Ivy Entwined

by Laura Simcox

  Preston glared at her and threw another bunch of candy. Hard.

  “Ouch!” squealed a kid at the bottom of the steps.

  Oops.

  Her eyes went wide, and she watched as her dad got up, grabbed Preston’s arm, and jerked him a few steps to the right. He frowned, pulling down on the elastic strap of his Santa beard and moustache. Ivy strained to eavesdrop.

  “What’s your problem? You just beaned a kid in the throat with a butterscotch.”

  “Sorry,” muttered Preston.

  “No, you’re not. Why don’t you take a break until you can manage to elf up your attitude,” suggested Brian. He swiveled his fake fat gut around and threw a wave to the crowd. “Ho, ho, ho. Be with you kids in a minute!”

  Preston sagged with relief and pulled off his bag of candy, letting it slide to the floor. “I’ll go get us some coffee.”

  “You do that,” shot back Brian. He glanced over and caught Ivy’s eye. “Get up here, Mayor, and help me out.” He plucked the elf hat from Preston’s head as Preston shuffled awkwardly down the steps, avoiding Ivy’s gaze.

  Ivy walked up the steps and took the hat, pulling it onto her head. She took a minute to look out at the town commons. People in winter gear mingled around booths serving snacks and hot drinks. Kids screamed with laughter as they hurled snowballs at each other from two lopsided forts, complete with opposing homemade red and green flags. At the far end of the sidewalk leading to the gazebo, a small band on a platform played Christmas tunes to accompany the costumed carolers standing in a semicircle below them. Two long tables were set up on the sidewalk, and middle-aged ladies chattered back and forth as they decorated wreaths. Everyone was having a grand time at Celebration’s Sixty-Third Annual Christmas Festival. Except Preston, obviously.

  “Turned out great,” Brian said.

  “Thanks, Dad. I didn’t do it alone. Your reluctant elf did a lot of it.”

  “Reluctant being the key word?” Brian raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, yeah,” she answered. “But I’m glad it worked out. And glad that mom let you out of the house for the day.”

  “Me, too. Hell, I love being Santa,” he said. “Throw candy for a few more minutes, then you’re off the hook.” He winked at Ivy and stomped to the old recliner, covered in a bright green blanket, and sank into it. He pulled on the handle and propped up his booted feet. “Ahhh.” The crowd laughed, and then laughed again when he adjusted his mustache and beard. He pointed to a tiny little girl in a pink coat at the front of the line. “Who’s the first little angel to tell Santa what she wants for Christmas?”

  The crowd of kids surged forward, and Ivy scattered candy in front of them. She motioned to the little girl waiting and smiled as the girl’s mother walked her up the steps to Santa. After a dozen kids had their turn, Ivy felt a tap on her back and she swiveled around. Preston stood there, glumly holding two steaming Styrofoam cups. “I’m back.” He set the cups on a small table behind the recliner.

  “Okay.” She pulled off the elf hat and handed him the candy bag. “Good luck.”

  He snorted and crammed the hat on his head.

  As Ivy descended the steps, she scanned the crowd for Marcus, kicking herself even as her gaze darted over the snowy commons. A week ago this morning, they had been toasty warm, entwined underneath her covers. Today, she felt as cold inside as she did outside.

  And there he was.

  He stood next to one of the snow forts holding a cardboard box for a kid who rolled snowballs and threw them inside. Another kid took them out and let them fly almost as fast as they were being made. She looked at his handsome grin with longing and made a decision.

  It was well past time to get this confrontation over with. She would just go over there, tell him she wanted to talk, and maybe they could go to her office after the festival. She’d call George after they hashed things out.

  Zipping her coat to her chin, she stepped off the sidewalk and angled over the commons, wading through the snow in a direct path toward the snow fort. When she was a few yards away, she heard Marcus chuckle.

  “I think he just likes wearing stockings. Either that or he’s suited up for some cookie baking inside a tree trunk,” came Marcus’s rumbling voice from the other side of the fort.

