Ivy Entwined

by Laura Simcox

  “Shame. But I’m flattered, regardless.”

  “Ten a.m., in my office,” she said, not making a move to leave. Her body was as tense as a newly tuned guitar string, and her eyes flashed with anxiety. Whatever stress she was feeling was probably his fault. He needed to ease up and be friendlier.

  He pushed away his plate and stood up. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Oh, that’s not—”

  He placed his hand on the small of her back. “I want to.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she whispered furiously, taking a step to her right. “People will talk.” She skirted around a couple of empty tables and made a beeline for the cash register.

  He glanced at her sideways as she paid her check and made small talk with Crystal in that throaty, sexy voice of hers. His pants tightened, and he tried to ignore the desire pooling down below. Ivy gave him a brief glance, grabbed her coat from the rack, and put it on, zipping it to the neck. “See ya.” And then she was out the door.

  Marcus sighed. That woman was a mystery. He threw his check and a twenty on the counter, nodded at Crystal, and folded his own coat over his arm. He was too hot to wear it right now, even if snow swirled outside in the dim light of the streetlamp. Ivy was a few feet in front of him, her head ducked into the wind.

  “Let me walk you to your car,” he said, hurrying after her.

  She stopped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Like, at all.”

  He chuckled. “Probably not. But all the same, I’d like to.”

  “Whatever.” She shrugged, and it was all the cue he needed to follow her across the street. As they neared the driver’s side door of her late-model sedan, her shoes skidded on a hardened patch of snow on the road. On instinct, he reached for her arm and grabbed at her waist.

  “Oh, shit, not again!” Her eyes went wide as she clutched at his shoulders. “This is ridicule—”

  Marcus stumbled forward and her back slammed into the side of the car.

  “Oof.” Ivy’s feet scrambled for the pavement until she found solid ground.

  “Sorry,” Marcus muttered. He let out a whoosh of air, his breath mingling with hers in a warm cloud. When it cleared, his gaze met hers and instinct kicked in again.

  Lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his own and groaned at the sweetness of her lips. She tasted like she smelled—like warm vanilla and subtle spice. He took a step forward, wanting more, needing more. The wind gusted, blowing her soft hair around his face, creating a curtain that blocked out the rest of the world. It was just the two of them. Her lips fit with his so perfectly. When her mouth opened slightly, he angled his lips and increased the pressure. In the freezing air, the heat of their mingling mouths was intoxicating.

  Her hands reached between them to grasp the lapels of his jacket. And then she pushed. Hard.

  Marcus stumbled backward, and he stepped on his coat. Dimly, he realized he must have dropped it when he’d grabbed her. With stiff fingers, he reached down and picked it up. “I’m sorry,” he said, seeing the shocked expression on her face.

  She didn’t answer. Panting, she reached in her coat pocket, fumbled for her keys, and unlocked the door.

  Hell. What had he been thinking? Not with his head, that was for sure. He stepped forward with an open hand. “Ivy, I didn’t plan—”

  “Yes, you did. I’m not interested, by the way.” She slid into the car and slammed the door.

  He watched her drive away, his mind blank but his body aware of every nerve ending. Shaking the snow from his coat, he shrugged it on and trudged down the street. Good thing he had to walk. It would give his pants time to calm down. It would be pretty awful to stroll into Alberta’s house looking like he was smuggling a sausage. At the thought of her shocked owl eyes, he let out a snort. Then a snicker. And then a belly laugh.

  By the time he got to Alberta’s back porch, he had tears in his eyes. And when her tiny head popped through the curtains covering the back door, he started all over again.

  She pulled open the door and ushered him in. “Come on, come on. It’s freezing.”

  He walked into her stifling-hot kitchen, and the smell of fish just about knocked him over. Several open cans of cat food were lined up on the counter. Alberta stirred a dish of the foul stuff and popped it in the microwave. He wiped at his eyes and ran a hand over his forehead. She was sweet, but he couldn’t stay with her for the long haul. No way.

  “Marcus, I got a phone call about an hour ago. You’ve been invited to Thanksgiving dinner.”

