Crave

by Monica Murphy

  She gave me the boot instead.

  Yeah. Bizarre. I feel like the tables have been turned on me completely. I don’t like it. Not one freaking bit.

  But since I saw her earlier this evening at the wedding reception, she’s flipped me on my head. What’s up is down and all that other bullshit. I haven’t felt right since. It fucking sucks. I have a business to run, employees to take care of, the potential to open another Hush location on the horizon and a volatile father to handle.

  The last thing I need is some woman twisting up my insides.

  I stride inside my bedroom, slamming the door behind me and head toward the bathroom. I need a shower. Maybe if I wash away the memory, the feel of her skin on mine, her scent, her taste, then I could forget her. Ivy.

  Doesn’t help. As I stand under the scalding hot water battering my body and scrub at my skin, I can still smell her. Hear her panting, frantic breaths, the way she said my name just before she came. Smell her flowery, delicious skin, taste her greedy lips and tongue . . .

  Fuck. I glance down, the water beating a rapid tattoo on the top of my head, and see my erection. Fucking stupid thing. No wonder women loved to go on and on about how men only think with their dicks.

  They’re pretty dead on in that observation.

  Restraining myself, I refuse to jerk off. I just came not fifteen minutes ago, you’d think I’d be over this. Over her.

  Apparently not. Having her once wasn’t enough. I want Ivy again.

  I furiously wrench the faucet off and grab a towel, rubbing it haphazardly across my skin, not really drying it. The soft terry cloth slides across my erection and I grimace. Pissed that I’m teasing myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Ivy Emerson is what’s wrong with you, jackass. She’s played you at your game and actually came out on top. Where does that leave you?

  Miserable. Pissed. Eager to go back to her room and have my way with her again . . . slower this time. So I can linger over her body, see what she likes, where she prefers to be touched, taste her between her legs and see how long it takes to make her come with just my tongue . . .

  Rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I blink them open, stare at my reflection in the steam-covered mirror in front of me. I’m a wreck. Eyes wild, skin still wet from the shower, mouth and jaw so tight I look like I might shatter. Rigid and tense.

  All over a woman.

  I let loose a loud, growling “Fuck!” and hit the lights off, stride back into my room. Climb into bed naked and still damp, yanking the covers over my head in the hopes I can shut off my whirling brain.

  Doesn’t work. I want her with me. Snug against me. I need to come clean with myself. I’ve lusted over her for years. Since her high school graduation, like some sort of pervert, considering I have a solid four years on her and the last thing I should’ve been doing was wondering if she could possibly be naked beneath her ceremony gown.

  Of course, she wasn’t. She’d been eighteen and pure and beautiful. She’d given me a hug and thanked me for coming and all I could think about was how much I wish I was coming. Inside of her . . .

  Yeah. I had it bad for her then. I still do. And I shouldn’t. I’m not the relationship type. My parents warped me for good. Ruined me for any woman. I might be able to hold my shit together for a while, but she’d wear me down eventually and discover the real me.

  I’m not worth it, not worth making it last. I’m selfish. A complete prick. She’d find out quickly, if she doesn’t know already, and she’d bail. Wonder why she wasted her time on me, if she’d even consider me, that is.

  And then there’s that stupid, fucked-up bet I made only a few hours ago. A million dollars rides on the idea that I won’t let any woman trap me.

  The crazy thing? I know Ivy Emerson is worth a million dollars.

  But am I?

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  Ivy

  SOMEHOW, ARCHER ARRANGED for a fresh set of clothes to be waiting for me when I opened my bedroom door earlier. They sat in a neat, folded pile, tucked in a bag that was set in front of my door. A pair of black cotton cropped pants, a bright pink T-shirt, and a pair of my favorite brand of flip-flops. All in the proper sizes, all of it cute and something I would probably pick out on my own if given the chance.

  How the hell did he know my sizes? Sorta scary.

  I never heard anyone pass by the door either. And I would’ve. I tossed and turned, hardly getting any sleep, what with my thoughts consumed by what happened between Archer and me.