  A chorus of kid’s giggles followed his comment, and Ivy felt a rush of irrational anger. Yes, Preston was an idiot and he got on her last nerve, but at least he wasn’t hell-bent on destroying the town with a fucking Megamart. She struggled forward in the snow and rounded the edge of the fort.

  “Marcus, why do you have to be such a di—uh, dishrag?” Ivy accused.

  Marcus shot a glance at the kids next to him, who stood staring with open mouths. “Hey, guys. Why don’t you go around the trees and do a sneak attack on the enemy?” He inclined his head. “Go, go. Make me proud.”

  The kids scrambled to do his bidding, crouching as they duck-walked toward the trees on the edge of the commons. When they were out of earshot, he turned to her with a lopsided grin.

  Oh, hell no. She wasn’t falling for that avoidance trick. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets. “We need to talk. Can you meet me after the festival in my office?”

  He was silent for a moment, searching her face. “I can. But I’m not sure I want to.”

  Ivy planted her boots in the crunchy snow and stared at him. His breath came and went in small puffs of air, but he didn’t say anything more. His blue eyes were crystal clear in the bright sunshine, but he didn’t look happy, not one bit. She was miserable, too.

  “I assume you know,” she said bluntly.

  Marcus just glared at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “About what, Ivy?”

  Oh, yeah. He knew.

  “About the bakery and my plans for using it to shoot down the Megamart,” Ivy said, her voice hollow.

  He looked away. “Yes.” His lips twisted as if he were about to say something else, but he didn’t.

  “I’m sorry for hurting you. And I know that’s why you…why we…why things are so shitty between us.”

  He turned around quickly and looked at her, his eyes full of sadness. “You’re right, Ivy. I guess that’s what we get for mixing business with pleasure.”

  A jolt of pain shot through her, sharp and smothering. The tears that had threatened for the past week finally clouded her eyes, and she lowered her head, wading back the way she’d come. The swarm of people in front of her tilted sideways and grew liquid in her blurry vision.

  Great timing. Thanks a lot, Me.

  Keeping her head averted, she threw up a hand, waved in their direction, and headed for city hall. At least in her office, she could calm down in solitude.

  “Ivy! Oh, Iiiiivvvvyyy!”

  Shit.

  “Wait up, honey. Your dad—I mean, Santa wants to see you.”

  Double shit.

  Ivy did an about-face and pretended to push strands of hair from her eyes. She cupped a gloved hand over one eye and turned toward her mother, who lumbered over a drift. “Hey, Mom. The wind’s so cold it made my eyes run and my mascara got all gloopy, and then, this sounds crazy, but my eye froze shut. Help?”

  Her mother huffed to a stop. “Oh, give it up, Ivy. I saw you fighting with Marcus, and even from fifty feet away I can tell when you’re mad. You two didn’t make up, I gather.”

  Ivy let her hand drop, and tears spilled from the corners of her eyes as she looked into the distance. “Well, you didn’t see us kissing, did you?” she said through numb lips.

  Delia surveyed her for a second and then reached out to trail a hand down Ivy’s arm. She sighed. “Let’s go back to your office and clean you up.”

  “No thanks. I—”

  “Now.”

  Ivy swiped at her face with the back of her gloved hand. Runny black trails stained the fuzzy fabric, and she suppressed a sob.

  Delia grabbed Ivy’s arm and steered her toward the sidewalk on the edge of the commons. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you a
ny questions about your relationship. I know you’re not going to talk. We just need to get the ceremonial mayor’s sash from the supply closet for the photo op.”

  “The what for the what?” Ivy glanced over her shoulder. Marcus had resumed his little snowball war with the kids as if nothing had just happened between them. A fresh batch of tears started.

  “We need the sash for you to wear, honey. Wouldn’t it be cute for the mayor and ex-mayor Santa to have their picture in the paper?” Delia patted Ivy’s arm.

  Ivy drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, Mom. You just want a newspaper clipping to stuff in a drawer.”

