by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair
Chapter Seventeen
“You smell much better now.”
They were having a picnic dinner on a blanket sprawled across the wood floor. After returning to the cabin, they’d bathed, christened her bed, bathed again, changed into dry clothes, and put together the dinner Ruth had packed for them. Ivy was absolutely stuffed, but that didn’t stop them from putting a slice of red velvet cake from the bakery on a plate to share.
Blake was sitting beside her and he looked up from the plate with a bite of cake midair on his fork. “I went out to the lake smelling just fine. If I smelled funky after you pulled me into the water, whose fault is that?”
“You looked hot,” she said with a smile. “I was just being helpful.”
Blake put the cake into his mouth and shook his head. “If you’d been sincerely helpful, you wouldn’t have gotten that spanking.”
Ivy blushed and accepted the bite of cake he fed her. The last half hour or so, they’d eaten in relative silence. Ivy knew Blake wanted to say something. She was content to wait for him to figure out how to phrase it.
“Ivy . . .” he said at last.
“Yes?”
Every muscle in his face and neck seemed tense, although she couldn’t fathom why. “You know . . .” he began, “when we first started this, I liked that you didn’t want to get serious. The women around here aren’t really interested in me. They might say they are, but deep down, they want the name, the prestige, and the invitation to tea with my grandmother. My money is also an incentive, but they don’t actually give a damn about me as a person. They pursue me like hunters during bow season. You didn’t seem to want any part of me. That’s what made you attractive, I guess.”
Ivy looked at him with raised brows and he corrected, “I mean, you’re attractive. Of course you are. But I liked knowing that you didn’t have this underlying motive to lock me down.”
“You don’t know, Blake. I could’ve come back to town to reclaim you and snatch you from the bloodthirsty clutches of Lydia.”
“Ugh.” He shuddered. “What I’m getting at is that things have changed. For me at least. Despite the short time we’ve been together again, it feels like all those years apart never happened.”
Ivy understood what he was saying. They had been each other’s whole world for years. Once the animosity between them was gone, it felt like old times. It felt like she should tell him she loved him before they went their separate ways. It would be such a reflex to say it. She didn’t think she loved him, not really; the old feelings were just lingering from before.
“I know this relationship has this ticking time bomb looming on the horizon Saturday night, but does it have to? Do we have to write this whole thing off because your time here is done?”
“How will it work, Blake?” It all sounded good, but the execution would be the hard part. “We live on opposite sides of the country and we’re both busy with work. Our last attempt at a long-distance relationship didn’t end so well, if you recall.”
Blake frowned at her. “It’s different now. We’re older, more mature. I can assure you that you won’t catch me with a cheerleader this time.”
“It’s not just that, Blake. It’s the time factor. When I go back to LA, I’m going into the studio to record a new album. We’ll start filming music videos, scheduling press events to advertise the first release. Even if I came back here at my first opportunity, it would probably be Thanksgiving or even Christmas. That’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair is dismissing what we have together just because it might be inconvenient or hard. I think we deserve the chance to see what could happen between us if we really committed to this. Listen,” he continued, “even if we only try it a few months and decide it won’t work, at least we gave it a shot. We won’t have any lingering regrets. Maybe then . . . I’ll finally be able to sleep at night knowing I didn’t drive away the only woman in my life I’ve ever wanted to marry.”
Ivy’s eyes widened as all the breath whooshed out of her.
“I wasn’t ready back then.” Blake set the plate aside and leaned in closer to her. “I was too young and stupid to appreciate the gift I’d been given, but even then, I knew you were something special. And you still are. Now I know better than to let you walk away.”
An overwhelming feeling of hope surged in Ivy’s chest. She hadn’t had a man say something like that to her in so long . . . Dating bad boys had its price, but she hadn’t realized how steep the cost had been until that moment. She’d been desired, wanted, and shown off, but not loved, adored, cherished, or appreciated. It was no wonder she couldn’t write a real love song. She hadn’t felt loved.
Blake looked at her, his baby-blue eyes pleading with her for something she was desperate to give. “Let’s try. That’s all I’m asking.”
Ivy didn’t have to reply. Her lips answered for her when she closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his.
She practically crawled into his lap, straddling him to get closer as they kissed. She buried her fingers in his dark hair. He held her so tightly, every touch they shared so intense, that she knew this time it would be different. It wasn’t just sex. They were coming together like it was the first time. Like they were truly making love.
The words sent a shiver down Ivy’s spine. She’d convinced herself that her reaction to Blake was just old, residual feelings confusing her, but now she knew she’d been wrong. She loved Blake. And she did want to try. She was just scared to death to let herself really feel it. To share it. That was a huge risk she wasn’t ready to take.
And yet, admitting it to herself was somehow freeing. It was like a floodgate had opened inside her. She couldn’t touch or taste or experience Blake enough. She writhed in his lap as they kissed, their sensitive parts rubbing together until sparks lit beneath her eyelids.
Although Blake would never say so, Ivy knew making love aggravated his leg. She’d seen him slink out of bed in the night to get pain pills when he thought she was asleep. Tonight, she wanted to take care of him. Pressing her hands against his shoulders, she pushed gently until he was lying back on the blanket.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Whatever I want to.”
