by Amy Andrews
Not men like Dean, anyway. And not uninvited.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stiff and uncomfortable. “It’s not—”
“No, no, it’s okay.” Ivy couldn’t bear to be consoled by its-not-you-it’s-me platitudes. “It’s my fault. It was…stupid. And inappropriate.”
“It is,” he agreed, squashing any fantasy she was harboring that he might disagree. “Getting involved in this kind of situation is not smart, Ivy. It’s easy to confuse feelings when things are so…heightened, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Oh no,” she hastened to assure him, cringing at the thought. “I…I wouldn’t do that.”
God. She’d put him in a horrible position.
“I know.” He waved his hand dismissively, which was somewhat reassuring. “I also think it’s really important that we keep out wits about us. I know the police are out there protecting us, but I still think we need to be alert and… indulging in…well, you know…could be a little distracting.”
Ivy nodded again. “Absolutely, that’s very sensible, very sensible. That’s why you’re the security expert, right?” She shot him an overly bright smile. “I guess I couldn’t have a better part…er, person to be holed up with.”
Oh my god. Shut up. Shut up.
She stood. Her hip hurt, but his taking another step back hurt even more. “Excuse me, I just need to…” To what? Faint. Shrivel into a ball? Die? “Use the bathroom.”
“Of course.” He nodded, stepping back. “I’ll put a microwave meal on for you. Lasagna okay?”
“Sure,” she threw over her shoulder as she scrambled to get away.
If she ever left the bathroom she might even eat it.
Two detectives in suits visited promptly at twelve. Ivy was pleased to have other people around to take her mind off the kiss and fill up the awkward silence that had descended since her major blunder. Also, being brought up to speed on what was actually happening with the investigation gave her some peace of mind and a sense of control.
It would be too easy to play the victim and cower away in this hotel room waiting for Kade to burst through with a gun. But she was damned if she was going to let him impact her life any more than he had. Information was power.
“So, Kade was trying to make an example out of this guy?” Dean inquired after the detectives laid out all they knew about the events in the alley and what had been happening since.
“It appears so. The deceased owed him money and we think Kade wanted to send a warning to all his clients. A shot over the bow, so to speak.” Detective Bridges was the older one. He had a paunch, and a grin that put Ivy at ease.
“Did he have any family?” Ivy enquired.
“A wife and two little kids,” Detective Halliday confirmed. He was taller, more built and easy on the eye, but his manner was brisker.
Ivy pressed her hand to her chest. “Oh…that’s terrible,” she murmured. The desperate pleas from the guy on his knees last night replayed in her head.
“So what you’re saying,” Dean said, “is he’s gone underground?” The question was asked with a clinical intensity and a faint note of accusation.
“That’s right.” Detective Halliday nodded. “We have undercover police on both your apartments and he hasn’t shown there or at any of his regular haunts including the Cross Bar.”
“You think he’s skipped town?” Another question fired with silky detachment.
“I’d say that’s more than a possibility.”
Ivy waited for Dean’s next salvo. He was watching the police very closely, his face unreadable. “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling us, detectives?” he said.
Bridges shifted uncomfortably and exchanged a look with Halliday before speaking. “Word on the street is that he’s put out a hit on you both.”
Ivy blinked at the brisk, no-nonsense delivery. Well, crap. A chill crawled over her skin as she leaned back against the couch. This was insane. Kade had paid a hit man to have her killed? To have them both killed. She glanced at Dean, a hot fist squeezing her gut at the thought of him also being a target. He seemed remarkably calm considering. Crazy shit like this probably happened to him every day.
But not her. She was a crazy-free zone.
Bloody hell. Her father would have an absolute cow if he knew. He’d lock her in a tower for the rest of her life and keep her head shaved.
She’d die a freaking virgin.
It was a completely inappropriate thought to be having right now, but her head was spinning. Maybe she was delirious?
Some maniac out there wants to kill you, Ivy, get your shit together.
“We need you to know that you’re perfectly safe here,” Bridges said, his voice reassuring. “The location is secret and you have a twenty-four hour, plain-clothed surveillance. And Kade Harrison is Mr. Amateur. He’ll screw up and we’ll have him in no time. This is just a precaution.”
Ivy hoped so, because the thought of a guy with a gun somewhere out there made her want to throw up. “Okay.” She nodded, to assure herself more than anything. The police were on it. Dean was right here. It was fine. “So in the meantime we just…hang out here?”
“Yes,” Halliday said. “But just to reiterate, you must stay inside, no going out or inviting anyone here. You can make and receive phone calls from the landline, but remember, do not give out any location details.”
Ivy had already spoken to Merry this morning, who had assured her she was okay. The police had advised she move out of the apartment last night until the situation had been resolved, so she’d moved in with some people they’d met while traveling.
“There won’t be anyone coming by to clean your room, so the only people knocking on your door should be one of us and we’ll always ring you and let you know to expect us. Don’t answer it otherwise. If there’s trouble, ring us. If you need anything, just let us know.”
