Ivy Entwined

by Laura Simcox

  She crossed her arms and shot him a dagger-filled look. “Hmmm, what a mystery.”

  The doorbell rang again, and Ivy shuddered. She just wanted Preston to go away.

  “Sure you want this house? Looks like you just saw a ghost,” Marcus commented.

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped. Fuck it. “I saw my ex-fiancé. Out the window. And I really don’t want to deal with him.”

  Marcus raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Ex-fiancé? I didn’t know about that. Who is he?” He pushed away from the kitchen door and walked the few short steps into the living room. He paused by the front door and reached for the deadbolt.

  “Shall I open it, or do you want to do the honors?”

  Panic spread through Ivy’s stomach, and she sprinted toward him as fast as she could. Ouch. Her brand-new heels were cute but also the spawn of the devil. Wiggling her toes, she slammed a hand against the door and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  “Don’t,” she spat out. “Why are you being such a dick?”

  He laughed. “Wow. Nobody’s called me that since the tenth grade.”

  “I find that hard to believe, actually.” She lifted her chin. “Since you obviously feel entitled to do whatever the hell you want without thinking of anyone else. Well, it won’t fly with me, so watch it.”

  All traces of humor left Marcus’s eyes, and he bent down until his forehead almost touched hers. His breath fanned across her face as he said in a deadly quiet voice, “Get this straight. I don’t need anyone’s advice. Least of all from a woman like you.”

  “What do you mean, like me?”

  Marcus reached out and splayed a hand on her side and gently squeezed her rib cage. His fingers brushed the side of her breast. He brought his other hand to her chin and lifted it.

  “A woman like you,” he repeated, “who is so distracting, I can’t think straight,” he breathed against her lips.

  Uh-oh. Bad idea, Ivy. Step back.

  She froze. One tiny movement and their mouths would be fused together. She bit her nails into the smooth fabric of his dress shirt and waited.

  Marcus slid his hand from her ribs, over her waist, and onto her hip. And then he tugged.

  With a moan, Ivy closed her eyes and met his mouth, hungry to lose herself in his drugging kiss. Her hands let go of his arms and slipped around his broad back. God, how she’d wanted to touch the muscles there. It was hard and sculpted and so worth the wait.

  Sliding her palms back around to his chest, she let her fingers trail up to his muscled shoulders. She griped him closer. She needed to feel more. She needed to slam the door on her anxiety and just feel. Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed her breasts against his chest. His tongue invaded her mouth without warning and stars consumed the corners of her closed eyelids.

  “Ohh,” she gasped when his hand ran under the hem of her skirt and up the front of her leg. She could feel the heat of his palm, even through the tights she’d worn to block the chilly wind. Nothing about her was cold at the moment. In fact, a fire sparked to life about an inch away from where his hand kneaded the top of her thigh.

  Clinging to his shoulders, she turned and leaned her back against the door, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Her senses drunk on the feel of his hands on her and his tongue curling around the back of her ear, she lost all awareness of reality.

  Until the doorbell rang for the third time.

  “We have to stop,” she panted into his shoulder, reaching between them to still the palm on her thigh.

  “No,” Marcus whispered. His tongue ran down her neck and his other hand ran up her sweater.

  “Oh, God. We really do. For all kinds of reasons.” Her voice was a whimper now.

  Marcus sighed and removed his hands, splaying them on the door on either side of her head. “It would probably be better if I just left,” he muttered.

  Ivy nodded.

  Marcus cupped her chin and kissed her again, slowly. And then, without meeting her eyes, he turned and walked through the archway to the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the back door open and then close.

  Her instincts screamed at her to run after him, but she didn’t move, except to press her face against the front door. And as her hand gripped the doorknob, it occurred to her that she hadn’t been alone with Preston since she’d been back in town. This was going to suck. She sighed and opened the door.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey, Preston. What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, babe,” he replied.

