But am I ready?
For Edward, all of this is normal, just another wild weekend for the playboy billionaire. But I’m out of my element and my depth. I’ve subbed at my club before, but that was a small, secretive deviance from the norm. I’ve never been a part of such a large public event. In some ways, this night is like a dream come true, but in others it’s like the ocean before a storm—beautiful but dangerous, and just as likely to roll me under and crush me against the rocks as spit me out safely on shore.
“I’m opening a new hotel in Curacao later this spring,” Edward says, breaking into my thoughts. “All private bungalows, built right over the water. You can see the fish swimming through windows in the floor. I would like to book a suite for you for opening week. I’ll cover your flight, the room, and all your expenses. Consider it another small way of making amends.”
I shake my head. “I’ve already taken too much, Edward. Even with my new raise, it will be years before I can pay you back.”
He frowns hard enough to make his mask shift higher on his forehead. “We’ve already covered this. You won’t be paying me back. My assistance came with no strings attached. Just like this offer. I have my own suite in the main operations building, where I’ll be staying that week. You won’t even have to see me if you don’t want to. You can enjoy the beach and the pool and pretend you’ve never met the insufferable owner.”
My breath rushes out. “You’re not insufferable.”
“Not a rousing endorsement, but I’ll take what I can get.” His lips curve. “Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay? I want to bring good things into your life. Only good things. No stress, no mess, no sadness or regret.”
No sadness or regret…
But how is that possible when there is already so much between us? So many things left unsaid, so many emotional land mines buried beneath the surface, primed and ready to explode?
Then dig them out, Ivy! At least try, for God’s sake.
This is the only man you’ve ever loved. If now isn’t the time to break the rules, take a risk, and jump into the waves, when is?
“I…I know I said I didn’t want to talk about the past…” I break off, gazing down at the candle that flickers between us. The flame is small but strong, refusing to be put out by the cool breeze that gusts here on top of the hill.
Another sign. They’re everywhere once you start looking for them.
Or maybe they’re just everywhere when I’m with Edward.
I was never a fan of romance growing up. No matter how dark things were at home, I never fantasized about a handsome hero on a white horse riding in to save me. I didn’t dream about that perfect guy; I dreamt about a life that was purely my own. About a tiny cottage by the sea, or an apartment high in a skyscraper in the city, where I could be anonymous and small in the best way. All I wanted was a place where no one would care that I was the daughter of a man who claimed God had chosen him to tell the people of the world what worthless sinners they were. I was certain that all I needed to be happy was distance from the Prescott legacy and the chance to feed the spirit held within the walls of my own skin.
And then Edward walked into my life, awakening a longing that I hadn’t known was there. He made me understand what Snow White and Sleeping Beauty must have felt when they opened their eyes for the first time after years under a witch’s spell.
The first time Edward smiled at me, I’d thought, “So this is what they mean when they talk about butterflies.” From day one, long before I’d realized that Edward and I shared the same sense of humor, the same values, or the same love for something more exotic in the bedroom, he had set my world spinning.
And he still does, making me feel like everything is moving too fast even though I’m sitting still.
“We don’t have to talk.” Edward covers my knee with his warm hand, reminding me his touch can be as comforting as it is erotic. “Or you can talk, and I can listen. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m a good listener.”
“Of course I remember.” I meet his gaze, and my heart starts pounding all over again, willing me to speak up.
It’s time to stop being afraid, to reach out and give old dreams at least a chance to come true.
Chapter Eleven
Ivy
“I remember everything about you, Edward.” The confession emerges in a rush, releasing the floodgates on all the feelings I’ve held back for so long. “I was so crazy about you. I couldn’t forget you, no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I did try. I tried hard because after things ended I was really angry. And hurt. And sad.”
“I was sad, too.” The skin around his eyes tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “But I don’t regret ending it when I did. Yes, I could have handled things better, that’s for damn sure, but it wasn’t the right time for us. We were in two entirely different places and I—”
“And I was a dumb little virgin who couldn’t hang with the big boys.” I toss back a too-large drink of my wine, humming around the mouthful of sweet, golden liquid before I swallow it down. “Yeah, I know. I get it.”
“No. That wasn’t it at all,” he says, fingers digging lightly into my thigh. “Yes, I was more experienced, but that wasn’t the reason it wouldn’t have worked.”
“Then explain it to me.” I cross my arms. “Because from my end it felt like you were bored and cutting your losses. Ditching the stick-in-the-mud church girl before she could cramp your style any more than she had already.”
“Not even close.” His tone is brittle, angry, but I get the feeling he’s more upset with himself than he is with me. “It wasn’t about me, or what I wanted. It was about you. You were just taking the first steps out of your family’s shadow. You needed to stand on your own two feet, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to make it on your own.”
I frown. “Really? That’s honestly what you were thinking?
