The Man Plan

by Tracy Anne Warren

  “Eggs and bacon or French toast?” He pulled out a carton of eggs. “Estella taught me a recipe that’s gotten me through many a hungry Sunday morning.”

  “James, tell me what you meant.” She reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm. “You’re avoiding my question. Why?”

  She swallowed, dread settling in her belly.

  He set the eggs and a stick of butter on the counter, then closed the refrigerator door. He thrust his hands into his pants pockets, a sure sign he felt uneasy. “Ivy, last night was . . .”

  “Yes, what was it?” she murmured.

  “Special. Amazing. Utterly unforgettable.”

  He looked up, met her eyes, then pulled in a sharp breath. “But it was wrong. Last night was a mistake that should never have happened.”

  A fine tremor ran just beneath her skin. Was he breaking up with her after only one night? No. Impossible. He couldn’t be, not after saying such lovely things at the start.

  But as she searched his face and read the remote expression in his blue eyes, the dread in her stomach turned to stone.

  My God, he is breaking up with me.

  She grabbed his arms, pressed herself against him. “It wasn’t wrong,” she pleaded. “It was wonderful. Don’t let Madelyn and that . . . that unfortunate scene with that other woman you’ve been seeing make you regret what we shared. I don’t regret it, not for an instant.”

  “You should,” he said, his voice as cool now as his eyes. “Madelyn’s right. We’ve got no business being together, sleeping together.”

  Gently, he pried her hands loose and took a step back. “My God, Ivy, your father and brother would beat me bloody if they knew what I’d done. And I wouldn’t blame them. I was supposed to look after you, not seduce you. I took advantage, took your innocence, to my everlasting shame. I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror.”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me,” she said with a shake of her head. “What we did last night was my choice. My innocence, as you call it, was mine to give. Why, I practically pleaded with you last night to make love to me. James, if anyone took advantage, it was me. I’m the one who seduced you. I’m the one who’s been seducing you for weeks.”

  His golden brows furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I . . . You see . . . Ever since I moved to the city, I’ve been trying to get you to notice me. The bathing suit I wore in your pool, the impromptu visits, the picnics, they’ve all been my attempt to make you see me as a desirable woman. I even kissed you once while you were asleep.”

  “You mean that wasn’t a dream?”

  Her cheeks warmed at the memory. “No. I didn’t know whether or not you realized. I just couldn’t help myself that night. You looked so beautiful lying there on my sofa. I simply had to kiss you. So you see, you are not to blame for any of this, and you don’t need to feel responsible. You are what I want.”

  She slid her palm over his smoothly shaven cheek, gazed into his eyes. “You are what I will always want.”

  Reaching up, she looped her arms around his neck, tugged his head down, and crushed her lips to his. For a moment, he stiffened and tried to pull away. But she wouldn’t let him go, kissing him harder, as she poured all the passion in her soul into the embrace. She traced the tip of her tongue over his lower lip and felt his response.

  Suddenly he was kissing her, pressing her mouth wide for a fiery mating of lips and tongues and teeth. Blood hummed in her veins as she tunneled her fingers into his hair and hungrily waited for him to take more.

  Abruptly, he pulled away, paced across the kitchen. “This can’t go on, Ivy. It’s wrong. We shouldn’t have these feelings for each other.”

  “Why not?” she asked, her voice husky from their kiss. “We’re both single. We both want each other, like each other. Where’s the harm?”

  He thrust his hands into his back pockets as if he didn’t quite trust himself not to touch her again. Then he sighed. “You saw the reaction today. Everyone’s horror at the idea of the two of us intimately involved. Your sister won’t be the only one who feels that way; there’ll be the rest of your family, especially your parents. What am I going to say to them when they find out that I’m sleeping with their underage daughter—the girl they asked me to watch over while she’s here in New York?”

  “I’m not underage. I’m an adult woman.”

  “Yeah, so adult you’re not even allowed to drink legally.”