Blake arched his eyebrow at her, but he didn’t complain. He held perfectly still as her nimble fingers moved down the front of his shirt, undoing each button and exposing the expanse of skin beneath it. Her palms ran over his skin, relishing the feel of his chest hair tickling her hands. She leaned forward, letting her tongue glide along his collarbone, and then she crept down his body to the button of his jeans.
“Your hair tickles,” he said.
Ivy gathered up the long, wavy strands of her hair into one hand and swept them over her shoulder. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Not on your life,” he said between tightly gritted teeth as her fingertips brushed the edge of his waistband.
“That’s what I thought,” she said with a smile. “Now, stop complaining.”
Ivy settled between his legs, resting on her knees as she unbuttoned his jeans and slipped one hand inside. Blake groaned loudly as her palm ran over the firm heat of his desire. She stroked it gently from base to tip. When Blake became so tense that she thought he might hurt his leg from flexing his muscles so tightly, she took her hand away. She tugged at his back pockets, pulling his jeans down the length of his legs and throwing them out of her way. She moved back over him doing the same with his underwear, which thankfully, this time, were a pair of charcoal-gray boxers. They slid easily out of her way, leaving nothing between her and her goal.
She leisurely traveled back up his legs. Her fingertips gently brushed along the puckered pink scars on his calf and across his kneecap. By the time she reached his upper thigh, he was nearly trembling. Ivy wasn’t sure if it was with anticipation, emotion, or pain.
His hand reached out and snatched her wrist as she moved higher. “This hardly seems fair,” he said. “You’re wearing entirely too mu
ch clothing for me to be wearing so little.”
“Who’s doing this? You or me?”
Blake acquiesced and released her hand. He crossed his arms behind his head, giving himself an excellent vantage point for overseeing her activities. “You are, ma’am.”
“That’s right. Now are you going to keep critiquing everything I do, or do I need to put something in your mouth to shut you up?”
A wicked grin crossed Blake’s face as he looked at her. “May I offer a suggestion?”
“I have several ideas of my own,” she said. “However, I’d like to take care of a few things first, if you don’t mind.”
He had the good sense not to answer this time. Probably because Ivy had her fingers wrapped around him. She leaned down and tipped the length of him toward her mouth. Blake’s head dropped to the floor with a thud and a groan as she made contact. Her tongue bathed his smooth skin, her lips tightening around his length. She could see Blake’s hands balled at his sides now, his eyes tightly shut as he fought to keep control. She pushed him near to his breaking point, then pulled away to give him time to catch his breath.
Ivy sat up, reaching for a condom and sliding it down the length of him. She eased her shirt over her head. Her bra followed. Blake’s appreciative gaze on her every move encouraged her to savor each moment. She stood up to slip out of her shorts and panties, kicking them aside. She should feel so exposed standing there like that, but she didn’t. Not with the blatant expression of desire on Blake’s face.
She crouched down, straddling him. His warm hands caressed her hips as she leaned forward, then eased back to guide him inside her. Her head fell back and her eyes closed as the penetrating sensation coursed through her veins. With a gentle rock of her hips, she started moving. Blake’s fingertips pressed into her flesh, guiding her speed even as he bit into his lip. He flexed and tensed beneath her, providing the solid base she needed to make every motion count.
It didn’t take long for both of them to near the edge. Blake reached for her, pulling her down to kiss her deeply before she buried her face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him, and moved into her from below.
Ivy’s heart swelled at being so close to him. She could feel his pulse racing against her lips as they pressed to his throat. She could feel every muscle in him tense with every thrust. When her release hit her, he held her even tighter, whispering soft words of encouragement into her ear until her body stilled and his own orgasm rushed in.
They lay together like that for a long time. Their heartbeats slowed along with their breathing. Eventually, Ivy rolled to his side and curled against him. As hard as the floor might have seemed, there was no way either of them would move from that spot. The moment was absolutely perfect, and they wanted it to stay that way.
Preparations for Saturday night’s concert started early. Thursday morning, the stage was being set up under the goalpost of the football field. By the time Blake’s first-period gym class ended, the high school was crawling with roadies. When his last class was finished and he was heading for his truck, he saw that the property had been completely transformed into a stadium perfect for a concert by the famous Ivy Hudson.
What he didn’t expect was to find that sketchy reporter Nash Russell leaning against his truck. He was holding a manila envelope in his hands and twitching nervously.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Blake said. “For those prom pictures alone, I oughta throttle you.”
Nash held up his hands in surrender. “Before you start pounding me, I’m here with a peace offering.”
Blake frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “What could you possibly offer me aside from some time as a human punching bag?”
“Hear me out. I have some pictures I thought you might be interested in.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve got pictures you’re not interested in blasting all over the Web?”
Nash smiled. “This isn’t really my thing, but it might be yours.” He opened the envelope and let a few color photographs slip into his hands. He handed one to Blake and waited for his reaction.