  His brow wrinkled. “By who?”

  “By whom, dear.” She smiled. “Colleen Callahan. Ivy’s grandmother? I don’t know if you remember her because she moved out to Arizona a long time ago. But now she’s back.” She set several dishes on the floor and four bedraggled cats came running. Marcus sidestepped them.

  “Oh, look at my babies eat,” she cooed. “So cute.”

  Marcus thought they looked more like wild animals descending on a kill, but he nodded anyway. “I remember her, but I don’t know why she would—” He stopped himself. Of course he knew why, but Alberta finished the thought for him.

  “She’s matchmaking. And I think it’s sweet!”

  Marcus didn’t know what to think, but he was damn sure that Ivy wouldn’t share Alberta’s enthusiasm. He forced a smile.

  “Good,” she said, taking it as acceptance. “I told her you’d be there. It will be a lot more fun than eating with me and my mother…or your uncle.” Alberta clapped her hands together. Five more cats came running, and Marcus beat a hasty retreat to the living room. The sofa had been pulled out and a neat bed, complete with a fuzzy, cat-themed blanket, greeted him. Alberta wandered in behind him.

  “I hope you’ll be warm enough, dear.”

  Marcus wiped at the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “I think so. Thank you.”

  She patted his back. “Well, don’t you worry. The cats simply love it when the sofa bed is out. They’ll keep you nice and toasty.”

  Just what I need.

  Chapter Five

  Ivy shoveled mashed potatoes into her mouth and did her best not to look at anything except the plate in front of her, heaped with Thanksgiving dinner. She never understood why people lost their appetites when they were stressed out. Stress made her ravenous, and besides, it was two thirty in the afternoon and she hadn’t had a bite to eat since Fruit Loops earlier that morning. With her mother twittering around and Marcus hovering like a vampire bat, she hadn’t had time to sneak a Pop Tart, too. She tore open her third dinner roll and reached for a butter knife.

  “Wow,” commented Marcus not so quietly.

  Ivy narrowed her eyes in his general direction and continued to eat. No reason to be dainty around him; he was the one who had to mind his manners. She was in her home. And wearing a loose turtleneck and her most shapeless, conservative cardigan. She had also removed her contact lenses, shoved on her glasses, and swept back her hair in a tight bun. She was perfectly comfy in her armor against Mr. Bedroom Eyes. No way would he have an excuse to ogle her now. But he had been, all the same. She could feel his eyes on her right now. She took another bite.

  What was with Marcus’s determination to send her over the edge, anyway? The only thing he had to gain by seducing her was getting her to play nice about his Megamart. Well, he’d probably have a good time, but she’d bet her goofy glasses that his usual prey consisted of very young, very leggy clichés who wore four-inch heels and a smile all day long. She was none of that and had the “Sunnyside Retirement Village Staff” T-shirt to prove it.

  “More turkey, Ivy?” asked Delia cheerfully.

  She was full. Too full even to appease her mom, who hated it when people wouldn’t take seconds. “Uh, no, thanks.”

  Delia raised an eyebrow. “Suit yourself.”

  Ivy looked around the table at her family: Dad was pissed at Mom for treating him with kid gloves. Mom was pissed at Dad for refusing to eat salt-free anything. Gramma was pissed a
t both of them for not letting her drive. And Ivy was totally pissed at Gramma for inviting Marcus just so she could play Cupid.

  She glanced at Marcus, who gave her half a smile, showing off two way-too-charming dimples in his cheeks. Why couldn’t he actually have horns growing out of his forehead instead? That she could handle. She wrapped her sweater around her middle and sat back.

  Marcus put his head near hers and whispered, “You okay?”

  God. He smelled really good. “Fine, thanks. Excuse me for a minute, everyone.” She pushed back her chair and stood.

  Brian glanced at her, then at his wife. “That was delicious, Delia.” He stood up, too, and jerked his head toward the hallway.

  Double shit. Her father always knew when she had too much on her mind. And he had some kind of bat sense or something for when she needed to spill but didn’t want to. As she followed him from the cramped dining room down the narrow hall lined with family pictures, her eyes filled with tears. Yep. It was time to spill. She paused for a few seconds to wipe her face on a sweater sleeve and take a deep breath before stepping into his office.