He handed over his card even though they’d been given one last night. The password sentry was written on the back. The police would use it at the start of any phone conversations so she and Dean would know it was legit.
“So I can’t sip cocktails by the pool?” Ivy said, desperate to lighten the mood.
Detective Bridges laughed. “I’m afraid not. Just these four walls for the next little while.”
Ivy looked around. Four walls and Dean for the next little while. Whatever would they do?
Chapter Four
Ivy thanked God she’d thought to stash her Kindle when she’d packed her bag last night. She had about a hundred books downloaded to choose from and for the first time in a long time actual time to read.
No opportunity for sightseeing or shopping or hanging out with friends.
Just the hotel room and Dean.
And her Kindle.
Not that she’d get through all her books in a couple of days. She’d need to be confined much longer for that and she wasn’t sure if her sanity would hold if she was forced to stay here for more than a few days. Not with Dean prowling around the room like a big, caged jungle cat.
From the couch to the kitchenette to the front door to peer out the curtains to the television where he flicked channels at a dizzying speed then back to the couch again, fiddling with his phone for a bit before repeating.
It was thoroughly distracting. She was just about to tell him to sit the hell down when her phone rang.
Dean stopped pacing immediately and looked at it as if it was the portal to hell. When Ivy saw who it was, she concurred.
“Oh shit.” She picked it up and stared at the screen. “It’s my father.”
He shoved his hands on his hips looking more distant than ever. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” She sighed as the ringing continued and she contemplated letting it go to voicemail. “But the Colonel can smell trouble from hundreds of miles away.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “The Colonel?”
Dean was probably the first man who hadn’t said that word with a litt
le quaver in his voice. “Ex,” she confirmed. “But military right down to his bootstraps.”
“So tell him.”
“Are you crazy? No way.” That was never going to happen. Her father may well possess the means to get her out of this mess, but there was no way she was trading her freedom for it when the police had everything under control.
And there was no point in worrying him.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Ivy, how’re things?”
“Great,” she said. She had to be cool around him—her father could smell a faker. “Such gorgeous weather. Merry and I have been at…the beach all day.”
Ivy made a mental note to text Merry as soon as she’d hung up. She wouldn’t put it past her father to check up.
“Didn’t you work last night? And tonight? I thought you slept all day after your shift ended?”
Ivy glanced at Dean. “Oh no…I’ve had the weekend off.”
“The weekend off?” Ivy could hear that familiar note of suspicion creep into her father’s voice. “I thought your weekend off was last week?”
“Oh…” She glanced at Dean, who was looking down at her, his eyes unreadable. She really hated lying to her father. He had his reasons for being the way he was and she sympathized, but damn it, he forced her to with his impossible inflexibility.
“Liam was…feeling generous.”
She stumbled over the lie. Talking about Liam reminded her of Kade and what had happened last night. Dean watching her didn’t help. Ivy wasn’t usually a liar and he’d gone all strong and silent again like he disapproved.
“Everything okay, darling? You sound…stressed?”
Ivy frowned. Was her father being more persistent than usual? “Stressed?” She forced herself to laugh even though his questions alone were stressing her to her limits. “I’ve been at Bondi all day. My bones are practically jelly.”
“Enjoy it. In two weeks you’ll be home. The nearest beach is two hours away.”
Ivy didn’t need to be reminded. “Yes,” she said, injecting the right level of enthusiasm into her voice. There was a job waiting for her back in Canberra. A career. And she’d made a deal with her father that she would return.
But first she had to deal with a hit man on the outside and a hot one on the inside.
“I’ve arranged a little coming home party for you. The garden is looking spectacular at the moment.”
Ivy was sure it was, but the last thing she wanted to do was talk parties with her father. “Sorry, Dad, Merry’s calling,” she said.
Dean kicked an eyebrow up at her. She ignored it.
“Oh…but Merry can talk to you anytime and—”
“Yeah, you know what she’s like. Okay? Bye, Dad, I’ll call you in a couple of days.”
“But Ivy—”
“Bye now.” Ivy tapped the disconnect symbol on the screen. Did she feel guilty? Yes. Did she feel relieved? That would be a big hell yes. She couldn’t deal with her father’s control-freak issues now when she had so much more going on.
She glanced at Dean. He’d shoved his hands on his hips which drew her gaze very nicely. She doubted anyone filled out denim quite like Dean.
“Don’t judge me,” she snapped, irritated that his Levi’s were so distracting.
“Do you often lie to your father?”
“Only if I have to.”
“He seems like he has your best interests at heart.”
Ivy glared at him. What the hell would he know? She’d bet anything Mr Strong and Silent hadn’t been cloistered all his life. There was too much gypsy about him. “I’m twenty-three, not three. He doesn’t get to know all the ins and outs of my life anymore. And the sooner he grasps that concept the better for both of us.”
“And what does your mother say?”
“My mother died when I was four.”
“So he’s had to be mother and father?”
Ivy blinked at the atypical reaction to her revelation. No instant sympathy from Dean. It was surprisingly refreshing.
