by Marie Harte
“Yes. I’d been wanting to call and apologize for my behavior, but my day was packed with clients. And, well, I was nervous. I didn’t want to sound as pathetic as I still feel. Then I got the flowers, and I was so confused.”
She still looked weirded out that she’d desired him, and her inability to control herself made him feel ten feet tall.
“When Cyn offered me a ride, with her working so close to the garage, I figured it was meant to be that I get down here.”
“Meant to be,” he agreed, deciding to have a talk with the curvy redhead. He appreciated the help, but he didn’t want her or Foley meddling in his business. He could fuck up all on his own, thank you very much. “So about that date—what do you think about Friday night?” That would give Cyn and Foley time to do a little apologizing. “I have an invite to a friend’s for dinner, but I’m always odd guy out because he has a girlfriend. They keep hounding me to bring someone. Would you like to come? She’s a great cook.”
“Are you sure they wouldn’t mind?”
“Nah. They owe me.” And you an apology. “Trust me, you coming is doing me a favor.”
“Then that sounds great. What should I bring?”
He guided her toward the main office door leading into the belly of the garage. “Just yourself. So are you heading back to work or what?”
“Oh, yes. I have to grab my flowers.” She gave him a tap on the arm that barely registered.
“How about I drive you to get them, then drop you off at home? Least I can do since you’re without wheels.”
“But you’re working.”
“He’s on break,” Del said as she approached them, wiping her hands with a rag. “Be back in an hour, okay, Sam?”
“Sure thing.” He owed her a thanks when he got back. He walked Ivy to the break room, where Foley continued to eat on his long-ass break. There, Sam quickly removed his coveralls and hung them up in an open locker. He washed his hands and frowned at Foley. “Isn’t that your fourth sandwich? How much did you bring to eat?” He recognized the uneven cut on the PB&J. “Hey. That’s mine.”
Foley shrugged and narrowed his eyes on Ivy. “I know you, don’t I?” he asked around a mouthful of crunchy peanut butter and strawberry jelly.
She blinked. “Yes. I’m Ivy, Sam’s friend. You’re Foley, right?”
He swallowed. “Right. I remember you from Ray’s. So what are you doing here? Slumming?”
“Funny guy.” Sam gave him a warning glare. Ivy had just come back to him, so to speak. He didn’t want anything to fuck up his chances. And that included an obnoxious best friend.
“Actually, Sam’s fixing my car for me.” She put a hand on Sam’s arm, and he wanted to glue them together, so that they were always touching.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam growled, not liking the challenge in Foley’s tone.
Ivy nodded. “He’s doing the labor in exchange for some bodywork, I hope. I’m a massage therapist.”
“Yeah? Heck, Ivy. I’ll work on your car for you for that kind of trade. Just say the word.”
She gave a tentative smile, and Sam forgave Foley for the slumming comment.
Sam casually mentioned he planned to drive Ivy home, since she had no car at the moment.
“Good idea.” Foley nodded and took a last bite of Sam’s sandwich, the bastard. “See you later.”
Sam resolved to get back at Foley just as soon as he returned. He took Ivy back to her office, packed her flowers in the car, then drove her home. She looked so pretty surrounded by colorful petals.
“You didn’t have to do all this, Sam.” Ivy held the plant in her lap, looking pleased.
“I know. But I felt bad I scared you.”
“You didn’t.” She put a hand on his thigh, and he couldn’t help tensing up. All over. “It was my fault.”
“Do you think it might be your fault again?” he heard himself asking. “Because that kiss knocked me for a loop. You’re damn right we share some chemistry.”
“I’m glad it’s not just me.” She squeezed his leg, and he barely contained a groan.
“About that trade for massage. You bet your ass I want it. I get achy when I work long hours.” Hell, he was achy now. If she moved her hand up a few inches, she’d see for herself.
“I’m very good at my job. You’ll feel better in no time.”
He could just imagine.