  “It’s for a scrapbook, not a drawer.” Delia paused near the steps of city hall. “I’m making your dad a scrapbook for Christmas.” She took a deep breath. “Which reminds me. We need to go shopping. Can you take Monday afternoon off? Your grandmother really wants you to come with us.”

  The word “no” formed on her lips. With any luck, after she spoke with George Parker, he would agree to visit on Monday. But what if he didn’t? She would be sitting in her office worrying herself to death about Tuesday’s town council meeting. “I might be able to,” Ivy found herself saying.

  “Good. And Marcus can be our chauffeur.”

  Shit. “Uh, that won’t work, Mom.” She started up the rock-salt-covered steps and pulled her office keys from her parka.

  “Why not?”

  Ivy sighed. “Because we’re not a couple and never will be, okay? Please. Could you and Gramma stop playing matchmaker? It’s driving me nuts.”

  Delia shook her head. “Oh, Ivy. You two are perfect for each other. Can’t you see that?”

  No. And she didn’t want to think about it.

  “Mom, I have a phone call to make about the bakery. Could we do the sash thing later?”

  Delia sighed. “Okay, but make it quick. You deserve to have some fun today. We’re at the Christmas Festival for Pete’s sake.”

  Ivy gave her mother a strained smile. “Save me a place in line at the fruitcake toss. I feel like throwing something.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  As Ivy was bent over to towel her hair in the bathroom Sunday morning, a sharp knock at the back door jolted her, and she stumbled toward the sink, knocking her toothbrush into the toilet.

  “Fuck, fuck, and more fuck!”

  She stared at it as it sank to the bottom and decided it was the most accurate omen she’d ever received. With a sigh, she walked into the kitchen and peered out the window. Preston’s car. Good. She’d been looking forward to biting his head off.

  She turned around and plodded to the back door, unlocking it and yanking it open.

  “What?” She stared at him through stinging eyes. Thanks to her less-than-productive phone call with George Parker yesterday, she’d gotten four hours of sleep and woken with a stomach full of anxiety. Preston didn’t look much better than she felt.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Ivy,” he said.

  “Yeah? Same here.” She took a step back and motioned him in.

  He stomped into her kitchen and whipped around to face her. “I thought we agreed that I would handle the bakery deal. It’s my family’s property. You had no right to call George.”

  “Really? Well, you weren’t handling it!” She pulled down on the hem of her sweatshirt and advanced on him. “Which became pretty obvious when he told me that you never even arranged for him to visit the property. He said that he was more than willing, but that you put him off until after Christmas. And now he’s not able to come tomorrow, nor is he willing to make an offer. I don’t blame him.” She stared at him. “What the hell, Preston? Why is it so hard for you to just do your damned job?”

  He stared at her, two bright spots appearing high on his cheeks. “It’s complicated.”

  “Bullshit!” she spat out. “It’s not complicated. It’s as if you’re purposely trying to sabotage yourself and your job. I called you six times last night and you didn’t pick up.”

  She put her hand to her head, sinking her fingers into her damp hair. “Were you too engrossed in playing computer games to bother to take a call from your boss?”

  “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” he said, his voice uneven. “I know how you are. You make decisions about people and then that’s that. Not this time. You don’t know the half of what’s really going on.”

  “Then enlighten me.” She cocked her head to the side. “Or would that be too much effort?”

  He looked down and twisted the class ring on his finger. And then he smiled. “I can tell you this much, babe. Marcus Weaver has the land. He bought it from Herman.”

  She swallowed. “How do you know?”

  “He told me.” Preston let go of the ring and tilted his head up, frowning at the ceiling. “Not really sure why he didn’t tell you. Oh well, it doesn’t concern me.” He shrugged and headed for the back door, turning on his way out. “I’m sure you’ll make it your priority to figure that out.”

  Ivy watched the back door close and stared at it for a moment, her mind a blank. And then she marched into her bedroom, changed her sweat pants for jeans and jammed her bare feet into her fur-lined snow boots. With stiff fingers, she grabbed her coat and car keys and headed for her parents’ house.