  “Only for a few months more,” she defended softly. “Then I’ll be twenty-one.”

  “That old, huh? Twenty? Twenty-one? Do you think that will make any difference to my friends and business colleagues? Just imagine their reaction if I showed up with you on my arm. There’d be no end to the crude jokes and snide comments.”

  She cringed. “So I embarrass you. Is that it? You’d be ashamed to be seen with me in public?”

  He dragged a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “No, you don’t embarrass me. But other people wouldn’t be kind if they knew we were lovers, and you deserve better. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

  “What if I said I didn’t care? What if I said I loved you? Would it matter then?”

  He gave her a long look, then shook his head. “You don’t love me; you just think you do.” He waved a hand, dismissing her declaration. “You’ve always looked at me with a bit of hero worship in your eyes. What you’re feeling is infatuation, pure and simple.”

  “It didn’t feel like infatuation last night or again this morning when you woke me up for a couple rounds of predawn nooky.”

  He blanched. “Don’t be crude.”

  Temper began to simmer in her veins. “And don’t tell me what I feel and whether or not it’s real.”

  “Stop acting like a spoiled child and I won’t.”

  She gasped, his words hitting her like a slap in the face. “Spoiled child?”

  “That’s right. You say you love me, but what do you know about relationships, about commitment, about real life? You’ve barely experienced any of them for yourself. My God, you’ve never even held a real job. You were in school until a couple months ago, and now you’re out trying your hand at painting. That’s great. That’s wonderful, but it doesn’t mean you’re mature.”

  He walked over and leaned back against the countertop, gripping the edge. “You’re young, twenty years old, just like you said. People change a lot in their twenties, Ivy. Who you are now isn’t who you’re going to be in another ten years, twenty years. You think you want me? You think you love me? You have no frame of reference to be sure.”

  Unshed tears burned in her eyes, her voice sounding thick to her own ears. “Did you have a frame of reference when you fell in love with Madelyn? You were barely in high school, weren’t you? Far younger than me. And yet you were thirty years old by the time the two of you got engaged.”

  She drew a quick, hard breath. “Had anything changed in all those years? Did screwing a bunch of other women during the years you were apart help you decide she really was the right one for you? Is that what I need to do? Go out and screw a bunch of men to prove I love you?”

  His face grew thunderous.

  “Because there’re plenty of men who want me,” she said. “Fred, to start with. He’d be happy to further my education.”

  “Ivy.” he growled in warning.

  “But that isn’t what all this is about, is it? It isn’t about me; it’s about Madelyn. About the fact that you adored her and she ripped out your heart. It’s because you can’t trust anyone, especially not me, her sister. I told myself it didn’t matter if you still loved her. I told myself I’d take you no matter the price and damn the cost. But the truth is, you won’t let me close enough to even worry about giving up my pride. You’ve decided to push me away before we’ve even had a chance to begin.”

  She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “So you can breathe a sigh of relief. You want me out of your life, then I’ll get out.”

&
nbsp; “I don’t want you out of my life,” he said, raking his fingers through his hair again. “I just want things back the way they used to be. I just want us to put all this in the past and be friends again.”

  She looked at him out of bleak eyes, her chest heavy and aching. “Last night you said our making love would change everything, and it has. Nothing between us will ever be the same again.” She released a despondent sigh. “I’ll always be your friend, James, but I won’t ever again be your little sister. I love you, as a woman, whether you choose to believe me or not. If you ever decide you want something more between us, come and see me.”

  Then, before she broke down completely, she spun from the room, hurried through the penthouse, and went out the door.

  * * *

  Ivy cried for three days straight.

  She couldn’t believe their love affair had started and ended in less than a day. She thought about those hours over and over again, replaying each word, every touch and sensation, wondering whether there was anything she might have done differently.

  Finally, she forced herself out of bed, dried her eyes, and took a long, hot shower.

  So James thought she was too young, did he? Too inexperienced to know what she really wanted. Well, she was young, and she supposed she didn’t have a great deal of real-world experience, but she could change that.