“But, um, you need to know that the massage won’t be… It’s strictly professional. Nothing like what happened at my house.”
“So no happy endings?”
She lifted her hand from his thigh. “God no.” She laughed. “Fastest way to lose your license—diddle the client.”
“Gotcha.” Ivy didn’t do her clients. No one he’d have to rip apart, then.
“It’s strictly therapeutic. Relaxing too. In fact, you might even fall asleep during a session. A lot of my clients do.”
“Yeah? So when can I book an appointment?”
“I’ll check my schedule at home, and we’ll work it out. How many hours do I owe you?”
“How many can I get?”
She smiled. “Let’s hope you like the first one; then we’ll go from there. If you don’t, you can be sure I’ll pay you for your help with the car.”
He’d like it even if she pinched him from head to toe. As if he’d balk at the chance to get her hands on him. “Sounds good. So do I get naked on the table or what?”
“You’ve never had a massage before?”
Not counting the happy ending kind. “Um, no.”
“You’re in for a treat.” She patted his shoulder, then rubbed the dense muscle and frowned. “And you can use the work. You won’t be easy, but I can manage you.”
I sure as hell hope so. “Sounds like a plan. Now, about sharing Cookie, how about you tell me what you had in mind.”
She did, and his life got even sweeter. A dog, a massage, and the prettiest girl in town. He was three for three and counting.
Chapter 8
Friday evening, sitting next to Sam in his car with her newly fixed vehicle parked at home, Ivy couldn’t stop looking at him. He’d shaved his beard and mustache, and the amazing face underneath blinded her. He’d been sexy as sin with that facial hair, but without it? It was all she could do not to reach out and stroke him…all over. She did her best to be still, though she found it difficult. And not just because of the new and improved clean-shaven Sam.
Ivy could hardly contain her excitement. Working things out with him had turned a corner in their relationship. She now counted Sam Hamilton as a friend. But from the looks he gave her when he didn’t think she was looking, he wanted to be something more.
Not that she had a problem with that—shockingly enough. Memories of their intimate time together would hit her at the oddest moments. Like when he’d picked her up in his muscle car, a purring black beast that suited him to a T. It was rough yet gave a gentle ride, one that caused her to bubble with excitement.
With passion.
For so long, she’d been adamantly opposed to another relationship with a man. But somehow she found herself becoming attached to Sam, and without him trying very hard. Did that mean she’d healed from the pain of Max leaving? Or that she’d found someone worth trying for with Sam?
She shot him a side-glance, wondering if they’d get back to all that pleasurable touching. She never could have imagined Sam fretting about how he’d handled her. God, he’d made her come with barely a touch. Yet the big, handsome bruiser had been scared he’d been too demanding.
She forced herself to look out the window, afraid she’d sigh dreamily and spend the rest of the night staring at him. The more she looked at him, the more she wanted to look at him. His sexuality and brooding intensity attracted every ounce of her attention. The thought of a kiss aga
inst that smooth cheek played over and over in her mind’s eye.
Even his scent intrigued her. He’d used a subtle cologne, but it couldn’t hide the sensual manliness that belonged to him. It was hard to define, yet she knew it the instant she experienced it. And like the effect on the rest of her senses, desire rushed through her, turning her nipples rock-hard and the tingling between her legs to rev like his engine.
He glanced at her and curled his lips. “You look fine as hell, Ivy.”
“Thanks.” She warmed. His compliments never seemed prettied up. They were blunt, honest, and because of it, his words meant more. “So do you. I can’t believe you shaved your beard and mustache. You look amazing.”
“Didn’t want you laughing if I tried to kiss you. You did say it tickled.” He shrugged, as if shaving for her were no big deal. “But hey, my clothes are clean, at least. I’m not much more than a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy.”
