy took note of her surroundings. The event committee had done a bang-up job transforming it into something befitting New York Fashion Week. At one end—where Mrs. Thorpe was dragging her to now—they’d set up a platform in the shape of a T, backed by dark curtains that ran the length of the far wall. Along the leg of the T were rows of chairs, which were quickly filling with spectators. Half the town must be there, Ivy thought. She caught sight of her parents on the other side of the stage and waved.

  “We’re featuring some of our calendar models, each with a pet that’s up for adoption,” Mrs. Thorpe explained as they made their way across the darkened gym to the stage. The usual harsh, fluorescent lights had been bypassed in favor of strobes and a disco ball. LEDs lined the edges of the runway. “We’re hoping to make some matches.”

  “For the models or the pets?” Ivy quipped, her palms starting to sweat as she thought about one particular blond, blue-eyed model.

  “The pets, but I saw a few of the models getting ready backstage and I wouldn’t be surprised if they got more than their fair share of offers, too.” Mrs. Thorpe gave Ivy a saucy wink and directed her to two empty seats.

  “Do you happen to know if Cade Hardesty is modeling this evening?” Ivy asked hesitantly as she sat down, crossing her legs and smoothing out the skirt of her dress—a black-and-white checked Betsey Johnson pinup number Andre had insisted she buy. If Cade was walking the runway, she’d be close enough to touch him. And although she’d planned on seeing him tonight, somehow she’d imagined their first encounter being a bit more...private.

  “Which one is he?” Mrs. Thorpe asked a little too innocently. “They’re all so handsome. Like my Roger in his day.”

  “Mr. December,” Ivy answered, figuring that was the quickest way to identify him.

  “Oh, him.” Oh. My. God. Had Mrs. Thorpe actually licked her lips? “He’s our final attraction. The main event.”

  The main event?

  Ivy fingered her pearl choker, the perfect accessory for her fifties-inspired, cleavage-enhancing dress. “What does that—”

  “Shh.” Mrs. Thorpe held a finger to her lips as the volume of the music increased and the mayor stepped out from the curtains onto the stage. “It’s starting.”

  The mayor, who was acting as emcee for the evening, introduced each model and their canine or feline companion. Mr. January started things off with a bang in just his bunker pants, suspenders dangling from his waist, carrying a yippy Pomeranian called Lulu. Mr. April wore a tight SFD tank top with his turnouts and was accompanied by the ugliest cat Ivy had ever seen, a hairless thing the mayor said was hypoallergenic and appropriately named Kojak. As the pairs strutted their respective stuff, the pets were auctioned off to eager buyers for adoption.

  “Sold to the Levensons for five hundred dollars.” The mayor nodded to Mr. November as he left the stage with his companion, an adorable German shepherd puppy that had commandeered the highest price of the night so far. Ivy recognized the model as one of Cade’s friends. Hansen, she thought. Or Sykes. She kept mixing them up. She probably should have paid better attention when the mayor was introducing him, but with Cade up next her brain was running a million miles a minute.

  “Thank you, Mr. November and Axel,” the mayor continued. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy in your new home. Axel, that is. Not Mr. November.”

  The audience chuckled at the mayor’s joke, and she acknowledged them with a mock bow. “Remember, all our models will be signing calendars after the show tonight. They’re only twenty-five dollars each, and they make a great gift. The calendars, that is. Not the models.”

  The audience laughed again, and the mayor grinned. “And now for our final pair of the evening. I give you Mr. December and Piper.”

  Ivy held her breath. The curtains parted and Cade appeared. A collective gasp echoed through the crowd as he strutted down the runway almost naked, in the Santa hat and G-string he’d worn at the photo shoot. He held a tabby kitten, which snuggled against his broad chest.

  “Now that’s what I call a Christmas present,” Mrs. Thorpe observed with an appreciative whistle.

  “You can say that again,” Ivy muttered.

  “What’s that, dear?” Mrs. Thorpe asked.