  When she pulled into the driveway, there was only one car there—Marcus’s black Lexus. All the better. Her family didn’t need to witness the conversation that was about to go down.

  She walked to the back door, searching on her key ring for the battered key that had been there since she was thirteen. Her parents had given it to her when she’d started to roam freely around town. Ironically enough, most of that roaming had been in downtown, peeking in the windows of the drugstore to catch a glimpse of Marcus. With an irritated sigh, she stuffed the key in the lock and turned the knob. Walking into the kitchen, she stomped her boots on the snowman rug by the back door. She stomped again, squishing her boot into his jolly face.

  “Marcus?” There was no answer. She threw her keys and coat onto the nook table and walked into the living room. “Marcus!”

  “What is it?” came his smooth, deep voice from the second floor.

  She whirled around and looked toward the top of the stairs and caught her breath. He stood there motionless, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet.

  The same jolt of lust and longing that she’d felt yesterday surfaced with a vengeance, and she tried to tamp it down. But her emotions were too twisted, and all she could do was groan silently with dismay as her heart beat faster and faster, winning the battle.

  “I, ” she began. “Where are my parents? And Gramma?”

  He walked down the steps and into the living room. “They’re shopping.”

  She frowned. “But we’re going shopping tomorrow.”

  He folded his arms and shrugged as she took in the curving muscle of his biceps. Her gaze darted across his chest, over his shoulder, and up to his throat. He swallowed.

  “You need something?” he asked.

  She met his eyes and willed her voice to be steady. “Yes. Why didn’t you tell me about the land?”

  He stared at her for a second. “Because it wouldn’t serve any purpose except to make you upset. I told you a long time ago that I’d get the land. I don’t see why you’re surprised.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” She took a step toward him.

  “See? You’re upset.”

  “Of course I am! We’re supposed to be working together on this.” She took a deep breath, and the scent of soap and warm skin hit her nostrils, sending her stomach plunging.

  “Working together? But you’ve been trying to stab me in the back from day one. I’m just protecting myself,” he countered, moving closer. “So, Ivy”—his breath fanned over her forehead—“what are we going to do now?”

  She closed her eyes for a second and felt his gentle fingers on her chin as he tilted it up.

  “But on Saturday you said—”

  �
��I said we shouldn’t have mixed business and pleasure, I know. And we both know that there’s only going to be one winner when it comes to Celebration’s future.” His fingers trailed from her chin down the side of her throat and rested over her hammering heart. “It drives you crazy that you want me anyway, doesn’t it?” He held her gaze. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Tingles raced through her, and she took a shuddering breath. This was crazy. But, dammit, she wanted him too. So much. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his chest. And then her lips. “Yes,” she whispered. “You drive me absolutely crazy.” Through his damp, firm skin, his heart thumped under her ear and between their bodies, his hand sliding over her breast and around her the curve of her hip.

  With a moan, she pushed upward, twining her arms around his shoulders and lifting her legs from the floor. He caught the back of her thighs, and his lips descended to her neck. He burned a path of kisses up to her mouth, and then his tongue took over, plunging inside, hot and sweet. He took a step back and twisted toward the stairs. As she gasped into his mouth, he walked up, turned into her bedroom, and let her slide to the floor, tearing his mouth away from hers as he reached for the hem of her sweatshirt. The towel around his waist hung crookedly and she stared with glazed eyes at the hollows between his hips and his abdomen. She raised her arms and let him drag the shirt over her head, and then she bent and tore the towel away, grabbing his hips to place hot kisses across his belly.

  He groaned and dug his fingers into her shoulders. “Ivy.”

  Her hand ran over the top of a muscled thigh, and she closed her fingers around his erection, dragging her mouth closer. He jerked back instinctively.

  “No,” he ground out. “I want to be inside of you.” He hauled her up and shoved her jeans down, pulling her panties with them.

  She fumbled with the clasp of her bra, panting, and his hands curled underneath the cups, lifting them over her sensitive nipples and pulling the whole thing over her head. With another groan, he wrapped his arms around her and pushed her onto the unmade bed.