“Yes,” he insists. “You were on the verge of casting off all your family’s bullshit. The last thing you needed was another domineering man in your life, telling you what to do.” He shakes his head. “And I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself, princess. It’s who I am. I can’t help trying to bully the people around me into doing what I think they should do. It usually comes from a place of love—it certainly would have in your case—but I was afraid it would cripple you all the same.”
“And who’s to say I’m not crippled now?” I want to reach for my wine, but my throat is so tight I’m not sure I could swallow. “You were my one and only long term relationship. And we were only together six months. Sure, I’ve had my share of lovers since then, but I’ve never fallen in love. I haven’t even gotten close.”
“Me, either.” He leans closer until I can feel his breath warm on my lips and my body begins to ache for him all over again.
“But that isn’t because we’re crippled,” he continues softly. “It’s because we weren’t willing to settle for ‘good enough’ when we knew ‘wonderful’ was out there waiting for us.” His thumb makes gentle circles just above my knee. “That’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been waiting for you. I thought the time was right to see if you might want to try again, but if I was wrong, that’s okay. I can keep waiting. If there’s even a long shot that you’ll let me back into your life, I’ll wait another six years. Or seven. Or ten. Whatever you need. Because I already know there’s never going to be another woman I want to be with as much as I want to be with you.”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip as my throat threatens to close completely. A part of me wants to throw my arms around Edward’s neck and kiss him until he knows that the wait is over for both of us. But another part of me is thinking about the night I walked away from him, the night he let me go, and all the months after, when I wasn’t sure I would survive the pain of losing him.
It was like he was dead, but…worse.
When my grandmother passed, I’d been devastated. She was the only person in my family who had ever made me feel un
conditionally loved. She wasn’t just a grandmother. She was a friend, a kindred spirit, a source of wonder, kindness, and truth in a childhood that had been lacking in all three. Losing her cut deep, but the wound healed fairly quickly.
Death, the only truly inescapable fate waiting to catch up with each of us, sooner or later, was the only reason she was gone. There was nothing else in the world that could have kept Gram from being there for me when I needed her. She loved me that much, so completely and selflessly that her love is still with me now, all these years after she breathed her last breath.
But Edward hadn’t been dead. He’d been alive, out there somewhere being funny and kind and sexy as hell with another woman instead of me. Because I hadn’t been enough for him.
It had taken a long time for me to believe that our split was his problem, not mine, and contrary to the cliché, time had never mended that wound. Time was just a cheap, bargain-brand Band-Aid, one that got sticky and gunky around the edges. Now, that Band-Aid is a part of me, a necessary piece of the puzzle, part of what keeps the Ivy Prescott Show up and running, concealing the fact that I never got over my first love and might never be able to love again.
Pulling it off would change my life. And there’s no doubt it will hurt. A lot.
But not as badly as living without this man. The thought of walking away from Edward a second time is enough to make me physically ill, sending a sharp wave of misery surging through my chest and down to sour my stomach.
“One year.” The words are out before I have any idea what I’m planning to say.
Edward’s eyes widen. “You need a year to think?”
“No, I’ll give this a year. Us a year,” I say, making the rules up as I go along, faking it until I make it, the way I always have. It’s a technique that’s helped me achieve my professional dreams faster than I’d thought possible, and right now I can’t think of any dream I want to become a reality more than this one. “And this time there’s only one condition.”
The relief and hope in his voice as he says, “Anything. You name it,” making my heart feel lighter than it has in a long time.
I reach up, pulling off my mask and placing it on the table, sighing as the breeze whispers across the newly bared skin. “No more hiding.”
He tugs his mask off, dropping it to the gravel at our feet. “No hiding.”
“And no more secrets,” I say as he reaches for me, drawing me into his lap.
“No secrets.”
“And no more doing what you think is best for me behind my back.” I smooth his hair from his face, marveling that this stunning man is going to be mine again. “I don’t think I’m as strong as you seem to think I am, but I’m strong enough to handle my own problems.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t want you to handle your own problems. I want to help you handle them. And I want you to help me handle mine.”
“Do you have a lot of problems?” I ask, lips curving. “The whole über-successful, beautiful billionaire thing isn’t as easy as you make it look?”
“Absolutely not,” he says. “I have more money than I know what to do with, Prescott, and a driving need to fix things and people and to generally stick my nose in where it isn’t wanted or needed. I’m a meddlesome menace to society and in desperate need of someone to rein me in when I take things too far.”
My smile widens. “I think that’s called being a philanthropist. Or maybe just a nice person who wants good things for the people he cares about.”
He grunts. “Which reminds me of my one condition—you stop talking about paying me back. I don’t want you feeling indebted to me.”
“All right.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “But that’s just where money is concerned, right? Because I’ve been thinking about tonight…”
He arches a brow. “Thinking what?”
“About orgasms,” I say, dropping my volume as I add, “I’ve had at least two or three more than you’ve had, and that doesn’t seem fair.”
“Let me clue you in on a little secret, Prescott.” He slides a hand beneath my ass as the other snakes around to cup the back of my head. “I fucking love making you come.”
