by Melissa Blue
He tugged a hand through his hair, not meeting her gaze. “Not really.”
Shocked, she pushed out a breath. It wasn't a yes or no, but the implications were there that maybe she might. Who the hell was he? “Not really?”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “The less you know the better.”
Nope. Didn't like that answer at all. She shook her head. “But I can know you can build me cabinets?”
“Aye.”
She pursed her lips. “You're unemployed now. Can you tell me what you used to do?”
The silence lasted so long it thickened into a wall. “CEO of Scotland International.”
Her brows shot up, but she'd been right. He'd lived at the top of the food chain in the corporate world. “That's a private equity firm, a respected one.”
He frowned at her, tilting his head. “You continue to impress me. How do you know that? Most people, not in the business, don't know companies by name.”
She was a floral designer, but had a sister who lived in his world. “My sister works for a private equity firm. I've picked up a few things over the years.”
Goose bumps prickled her skin. Marcus was taking late night calls and being courted by companies. Yeah. The list of potential employers could be a mile long, but he'd moved to California for a reason. From what her sister had told her on more than one occasion there were at least five companies within driving distance if things went up shits creek with Bain. Bain who was looking for a new CEO.
Was he the new possible CEO Adeline had talked about? And no wonder he didn't want to give her details. He couldn't possibly know her connection to the company or to his world. He'd been right to be cautious. She understood his wariness and still couldn't quite accept it. Her life was open. But maybe that was the problem. They weren't an “us” and this was a boundary they'd tripped into.
“Yeah,” she said. “It's probably best if you don't tell me anything.”
His gaze narrowed and he shifted back a step. “Why?”
“My sister works for Bain. For one of the managing partners. She's aware they are looking, courting someone.”
“They are on my list.”
She didn't like the darkness that flashed in his gaze. Was he considering pumping her for information? Using her to get to her sister? The man had been the CEO to one of the most powerful private equity firms. He'd helped build that reputation and he couldn't have become a CEO because he played by the rules or that he was nice. His warning to her that he couldn't give her romance...yeah. Marcus was everything he said he was, and just because he could be kind, sweet, make her laugh and moan didn't mean jack shit when it came down to the wire.
At least now she knew and believed him. Now she could look at him and remind herself this was sex between them.
“You're looking like you want to leave, lass.” His words were flat but the bleakness in his gaze tugged at her.
Isn't this what she had hated the most? She told a man that she was a virgin and suddenly he treated her differently, looked at her as though she was broken or wrong somehow. A non-issue for her now, but Marcus was still a shark in a suit. He'd stop in the middle of sex to take a business call. She'd never come first and now they both knew that truth.
“I probably should leave,” she said.
“Aye.” His agreement came out in a harsh rush.
The defensive reply was probably his way of bracing himself for what came next. She shouldn't have let his vulnerability worm its way into her heart. Shouldn't being the important word. “I probably could if you were the stereotypical billionaire.”
His mouth twitched. “Do you know any?”
“I've seen a lot on TV.” She smiled at him. “And I could definitely walk away if you called any room in your house a playroom. Though, I'm still wary about the fact you have folded underwear.”
He nodded as though he understood this was her olive branch to him. Don't fuck it up. “Come to bed with me, lass.”
Could it be that simple between them? She hoped so. Ivy was tired of waiting for perfection and this was so far from perfect. “Are we cuddling again?”
“Definitely not.”
Not perfect at all, but need had started to tighten her stomach. She stood and walked to him, her hips swishing. “Good, because you made promises I intend for you to keep.”
“Aye, but you forgot the wine.”
Oh, yeah. She'd take this instead of perfection any day.
6
A woman's cheerful humming dragged Marcus from sleep. That wasn't right. He had to let the maids in to work. Had he forgotten about opening his door and letting them in? The off-tune melody was coming from the living room or the kitchen. He scrubbed a hand down his face and the scent of sex and roses filled his nostrils.