“I don’t mind. This skirt is pretty much as fancy as I get. You should feel impressed I put it on for you.” A light-blue floral skirt that reached her knees, along with a button-down blue silk top, a dark-blue sweater, and knee-high leather boots completed the outfit. Ivy’s inner sex fiend, still raging for another go at Sam, had insisted she wear a pair of baby-blue lacy panties with the matching bra as a bonus. It closed in the front, so if Sam happened to unbutton her shirt, he could easily—“Are we there yet?” she asked with a bit of desperation.
So much sexual desire for a man she’d just come to know. Ivy didn’t trust herself, and she didn’t know why she felt so much when she’d been socially dormant for over a year. More like two years, in all honesty. Losing Max had damaged her to the core. Her trust in men had faltered, but so had her trust in herself.
She studied Sam, lingering on the tattoos creeping up his neck. Such a big man, so rough on the outside. She’d seen him take down a thug with one punch. A look at his fists showed them bruised, dense, his fingers long and thick yet curiously gentle when petting a stray dog—or a stray massage therapist.
Ivy shifted her gaze to the dash and stifled a sigh. She’d known she’d need to enter the dating scene again. She could only hope she would be smarter than to pin all her dreams on Sam. The poor guy had no idea his simple date had conjured fantasies of a deep relationship.
Ivy’s problem—she wasn’t a casual kind of girl. When she fell for a man, she fell hard. Her first boyfriend in high school had lasted three years before they’d mutually broken it off. Then Max and she had been together for four years. Four years living with the man, considering having children together, planning to purchase a home. Four years down the drain.
Maybe if her family had been more supportive, she wouldn’t have thrown the whole of herself into Max. But he was all she had—until she had nothing. Now she had Cookie. And…Sam?
“You okay? You’re awfully quiet. I promise they won’t bite.”
She smiled. “I’m good. Just telling myself to behave.”
He arched a brow. “Not on my account.” His deep voice sounded gravelly. Sexy.
She crossed her legs and tried not to think about all the tingling in her lower body. “On my account. I’m a mess, you know.”
“Yeah?” He sounded intrigued instead of put off.
“Never mind. I’m trying to put on a good impression for you.”
“Hey, I’m already impressed. I didn’t scare you away after Ray’s or from, well, before.”
“Well, then I want to impress your best friend. How’s that? I don’t think he liked me much.”
“Fuck—I mean, screw what Foley thinks. Besides, he liked you.”
“Really? Because he had a mean look on his face even while he was acting nice. Trust me, I could tell.” She had become an expert at reading body language. A bonus to her profession—reading postures, gaits, and looking for signs of pain or fatigue. Or in Foley’s case, wary hostility.
Sam seemed startled. “Mean look? What are you talking about?”
She had a feeling Foley had just been acting protective about his friend. For all that Sam acted tough, he had feelings. Vulnerable ones she’d already witnessed—at her house, in Del’s office, with Cookie. Only a sensitive man would feel sorry about something he hadn’t even done.
“Maybe it’s me. I still feel bad about before.”
He pulled in front of a cute cottage in North Beacon Hill, one she’d love to be able to afford. Sage green, with white shutters and white Craftsman-style columns, the home had an abundance of pansies overflowing a tall, black pot by the front door. The house, the landscaping, the location—it all intimidated because it all looked perfect.
Sam turned off the car and faced her. He took one of her hands in his. “Ivy, let it go. We’re good, yeah? Even if I hadn’t been messed up about all that shit, I still would have sent you flowers.”
She searched his face and saw only concern—for her. “Okay.”
Then he gave her one of those rare smiles. “If you get jumpy again, know I’m ready for you at any time. Hell, say the word and we’ll leave right now, so you can continue those feelings in the privacy of your living room. I’m partial to your couch.”
Her cheeks felt hot, and she found it hard to breathe when he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it—all while staring at her.
His blue-gray eyes turned dark, and her entire body came alive.
“S-Sam?”
“Sure you’re hungry for dinner?” The emphasis on dinner told her he felt it too.
Which made it worse. Because she really, really wanted another go at Sam. But they’d only just met a week ago. And Ivy didn’t do casual. Sad she had to keep reminding herself of that fact.
