But in bed, alone together, Farrell had discovered another side of his prim Ivy. She was fire and heat when he made love to her. Her body was strong and sensual, drawing every bit of his hunger to the fore and then drowning him in blissful completion. Each time was better than the last...which gave him high hopes for tonight.
“Will you come to my room later?” he asked, the words barely audible, though he could just as easily have traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and whispered the invitation.
They were facing the ocean, shoulder to shoulder. Quickly, he touched her hand, tracing the bones in her wrist. Even that simple connection made his skin hum with need.
He needed privacy. “Will you, Ivy? You disappeared last night.”
She shot him a glance, wrinkling her nose. “It was awkward. And late. And did I mention awkward?”
Her humor made him smile. “I understand. And to be clear, I could come to your room if that would make you more comfortable.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Downstairs is private. I’ll come.”
He bumped her hip with his. “Oh, yes, you will,” he said quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
* * *
“Farrell!” Ivy looked behind them to make sure nobody had stepped outside.
“Relax,” he said. “I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass you, I swear.” He squeezed her hand gently and then stepped away three paces, giving her a rueful grin that made him look like a sexy bad boy. “Once we’re behind closed doors, though, all bets are off.”
The heated certainty behind his teasing words made her stomach flip. Despite the fact that she had told Farrell she wanted to share his bed, she’d kept her distance from the “boss” since his guests arrived. She didn’t need anyone, especially Farrell’s family, to get ideas.
She yearned to be with him, but she was conflicted.
What Ivy and Farrell shared in private was theirs and theirs alone. It would go no further than this interlude in the Maine woods. No rosy future beckoned. But that didn’t make her time with Farrell any less special.
Ivy felt the wind ruffle her hair. The new clothes were not so strange now. She no longer felt like a kid playing dress up. Katie had been right in that regard. When Ivy made the choice to relax and enjoy her flattering new wardrobe, the decision had given her self-confidence a boost.
The international guests had been a surprise in many respects. Ivy thought most of them would be high-maintenance. That they would demand and expect preferential treatment. A certain level of deference.
Instead, they had been—to a person—delightful.
It was possible Ivy had a chip on her shoulder about the wealthy. This weekend, her prejudices had come smack up against reality, and she’d had to make adjustments. Still, there were moments. Like when Farrell told her that Luca’s company sold a couple of watches that retailed for two hundred grand apiece.
The zeros made her mind boggle.
“I should probably go change,” she said. The words were wistful. These few moments with Farrell were precious. She ached for him. Avoiding a tryst last night had been nothing more than cowardice on her part. She wouldn’t make that mistake again. “So dinner’s at seven?”
The look he gave her threatened to melt the polar ice caps and turn her into a puddle. “I’d like to skip the stupid dinner and take you straight to bed. It’s been almost forty-eight hours, Ivy. Why do you torture me?”
She started to make a flip comment until she saw that he was apparently in earnest. Not joking. At all.
“Umm...” What did a cautious woman say to that? “I want you, too,” she whispered.
Farrell’s face flushed. His eyes glittered. “Go inside, Ivy. Please. Before I do something reckless.”
* * *
Farrell was ready for the weekend to be over. But he still had to make it through lunch on Sunday before he could say goodbye to his houseful of guests. After the days of peace and quiet with only Ivy and Dolly for company, his tolerance for strangers, amiable though they were, was waning.
It didn’t matter that SRO business had gone spectacularly well. Or that his guests had been intelligent, charming and helpful. He was done. He wanted to be alone with Ivy.
As the crowd gathered for the evening meal, he watched the door for her. Already, champagne flowed like water. Tonight’s mood was celebratory. The caterer, with a bit of help from Katie and Ivy, had dug out china and crystal and an enormous Irish linen tablecloth that was specially made for this table.
Katie had arranged for a florist to bring fresh flowers, pumpkins and gourds to mark the season. Large potted mums in yellow, bronze, magenta and white decorated the foyer, the hallway and corners of the dining room. As a centerpiece, the same florist had created a long, low arrangement of eucalyptus, baby pine cones, tiny white asters and several shades of moss interspersed with white votive candles.
Farrell was no particular judge of botanical creativity, but even he thought the table looked particularly beautiful tonight. It made him think of a mystical fairy forest. The whimsical thought ground to a halt when Ivy finally entered the room.
“Good God,” he whispered reverently.
Katie was standing close enough to hear him. Her smile was smug. “I did well, didn’t I?”
“I’m not sure,” he muttered. Luca Bain was already making a beeline for Ivy. “We need to keep that Swiss lecher away from her.”
Katie pooh-poohed him with a frown. “Luca is a lovely gentleman. Ivy is a grown woman. She can decide who she’s interested in and who she’s not.”
“This is a work weekend,” Farrell said, hearing his own truculence and unable to stop himself.
“Don’t be absurd. The work is done. It wouldn’t hurt Ivy to enjoy herself tonight. She’s had a tough few months. If Luca wants to entertain her, what’s the harm?”
Katie moved away to chat with one of the guests.