  If she wasn’t so irritated with every single person in this house, herself included, she would probably be scared to death because the “what did you do?” look on her dad’s face brought back memories of her first, and only, speeding ticket. She watched him as he scooped up Breezy from the cat’s favorite folded-up blanket on the edge of his desk. Breezy gave a halfhearted grunt of protest and began sleepily licking her paws.

  Brian inched behind his oversize desk in front of the window, sank into his worn pleather office chair, and flopped the cat onto his chest. He petted her for a minute, murmuring nonsense in her silky ear. Ivy shifted her weight, arms crossed over her chest.

  He sighed. “What’s the matter, Ivy?” He slid Breezy back onto her blanket and folded his hands on the desk. His eyes were tired, and worry creased his brow. He was only fifty-five, but today he looked ten years older.

  Ivy froze, not wanting to burden him. But she knew that look on his face wouldn’t go away until she said something. The words tumbled out.

  “You know how Marcus is sponsoring the downtown renewal?”

  “Yeah, and I’ve been wondering what the catch is. I’m assuming it’s a big one?”

  She nodded and sank into an armchair. “He’s proposing a new business. One most people aren’t going to like. And I agreed to back him with the town council.” She glanced up. “And no, he’s not buying the bakery property.”

  Brian gave a short laugh. “Well, I figured that already. You wouldn’t have been afraid to tell me that. So what is it?”

  Ivy closed her eyes. “A Megamart.”

  She sat there in the following silence, her jaw clenched. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, and she could hear the muffled clink of silverware from the dining room. She had to say something.

  “Dad, I know what you’re probably thinking. But I made that deal with the best intentions for Celebration. As soon as a decent buyer for the bakery is found, the Megamart will be a moot point. The council won’t approve it. But the downtown renewal will be in full swing, thanks to Marcus’s money.” She cracked open an eye and peered at her dad.

  Incredibly, he was grinning.

  She sat up straight. “Why aren’t you flipping out?”

  Brian flapped a hand at her. “Honey, I don’t flip out anymore. I’m just so goddamned impressed with you right now.”

  Ivy frowned. “You are?”

  “Hell, yes. I think you’ve got a pretty good thing going by throwing all the risk on him. Let the man toss money in Celebration’s coffers. There’s a good chance he’ll make it all back eventually, so it’s not like you’re cheating him.” He paused. “You’re not cheating him, right?”

  “No! I’ve worked it out so that the new merchants will pay Marcus back with interest. Not right away, but I’ll convince him to agree to the terms.” She shifted in the chair. “I’m meeting with him on Monday to hammer out the details.”

  “And what about Parliament Bakery? Has Preston made any headway in finding a buyer?”

  Ivy gave him a tight smile. “That’s the wrinkle. I need to meet with him, too, and lay down the law. It was smart to hire him as the town planner, Dad, given that he has the authority to sell the bakery, and I’m not knocking your decision…but so far Preston hasn’t done shit.”

  Brian rubbed his forehead. “Great. Well, then. You need to make him.”

  “I already decided to dangle his job over his head if he doesn’t come up with some viable options.” She shifted in the chair. “You think that will work?”

  “For the short term. But pointing him toward the old-money network he grew up in will get better results. I was going to do just that, but he hadn’t even been in the job a week when…you know.” He patted his chest.

  Ivy nodded. “Thanks, Dad.” She smiled. “You want to come to work with me on Monday?”

  “Nope.” He laughed and stood up, weaving his way through stacks of books and magazines on the floor. “Just one more thing, Ivy. I kind of get the sense that Marcus makes you anxious…or whatever that thing is in your eyes when you look at him. He’s a good-looking guy, I’ll grant him that. But he’s a con man. Just keep that in mind.”

  Before she could answer, Brian shook his head. “Anyway. Just promise me you’ll make your own happiness your top priority. That’s the most important thing. Deal?”

  Ivy stood up and wrapped her arms around him. “Deal.”

