“You brought it up.”
He waved a hand in the air. “Anyway, so I need to change my clothes, right? I can’t walk around looking like a slob.”
“Heck no.”
“So I take my shirt off when I drive my date home.”
“Because so many people will notice the stain while you’re driving?”
“Well, I’ll notice the stain. And so will she. So I take my shirt off!” He spread his hands out, as if to say voila.
And she stared at him, blinking, waiting for more. But instead, he sat there with a satisfied smirk on his face. She cleared her throat. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“That’s your grand plan? To drive home shirtless?”
“Babe, you haven’t seen me shirtless. It’s a damn-good plan. Trust me.”
“No, I haven’t, but I have to tell you, that plan would not get me shirtless.”
His face didn’t move, not a bit, and then he threw back his head and laughed so loudly the tables nearby looked over at them.
Ivy blushed, happy she’d made him laugh, happy she herself was laughing. Hell, she was just happy.
When was the last time she was this happy?
And then Brent lowered his head, spearing her with his molten gaze. “You’re a liar.”
She dug her nails into her thigh under the table, as apprehension pricked at her spine. “What?”
He leaned forward and picked a potato wedge off her plate. “You said you didn’t flirt.”
“I don’t,” she protested.
“This”—he waved his finger between the two of them—“is flirting.”
She pursed her lips, refusing to answer. Which made him laugh again.
Because shit, he was right.
She was flirting.
This was getting out of hand. But she was a healthy woman with a healthy sex drive that hadn’t been used in way too long. And the most tempting man she’d ever seen was sitting across from her—a tall drink of sex—chattering about adorable things, like his dog named Honeybear. And his neighbor who was in a wheelchair after a firefighting injury.
Why couldn’t he talk about . . . how he kicked old ladies and strangled kittens? Why did he have to be this nice guy?
This was messing up her plans. The plans she’d been so set on. The plans she’d promised herself and Alex and Violet.
So she fisted her hands on her thighs and tried to think unsexy thoughts. Which ended up not being possible, because Brent had infected the air with his pheromones or something.
By the time the waitress brought their check, Ivy wanted to crawl out of her own skin.
She reached for the billfold, but Brent was quicker, grabbing it and slipping his card into the top and handing it back to the waitress.
Ivy stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“Paying for dinner.”
She blinked. “But I owe you.”
He cocked his head. “You don’t owe me.”
“You said you wanted a date, so—”
“Yeah, I said a date. Not a meal ticket. A date. Your presence, your attention, your beauty, and your conversation for a couple hours. I got that, babe. And it was the best couple of hours I’ve had in a long time.”
With those words, which shocked her to the core and rendered her speechless, he accepted the billfold back from the waitress and lowered his head to sign the receipt.
She still hadn’t recovered when he tucked his wallet back into his pants, when he handed the waitress the billfold with a smile, or when he drained his beer and stared across the table at her without his typical smirk. “Thanks for the best date I’ve ever had, Ivy.”
All she could whisper was, “Me too.”
Chapter Eight
BRENT HAD WATCHED her hands during dinner. They were small, and her nails were unpainted. A scar was on her right index finger.
As they walked to his truck in the parking lot, he wanted to reach out, wrap her little hand in his, and run his thumb along the inside of her left wrist, right where the tattoo of her daughter’s name was.
He wondered if she’d pull away. Or if she’d smile.
He wondered if she’d tolerate it just because she felt like she owed him.
He hadn’t thought that through when he’d asked her out—that she might only be nice to him because she felt like she had to be. That maybe she’d put up with a good-night kiss because she didn’t want to turn down her daughter’s rescuer.
Normally, he’d use whatever angle he had to impress a woman—he’d talk up what he did for a living, or he’d show off his new truck. Whatever, it didn’t matter. If it impressed the woman enough for her to take her top off, he was set.
He didn’t want gimmicks with Ivy. He wanted her to want a kiss. To want his hands on her, his voice in her ear. Would she like a gentle touch, or would it turn her on when he whispered dirty words in her ear?
He never thought about this—that it was easy to be the jokester, the bad boy. But it was a whole new level of talent to prove how good of a guy he was.
If he even was a good guy.
When they reached his truck, he opened the door for her and smiled. She blinked at him, like she was confused at the gesture, but then stepped inside. He got a great view of her thighs as her dress rode up her legs. Then he shut the door quickly before he got too pervy.
He’d done a lot of talking at dinner, mostly out of nervousness. Ivy had seemed to like it and asked him questions so he’d kept going. Which was fine, until he realized at the end that she hadn’t said much about herself.
“So where did you move from?” he asked. He had about a half-hour drive to her place so plenty of time to get her to open up.
And maybe it was the darkness of the cab and the soft strains of classic rock rumbling from the speakers, but Ivy didn’t have trouble talking anymore.
“Well, originally we grew up in a small town in Indiana, and then we moved up to Gary, and now we’re here.”
