“Millie. Wait.”
She froze, but didn’t look back at him. What was he doing here? Just when she thought she could get through a day without a painful memory, here he stood, bringing all her emotions to the surface.
“Do you need a ride home? I drove my truck tonight.”
“Millie! Ian! Come join us,” Josh called from the kitchen.
Without answering, Millie tottered toward the back of the house, still getting used to the heels. She sensed more than saw Ian follow her. Why would he offer to take her home?
After a round of toasts, champagne for the non-child-bearing in the group, sparkling cider for Darcy, Millie relaxed a little. She’d been pleasantly surprised by Josh’s and Nathan’s reactions. But then again, they were nice guys. They’d tell her she looked nice if she’d worn a flour sack, if only for politeness’ sake.
Ian’s reaction, however, hurt. Nothing. His reaction had been to say nothing. She reminded herself that she hadn’t done this for him. She’d done it for herself. And she wasn’t going to apologize for it. And why should she care what he thought? Lifting her chin, she took another sip of her champagne, and caught him staring at her over the rim of his glass.
Laura offered to pour her another glass, then thought better of it. “Better not. As I recall, you’re a cheap date. And you like to drunk dial . . . people,” she finished at Millie’s glare.
Ian polished off his glass and set it on the counter. “Well, thanks for the champagne, but I’d better head out. I’ll take Millie and all her loot home. Millie, you ready?”
She frowned. She hadn’t said she’d go with him. But then she didn’t want to take the subway with all her bags. “Yes.”
Darcy drew Millie in for a hug, shifting slightly sideways to make room for her belly. “You look beautiful. Now own it.” Then Darcy held her at arm’s length and gazed into her eyes as if to ask, ‘Are you okay with Ian?’
Millie nodded.
Laura stepped up to her, gave her a once-over. “Damn! I do good work.”
Nathan and Josh bussed her cheek. “You really do look amazing,” Josh whispered in her ear.
Warmed by the kind words and champagne, Millie put on her new black wool and leather-trimmed coat and gathered up her bags.
“Here, let me help you.” Ian took the bags from her hands and a jolt shot through her when they made contact. Clearly he’d felt it too, because his eyes flew to her face and lingered there.
Gatsby and Daisy!
He placed his hand at the small of her back and followed her out into the cold, clear night.
Chapter 29
Ian flicked on the seat heaters and cranked up the heat, before heading toward 4th Street. Painfully aware that he’d yet to comment on Millie’s transformation, he took her hand, felt her gaze in his direction before she pulled her hand away.
Right. Groveling first. But not while he had to concentrate on driving. She deserved his full attention while he begged for forgiveness.
A quiet thirty minutes later, he parked in front of her building.
“Well, thanks for the ride. I can take it from here.” Millie reached for the door handle.
Ian grabbed her wrist. “Wait.”
“For what, Ian? What am I waiting for?” Anger, frustration, and hurt colored her voice.
“This.” He snagged her around the waist and hauled her across his lap.
She released a startled squeak but didn’t budge. His motor revved at the hitch in her breathing. Inside the dark, now-warm cab, he cupped her face and felt himself go hard when she bit that plump bottom lip. Her nervous tell. Her eyes traveled to his mouth and held. Transfixed, he grazed a thumb over her lower lip, then followed it with his tongue.
A low throaty moan escaped and she melted into him, her mouth open to his. God, she was sweet. Sexy. Innocent. Willing. Pressing his lips to the corner of her mouth, he inhaled a new scent. Something light. Illusive. Floral. It suited her. He continued to rain kisses along her jaw to the sweet spot beneath her ear and felt her shiver.
He wanted her in the worst way. And not in the cab of his truck. But first things first. He drew back, waited for her to open her eyes. Eyes that no longer hid behind heavy brown-rimmed glasses. Eyes glazed with desire. “Millie. I’d like to come up.”
Holding his gaze, she waited a beat as if deciding, then she asked, “What for?”
“Anything you’d like.”
Withdrawing, she said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I need to talk to you. Please.”
She captured her lip between her teeth again. “Fine.” She poked him in the chest. “But only to talk.”
The minute Millie closed the door to her apartment, Ian took the bags from her and dropped them to the floor. Noticing the other bags by the door he lifted a brow.
“My old clothes. They’re going to charity.”
He nodded, then surprised her when he pressed her against the door, all six-foot-two inches of him, his hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in. Her pulse kicked up a notch or two hundred.
“Before I tell you how amazing you look, I need to know why. Is this something you let Laura and Darcy talk you into?”
“You think I look amazing?” Millie whispered, her chest too tight to do anything more.
“Jesus, Millie! Who wouldn’t think that? But I need to know why.”
“I can’t think when you’re pressed up against me like that.” She placed her hands against his chest and he backed away. Pacing over to her windows, she pulled the blinds closed. Still not looking at him, she asked, “Why do you think you deserve to know?”
