In Bounds

by Bronwyn Green

  Ivy laughed. “Nooooooooo, thank you. Keep that buzz saw to yourself.”

  “It’s either me or Wills. Or,” she paused, considering, “I could hire a nurse for a few days. That would work.”

  “Charlotte, look at me. I am fine.” Ivy swung her legs around and set her feet on the floor. “I don’t need a nurse. I don’t need someone to stay with me.”

  “You need to be woken up every two hours,” Will said.

  His sister put her hands on her hips. “It’s either me, Wills, or a hired nurse.”

  “You’re not hiring a nurse.”

  “Then, since he’s got more experience in this area, I think Wills should stay. Unless...you’re not comfortable with him?”

  Ivy glanced at him then back at Charlotte. “No. Yes. Fine.” She sighed. “Will is fine.”

  He looked at Charlotte. “I don’t know about you, but I’m overwhelmed by that vote of confidence.”

  Ivy, keeping her eye on where Phoebe was making faces at herself in the mirror, slowly raised her middle finger and itched her temple with it, before turning to him with a smile, as if making sure he’d seen.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Now that’s settled, do you want to eat in here or at the table?”

  “The table’s good,” Ivy said, pushing to her feet and immediately swaying. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder as he settled his hands around her waist, steadying her.

  “Yes. I can see you’re perfectly fine on your own,” Charlotte said witheringly.

  Will rested his hand at the small of Ivy’s back and guided her toward the small dining room table where Charlotte uncovered two heaping plates of food.

  “Daddy walks with Mummy like that,” Phoebe said from behind him. “Are you sure you’re not married, now?”

  Chapter Three

  “Nope. Still not married, Phoebe. Your uncle is just being helpful since I’m a little dizzy.”

  Will pulled out Ivy’s chair, and she sank into it gratefully.

  “C’mon, Phoebe. You need a bath, and your aunt and uncle need to eat.”

  Ivy scowled at Charlotte. She was enjoying the aunt and uncle bit far too much for Ivy’s taste.

  Charlotte grinned and waved then closed the door behind her.

  Ivy cut her steak into small pieces and took a bite.

  “You know...in some cultures, we could have been married for twelve years.”

  Managing not to choke, she swallowed and said, “One round of drunken wedding reception sex does not make a marriage.”

  He shrugged. “Well, I was a virgin.”

  He was a what? She opened her mouth, but instead of speaking, she gasped and immediately started to cough.

  Will calmly got up and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and offered her the cup. “Drink.”

  She swallowed more than half the contents then looked at him. “You were not.”

  “Trust me, I definitely was.”

  She dropped her head into her hands and mumbled, “How old were you?”

  “Sorry, love. Didn’t quite catch that.”

  “How old were you?” she asked louder without looking at him.

  He took a bite of salad, and she stared at him through fingers, waiting for him to answer.

  “Seventeen. Just turned the week before the wedding.”

  “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “Seventeen. Barely seventeen.” She dropped her head back into her hands. “I had sex with a minor. I corrupted a minor.”

  “Hey, now. Don’t take all the credit. I like to think I was fairly corrupt before we ended up in that closet. Besides, I learned some valuable lessons about what I liked that night.”

  Unable to stop herself, she lowered her hands from her face, and met his intense green gaze. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what he meant by that, but she refused. She couldn’t do it. Besides, she’d seen his name in the tabloids, a time or two, connected with this supermodel or that popstar. And she’d definitely seen his name mentioned in the same article as some sort of underground kink club. Not that she regularly googled him or anything. Just once in a while, when she was feeling...nostalgic. So, she had a fair idea of the things he might be into. Her body clenched eagerly at the thought. “I don’t even want to know.”

  His lips curved into a slow smile. “I think you do. I think you’re curious as a kitten.”

  Oh, she was. She definitely was. But he didn’t need that confirmed. He already looked as if he were enjoying her discomfort far too much. Despite the lingering headache, she shook her head.

  “Besides,” he continued, “the age of consent in the UK is sixteen, so I wasn’t a minor.”

  Technically, the age of consent in Michigan, where they’d met at the wedding, all those years ago, was also sixteen. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Nausea soured her stomach, and she pushed away her plate. She’d been twenty-three. Twenty-freaking-three, and she’d fucked a kid. She’d taken advantage of a kid—a kid who should have had his first sexual experience with someone his own age.

  Granted, that had been over a decade ago, and he certainly didn’t look any worse for the wear, but she was still horrified. And that didn’t even take into account what had happened afterward. She derailed that train of thought, immediately. What was done was done. There was nothing for it, now.

  Now, at twenty-nine and thirty-five, the age difference didn’t seem as shocking, but that didn’t make her feel any better about what had happened.

  “Where are you, Ivy?”

  The way he pronounced her name shouldn’t make her stomach clench with longing. It shouldn’t. But apparently, her stomach hadn’t gotten the memo. Neither had the rest of her body parts. Not the entirety of her skin, which was desperate for the barely-remembered sensation of his hands and mouth. Not her nipples that were hard little points or her pussy, which was swollen and slick with his nearness.