  Images had flashed all night. The way he looked at me. How he touched me. The things he said to me.

  I can’t fucking wait to be inside you.

  God, I melt just remembering how dark his voice had sounded, the way he whispered those words close to my ear, his hands all over my body.

  A shudder moves through me and I let loose a frustrated huff, then proceed to take a long shower in the hopes the hot water would wash away all of my useless and overwhelming feelings for a man I have no business feeling anything over.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Considering I’m in Archer’s house after being in his arms the night before, he permeates everything.

  I both secretly love it and openly hate it.

  I get dressed quickly, pulling my wet hair into a low ponytail with a band I found in the bottom of my purse. Slicked on some lip gloss because that’s all the makeup I brought with me.

  No one’s called me, no Gage, no Archer. No one has even knocked on my door, and finally curiosity gets the better of me. I open the door and peek my head out, glancing left, then right, but the hall is empty. Gage’s door is closed. The house is quiet; it’s like I’m staying in a museum or something and I step fully out of the room, contemplating going to knock on Gage’s door.

  What if he’s still sleeping? It’s already past nine and Gage isn’t one to sleep in. Deciding I need to know what’s up, I approach the door and knock, stumped when he doesn’t answer. No way can he still be in bed. And if he is, what a total bum.

  “He’s outside, waiting for you.”

  I jump and turn at the sound of Archer’s deep voice, surprised to find him standing in the middle of the vast hallway. Like a ghost, he magically appeared. And what a good-looking ghost he is too. He’s dressed in jeans and a black polo shirt, his dark hair is still damp, as if he just came out of the shower and oh wow, he looks amazing. I’m filled with the urge to take him by the hand, drag him back into my bedroom, and strip him. Run my hands all over his delicious body. Ride him into oblivion.

  Stop!

  “Oh.” I can’t come up with anything better to say so I don’t. Ridiculous how I thought a little sex between two age-old friends—acquaintances, really—would be no big deal, but it’s like the giant elephant filling the entire house, sitting directly between us. I meet his gaze and all I can do is remember how close his face had been to mine a few hours ago as he thrust deep inside my body. How I craned my neck and met his mouth with mine, our tongues sliding against each other’s.

  Yeah. This is . . . awkward.

  “We’re leaving for Hush soon. Are you ready?” His velvety smooth voice sends shivers running over my skin, and I press my lips together, searching for composure.

  So far, I can’t really find it.

  “I need to grab my purse.” I gesture toward the open door, then let my hand fall helplessly at my side.

  “Did you sleep all right?” His question is innocent and courteous considering I’m his guest. But he mentions sleep, which makes me think of a bed, and then I’m remembering how he was in my bed and how fantastic he felt between my legs.

  “I slept fine. Great,” I lied. “Um, thank you for the clothes.”

  “You’re welcome. You like them?”

  “They’re . . . perfect.” I frown and he does as well. “How did you know my sizes?”

  “I took a wild guess.” He said this with a shrug, looking a little sheepish. This of course makes me skept
ical. Just goes to show how well Archer knows his way around the female body when he can guess my size accurately.

  My gut clenches at the realization.

  “Oh.” I’m at a complete loss of words. His explanation makes perfect sense. Our being together makes absolutely no sense. Clearly, we made a huge mistake. And now we’re paying the price with the awkward silences and uncomfortable vibe between us.

  “I’ll get my purse and then I’ll be ready.”

  “Meet us out front then?” He smiles at me but it’s grim. And it doesn’t quite light up his eyes.

  “Yes. Give me just a second.” I nod once, shooting into the bedroom the second he turns away from me.

  Going to the bed, I sit on the edge heavily, chewing on my thumbnail as I give myself a mental pep talk.

  You can handle this. So you’ve seen him naked. So what? And you know what he looks like when he comes. Big deal. Focus on the old days. When he used to be such a jerk to you and treated you so terribly. Remember how you felt last night at the reception, when he first talked to you and called you “chicken.” Jerk. Yeah, he irritated the crap out of you. Hold on to that feeling. The Archer Bancroft-drives-me-out-of-my-mind-he’s-such-an-asshole feeling.