She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m starved.” Before he could ask what for, she withdrew her hand from his and darted out of the car. She thought she heard him sigh, but he joined her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and walked with her to the front door.
“Remember when I told you I had a surprise waiting for you?” The first thing he’d said after picking her up. “Well, here it is.”
He rang the doorbell and waited.
The door opened, and Ivy stared in astonishment at a familiar face. “Cyn?”
Cyn Nichols blinked before a wry smile lit her face. “Busted. Come on in, guys.” She stepped back.
Sam drew Ivy with him, almost protectively, and she couldn’t help basking in his care. It had been so long since someone else had put her needs first. The years with Max had quickly progressed from his interest in her well-being to his interest in being taken care of—constantly.
“Yo, Sam, what’s…” Foley tapered off as he saw Ivy with him. He glanced at Cyn, then back at Sam and Ivy. “Oh. You brought a guest. Ivy. Hi.”
“Asshole,” Sam snarled but kept a proprietary arm around Ivy. “What’s with your super-stacked spy?”
Cyn chuckled. “Thank you?”
“Sam.” Ivy tried not to be amused. “Just for the record, I told you Foley was acting weird.”
Foley blinked. “What?”
Sam scowled, taking menacing to new heights, but Ivy felt nothing but protected in his embrace. “Why were you spying on Ivy?”
“Spying is a harsh word,” Cyn interrupted. “Ivy, would you like a glass of wine?”
Seeing nothing but humor and goodwill in Cyn’s smiling eyes, Ivy nodded. “A big one.”
Cyn gave a husky laugh. “I wasn’t trying to be devious,” she said to Sam. “Or maybe I was. Rumor has it you were pretty upset not so long ago.”
Ivy glanced up at Sam to see him uncomfortable. Knowing what he’d worried about, she wanted to comfort him. So she put her arm around his waist and held him close.
He glanced down at her and raised a brow. When she smiled up at him, his cheeks turned pink.
He cleared his throat. “I’m over it.”
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br /> “Yeah, now.” Foley sighed. “Look, you were acting all weird, and who the hell knew what Ivy would say or do? I mean, I know you aren’t the type of guy to get all crazy. But some chicks are wacko, and for them, any hint of weakness in a guy can get him hammered.”
Everyone looked at him.
“What? I had a life before Cyn.” Foley shrugged. He wore jeans and a dark-green sweater. Like Sam, his forearms were covered in tattoos. Despite herself, Ivy acknowledged she was standing in a room with two very handsome men. Even if neither could seem to express himself clearly.
Cyn muttered under her breath, then said in a louder voice, “What my idiot boyfriend is trying to say is that, in his own way, he was trying to protect you, Sam.”
“I know that. Or I’d have taken his head off when I found out he sent you to spy on her.”
Ivy hugged him, then stepped away before she did something worse, like jump him again.
“For what it’s worth, I truly went there for a massage,” Cyn stated bluntly. She grabbed the bottle of wine on the dining table, which sat deeper into the large living space, and poured Ivy a glass. After handing it to her, she continued, “Ivy is amazing. I felt like a limp noodle after my massage. It was wonderful.”
Ivy liked Cyn. Not just for the compliment, but also because she’d done something nice for Sam, even if he couldn’t yet see it. “Thanks,” Ivy said.
“Don’t fall for her nice-chick attitude,” Sam warned. “She’s really a shark in heels.”
Cyn beamed. “That’s so sweet.”
“Christ.”
Foley smirked. “Ain’t she fun?” He turned to Ivy. “I can’t say I’m sorry for checking into you. Sam was acting like a dumbass, and he seemed to like you. Can’t say if it’s because you’re a smokin’ hot blond or because you like that furry mutt.”
“Sam or Cookie?” Cyn asked, all innocence.
Sam shot her a look, and she seemed to choke on laughter.
“I’m pretty sure he meant Cookie.” Ivy tried to placate her rigid date, trying not to laugh herself.