“You like the nomad life?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Then why’d you move so much?”
She paused, and he didn’t get the sense she wanted to avoid the question, just that she was deciding how to answer it. “We moved . . . because we had to rather than because we wanted to. It’s a long story, both times. And not something you want to hear on our first date.”
First date. As if they both realized what she said at the same time, he sucked in a breath, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean—”
“I guess we’ll have to wait ’til the third date, then.”
She didn’t move her hand. He could feel her gaze boring into the side of his head as they watched the road. Bob Seger was on the radio, and this moment could go either way, really. She didn’t owe him more dates. She didn’t owe him anything. She never did, even if she thought she did.
He waited for the letdown, for the This was a one-time thing. The I like you but . . .
Instead, she said, “Third date sounds fine.”
His throat felt tight. His cheeks warmed. Jesus, he wanted to get to that third date. He wanted to know more about Ivy.
“Anyway,” she continued, “we plan to stay here. We . . . promised each other.”
He frowned a little at her choice of words. “You and Alex?”
“Yeah.”
“You like Tory so far?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s a nice town. Delilah invited Alex and me out with her and Jenna for a girls’ night next week.”
“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t let Delilah lead you into trouble.”
“I thought you were friends.”
“We are friends. That’s how I know that woman is a tiny package of trouble.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“And you know you can always call me if you do find yourself in trouble and need bailing out. You know that, right?”
Ivy didn’t say anything, and when he looked over, l
ights from an approaching car highlighted her wide blue eyes. She nodded slowly, almost gravely.
And that’s when he didn’t care anymore about what he should or shouldn’t do. He reached over and grabbed her hand, wrapping his fingers around her palm.
At first, she kept her hand flat on the seat where it’d been. Then, slowly, so slowly, she curled her fingers around his.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and her gaze was on their hands, a small smile on her face.
He stared at the road and grinned.
BRENT WAS HOLDING her hand, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted him to let go. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had held her hand simply to hold it. The calluses of his palm brushed the back of her knuckles.
She wondered how they would feel on her body, her arms, her belly.
The inside of her thighs.
She needed to get control of herself. She’d made that crack about the third date, not thinking, because at the time, dammit, she’d wanted a second date. And a third. She wanted more time with this man who made her laugh and swoon and feel like a whole, wanted woman again. She hadn’t felt that way in so damn long.
She couldn’t do this, though. She’d have to find a way to take back that reference to more dates. This was a one-time thing. She’d promised Alex. She’d promised herself.
But as Brent parked the car in a darkened, isolated space in the parking lot, it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to turn around. To peel out of the parking lot on those huge tires of his and just drive them both far, far away from here. Go somewhere where life was simple. And there were no emotionally damaged daughters and sisters and where Ivy trusted the good in men.
Too bad that place didn’t exist. So instead, she stared at him, unable to talk, but wanting so badly to say so much.
He gripped the steering wheel and sucked in a breath. “I had a really nice time with you tonight.”
She answered truthfully, even though her voice was a whisper. “I did too.”
He turned his head. “Thank you.”
Her throat was closing. She could feel it as she studied the stubble on his jaw, his full lips, that long neck that she wanted to bury her face in.
He licked his lips, and she tracked his tongue. His voice was low when he spoke. “I’m asking if I can kiss you.” Her gaze shot up to his face, but he was dead serious. No trace of joking Brent anywhere. “And I don’t want you to say yes because you think you owe me. Because you don’t. If you say yes, I want it to be because you actually want to kiss me. And if you don’t, that’s okay. Just say no. I’m a big boy, Ivy. I can handle it.” He blinked those steel eyes at her, the lights in the parking lot reflecting off them. His lips twisted. “But I’ll be honest that I’m really hoping you say yes.”
She curled her hands into fists in her lap. She knew she should say no. But she didn’t want to. Not when Brent had called her stunning, not when he treated her better than any man ever had.
This wasn’t about what he did in that creek for her daughter. This wasn’t about that at all.
This was about how his smile unfurled something in Ivy’s chest that she thought was a dried-up husk.
So she licked her lips, and she whispered in the safety of the dark cab of his truck, “Yes.”
He didn’t move, not a muscle, and she thought maybe she imagined the whole thing until he leaned closer, his eyebrows raised slightly, and blinked the bangs out of his eyes. “What did you say?”
She took a deep breath, and this time when she spoke, her voice was loud in the confined space. “I said yes. Kiss me, Brent Payton.”
And then there was nothing but the heat of Brent’s body as he surged across the bench of his truck to take her face in his hands. His lips crashed down on hers, and he moved his jaw, his tongue swiping at her lips. There was no gentleness to the kiss. This was an unleashing.
It was glorious.
She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected heat and talent, but she hadn’t expect this . . . intensity, this chemistry between them that reacted like fireworks.
Brent lifted one of her legs to rest on the seat so he could wedge his body against her. Her head was against the window, the door handle digging into her back, but she didn’t care, not one bit, because now Brent’s hand was drifting down her neck, slowly, so slowly, his trembling fingertips skimming the skin.