Ivy.
She'd stayed the night and now she was humming some peppy tune in his home. He swallowed and the taste of her pussy and wine had lingered from the night before. His stomach tightened with need. His dick had woken up well before him, ready for another round.
He'd let a woman stay the night in his home. Marcus didn't have rules per se. He just preferred his space. He'd stay at their place. Leave when he wanted. Coaxed his way in when it was needed, which wasn't often. He was a Scottish bastard, aye, but also a charming one.
His chuckle was bitter. He'd made that big speech about not giving her romance and he was being softer than a kitten with her. Maybe he could have found the resolve to kick her out but the scent of sausage and the sweet, doughy fragrance of pancakes or waffles filled his home. She was getting to him one meal at a time.
With the promise of a half-naked Ivy and a home cooked meal, Marcus rolled out of the bed, slipped into his jeans and went into his kitchen.
A stack of pancakes waited on the counter to be devoured and Ivy swished her arse back and forth, dancing to a tune only she could hear. He leaned against the archway, a little dizzy, aye. His blood was pumping south. The shirt she stole this time barely covered the good parts. The curve of her arse peaked out from the cotton material.
“Morning,” he said, his voice gruff and a little raw.
She jumped, knocking into the stove. She let out a curse. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Didn't mean to,” he replied with a laugh.
She pushed back her curls with her free hand, still clutching the spatula with the other. “I'm not trying to overstay my welcome. I swear. I was starving and you had pancake mix. I only have fruit. I need to go shopping.”
Nervous chin-wagging was also on the menu. “You're fine. More than since you made enough for an army.”
“I didn't know how much you wanted to eat and...” She turned back to face the stove and lowered the fire. “I'll be out of your hair soon. I have to head into work.”
He doubted he'd ever stop being amazed that a woman who was so forthright at times, could also wear her heart on her sleeve. He didn't want vulnerable, not from her. It made him feel daft and all the hollow spaces inside him ached. He could deal with her when she had a spark in her eyes.
“I can feel it,” he said. “You're going to ramble soon and make this an awkward morning-after.”
She put a hand on her hip and glared at him. “I wasn't. I'm just a little slow to start in the morning.”
“Aye, right.” He pushed off the wall, intent to fondle her arse and make her gaze go dreamy, but someone knocked at his door.
Much to his regret, she pulled the shirt down another inch. “You're expecting someone? You should have told me.”
“Nope, but they'll be dead soon because I'm going to choke them.” It wasn't until Marcus stood at the door that he remembered. Fuck. He'd called Tristan the day before to come by and lend a hand. They were knocking down a wall between the two guest rooms to make him one large office.
He checked out the peephole, cursing. Tristan as expected. He yelled. “Give me a sec.”
“Aye, right.” Came from the other side of the door. “Put some clothes on. N
o one wants to see your pale arse.”
In their family that translated to “good morning.” Tristan would wait without complaint.
Marcus tracked back to the kitchen. “My cousin is here. Go get decent.”
She gasped. “Your what?”
He reached around her and turned off the fire. “I can let him in with you dressed like this...”
Her eyes widened for a moment and then she flicked him in the chest. “Not funny, and I can creep out the back door. Just give me five minutes.”
That hadn't been his point. Despite how settled down his family were now, they'd run through their fair share of women. Tristan, out of all of them, wouldn't clutch imaginary pearls if he saw Ivy.
“You'd abandon breakfast?”
Indecision flickered over her face and then she shook her head, adamant. “Five minutes.”
He seriously doubted that. When he'd torn off her clothes, he'd tossed them, far. “Are you sure that's all you need?”
Ivy stalled but only to grab a sausage and then muttered, “Ten minutes. I can't remember where my clothes are.”
Marcus made two plates while she scurried around his home. Five minutes in, his cousin knocked at the door. He'd just finished grabbing the syrup. Ivy was cursing. As he'd known, she was going to need more time to sneak out the back. He left her to it and went outside.