I smile against his mouth as he pulls me in for kiss. “Is that so?”
“It is.” His lips move lower, kissing my throat. “Your orgasms are works of art, and you know I’m a collector.”
“You do have an eye for art.”
“I fucking love art. And I fucking love you, and I fucking love fucking you.”
“I also feel strongly about these things.” I sigh as he moves his hand from my neck to slip it inside the V of my dress, cupping my breast.
“And that’s okay.” He rolls my nipple in gentle circles, making me squirm. “You can continue to feel strongly, and I’ll continue to love you until you’re ready to love me back.”
I bring my hand to his, stilling his fingers as I pull back to meet his gaze. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Truly.”
“How much?” he asks, arching a brow.
“Very much.”
“Enough to let me drag you up to our room and add a few more orgasms to my collection?”
I smile. “Absolutely. But are you sure you don’t want to explore more, first? I know the Venus Ball only happens once a year.”
“And it will happen again next year, and when it does, we will explore again,” he says, standing with me still in his arms. “Right now I just want to be alone with you, princess.”
“Me, too,” I confess.
Games are all well and good, but there are times when it’s better to be real. To be honest. To be naked in every way with the person who feels like home.
And hours later, after Edward has proven that he still makes love every bit as beautifully as he plays games, and we’re lying tangled together in bed, I tell him that I love him and it’s not scary anymore.
Turns out the cliché had it all wrong. It’s not time that heals all wounds; it’s orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms, delivered by a man who loves you enough to consider your pleasure and happiness a work of art.
Chapter Twelve
Edward
One Year Later…
They say time flies when you’re having fun, and now I know it’s true. The past year with Ivy has been a bullet train, flying by so fast there never seems to be enough time to take it all in.
So I’ve started taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures, documenting every day of the life I’m lucky enough to share with the woman of my dreams.
It was actually Ivy’s suggestion.
“You’ve got an eye for beautiful things,” she’d said one afternoon as we were hanging a new Medusa painting I’d acquired on a business trip to Greece. “You should paint.”
“And pigs should fly,” I’d replied, dismissing the idea. “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler, princess. The one time I tried to paint it looked like a dog swallowed a box of crayons and then vomited them back onto the canvas.”
“Ew,” she’d said cheerfully. “Well, maybe photography, then? You can’t make a picture look like dog vomit unless you intentionally find vomit to photograph. And I’d love to see what you see when you walk around the city. You always find the beautiful things no one else notices.”
And so I bought two cameras, Ivy and I attended a weekend course on how to use them, and now our house is filled with even more beautiful things—photographs that document the days that pass so quickly when I’m with her.
But none of the photographs, even the ones Ivy let me take of her in our claw-foot bathtub, can compare to the woman herself, in the flesh.
Or in this hot as fuck dress…
Ivy picked out her own dress for the Venus Ball this year, a red strapless gown the same color as her hair, which makes her look like a column of flame. The orange and red feather mask she wears completes the ensemble, giving birth to thoughts of a phoenix rising from ashes. She is stunning, magical, and so fucking sexy I’ve been hard since the moment she stepped out of the b
edroom.
And I’m certainly not the only one who’s prepared to sell his soul to get his hands on her tonight. As we make our way to the castle gates, every man in attendance, and a few of the women, turn to watch. One burly man’s head swivels so intensely I’m worried he’s going to pull a muscle before he and his date get into the party. But I’m not jealous. There’s no reason to be.
Ivy is mine, from the tip of her upturned nose to the ends of the perpetually cold toes she kept bundled in two pairs of my socks this winter because she insisted my socks felt warmer than hers.
Half of my socks are in her drawers, my T-shirts have been appropriated for walks around the neighborhood before work each morning, and the master bath has been taken over by dozens of bottles of curl-enhancing potions and creams Ivy insists are necessary to keep her hair from frizzing. She has left her mark on every room in my home, every aspect of my life, and I couldn’t be happier.
Well, maybe I could be a little happier…
“Is your ass mine tonight, princess?” I ask softly as we find our place at the back of the line. “Is that my surprise?”
“No, it isn’t,” she says, smiling up at me. “Not that I would tell you if it was, because the whole point of a surprise is that you don’t know what it’s going to be. But it’s definitely not your cock in my ass.”
“What about my tongue in your ass?” I ask hopefully.
“That’s repulsive, Mulligan. Really and truly.”
I shrug. “I bet I could make you come that way, just from my tongue licking and teasing and fucking your ass. You should let me try.”
“Keep it up and you won’t get your surprise tonight,” she says. “I’ll make you wait until tomorrow when we get home.”
I press my lips together, feigning greater irritation than I feel. “Fine. But then I’ll be forced to retaliate by making you wait so long to come that you think you’re going to die from it, princess.”
A Down and Dirty Christmas: Spend Christmas on the Naughty List Page 20