“You’re right. I probably don’t. But, please tell me you didn’t do this for anyone but yourself.”
“I wanted this. I added it to my list, and I asked Darcy and Laura to help me.”
“Okay. But why?” Ian pressed.
“I’m tired of living in the shadows. Of being invisible.”
“You weren’t invisible to me,” he said, his voice soft, touching her in places she didn’t want to be touched. Not now. Not by him.
She spun to face him and nearly did a face-plant in her heels. “Really, Ian? Because that night in your loft, when you said we were wrong, it sure felt like I was invisible.”
“I didn’t mean we were wrong. I meant . . . God, Millie, I don’t know what I meant.” He approached her and she held her ground. Placing his hands on her shoulders, the heat of him filled her senses. “I was angry. Frustrated. It had been one hell of a day.” He paused, gazing into her eyes. “Millie, you’re the one thing in my life these last two months that’s been right. Until I fucked it up.”
“I don’t understand.” She tamped down the glimmer of hope his words sparked in her.
“I got scared. I’ve never felt this way about a woman. I didn’t know what to do. How to handle it. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I pushed you away when I should have been holding you close, and I hurt you terribly. Can you forgive me?”
His face solemn, he gazed into her eyes, as they filled and her vision blurred. Blinking, she felt a tear slip down her cheek. He lifted his hands to her face, brushing the tear away with his thumb, waiting patiently for her answer.
She considered his apology. She knew she couldn’t take that kind of rejection again. She wouldn’t. This was the new and improved Millie. The strong and bold Millie. “Before I answer, I need to know when you’re leaving.”
“In two weeks.” A pain looked skittered across his face and then disappeared.
She nodded. “Okay.” She needed to prepare herself.
“I forgive you.” He released a breath and tugged her into his embrace. “Thank you.” He brushed his lips to her temple. “And you really do look amazing, but then I though
t you were beautiful before.”
Millie withdrew and gazed up into his eyes. Throw caution to the wind, her body told her. But he’s leaving, her brain reminded her. He’s already broken your heart, her traitorous body argued, what more could he do? Her body won that argument. “Is this the part where we have make-up sex?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Go sit down.” She pointed to the loveseat.
He lifted a brow, but did as he was told.
Taking a deep breath, she presented her back to him and lifting the hem of the sweater, peeled it off, turning with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile, and tossed it in his direction.
He caught it in one hand, an expression of surprise and lust on his face.
Kicking off her shoes, hoping to avoid going over like a felled tree, she shimmied out of her pants next and glanced over the shoulder to see his mouth hanging open.
“Sweet Jesus.”
Spinning to stand before his hot gaze in nothing but the red lace panties and bra Laura made her buy, she felt anything but invisible. She felt . . . emboldened.
“Come here, woman.” Ho-ly hell, but she looked hot! The red lace cups barely concealed her breasts, and the panties! She may as well have had nothing on. But he wasn’t complaining. Hell no.
He spread his legs and drew her in-between, pressing his face between her breasts, breathing her in. Gripping her hips, he spun her around.
“What’s this?” Ian’s hand swept up her curving backside to her sacrum. Tattooed in script was:
A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.
“The tattoo I told you I wanted.”
“Tell me you didn’t go to Dangerous Ink,” he growled.
“Okay, I won’t tell you. But I did.”
“Jesus, Millie. Why?” He pulled her around to face him again.
“Because I wanted a tattoo and you weren’t around.”
Ian closed his eyes against the pain. “Okay. It’s done. Don’t go back there again.”
“No chance of that. One tattoo is enough for me. I couldn’t sleep on my back for a week after I got it.” She shrugged. “But I have no regrets.” She twisted to admire her own backside. “I love it.”
His hand brushed across the ink. “Me, too. It suits you. And it’s sexy. You’re sexy, Millie.” Clasping her neck, he took her mouth, tasting her, drinking her in like a man who’d just crossed the Sahara. God, how he’d missed her.
Tongues tangled and teased, hands roamed and groped, both making up for lost time.
When they’d both been reduced to panting, writhing maniacs, he rose from the loveseat and took her hand. Her hair was wild from his fingers, her lips wet and swollen, her eyes glazed with desire. “I’m going to make sweet, hot love to you, Millie Stephens, but before I do, any requests?”
Biting her lip, she thought for a moment, then grinned. “How about the Kneel?”
“Sweet Jesus.”
“There’s something about me you don’t know,” Ian said, his voice tight. They lay face-to-face, limbs entwined, sated for the moment, although he didn’t think he’d ever get enough of her. What would he do without her in England?
You’re leaving, asshat, remember?
Even so, she’d forgiven him, and she deserved to know the truth about him. All of it.
“If you’re a hundred-year old-vampire, I don’t want to know,” Millie quipped.
He laughed, then took a deep breath. “No, I have a juvie record.”