  “Never mind.” Ivy ducked her head, a hot flush creeping up her cheeks.

  “Well, don’t look now,” Mrs. Thorpe said, nudging her, “but he’s coming your way.”

  Ivy’s head jerked up. Mrs. Thorpe was right. Cade was headed straight for her, his impossibly blue eyes shining with determination.

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. This was not how their big reunion was supposed to happen. She had it all planned out. She was going to get him alone, in some secluded corner, and then she’d...

  “Hey, Ivy,” he said over the music playing in the background.

  His voice was a sexy rumble that sent her pulse pounding. He crouched down on the runway so that those damned baby blues were almost on her eye level.

  “Hey,” she croaked. An inauspicious beginning.

  “This is Piper, and he’s got something to ask you.”

  He held the kitten out to her. She took it, rubbing between its ears. “Piper?”

  The crowd had started to stir, a discontented murmur rolling through it like thunder before a storm. Even the mayor, standing helplessly behind Cade on the runway, looked confused. Only Mrs. Thorpe, sitting calmly next to her, appeared suspiciously unconcerned about the strange turn of events.

  “He’s the little guy we rescued from the drainpipe.”

  “Oh.” Ivy buried her nose in the cat’s soft fur. “Does he need a home?”

  “No.” Cade swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “We do.”

  “We?”

  He jumped off the stage and kneeled down in front of her. Everything else—the music, the mayor, Mrs. Thorpe, the crowd—faded as he put the kitten in her lap and took her hands in his.

  “I screwed up. I’m a guy, and I’m stupid and I screwed up. And I’ll probably screw up again.”

  “Not the best advertisement for yourself,” Mrs. Thorpe chimed in. “Get to the good stuff.”

  “Right.” He gave the older woman an appreciative smile then turned his attention back to Ivy. “The good stuff. The good stuff is that I’m in love with you. And I’m pretty sure, I mean, I think... I mean, I hope you’re in love with me, too.”

  “Now you’re warming up.” Mrs. Thorpe reached over and plucked the squirmin
g kitten out of Ivy’s lap before it could wriggle onto the floor. “Close the deal.”

  “Marry me, Ivy.”

  “What?” she squeaked.

  Mrs. Thorpe slipped him a small, velvet box, which he flicked open to reveal a stunning, pear-shaped diamond. “Marry me.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

  “I pushed you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I didn’t want to hold you back. But I was wrong. Very wrong. I don’t care if you spend half your life flying across the globe taking fabulous photographs, as long as you spend the other half here, with me.”

  He looked up at her, those clear blue eyes pleading. “You’re my home, Ivy. Let me be yours.”

  “Answer him, honey, or I will,” Mrs. Thorpe teased.

  “Come on, Ivy.” Cade took the ring out of the box and dangled it in front of her. “I dare you. And you know you can’t resist a dare.”

  “It’s you I can’t resist, you big dope.” She held out her left hand, shaking.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, it’s a yes. To you and Piper.”

  “Thank God.” He slipped the ring on her finger, pulled her to her feet and kissed her. It was a kiss that was different from the others they’d shared, as simultaneously thrilling and tender as before but with something more. A knowledge that, from this day forward, all his kisses were hers, as hers were his. He deepened the kiss and she followed, throwing her arms around his neck and losing herself in the gentle pressure of his lips.

  “She said yes,” Mrs. Thorpe announced, standing and holding the cat up like Simba in The Lion King.

  The crowd burst into applause and Ivy, suddenly aware that almost the entire town was watching them, broke off the kiss and buried her face against his chest. “I can’t believe you did this in front of everyone. In a G-string. Oh, my God, my parents—”

  “Were in on the whole thing. As was Mrs. Thorpe. It’s hard to hide a ring in a G-string.” With one arm around Ivy, he used the other to take the older woman’s wrinkled hand, bring it to his lips and kiss it. “You were a perfect accomplice.”