Tristan sat on the steps, his attention on his phone. He wore a black long-sleeve shirt, jeans and tan steel-toed boots. The morning sun slanted over his face. Hard jaw, kind eyes and quick smile—that summed up Tristan. Years working as a carpenter had carved him into a solid wall of muscle though he now worked with his brother at the museum in sales.
Overall his cousin looked content but curious when he brought his gaze up. “Is there a reason I'm sitting out here?”
Marcus handed him a plate. “There is but I come offering food.”
Tristan took the food, didn't let it sit too long before digging in. After the first bite, he said, “Since there's no way you actually cooked this, who is trying to sneak out of your house?”
Marcus smiled. “A bonnie lass.”
Another big mouthful of food and then, “The neighbor eye-fucking us from her window the other day?”
Marcus cut into his pancakes and couldn't hold in his laugh. “She wasn't.”
“You were too busy trying not to look back. But, aye, it was eye-fucking.”
“Aren't you a happily married man?”
“It's nice to be ogled every now and again.”
Aye, that was fair. “Ogled? Married life sounds so appealing. You get a word-a-day calendar.”
Tristan tilted his head. “I swear, everyone in the family tries to sell me bull. I know I do honest work with my brother now at the museum, but I was a con man. I know lies and deflection. Aye, I'm happy. Keri is an amazing friend, woman, wife and one day a mother to our children.” His cousin paused. “Now answer my question: who is this neighbor to you?”
Not touching that. “Tavin phoned the day before and the day before that. Has he called Uncle Douglass?”
“Could be. Uncle Tavin didn't show up for Callan's wedding. You know how my da dotes on him. Now that William is here, my da has probably crawled up Tavin's arse.”
Tristan, Ian and Callan were more like brothers than first cousins so the note of bitterness in Tristan's tone made sense. In a different life Marcus might have felt a sharp bite of jealousy, but he'd abandoned his brother too in his own way. Work had taken importance over family. When he wasn't working he was fucking. Surely, burying himself in a woman's wet and warm embrace had to drown out the guilt, the old vestiges of grief. In that light, Callan was in good hands with Douglass stepping up as a father figure.
Excuses.
Shame twisted in his gut and he put aside the food, no longer hungry. Was there no subject they could broach that wouldn't leave him feeling like a dobber? Ivy. She made him...want soft.
Marcus sighed. “Finish your food.”
Tristan grinned. “The food your lass made?”
“She's not mine,” he grouched.
Tristan laughed. “Bairds are dropping like flies for women. This might be front row seats.”
God. He'd missed this—the teasing. Quinton would drop in for a visit in New York if he'd played a game in the States. When business took Marcus to Scotland, or wherever family happened to be, he'd do the same. Maybe they weren't close. Maybe they didn't delve into their dark, ugly past, but they were family. They were the closest to home he'd allowed himself to feel since his mother died.
Throat tight, he still managed to say in a flippant way, “You do seem like a voyeur.”
Only one corner of Tristan's mouth lifted in a smile. The man looked smitten. “Keri would agree.”
His cousin's wife seemed smart but shy. Though if she'd caught his cousin's eye she couldn't be that sweet. Even with that, it was all so normal. Tristan hadn't just shaken his past, but he found true happiness.
How? Marcus wanted to ask. Ian's and Tristan's mother had abandoned them. Forgot about them and went off to start a new family. He, at least, had known his mother's love. Kidney failure had just taken her much too soon.
Instead of asking that question, Marcus rolled the tense muscles in his neck in hopes of shaking off the heavy thoughts. “Since you won't let it be until I confess—aye. I'm having sex with my neighbor. Now you can gossip to the girls about it.”
Tristan snorted because “the girls” were Ian, Callan and Quinton. Marriages and babies had brought them together a lot more for the past year or two. Six months before he wouldn't have imagined calling Tristan up for help. For drinks, aye. Help...never.