  Forget all about the Archer Bancroft-drives-me-out-of-my-mind-when-he’s-kissing-me-senseless-and-fucking-me-into-oblivion feeling. That is so the wrong feeling to hold on to.

  Picking up my purse, which I left on the bed, I stand, tug at the hem of my new, cute T-shirt, smooth a hand over my hair, and decide to go face my reality.

  I can handle this. Because really, I don’t have a choice.

  Archer

  “WHAT THE HELL is taking her so long? I’m starved.”

  “Grumpy bastard,” I mutter, irritated with Gage’s incessant miserable chatter. He hasn’t quit griping about his empty stomach since the moment I ran into him in the kitchen. I offered him an apple but he wouldn’t take it. Heaven forbid he eats something healthy. And besides, it’s not my fault his sister is taking so long to get ready.

  Why, I’m not sure. I saw her no more than five minutes ago, looking absolutely gorgeous in the simple outfit I left for her to change into. I’d been half tempted to grab her by the waist, walk her backward into the bedroom, lock the door, and have my way with her for the rest of the day. Talk about an ideal lazy Sunday.

  But I knew Gage was waiting and besides, the panicked expression on her face when she first saw me deflated my ego completely. She looked ready to jump and run.

  Did she regret what happened between us last night? I don’t, but I gotta admit, the vibe between us just now was uncomfortable yet hyperaware.

  Were we going to pretend it never happened? That was probably best: act like what we shared last night was some sort of weird—and fucking amazing—dream. Acknowledging it the morning after only asked for trouble, especially since Gage was present.

  A grumbling, moody Gage. He’s acting like a bear you’d regret poking too hard.

  “You need coffee or what? I told you there’s a freshly made pot in the kitchen,” I say, unable to stand his moodiness one second longer.

  “Bah.” Gage waves a hand. “I’ve had your coffee before. It’s complete shit.”

  I don’t bother reminding him that I had the housekeeper make a fresh pot of coffee every morning. Just one of the many perks of having a lot of money. Gage is still stuck on us being college roommates when I used to make coffee that tasted like black oil sludge.

  “Whatever. You’re missing out.” I glance toward the door, standing up straight when it opens, revealing Ivy, who stops on the top step. She’s looking fresh as a damn daisy, her hair still wet from the shower and pulled into a ponytail, showcasing that pretty face of hers. Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks are flushed, and when she catches sight of the both of us standing in front of my Mercedes, a smile curls those sensuous lips. Lips I tasted again and again last night.

  Lips I’d like to see curled around my . . .

  I frown. Damn it, I really need to stop thinking about her like that.

  Her smile fades just as quick as it appeared. Like she caught herself doing it and realized her mistake. Or she noticed my frown.

  Hell.

  “Finally,” Gage calls out. “Let’s get going before they stop serving brunch.”

  “They serve it until two,” I mutter, wishing like crazy Gage wasn’t with us. Of course, if he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be going to Hush either, and I’m excited to show off my baby to Ivy.

  “I forgot what a grump you are in the morning until you get some food in your stomach.” She approaches us, her eyes soft when they light on me. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “You’re right on time,” I assure her, because at this very moment she really can do no wrong.

  “I call shotgun,” Gage says as he reaches for the passenger-side door handle.

  I slap my hand against the door, stopping him from opening it. “Are you so freaking hungry that you lost your mind? Let your sister sit in the front.”

  “Why?” Gage sounds boggled. And clueless.

  I should be thankful for clueless. If he was feeling a little sharper this morning, he might catch on to the weirdness going on between Ivy and me.

  “Stop being such an infant and just sit in the back seat.” I jerk my thumb toward the back of the car.

  “I can sit in the back . . .” Ivy starts, but I shake my head, cutting her off.