“Over my dead body,” Farrell muttered. But he couldn’t make his feet move. So he simply stared at her. At Ivy, that was. His Ivy. His sweet, unassuming, gorgeous Ivy, who looked beautiful to him no matter what she wore.
Unfortunately for Farrell’s peace of mind, Ivy was dressed to kill tonight. Though the bodice and hemline of her fire-engine-red frock were modest, the cut of the dress left little to the imagination. It accentuated her small breasts and flattered her narrow waist and heart-shaped ass.
And those legs. Those legs.
He gulped his champagne, hoping to ease his parched throat. Only sheer force of will kept his erection at bay.
Honestly, there was nothing prurient about the red dress. But for a man who was ass-over-heels in lust with Ivy, it was the equivalent of waving a crimson flag in front of a raging bull.
Three hours, Farrell told himself. Three hours, and everyone would go upstairs to bed. Except for his Ivy.
The meal was exquisite, the guests complimentary. The caterer glowed. Interesting conversation rippled back and forth across the table.
If anybody had been keeping score, they would likely rank this as one of the best damn dinner parties in the history of dinner parties.
All Farrell could think about was how soon it would be over.
Dessert was generous slices of pecan pie slathered with recently whipped cream. Farrell was so far gone he debated asking the caterer to leave any leftover whipped cream in the fridge. So Farrell could use it later. To decorate his lover’s body as he kissed her from head to toe.
In the midst of his lust, reservations lingered. He was getting in too deep with Ivy. He couldn’t let himself get attached...or wish for more. To lose someone he cared about—again—would cripple him. No relationship was worth that kind of pain. He’d convinced himself he could handle a light, fun physical relationship. But what if he was wrong?
He loosened his tie and told himself no one ever died of sexual deprivati
on. Suddenly, he lurched to his feet, determined to move things along. Ivy was seated between the Irish husband and the Swiss watchmaker.
Farrell had not been able to rearrange the place cards at the last minute, so again, he wasn’t seated with Ivy.
He extricated her suavely. “Could you help me with something in the study, Ivy?” He gave both men a genial smile. “We won’t be long.”
Ivy stood and followed him. In the hall, she gave him a puzzled look. “What was that for?”
Privacy, Farrell thought desperately. He needed privacy. Taking Ivy by the wrist, he pulled her along to the study. Once inside, he locked the door. Slowly, he backed her up against the wall.
“That dress,” he grumbled.
She glanced down at herself. “I was supposed to wear this last night, but when you all decided on the more casual event outside, I went with the blue instead. What’s wrong? Did I spill something on myself? I hope not. This silk is dry-clean only.”
He placed his hands, palms flat, on either side of her head. “You didn’t spill anything.” His gaze settled on her full, rosy-red lips. The lip stain she wore must have been semipermanent, because the meal hadn’t removed it.
His chest rose and fell with the force of his ragged breathing. “I’d like to kiss you,” he said, the words ridiculously formal.
Ivy’s eyes rounded. Perhaps only now did she understand the true nature of their errand. She licked her lips. “I thought we were waiting until later.”
“Can’t,” he said gruffly. “That dress.”
Slowly, he reached out and cupped one of her breasts. He gave her plenty of opportunity to say no...to shove him away.
Instead, she smiled. “Patience, Farrell. Good things come to those who wait.”
“Says who?” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Let’s go to your cabin,” he muttered, only half kidding.
Ivy stroked his hair. “Dolly and Delanna are there...remember?”
He groaned. “Hell. I’m the only man I know who can build a fortress of solitude in the middle of northern Maine and still not find a quiet place to kiss a girl.”
“I’m a woman, Farrell.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. Slow, sweet, hot as a firecracker.
The taste of her exploded on his tongue, sent urgent messages to his sex and all other stops along the way. He pulled her tightly against him, so tight he could feel her heart beating against his, or so it seemed.
Reaching around her, he shimmied the hem of her skirt up to her hips. The skin on her thighs was softer than the silk. When he found a lacy black pair of thong panties, he cursed. Undressing Ivy later was a treat he was going to savor. Though he yearned to strip her naked, he forced himself to find one last modicum of control.
His hands rested on her butt, although he kept them still.
His fingers itched to tangle in her hair and tilt her lips to his, but they both had to return to the dining room soon. She truly had blossomed since coming to Farrell’s coastal hideaway. Any man would be lucky to have her, but that man wouldn’t be Farrell. Soon, he would have some difficult decisions to make.
He kissed the side of her neck. “Do you know how special you are, Ivy? I’ve watched you this weekend. People love you. You’re fun, and you get them to talk about themselves. You’ve made a huge contribution to Stone River Outdoors.”
Ivy slipped her hands underneath his suit jacket and rubbed his back through his shirt. “Thank you for saying that. It’s been great for me, too.” She sighed. “We have to go back in there, Farrell. You know we do.”
He squeezed her ass once, released her and stepped back. “I know. That’s the hell of it.”
Ivy smoothed her dress into place, checked her reflection in the mirror that hung over the fireplace and gave him the kind of smile women had been giving men for millennia. “Don’t be so impatient, Farrell. We’ve got all night.”
Sixteen
Ivy was not good at sneaking around. The one time she had tried ditching school for a day at the beach, her parents had found out and grounded her for a month. She was a good girl.