  Hey, babe?

  Ew. She suppressed a shudder. She hadn’t heard that expression since the night she’d broken up with him. She’d expected the first time they were alone to be more along the lines of “Ivy, I hate you forever” or “You broke my heart and damaged any chance I will ever have to love again.” Not “Hey, babe.”

  That little endearment brought the past rushing back like the smell of old milk, making her recoil. She stepped forward, blocking his entrance into her tiny kingdom. He needed to go. Now. This place was her fresh start, and she didn’t want it tainted with tired resentments.

  Preston gave her a brittle smile and brushed past her, walking into the cottage as if he owned it. He tossed his car keys up and down while his gaze swept the room. “Kind of a depressing little cracker box.” He turned to her with a condescending look.

  “Yeah, it’s not really your style, huh? Since you grew up in an eight-thousand-square-foot mansion in Princeton, it’s a safe bet you don’t like this one.” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

  He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do. About work. I’m not interested in any other subject.”

  Preston cocked his head to the side and raked her from head to toe with his gaze. “We need to discuss our relationship. You know I’m right.”

  “I know you think you’re right. And that’s fine. I don’t have the energy or any interest in changing your mind.” Ivy’s anger was beginning to simmer, but she gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for at least sounding indifferent. “Excuse me a sec.”

  Willing her hands to ignore the adrenaline rushing through her body, she wiggled her cell phone from the pocket of her skirt.

  “Oh, Ivy,” said Preston. He snorted in disdain. “Always avoiding confrontation.”

  He still sounded like a tool. Good thing she hadn’t married him because by now, he’d be taking a dirt nap and she’d be in prison.

  Ivy turned her back on him and scrolled the screen of her phone. She lifted it to her ear and walked to the front door, opening it as wide as it would go. “Hello. Herman? Yes, Ivy Callahan here. I’ll take the house. Yep.” She paused. “Fine. Bring the rental agreement by my parents’ place.”

  Preston, who’d been pacing the length of the fireplace, stopped.

  “Herman? As in Herman Weaver?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to trust that man. You don’t know what he’s capable of. His kind is always up to no good.”

  She shook her head. “Ever the snob, I see.”

  “I’m serious.” Preston sniffed. “But I can see that you’ve already fallen into a Weaver trap. Wasn’t that Marcus I just saw driving away in your car?”

  Ugh. Of course he thought that Marcus had managed to seduce her.

  “Ivy?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled Present with a stare. “Yep. That was him. All six feet three inches of him.”

  Preston was still for a moment and then his eyes bugged out in horror. “But you and I deserve a second chance.”

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “Are you smoking crack?”

  “I’m dead serious.” His face was blank, his eyes sad. Oh no. He was serious.

  “Look, Preston,” Ivy started. “That is never, ever going to happen. I’m a different person than I was when we were together. Back then I got caught up in the whole wedding fantasy, and it seemed l
ike the natural thing to do, marrying my college boyfriend.”

  “I thought so, too. And I’ll bet you’ve had your regrets over the past years. Now that you’ve had time to think about what you threw away.”

  No, she had no regrets as far as he was concerned. The only thing she wished was that she hadn’t stayed away from home for so long on account of him.

  “Fine. I’ll explain. You were fun to be with, most of the time. And up until a month before our wedding, you treated me like a princess.”

  “Well then, what more could you ask for?” he burst out. “You would have had a perfect life with me.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You wanted a society wife. You wanted me to drown myself in charity benefits and country-club gossip, and you barely listened when I talked about my own dreams to open a business.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  She pointed a finger at him. “See? That’s the kind of shit I’m talking about, Preston! We have the same degree in business administration from Cornell, my GPA was higher than yours, and you still think you’re smarter than me. That’s exactly why I left you.”

  “And now you’re with Marcus, who obviously has enough money to get whatever he wants.” He smirked at her. “You may think you’ve changed, but you haven’t.”