  She would change that, she vowed.

  She couldn’t help her youth; only time could correct that flaw. But every day she would get a little older, a little wiser and more mature.

  He wanted a woman who knew her own mind? A woman able to stand on her own two feet? She’d show him she was that woman. If finding a job and proving she could succeed on her own terms were what it took to gain his respect, then she’d do it. Her parents had given her a safety net, a comfortable cushion on which to land should she falter, should she fail. Well, she was going to give up the net and go solo. She was going to walk the wire alone and fight for every inch; failure would not be an option.

  He said she didn’t really love him, that her feelings were still nothing more than a passing infatuation. She’d show him he was wrong about that too. She didn’t know how, but she’d find a way to convince him her love was enduring and true. She’d show him she wouldn’t change her mind, that she wasn’t her sister.

  Of course, it might all be for nothing, since it was clear he wasn’t in love with her.

  Not yet.

  But he wants me, she reminded herself.

  He hadn’t been able to control his desire for her the night he’d taken her to his bed. And she knew he’d still wanted her the next morning, there in his kitchen, even after he’d pushed her away. She’d felt the aching need in his kiss, the raw hunger in his body. Despite his words, he felt more for her than he wanted to admit.

  And as long as that spark of desire remained, she wasn’t going to give up.

  * * *

  Two days later she rented a car—a shiny blue Honda—and made the three-hour trip into Connecticut to visit Caroline and P.G.

  She’d called the day before to tell them she was coming, then phoned her parents to let them know she’d be spending the night at home. Her mother was delighted, saying she and Ivy’s father couldn’t wait to see her.

  But Ivy knew they would be less delighted when she broke the news about her decision to move out of her plush Upper West Side apartment and in with the guys in Bushwick, as she’d originally planned.

  She’d already phoned Neil. He’d laughed and said the extra room was still hers whenever she wanted it. He’d even offered to waive her share of the rent until she found a job and got on her feet.

  She was prepared to withstand all of her parents’ arguments and persuasions; she knew there would be plenty. This time she would stand firm against them. She’d moved into James’s building because of James, and ironically, he was the reason she was moving out—not that she planned to share that tidbit of information with her parents.

  As she neared her brother’s house, the woody hills burst forth in mantles of rich, leafy greens and dark, earthy browns. She turned onto a two-lane road and rolled down her windows to enjoy nature—the birds trilling, the bees humming, and the sweet scents of honeysuckle and lavender drifting in the hot, humid air.

  She turned again, this time onto a wide residential street that led to P.G. and Caroline’s home. Their spacious, five-bedroom Victorian soon appeared, painted in cheery hues of pastel blue and yellow. The driveway was long and welcoming, shaded by stately elms and gracious two-hundred-year-old oaks.

  An architect of national standing, her brother, Philip George Grayson III—shortened as a youngster to P.G. to distinguish him from his father—had originally planned to design and build a sprawling contemporary home for himself and his young bride.

  Instead, Caroline had found the Victorian, a gracious old lady in need of care and attention. For Caroline, the house had been love at first sight, and P.G. hadn’t had the heart to tell her no.

  Over the next fourteen years, they’d sweated and slaved, poured heart and soul and a bundle of money into changing what P.G. indulgently called “the old pig’s ear” into the glorious silk purse it was now.

  He and Caroline had filled the house with love and laughter and babies. It didn’t seem right its occupants should now know sickness and tears.

  Ivy parked the car and studied the house and the two acres that surrounded it. Heirloom trees and mature bushes graced the grounds. Leather-leafed hydrangeas festooned with dish-sized mop heads of snowy white and pastel pink surrounded the house while masses of lilacs, forsythia, and nose-sweet mock orange carried a glory of texture and fragrance into the yard beyond.

  A plain shell path wound through the yard like a foamy white ribbon cast adrift in a sea of color. Flowers of every height and variety, hundreds of delicate blooms, lifted their velvety faces to the sun. Toward the west, neat rows of vegetables thrived on hearty green vines sprung from the black fertile earth: pole beans, tomatoes, squash, eggplant, and onions, each ripening in their own way and time.