His cousin put up his hands. “It's your business.”
“Aye, right. It's my business so that's why you were digging for information.”
“I'm just saying.”
Marcus narrowed his gaze. “What are you saying?” His tone had bite.
“I've been there. I've looked at myself, my past and thought I'd never have what I have. I wasn't a good man and still Keri wanted me.”
The words hit their mark and he shifted under—fuck, the truth. “Thanks for the insight.” His words came out harsh.
“Auch. Listen to me or don't.”
“I like the way she looks,” he tried to say in a calm tone but sounded defensive. And his hands were balled in his lap.
“That's all?”
“Aye.”
Tristan put down his plate, seeming to take up the silent challenge. He upped the stakes by standing and then opening the door. Fucking family. He didn't miss that. Marcus turned to face the door, getting up would show too much of his hand.
Ivy froze in the living room, one high heel in her hand, her dress askew. He couldn't see Tristan's face but from Ivy's shocked wide-eyed stare, his cousin was using one of his con man smiles. Ivy looked to Marcus and back to his cousin with a cautious smile in return.
Too bad it was too early in the morning for booze.
“Lass,” Tristan said. Aye. He had that con man tone that said, “you can trust me.” Lies. Tristan added, “I just wanted to thank you for breakfast. Your pancakes—perfection. Though my cousin has no manners. He hasn't told me your name.”
“Ivy.” Again, she glanced at him.
Marcus shook his head and tried to telegraph just amuse him.
Maybe that got through because her strained smile turned into a beam of sweetness and sunlight. His cousin straightened, probably realizing the fly ointment he'd stepped into. Served him right.
Marcus picked up both plates from the porch, stood and then pushed past Tristan who still littered inside the doorway. When he was a foot away from Ivy, he whispered, “Don't go easy on him.”
“I didn't catch your name,” Ivy said.
Her curls were mussed, her dress short and the top lopsided. She looked like a woman who had spent a night in a man's bed—down to the embarrassed flush in her cheeks. But her back was pole-straight, her chin up an
d he knew she'd hold her own if he left her alone with Tristan.
He was torn between pride and gut-wrenching fear. She'd been a virgin. Somehow in his mind that meant innocent, inexperienced and somehow needing protection. His.
Ivy didn't need him. Not that he'd wanted her to, but Marcus hadn't thought the situation through. Like a horny teen ecstatic to get his first taste, he hadn't stopped to see of the bigger picture.
She owned her house, had a fulfilling and successful career. If her sexual inexperience held her back in any way, he'd made that worry obsolete. What was he bringing to the bargaining table other than a hard dick and a dirty mind?
The calculation in Ivy's gaze faded when she glanced at him. Worry replaced that emotion and then she cupped his cheek. “Marcus?”
He turned his head away from the warmth of her and the silent offer of comfort. “See you later, lass?” His voice came out flat but hard enough to hurt.
Translation: I want you gone.
Ivy flinched like his words were fists. “If you find my shoe, you know where I live.”
She clutched her belongings to her chest as she walked past his cousin and out of his home. He didn't want to watch her leave, but his gaze couldn't go anywhere else. Ivy's slender back was still ramrod straight as she closed the door gently behind her. Regret and shame heated his face. What the fuck had he just done?
Tristan frowned at him in disappointment. “You're a daft bastard.”
No. That would be a step up. “Did you bring your sledgehammer? I don't have a spare.”
“Fucking daft.”
Marcus didn't need the words spoken. He felt the truth of what he was, every minute of every day. He was shite and there was nothing he could do to change, no matter how hard he tried. Marcus sometimes wondered if his ability to care for a woman, deeply, had died when his mother had. Or the day his father stopped caring about anyone or anything. Unfortunately, the simple truth was whenever Marcus had the choice to be a better man, to be more than just a hard dick to a woman; he chose work, money and power.