  Ivy noticed his left eye twitching. “It was never about money. And my relationship with Marcus is strictly business.”

  “Save it, Ivy. I know the score.” Preston sniffed.

  She folded her arms. “Do you? Let’s talk about your score, then. And the fact that you’re batting zero at work.”

  He frowned at her and began to pace. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’ve failed so far.”

  “Well, it’s not easy,” he whined. “I haven’t been on the job long and—”

  “That excuse is wearing very thin. But as your boss, I will give you fair warning. Make some calls, twist some arms, use whatever charm you can dig up, and find a serious buyer for the bakery property. If you don’t, I’ll find someone else to do it.”

  He stopped pacing. “Are you threatening to fire me?”

  “Yep.” She uncrossed her arms and walked to the front door. “But I won’t need to if you do your job. I know you still have connections. Talk to your prep-school buddies back in Princeton. Something ought to turn up.”

  His face went pale. “My dad doesn’t want anyone there to know that the bakery failed.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care. I just care about Celebration. And it’s your job to care, too.”

  “I do care! You think I enjoy looking at all the unemployed people in town, knowing that they’re out of work because of my family?” He stomped through the door and turned around on the porch. “I took the job with the city to help them. And to clear the Parliament name. Why else would I voluntarily live in this shithole town?”

  Ivy stared at him.

  With a huff, he trotted down the steps, got in his car, and roared away.

  “Could this day get any worse?” she moaned aloud, shutting the door and kicking her heels off. She collapsed to the floor, wiggling her toes in front of her.

  It was then that she realized that the house had no heat, and Marcus had her car.

  Heaving a giant sigh, Ivy yanked her cell out and shook her head, dialing.

  “Mom? Can you come get me? Thanks. Oh, and tell Gramma to make one of her special martinis.”

  …

  Marcus drove down Sterling Street at dusk on Sunday afternoon in his brand-new Lexus. He passed Ivy’s little house, and in the bright glow of her porch light, he saw a furniture truck pull away. It would be very easy to circle the block and come back with the excuse that he had a housewarming gift. But he didn’t and the grocery store didn’t sell wine on Sundays. And as much as he’d like to see her, to kiss her again, he would be avoiding the reason he was out driving in the first place. Herman. He had to go reason with Herman.

  Sighing, he turned left at Maple and drove three more blocks. The houses got bigger as he drove, some of them in good shape and others kind of crumbling. Herman’s large Queen Anne looked like a house from a horror movie—dark, shuttered, half falling down. Marcus parked across the street and stared at it. He’d actually lived in that house. If he hadn’t dropped out of high school, he would have spent four years there. But at seventeen, Marcus couldn’t deal with Herman anymore, and he’d stuffed a backpack and gone to Syracuse. He’d taken the first job he found—at Megamart—and he hadn’t been back to Herman’s house since. He even didn’t want to go now, but he saw a dim light around the side. It was a safe bet that Herman was sitting in the kitchen, drinking and listening to the radio. Herman needed to quit drinking before he got really sick. He was already too thin and that hacking cough of his sounded plague-like.

  Marcus clenched his jaw and got out of the car, stepping carefully across the icy street. He walked up the broken concrete steps and pounded on the front door. It was the only way the old man would hear. There was a commotion inside, followed by slurred cursing, and a few seconds later, the door swung inward.

  Herman peered around the edge, his eyes glassy. “Whadda ya want?”

  “We need to talk,” Marcus said.

  “What for? You can’t stay here.”

  “I have no interest in that, believe me.” Marcus shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You promised to sell me that land. I need you to tell me who you sold it to.”

  Herman cackled, gripping the edge of the door frame. “No. Now go on.” He started to shut the door, and Marcus’s hand shot out, pushing it farther open.

  “Let me rephrase, Herman… Who bought the land?”

  “That’s privileged information.” Herman pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and coughed into it.