  “Ivy.” He said her name sharply, dragging her attention back to him. “Are you starting to feel lightheaded?”

  “What? No. No, I’m—”

  “Fine,” they said together.

  “I know,” he said. “You’re perfectly fine. So prove it. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

  “Nothing,” she said, far too quickly. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.” She stabbed another piece of meat, shoved it into her mouth, and chewed, making it impossible to say anything else.

  His eyes dropped to her plate then climbed back to her face, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. He knew exactly what she was doing.

  She rolled her eyes then winced at the resulting pain. “Fine. Pretty much everything after taking the limo ride to the reception is a little hazy. I was just wondering what all I’d forgotten. Especially, since you seem to remember everything so clearly. I feel like I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.”

  The hint of his smile grew into something wide and wolfish. “I’d be happy to refresh your memory, love.”

  She scowled. “I’m sure you would.”

  “All you need to do is ask.”

  She drained the rest of her water and moved to stand up, but before she could push her chair away from the table, Will had grabbed her glass and moved back to the fridge.

  “Do you want more water?”

  “Since you’re refusing to let me do anything for myself, there’s a pitcher of iced tea in there. Will you please pour me a glass of that?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “I will never understand why you Americans insist on ruining perfectly good tea.”

  “I was going to offer you some, but more for me, I suppose.”

  He grabbed another glass from the cupboard, and she shamelessly stared at his backside and the exposed line of flesh between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his shorts. He filled the cup with water before bringing both drinks back to the table.

  She tried to ignore the way the muscles in his forearms flexed ever so slightly as he set the glasses down on the table. He just looked so.
..biteable. And she needed to get her mind out of biting territory. At least, where he was concerned. He was so far off limits she refused to even entertain the idea. Maybe renewed desire was a sign that she was finally moving out of heartbreak territory. Or maybe it was a sign that she was blindly careening toward Reboundville. Or maybe she actually did have a concussion.

  When she glanced up at him, she found his gaze on her—eyes bright with curiosity.

  “What?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “It’s just hard to believe twelve years have passed. You hardly look any different. Even your eyes have that same sad look.”

  “No great mystery, there.” She bit out. “I got dumped the night before the wedding and again a few months before I came here. I guess you just always get to see me at my very best.”

  She snapped her mouth shut at the concern in his eyes. Why the hell had she gone and said that?

  “You know what? Forget I said anything. That’s just the head injury talking.” She looked down at her plate.

  “Do you want to talk?”

  A shrill laugh escaped her as her gaze rose to his face. “No.”

  He continued to stare at her.

  “No,” she said, more gently this time. “Thank you, but it’s old news. No big deal.”

  “I’d beg to differ, love. As agitated as you are, right now, I’d say it’s still affecting you.”

  She shrugged and took another bite of her meal. What had been delicious a few moments earlier, suddenly tasted like sawdust.

  “Does that first breakup have anything to do with why we ended up in the closet together?” He watched her carefully, seemingly observing every little thing about her.

  “We ended up in the closet together, because I was drunk and obnoxious and you were trying to prevent your sister’s wedding from being ruined.”

  Pressing her palms to the table, she pushed to her feet, and Will laid his hand over one of hers.

  “Where are you off to? You haven’t finished eating.”

  She pulled from his touch. “I’m not hungry, after all. I think I’m going to lay back down for a bit. I’m sorry. I’m being...snappish.”

  “You’re fine. You’ve had a rough day.”

  She picked up her plate, but he took it out of her hands. “I’ll take care of your food. You go get into your pajamas, and I’ll check on you in a bit.”

  “I can set the alarm. I’m—”

  “Fine,” they said together.

  His smile caused an unwelcome flurry of butterfly wings in her stomach, but she did her best to ignore them. He nodded toward her bedroom. “Go on with you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get the words out, his smile faded, and he pointed. “If it wasn’t for your head injury, I’d say you needed a spanking.”

  Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as need fluttered darkly within her. And she could tell from his slightly narrowed gaze and his small tight smile that he hadn’t missed a millisecond of her reaction. Without another word, she turned and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her blouse, tugged it off and draped it over the back of the chair. Her nipples stood out sharply against the lacy cups of her bra, and she quickly pulled that off, too, laying it over the blouse. For the first time since Daniel had left all those months ago, she was aroused—unbearably so. And the reason was in the next room, the threat of a spanking tripping off his tongue.

  She shook her head at herself then swayed against the pain the movement caused, bracing her palms against the cold marble of the dresser top. Eventually opening her eyes, she came face to face with her rapidly bruising reflection. God, she was a mess. Glancing down farther, she noticed the goosebumps that stood out on her breasts—not to mention her desperately taut nipples. If Will wasn’t in the next room and likely to barge into this one shortly, she’d consider sliding her hands into her panties long enough to make herself come. Maybe then, she could sleep soundly enough to ward off the lingering headache. And the hazy memory of locking her ankles behind his back.

  The sharp rap of his knuckles against the door startled her into motion.