  …

  “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to wash up before dessert.” Colleen Callahan pushed her thin hands on top of the lacy tablecloth and struggled to stand.

  Marcus jumped up and grabbed her elbow, reaching for her walker at the same time. “Here you are.”

  She grinned up at him. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Oh, hell no, honey. The pleasure was all mine.” She hobbled out of the dining room.

  He gave a sigh. And then there were two: him and Delia.

  He knew she’d been sizing him up for the past couple of hours and felt like an insect pinned to a board underneath her razor-sharp stare. He wanted nothing more than to make his excuses and bolt out the door. But where did he have to go except back to Alberta’s? So he sat and took a sip of iced tea.

  What the hell was taking Ivy and her dad so long? He knew Ivy was upset about last night’s kiss, that much was obvious, given the outfit she’d chosen for today. He had to hand it to her—she certainly knew how to make an impression. When she’d opened the front door earlier this afternoon with her hair in a bun and wearing those glasses and string of pearls, his head had almost snapped back with surprise. But it was pretty obvious that she didn’t realize she looked like a sexy schoolteacher. Or that he liked it. A lot. He smiled down at his folded napkin.

  “Thinking about something funny?” asked Delia. Her voice was pleasant, but her eyes were calculating.

  “No, ma’am.” He looked up. “I’m just thinking about dessert. Your delicious food would make anyone happy.”

  She drummed her fingers on the table. “The turkey was dry.”

  Marcus’s first instinct was to protest, but he also sensed that Delia Callahan could smell bullshit a mile away. So he nodded. “Yes, it was. But that’s what gravy is for.”

  She burst into laughter. “Gravy is God’s gift to questionable cooks.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” he answered. “Most of my meals include me grabbing the check and whipping out cash.”

  She laughed again, but this time it was forced. Uh-oh.

  He held his smile as she leaned forward and said, “Is that why you’re in Celebration? To whip out some cash?”

  “Possibly.” He fiddled with his napkin and glanced toward the end of the table. “Did you mention something about pie?”

  “We’ll wait for the others.” She scooted her chair closer. “Now, I don’t want to be rude. You’re perfectly welcome in our home, of cours
e. But what are you really doing here?”

  “Ma’am?”

  She flapped a hand at him. “For God’s sake, quit calling me that. It makes me feel ancient. I’m not a ‘ma’am.’ I’m Delia.” She narrowed her eyes, so like Ivy’s. “And quit stalling.”

  Marcus nodded. She was definitely a ma’am. She couldn’t be any younger than fifty, but he held his tongue. How to go about this… He and Ivy hadn’t had time to discuss what to tell and what not to tell, and he didn’t know enough about her downtown-renewal plan to bring that up. He probably would have known, except instead of chatting with her last night, he’d ambushed her with a kiss. Her lips had been as soft as he’d imagined, and in his mind he could still smell the fresh scent of her hair as it had spun around them in the breeze, mixing with snow and the burgeoning desire he’d felt deep in his gut. It had been a mistake to kiss her, he knew, but he found it difficult to summon up an ounce of regret.

  “Are you listening?”

  Marcus’s head shot up. “Yes.”

  “No, you’re not.” Delia rolled her eyes. “I asked you why—”

  The phone rang. Thank God.

  Muttering, Delia stood up and stomped into the kitchen. A few seconds later, she returned with a cordless phone pressed to her apron front and a pained look on her face. “It’s your uncle. I think he might be a bit drunk.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth and held out his hand with a mumbled “Thank you.”

  Through the earpiece, he heard a wheezy cough and then, “Toothpick? You still in town?”

  Herman. What an idiot. Marcus stood up and smiled at Delia. “Could I take this in the other room?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Sure.”

  Marcus gave her a brief nod and walked through the doorway into the bright kitchen. He was tempted to keep walking right out the back door but sat down on a stool instead. “What do you need?” he muttered into the phone.

  “I heard you stayed at Alberta’s last night.”

  Marcus gripped the edge of the kitchen island. He wished it were his uncle’s neck. “What do you care? And who told you?”