She drew back, a look of surprise on her face. “Okay. Didn’t expect that. So . . . what? Vandalism? Criminal mischief?”
“Assault and battery.”
“Oh.” Millie was silent a moment. “What happened?”
“I was seventeen when I was working on a construction job in the Upper Eastside. I’d just finished my lunch break when I saw a couple walking down the street. They were well-dressed, in their element. They started arguing, and when the man tried to grab the woman’s arm, she yanked it away from him. He grabbed her and shoved her into an alleyway. She almost fell, but managed to right herself.
“I walked over and peered into the alley. He had her up against the wall, and let’s just say she didn’t appear to be enjoying his rough treatment. When he slapped her across the face, I’d seen enough. I grabbed the guy’s shoulder to get him away from her and he turned and swung at me. I ducked, but then I hit him in the chin with an uppercut. He staggered back into the wall, hitting his head.”
“Oh, God,” Millie whispered.
“She screamed and went to his aid. Go figure.” Ian paused, remembering the frustration. And fear. “He pressed charges, saying I’d attacked him and his girlfriend when they’d ducked into the alley for a little grope session. Even said I’d slapped his girlfriend when she’d refused to perform a sex act on me. Turned out he had the money and the lawyers to press the case.”
“But what about the woman? Didn’t she testify against him?”
Ian leveled her with a look. “What do you think?”
Millie sighed. “She took his side.”
“Good guess.”
“So what happened?”
“Curtis hired a lawyer and I pled to a lesser charge.”
Millie gasped. “You pled guilty?”
“With their money-backed word against that of a seventeen-year-old construction worker, the lawyer thought it best. I served six months’ probation, did another six months community service. And the lawyer had my record sealed, otherwise, I could forget my chances for a contractor’s license. So your initial impression of me as a thug was right.”
Millie drew back. “Gloria.”
He nodded.
“Cheese and crackers. Gloria spoke out of turn,” she muttered.
Ian snorted. “Cheese and crackers?”
“What? You’ve never heard that before?”
He laughed. “No.” He stared at Millie, a smile on his face.
“What?”
“You’re adorable.” He kissed her nose, and she blushed. Even with the ‘new and improved’ Millie, he hoped she never lost the tendency to blush. Then he grew serious again. “I just thought you should know your first impression was correct.”
“Ian, you did what you thought was right by defending that woman, even as ungrateful as she proved to be. I wouldn’t call that a thug. I’d call that a hero. Just like all those times you saved me. And Darcy.”
“I’m no hero,” he murmured, uncomfortable with that label.
“I’d bet Ruby would beg to differ.”
“Ruby had no illusions as to what I was.” One down. One more confession to go. He wanted Millie to know who he was through and through.
“There’s one more thing.”
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?”
Ian snorted. “No. But I am dyslexic.” There. He’d said it. Out loud.
“I know.”
He pulled back, thinking he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Wait. What?”
“I know you’re dyslexic.”
“Did Ruby tell you?”
“No. She didn’t have to.” She studied his face.
“Then how?”
“I suspected.” She lifted a shoulder. “You listen to audiobooks, yet you also had the books in your backpack. The two times we went to a restaurant, you didn’t order from the menu. You use text to voice on your phone, and you have Dragon Speak software for your computer.”
He lifted a questioning brow.
She shrugged. “I saw the software box on your shelf. But it wasn’t until I asked you to read the questions from the RFP and that day at Ruby’s that I knew for sure.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. She’d known all this time. “A
nd what do you think about that?”
“What do I think about you being dyslexic?” She held his gaze, licked her lips. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy growing up dyslexic, especially in school. Being . . . different is tough at any age, but especially in middle and high school. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”
“But?”
“But, Ian, look at you.” She cupped his face. “You’re a successful businessman. You do beautiful work, you genuinely love and care about what you do. You should be proud.”
“You still haven’t answered my question. What do you think about my dyslexia?”
She sat up and looked down at him, her hair falling like a curtain around them. “Do you honestly believe I would think less of you because of it?”
“It’s just that you’re so smart—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t even go there. Your reading disorder has nothing to do with your intelligence. Our discussions of Kant and Descartes, or music and poetry, have been some of the most stimulating conversations I’ve had in a very long time.”
He sucked her finger into his mouth. Watched her eyes go from the heat of anger to the simmer of desire.
She tugged her finger free. “Don’t. I’m not finished. Just because you’re intelligent doesn’t mean you aren’t dumb.”
Sounded a lot like Caleb’s lecture.
“You didn’t get selected for the RFP. Not because you aren’t capable of doing the work, but clearly you’re not capable of asking for help.”
Own up to it. “Yes.”
“Oh, Ian. I would have helped you.”
He wouldn’t get angry and defensive over the offer of help. Her offer, and his acceptance, of her help was the single factor that landed him the Hawkins Hall job. But, he couldn’t help but remind her. “For sex.”
Dreams of Her Own Page 22