  “Just a minute,” she called, grabbing her pale pink sleep shirt and tugging it over her head, quickly shoving her arms through the capped sleeves. Sliding down the zipper of her skirt, she shimmied out of it, frowning at the ruined seam. She vaguely remembered hearing the sound of ripping fabric as she’d fallen to the ground earlier, but with everything else that had happened since then, she’d forgotten about it. Or maybe she actually did have a concussion. Either way, she hoped that Will hadn’t noticed her fish belly white skin through the tear.

  Kicking her underwear into the corner, she tried not to lose her balance as she pulled on the matching pajama shorts, catching sight of her reflection again. Her still-hard nipples protruded obviously against the soft knit fabric. Plucking it away from her body, she darted into the little bathroom off the bedroom and quickly brushed her teeth before yanking back the covers on the bed and climbing beneath the sheet.

  The last thing she wanted was to traipse around in her jammies in front of Will. She already felt vulnerable enough in regular clothes. She really didn’t need him seeing her like this. Not that he’d be interested, anyway. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that there was anything driving him beyond curiosity. Who wouldn’t be interested in seeing how the first person they’d ever had sex with had turned out? Well, she wouldn’t. That guy had been the reason she’d ended up in the closet with Will in the first place.

  For fuck’s sake, the man was a world class athlete who had gorgeous women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis. A chunky elementary school teacher was nothing more than a passing novelty to someone like him. And aroused or not, she needed to remember that.

  Chapter Four

  Will knocked on Ivy’s bedroom door again. When she answered, this time, the panicked tone was gone, and she sounded as if she was back to her tightly controlled self. What he wouldn’t give to see her restraint crack and fall away, freeing the passionate woman he remembered. As snugly as she was tucked beneath the blankets, practically holding to them as though they were a shield, he doubted that passion was anywhere on either of their agendas, despite the flare of interest in her eyes when he’d suggested she needed a spanking. More than ever, he wanted to know what had brought her here. He wanted to know what she was running from.

  He settled next to her on the mattress, and her gaze dropped to where he’d wrapped another ice pack in a tea towel.

  “Is that for me or you?”

  He smiled at the wary expression in her eyes. “This one is for you. I’ve got a fresh one, already.”

  She sighed and reached out for it.

  He knew he should just hand it to her, but he didn’t want to pass up an opportunity to touch her. Leaning forward, he carefully brushed her hair from her face and studied the injury. The ice was keeping the swelling to a minimum, but it didn’t seem to be doing much for the bruising. He frowned, guilt crowding him.

  “I am so sorry,” he said, gently laying the cold pack on her face. “I never should have said anything to Phoebe.”

  Ivy took a breath and glanced away from him. “Well, no. Not about her lessons. But she’s responsible for her actions. She’s a smart kid, and she certainly knows better than to kick a ball at someone.” She shifted and took the ice pack from his hand.

  There went his excuse to touch her.

  “And,” she continued, “it’s not like we all haven’t done something stupid in a fit of anger.”

  He sat back, but continued to hold her gaze. “Do I fall into that category?”

  Her brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “Am I something stupid that you did in a fit of anger?”

  She sighed. “You’re not something stupid. Was I stupid? Absolutely. And I was angry.” She closed her good eye as if meeting his gaze was too much and turned her head to the
side, nestling deeper into the pillow. “Really angry. And incredibly, incredibly hurt.”

  His chest ached a bit at pain in her voice. He wasn’t sure if it was that long ago pain or this more recent heartbreak that had her turning away from him. He could tell by the set of her mouth she wasn’t going to say anything else. At least, not right now.

  He stood and stared down at her for a long moment. “I’m going to let you get some rest, but I’ll be right out in the other room if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, keeping her eyes closed.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her one more time as he quietly pulled the door closed. He didn’t latch it. He wanted to be able to hear her if she called to him. Not that he really thought she would, but he wanted to be available—just in case.

  He stretched out on the couch and propped his knee up on a pillow, then texted his friend, Simon, the team physio. What would it take to get you to my sister’s to look at an injury?

  A minute or so later, Will’s phone beeped. WTF did you do now?

  Will responded. Right. Make that two injuries.

  God damn it, Wills!

  Will quickly outlined situation with Ivy and, in slightly less detail, mentioned his knee.

  After what felt like an inordinately long time, Simon responded. Fine. I’ll take the noon train on the condition that you pick me up, and come back with me for another MRI.

  Will stifled a groan and wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his shorts. He fucking hated that machine—the noise. The claustrophobia. Having to lie impossibly still. And then, he remembered the sound of the ball hitting Ivy in the face. Done.

  What? No bitching about the scan? You must really like this girl.

  Will sighed. I feel guilty, okay? It’s my fault Phoebe had a fit.

  I feel for the future mother of your children, mate. I really do.

  Will grinned. You and me both.

  Not that he was looking to have kids any time soon, but he knew he wanted them. His eyes strayed to the bedroom door. He was not thinking about having kids with Ivy. But the truth was, if they hadn’t been so lucky, twelve years ago, he could be a father, right now. He’d been so startled by her interest and desperately horny that night in the closet, it hadn’t occurred to him that they hadn’t used a condom until afterward. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover what they’d been. And knowing he’d dodged a huge bullet, he’d never gone without protection again. He’d also never forgotten the feeling of being inside of her with nothing between them.