  “Sit in the front.” I say it like a command, which gets those perfectly arched eyebrows of hers rising, and I round the front of the car without another word, sliding behind the steering wheel and starting the car.

  I don’t mean to be such a bossy ass but Gage is on my last damn nerve.

  She slides into the passenger seat, sitting right beside me, her usual floral scent not as strong. I can only assume that’s because she didn’t use her own products. Shampoo, body wash, perfume . . . I wish I knew exactly what made her smell so good. Perhaps it’s a mixture of everything, plus her own unique scent.

  “It’s a beautiful morning,” Ivy says, her head turned away from me, nose practically pressed against the glass of the window. “I wouldn’t be able to get any work done if I had this sort of view distracting me every day.”

  I pull out of the driveway, taking in my surroundings, ignoring the snort that emanates from the back seat. I thought I turned into an adolescent when I got near Ivy. Gage was ten times worse, switching to jerk big brother mode within seconds of Ivy making an appearance.

  “After living here for so many years, I don’t even notice it,” I say, turning left and heading toward Hush. The resort is not far from my house, so the drive is easy. Beautiful.

  Definitely beautiful, not that I’d noticed it much. Too distracted with work, too distracted with the business opportunity that suddenly came up. Thankfully, it’s an opportunity that will keep me in Napa Valley, but I know my father worries it might be a mistake, working on a new venture so close to the already successful Hush resort. Why mess with a good thing, is basically what he told me.

  Not for the first time in our lives, I completely disagree with him. I know what I’m doing. So I screwed around in college and didn’t get the best grades—so what? I might’ve spent more time chasing women and going to parties versus studying and actually attending classes, but guess what? I got my education in the real world. Growing up in the Bancroft Hotels gave me the hands-on experience and vision needed to take the company to the next level.

  Too bad my father didn’t realize it.

  “Do you miss the city?” Ivy asks, knocking me from my thoughts.

  I glance over to find her studying me. “Sometimes. Not that it’s far, but I haven’t had much time lately to make it over. Not as if I want to visit my parents . . . I like the pace here, though. It’s a little slower. More reflective.”

  “Are you trying to say you’re reflective?” Gage pipes up from the back seat. “Give me a break.”

  I press my lips together to
keep from calling Gage an insensitive prick.

  “Ignore him,” Ivy whispers, reaching over to pat my thigh. “He’s just jealous.”

  “Yeah, right,” Gage laughs, but I don’t reply.

  I’m too caught up in the fact that she touched my thigh, and just like that I’m sporting a hard-on. A full-blown one too, all from a light touch of her fingers on my leg.

  This is . . . bad. If I can barely handle her touching me on the leg for a brief second, then I need to get her out of my life pronto.

  Or pull her so deeply into my life there’s no way she’d ever want to leave my side again.

  Keep dreaming, asshole.

  Funny how the nagging voice inside my head sounds just like Gage.

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  Ivy

  THE RESORT IS gorgeous. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to more than a few exclusive spas and resorts in my life. My mom loves to indulge in spas and she’s taken me on many a “girls only” trip the last few years. She’s all about the detox.

  But the Hush Resort is more than just a simple spa. And it’s definitely more than a hotel too. From what I can see since Archer’s taken us on a tour of the lush grounds, it’s all about promoting a lifestyle.

  Indulgence. Decadence. Sex. That’s the message Hush is sending me, albeit in a sophisticated, understated package. I noticed from the moment we were seated in the small on-premise restaurant we’re surrounded by couples. Young, old, middle-aged, every one of them is so in tune with each other, so focused and seemingly happy, I can’t help but admire each and every one of them.

  And also feel a little jealous.

  I sat with two men, the lone oddity in the entire restaurant. One is my jerk of a brother who can’t quite stop giving Archer grief while stuffing his face. I have no idea what’s gotten into Gage but it isn’t a pleasant sight.

  Then there’s Archer, who’s been quiet since we arrived. He seems almost . . . nervous, and I’ve never seen Archer nervous. Of course, I’d never seen Archer naked either, but I sure remedied that last night now, didn’t I?