Blake looked down at the photograph. It took him a minute to figure out what he was looking at, but when he realized what Nash had caught on film, he was stunned. It was a photograph of Lydia at the parade. The shot was focused on Ivy on her horse, but it was easy to see that Lydia was holding something in her hand.
“I didn’t like the way that day went down,” he said. “Spooking that horse wasn’t cool. Someone could’ve gotten hurt. And if Ivy had been that person, I would’ve lost my meal ticket. I can always find another starlet to chase, but Ivy’s grown on me.” Nash handed over a second photograph.
This picture clearly showed Lydia throwing something into the street. Blake had been certain before, but now he had the proof he needed. Maybe. He didn’t know what this Nash guy really wanted. Money? Access to Ivy? Insider information? “These are some nice pictures,” he said, noncommittally. He wasn’t going to act too interested or the price would likely go up. “If I was interested in having copies of my own, what would we be talking about here?”
Nash shrugged. “Normally, I would ask for a couple of bills. But in this case, I’m more interested in a little revenge.”
Blake’s brow went up. “Revenge on whom?”
“Lydia Whittaker. She screwed me out of some money and it pissed me off. I don’t like the broads that think they’re better than everyone else. I wanna take her down a peg.”
“So were you trying to sell her the pictures or were you blackmailing her?”
Nash shuffled around. “Details. Point is, I’ve decided to give them to you in the hopes you can put them to . . . good use.”
“For free?”
“Essentially, although I could use your help if you’re willing.”
Blake narrowed his gaze at the reporter. This would be interesting. “Go on.”
“I’ve got to stay in town through the concert. Most of the town has figured out who I am, and I’m persona non grata nearly everywhere. Miss Twila booted me out of the B and B, so I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve been blacklisted from every restaurant. Hell, I can’t even get ice cream since the dance. What I’d really love is a hot meal that didn’t involve someone scowling at me.”
“And that’s it? You just want me to put in a good word with folks?”
“And Ivy. I think she’s still torqued about those prom pictures. It would help if you put in a good word for me with her, too.”
“Torqued is one way to put it. Ready to string you up is another. How the hell did you get Cheryl to go with you to that dance? And how is it that her daddy hasn’t killed you yet?”
Nash smiled. “It might be hard to believe, but I do have a way with the ladies, especially the lonely kind. What’s this about her daddy?”
“Let’s just say he’s a good shot.”
Nash swallowed hard. “Well then, can you put in a good word with him, too?”
Blake handed the pictures back to Nash and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure that would help. But I’ll see what I can do about the rest. You planning to take any more prying pictures while you’re here?”
At that Nash shrugged, proving he wasn’t entirely reformed. “I’m just an observer. If nothing happens, I won’t take pictures. If something does, I will. Don’t wave red in front of a bull, you know? But generally, I’m going to cover the concert and get the hell out of Alabama.”
Blake knew he couldn’t trust Nash, but he noted a ring of sincerity in his words. He wanted out of Rosewood. They finally had something in common. Blake wanted Nash out of Rosewood, too.
“Okay, how about this,” Blake said. “I’ll take you over to Ellen’s Diner. I’ll make sure Ruth treats you nice and gets you set up with a hot meal and a friendly crowd. If anyone gives you trouble, you send them to me.”
Nash nodded. “That sounds great.” He slipped the pictures back into the envelope and handed them over to B
lake. “And even better if you make that Whittaker bitch choke on these.”
Blake chuckled and walked around him to his side of the truck. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll put them to good use. Hop in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride over to Ellen’s now, if you’re hungry.”
“I sure am. I’ve been eating nothing but ham sandwiches and granola bars from the Piggly Wiggly since your brother ran me off.”
They both climbed into the truck and Blake started the engine. “Which brother? The fireman or the cop?”
“The fireman. I haven’t met the cop yet. How many Chamberlain boys are there?”
“Four, but one’s out of state.”
They pulled to a stop outside Ellen’s. Blake walked Nash inside and had a chat with Ruth. That was all it took. Reporter or no, once he had the endorsement of a Chamberlain, he was golden. He gave Nash a stern warning not to abuse what he’d been given and headed back to his truck. He was tempted to confront Lydia immediately, but he decided to wait. She’d been quiet since the prom. He hoped she had finally gotten the hint and backed off.
But if not . . . now he had the leverage to shut her down for good.
“This song is amazing, Ivy.”
Ivy was surprised to hear Kevin’s lush praise when she answered the phone. Thursday morning, she had emailed him the arsenal of songs she’d written while she was down here, including her latest, inspired by her recent revelations about her feelings for Blake. The moment she was able to, she’d put her pen to paper and written some new songs. She had to admit that Blake was a powerful muse.
Perhaps she’d been going about inspiring songs the wrong way. She’d thought that her bad breakup with Blake had made for good songs, but the truth was that her connection to him was more important. This new song was one of the best she’d written. At least she thought so.
She’d sent the songs figuring Kevin would listen to them on his flight to Alabama on Friday, but apparently he’d gotten to them sooner.
“Which song?”
“Which song?” he said, his voice sharp with incredulity. “The one that’s like nothing else you’ve ever written before—‘I’ve Never Stopped Loving You.’ ”