“That can’t have been easy,” he said, rocking on his bare feet.
“No. I don’t suppose it was, and I know he’s done the best he could, what he thought was right, but it’s time for me to take the wheel and he’s just going to have to get used to it.”
Ivy stood, wincing slightly as her hip caught, but determined to put this conversation behind them. “Please tell me we have something other than tea and coffee to drink.”
He nodded. “There’s a full mini-bar.”
“Thank Christ,” she said. “I could murder a beer.”
Her father and his overstepping and Dean and his jeans were driving her to drink.
Thanks to fatigue and two beers, Ivy crashed early in the evening but was awake within the hour. The bed was hard as a rock, something she hadn’t noticed in her exhaustion earlier, but as someone who usually slept on her side it was hell on her bruised hip and her shoulder. If only they’d both been on the same damn side.
She groaned as she sat up in bed trying to get comfortable, her bleary eyes slowly focussing on Dean who was watching her, concern etched on his face. “Sore?”
“This bed is so freaking hard.”
“Yeah. I don’t think they stretch to pillow-top mattresses in these kinds of places. Why do you think I’m on the couch?”
He made a good point. It was a very comfortable piece of furniture. She grabbed a pillow and eased out of bed. “Scoot over,” she said.
He gave her a startled look. “Here.” He stood. “You have it, it’s all yours.”
A prickle of irritation lodged at the base of her skull. The couch was big enough for the two of them, why did he have to act like she had…Ebola or something? “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, pushing him down onto the couch. “I’m not kicking you off, I just want to share it. It’s big enough for both of us.”
“I don’t mind using the bed.”
She glared down at him. “Just relax, would you? I promise I’m not going to try to kiss you again.” She was too tired to censor herself as she drew a big cross over her heart with her index finger. “Your virtue is safe with me.”
She didn’t give him any time to object, just shoved the pillow at the opposite end and eased herself down into a side-lying positon, tucking her knees up so they didn’t encroach on his precious space.
“God…so much better!” she groaned, her eyes shutting on a moment of bliss as her sore shoulder was instantly cushioned by the soft foam. She opened them again, trying to focus on the movie he was watching, but her bone-deep fatigue took over and she slept.
…
Seth woke slowly sometime much later to the hot pull of arousal. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken to being stroked, but his sludgy brain nagged at him that something was wrong.
It was a true measure of his fatigue that it took him long seconds to figure it out.
What the fuck?
His eyes flashed open, his heart hammering in his chest as he glanced down.
A foot? There was a foot in his lap?
Jesus.
Ivy was stretched out on her side, her back to the silent, flickering television. She was in a kind of recovery positon, her butt pushed up and out, her foot settled in his lap practically curled around his cock, the pretty pink shade of the toenail polish the same shade as her lipstick last night.
He flopped his head back, stifling a groan. Seriously? She must have shifted in her sleep. Her foot moved again rubbing up and down the length of his cock, like it was burrowing for something in his lap.
Warmth? Comfort? His balls?
Jesus. She’d better be asleep and not just fucking with him.
Seth rolled his head slightly and peered at her. Her eyes were shut, her breathing deep and rhythmic. Definitely asleep. And he needed to move. Now. But her foot finally stilled and his gaze drifted to her hair and the way the light from the television gave it a neon glow.
It had fallen back, flashing the pale curve of her
neck and the slope of her shoulder. The tips brushed her clavicles and his gaze moved south to the dip of her waist and the swell of her hip. And then her butt, curved as it was towards him, all round and perfect filling out her jeans to absolute perfection.
Ivy was all about that bass.
Seth’s palms tingled at the effort it took not to smooth them up her leg and cup his hands around her butt. He imagined it naked in his hands as he eased in and out of her, squeezing it tight as he came.
Christ. He was going to hell.
The thought should have helped with the erection. It didn’t. He doubted anything would. Not even thoughts of the Colonel pushing him out of an aircraft from six-thousand feet without a parachute was going to kill it.
Especially not now his gaze had come to rest on the narrow strip of skin above her waistband where her shirt had ridden up to reveal some kind of tattoo in the small of her back.
Fuck.
Seth fell back against the couch. Ink? A great ass and ink?
He glanced at it again to try to figure out what it could be but short of pushing up her shirt—which he was not going to do—there was no way of telling. It looked green and maybe leafy but that was as much as he could make out with such a restricted view.
Ivy Danforth had a tattoo.
He wasn’t expecting that.
For his own sanity he dragged his eyes off that strip of skin, but then her toes fanned out again, stroking with just the right pressure in just the right place and he lost his mind. The desire to push against her rode him hard.
Bloody hell, he suddenly realized he wasn’t going to hell at all. He was in hell.
Seth clamped down on the urge with brutal execution. It was probably the most amount of self-control he’d ever had to exert on himself and he sure as hell couldn’t take much more.
Gently picking up her foot he eased himself out from under her and off the couch. His heart raced like he’d just run a marathon as she shifted a little, her ass inviting as hell, her shirt ridden up farther, showing more of that tat.