But look where it had gotten her. If she hadn’t been such a people pleaser, she might have booted Richard to the curb long ago. Instead, she had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to make her marriage work.
In looking back, she realized it was never a marriage at all. Not in the truest sense of the word. She had been a prisoner of Richard’s lies, her own grief and, ultimately, a deep-seated fear of being alone.
She wouldn’t make those mistakes again. For one thing, Farrell had been completely clear about his inability to commit to a relationship. Ivy appreciated his honesty.
Going forward, she understood that she and Dolly were a family now. Whatever happened with Farrell was a pleasant blip in Ivy’s life. Her job was to give her daughter a stable childhood, a happy home.
But tonight...
Ivy pinched her pale cheeks in the bathroom mirror. All she had to do was walk down the stairs nonchalantly. For all anyone knew, she might be getting a glass of milk.
The lovely, sophisticated nightwear Katie had picked out was the kind of thing Ivy had seen women wear in movies. The black satin gown slid over her skin like a caress, equally as comfortable as being nude, but even more provocative. Slit almost to her navel in front and to the base of her spine in back, it spelled out sex with every movement of her body.
The matching robe was also luxurious, but far more decorous, certainly modest enough to warrant a run-in with another guest without embarrassment for either party. She tightened the sash and knotted it firmly.
As it turned out, Ivy had worried for nothing. The house was still and quiet when she tiptoed down the main staircase and rounded the hall that led to Farrell’s room. Not a soul stirred. Farrell’s door was cracked, so she tapped lightly and entered.
A fire blazed in the hearth. The covers on the huge king bed were turned back. Farrell stood by the mantel, clad in nothing but a pair of low-slung navy knit sleep pants that left little to the imagination.
She sucked in a sharp breath and stopped, clinging to one of the bedposts when her knees wobbled and threatened to give out beneath her. “This looks cozy,” she said, trying to sound like a woman of the world.
Farrell’s grin warmed her cold toes. She had forgotten her slippers.
He crooked a finger. “Come by the fire, Ivy. Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks.” Alcohol at this hour would make her woozy. She didn’t want to miss the good parts of what came next.
It struck her suddenly with a sharp stab of grief that she had been dead wrong. She’d told herself that spending time with Farrell was something she wanted, something she deserved. That when the clock ran out and she and Dolly moved on, Ivy would be able to look back on this interlude and be glad she had known and loved Farrell Stone even for a little while.
The truth ate at her now, destroying her illusions. In an instant, she realized that leaving this place—walking away from this complicated, kind, generous, amazing man—was going to destroy her.
Farrell must have seen something on her face. His smile faded. “What’s wrong, Ivy?”
She swallowed hard. “Nothing. I’m just nervous.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. Her heart was beating like a jackhammer, and her teeth were in danger of chattering. Even her breathing was shaky.
Farrell didn’t wait. He came to her. “Relax, Ivy. This night is for us. No pressure. Just pleasure.” He slid his arms around her from behind and rested his chin on top of her head. “Earlier tonight you looked amazing in that red dress. But now, even better. Like a package I want to unwrap.” His nimble fingers unknotted the tie at her waist.
She slipped out of her robe and tossed it on a chair, shored up by his strength and caring. “I want that, too.”
“So glad we’re on the same page.” He chuckle
d hoarsely.
There wasn’t much talking after that. Both of them had done a lot of “adulting” this weekend. Playing host. Working hard to make sure the event went smoothly.
It was time for self-indulgence.
Farrell picked her up and carried her to the bed. His hair was overdue for a cut, but the slightly shaggy look suited him. He was his own man, not bound by all of society’s strictures. Though he was stunning in dress clothes, Ivy preferred this less-civilized version.
She wanted to tell him she loved him. Would it matter? Would it make a difference?
Maybe he wouldn’t believe her. Maybe he’d say it was too soon after her marriage...that a rebound relationship wasn’t the answer.
And maybe he would be forced to let her down gently, to remind her that Sasha had claimed his heart and still held it, even now.
Because Ivy didn’t know the answers to those hypothetical scenarios, she kept quiet. Better to juggle uncertainty than to face the humiliation of an outright rejection, no matter how kind.
Farrell was impatient. She liked that. His urgency made her feel special. Desired. Desirable.
Though he had expressed appreciation for her new nightwear, he wasted no time in removing the gown. His knit pants joined the discarded lingerie. When they were both naked in the center of the mattress, he pulled the covers over them and dragged her against his warm body. His very warm body. The way his strong arms held her was delightful.
She ran her hands over his back, feeling the muscles, the taut flesh. “I was jealous of the Italian girl in your kayak,” she admitted, her nose buried in his shoulder.
His chest rumbled with laughter. “Then we’re even. Because I wanted to punch my brother for offering you lessons.”
* * *
Farrell regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. That admission made him sound more emotionally invested in this thing with Ivy than he wanted to admit.
She pulled back to stare at him. The only light in the room was a muted glow from the fireplace. “Are you serious?”
Upstairs Downstairs Temptation (The Men 0f Stone River Book 2) Page 14