He pulled out of the kiss, and she gulped air, clutching his shoulders, as he lowered his head so that his hair tickled her cheek. His hand didn’t go any lower; it just rested at her throat. She didn’t know how long they sat in that embrace until Brent’s lips moved against the skin of her neck. “Ivy?”
She swallowed, unsure her voice would work. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to go back to the driver’s side where I belong now.” There was humor in his tone.
She squeezed her eyes shut and smiled. “Okay.”
“I want you to know that I don’t want to.”
She didn’t release her grip on his shoulders. And she knew she was playing with fire when she asked the next question. “What do you want to do?”
He tensed under her palms and then lifted his head, so those beautiful eyes looked right into hers. “What do I want to do?”
She nodded.
His tongue came out and curled over the top of his teeth. She thought maybe that was all he planned to do, give her a glimpse so she had to imagine what he could do with that tongue. But then he spoke. “First, I want to lay you down on this bench, hike up this dress to your waist, take down those panties, and work you with my tongue until you come in my mouth.”
Holy shit. She was not prepared for Brent’s mouth or tongue or dirty talk in any way.
And he wasn’t done. “And then I’d put you on your knees, and I’d take out my cock, and I’d fuck you until you begged me to let you come again. I’d let you, Ivy. Maybe after that, we’d take a little catnap, and then I’d see what you looked like with your lips around my cock.”
She was about two seconds away from coming now. A stiff breeze could probably do it, with Brent’s words lingering in her ear.
Those words from any other man might have scared her. They might have angered her. But not Brent, because he was so earnest and clearly wanted her. He wasn’t trying to prove anything, like what a man he was or how fast he could get inside of her.
He made her feel like she was all that mattered right now.
Brent brushed his lips with hers. “But that’s not going to happen. At least, not tonight.” He pulled back, and she reluctantly let go of his shoulders as he slid across the bench seat to the driver’s side. She straightened up slowly, working to get herself under control, while Brent closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. When he looked at her again, he looked in pain. “I’m going to be good and watch you to make sure you get in the house okay.”
She was on autopilot now, gathering her purse and straightening her skirt. She had her hand on the door handle when he called her name. “Ivy?”
She looked at him over her shoulder.
His hands were fisted on the steering wheel. “The only reason I’m pulling back is because I don’t want you to feel like you owe me. But the ball’s in your court. You want to kiss me again, or . . . more . . . ” He shrugged. “You know where to find me.”
Chapter Nine
IVY PULLED THE thin blanket over her knees and gripped her coffee mug with both hands as she stared blankly at the TV. The news was on, but the pretty anchor could have announced NASA had found life on Mars, and Ivy wouldn’t have known about it.
Because her thoughts were on last night. And Brent. And his hands and his mouth and his lips and his voice.
She closed her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. Alex and Violet were still asleep, which was great because Ivy needed time to get her head straight. Last night, when she’d walked into her house, flush-faced and confused, she’d checked the bedrooms. Violet and Alex were both asleep in their beds.
And I
vy had never been more relieved in her life that she didn’t have to face Alex after that date, which had knocked her world off its axis.
She’d slept fitfully, dreaming of Violet’s father, Mike, and of Robby, and of luggage and fear and then . . . of Brent.
She’d imagined his arms around her, and she’d finally slept peacefully until morning. And now she was wide awake, trying to figure out what the hell she was going to say to Alex. She didn’t want to lie to her. But no way could she tell Alex the truth.
In the fading dawn, she wondered if she’d imagined how intense Brent had been, how electric their chemistry was. Except already, just at the thought of Brent’s name, her lips parted; her cheeks heated.
Why couldn’t he have pushed it last night in his truck? Pushed and prodded until she gave in. Because then she she’d be able to regret and move on and forget all of this.
But nope. He had to pull back, be charitable, let it be her choice.
The fucker.
She took another sip of coffee and let it burn down her throat. But this was just lust, right? It’d been a long time, and Brent was hot. Last night was just a fluke, and despite the fact that neither of them got off, it’d been enough.
Right?
Maybe if she kept telling herself that, it’d be true.
She didn’t think about his dog named Honeybear and his rescue of her daughter. She needed to shove that out of her mind if she was going to avoid Brent. She’d never give another man the power over her life and that of her family ever again.
So she’d dry the tears of her weeping libido, and she’d stay far away from Brent Payton’s all-too-knowing stare.
Footsteps padded down the hallway, and Ivy looked up as Alex entered the living room. She went straight for the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee before curling up in the recliner across from Ivy.
Alex eyed her over the rim as she gulped as much caffeine as she could. No one talked to Alex before she’d had at least half of her morning coffee. It was an explicit rule that everyone followed because that was how they all coexisted peacefully.
So Ivy drank her coffee quietly and snickered to herself about Alex’s bed-head.
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