  In the heart of it all stood Caroline—a wraith dressed in a floppy brimmed straw hat and a gauzy pink dress, her skin as pale as the path on which she stood. Caroline lifted a gloved, soil-stained hand to shade her eyes as Ivy stepped from the car.

  Ivy was glad Madelyn had warned her what to expect. Her face would surely have given her away, so shocked was she at the dramatic changes the past few months had wrought in her sister-in-law.

  Ivy lifted a hand and waved.

  Caroline waved back, a smile of welcome curving her pretty bow-shaped mouth. She dusted garden loam from her gloved fingers, drew off the gloves, then stepped forward. “You’re here. How was your trip?”

  Ivy joined her near a massing of tall, cinnamon-tipped orange daylilies and purple coneflowers. “Great. It’s a nice day for a drive.”

  She wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law, finding hard-edged bone where there should have been the soft give of flesh. She willed herself not to stiffen, continued the hug an extra second in unspoken apology.

  When she pulled away, she glimpsed the thin, dull wisps of tawny hair Caroline had tucked up underneath her hat—hair that had always been glossy and thick, her one true vanity.

  How it must pain her to watch it come out in clumps in her comb, Ivy thought.

  She met Caroline’s eyes, finding them the same as ever, soft and sweet as warmed caramel. She smiled and took Caroline’s hand to give a loving squeeze. “How are you?”

  “Not dead yet.”

  Ivy felt her eyes widen.

  Caroline relented. “Sorry. Cancer humor. P.G. doesn’t care for it either. A bad habit I’ve picked up recently at the hospital when I go in for my treatments. You get to know the other patients, and some of them are pretty blunt.”

  “That’s okay. I, for one, am glad you’re not dead yet.”

  Caroline laughed, the tension broken.

  Ivy stepped back to survey the yard. “The
place looks wonderful. Anything ripe yet in your garden?”

  Caroline looked over her shoulder with obvious pride. “A mouthful of beans and some tomatoes, I think. The rest is still coming on. I’ll pack a basket for you to take back.”

  “Oh, now, don’t go to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. You know how I love the garden. Any chance I get to work in it is a pleasure. Besides, it takes my mind off things.”

  Ivy paused, unsure whether to pursue the opening. “So where are the kids?”

  “At the grocery with P.G. and Laura. I don’t do much of the marketing anymore.” She laid a hand across her stomach. “The chemo makes me too nauseated to get in and out of the store in one piece.” She glanced down the driveway as they strolled toward the house. “They should be back soon. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Sure. It’s hot out here under the sun. But let me get it. I’ve been in your house often enough to know where things are.”

  They mounted the steps to the covered wraparound porch. Ivy motioned Caroline toward a grouping of comfortable outdoor furniture. “Sit in the shade and I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay,” Caroline agreed. “Just a little cool water for me.”

  Ivy returned shortly, carrying two tall glasses of chilled water. Caroline’s eyes were closed, an expression of weariness on her face.

  “Here you go,” Ivy said with false brightness.

  Long moments passed as they sipped their drinks, listened to the rhythmic rise and fall of cicadas humming in the underbrush.

  Ivy set down her glass, which was beaded with condensation from the heat. “So, how are you really?”

  Caroline met her look. “Not so bad. The doctors think this second round of chemotherapy and radiation should do the trick. Only a few more weeks; then I can start to feel like myself again. Start eating again, hopefully in time to enjoy a little of the produce I’ve been working so hard to grow.”

  Ivy listened to her words but saw the shadow in Caroline’s eyes, suspected she felt far worse than she let on. “You should have told us, you know,” she reproved gently.

  “Don’t you start in on me too. I’ve already received a thorough scolding from your mother.” She sighed. “I didn’t want you worrying, the way you’re all doing now. Even if I’d told you, what could you have done?”