  Marcus stepped into the foyer. The place smelled like mold. “I’m not stupid. Transfer of property is public information. Anybody with an ounce of self-interest, which you definitely have, would file with the register of deeds clerk at city hall. But God knows when you’ll get around to it, so you’re going to tell me now.”

  “Why?” Herman shot back. “What’s it to you? The land is sold.”

  It was all he could do not to throttle the man’s papery neck. “And it will be sold again, to me. If I have to go down to the records office every day, twice a day, asking if you’ve filed the paperwork yet, I will.”

  Herman stuck out his wet lower lip and frowned. “That’s not—”

  “How would that look? For you, a licensed realtor and a member of the town council, to be so remiss?” Marcus gave him a forced smile, not even trying to hide his insincerity. “Or for that matter, for it to get out that you screwed your own nephew out of a piece of land…for no reason other than greed.”

  Lifting the handkerchief, Herman wiped at his lips. “Of course I’m gonna file it. Eventually.” Then he coughed and peered up at Marcus with a hateful expression. “I don’t appreciate being threatened.”

  “And I don’t appreciate being blindsided.” Marcus could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest and he clenched his fists inside the jacket pockets. “Who did you sell the land to?”

  “Mustang Investments,” muttered Herman.

  Marcus frowned. “Who are they?”

  “Don’t push it, Toothpick.” Herman stumbled forward. “You’re forgetting that I know all about what you want to do with that land. You and your hot shot Megamart.”

  “Oh, you want to make me out to be a bad guy?” Marcus demanded. “I’m the guy who’s about to make it rain money all over downtown in Celebration.”

  “Whatta ya mean?” Herman swayed and leaned against the wall.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, and when you do, I’m sure you’ll think twice about bad-mouthing me.”

  “Wouldn’t count on it,” Herman slurred. He looked down at his empty hands. “Where’s my whiskey?”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “In the kitchen, next to the stove, assuming you still keep it in t
he same place. I’ll wait while you go get it. And get me the contact information for Mustang Investments while you’re at it.”

  Herman rubbed at his cheek with knobby fingers. “Fine. Just wait here.” He turned and shuffled past the sagging staircase toward the back of the house.

  “You need to quit drinking, Herman,” Marcus called out.

  The only response was clattering and a few muffled curses from the kitchen. A minute later, Herman wove his way back, a fifth of Jim Beam and a scrap of paper clutched in his hands.

  He thrust the paper out. “Here.”

  Marcus unfolded it and glanced down. It was a street address, with no town and no zip code. “Where is this?”

  “Syracuse.” Herman took a sip from the bottle.

  “Are you kidding me? This is it? Where’s their phone number? Where’s the paperwork?” Marcus heard his voice rising with each question and he clamped his jaw shut. Herman loved nothing better than getting people riled up. “Look, just tell me where the paperwork is and I’ll go search through it myself,” he said evenly.

  “Nope. Ain’t none of your business. If you want the land that bad, you’ll track them down.” His eyes slid shut and he leaned against the wall. “Go on now. I’m busy.”

  “Yeah. Busy passing out.” Marcus sighed and grabbed Herman’s arm, leading him into a dusty sitting room. He lowered the old man onto a sofa. “You’re pathetic.”

  Herman didn’t answer.

  With a snort of disgust, Marcus turned and walked out the front door.

  …

  On Monday morning, Ivy stood next to her dad in her office, filled with an uncomfortable mixture of apprehension and exhilaration. She’d be meeting with Marcus in ten minutes, and they hadn’t really spoken since Saturday morning’s scorcher of a kiss. They’d just passed by each other in her parents’ house and made eye contact. A lot. And unless she was delusional, he was still thinking about it too, because the fire in his blue eyes sent her jumping every time he glanced her way. Over her parents’ dinner table on Saturday night, the hunger she’d seen in those eyes had nothing to do with the slightly burned turkey casserole in front of them. She sighed.