Her boss.
The lifeline to her research.
Her muscles tensed as the tension from yesterday pushed sleep and contentment to the sidelines. Her fingers instinctively tried to form a fist, wrapping around—
Oh, sugar!
She released his long, hard length. “Sorry,” she murmured.
“For touching me?” He turned on his side and the sheet slid to his waist. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he propped himself up with his arm. His other hand reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re frowning. Is that your must-have-coffee face? Or are you having second thoughts, Ivy?”
Images flashed through her mind like a slideshow. The dinosaurs. The castle. His terrace. His bed.
She’d had a plan. But one little makeover and she’d diverted from “bore the billionaire” to “seduce him with adventure.” And somewhere along the line, she’d abandoned her goal. She’d followed lust, attraction, and…
No, not love. Not yet.
But she liked him. Not the powerful billionaire who could keep her research alive, but the man. The very good man who’d made her feel beautiful and yes, worshipped.
Three bars of “Fight Song” echoed through the bedroom.
“Your ringtone?” he teased.
“One of them,” she said, as she scrambled from the bed, drawing the quilted coverlet with her. She wore the blanket like a cloak. She followed the ringing sound into his living room and found her cell plugged in to charge beside another, fancier model phone.
He got up during the night to plug in my phone. When was the last time a man did that for me?
She shook off the question and reached for her cell. She read the caller ID and sighed. Then she ran her finger over the screen and lifted the phone to her ear. “Good morning, Penelope.”
“Charm a billionaire last night?” her assistant asked.
“I’m not sure who charmed who.” Ivy sank into an overstuffed chair. “But I haven’t convinced him to increase our funding yet.”
Or keep the lab open.
But she’d hold on to that detail. If she failed—which was a high probability, seeing as she’d allowed her misplaced desire to override her common sense—then she’d tell Penelope they were losing everything.
“Yet?” her assistant cried. “As in, you spent the night with Carter Burke?”
“I took him on a scientific adventure.”
“You had sex for science?” Penelope said with a throaty laugh.
“No.”
I had sex for me. I had sex because I finally met a man who makes me call my sister and charges my cell.
“I’ll talk to him again,” Ivy added. “I’ll…”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the chair. What more could she do? She’d tried to show him why all medical research mattered. How curing every disease mattered.
“Ivy, did you tell him why this matters to you?” Penelope asked. “Have you explained your personal connection to the research?”
“Not yet. I…I didn’t want him to say yes out of pity. I thought if I could make him believe in our work…I didn’t want Carter Burke to question if I’d let my personal connection to this research cloud my judgment.”
“But it has,” Penelope said. “It’s part of why you practically live in this lab.”
“You’re right.” Ivy let out a hollow laugh. “But you’re always in the lab with me. Why do you put in the extra hours and effort?”
“Because all science matters,” Penelope said. “And I like my job.”
“So do I.”
“You’ll tell him?”
“This morning,” Ivy promised. She ended the call and dropped the phone to her lap.
How do I explain my connection to this research? Over coffee while wearing his blanket?
She sighed and opened her eyes. Through the sliding glass doors, she could see the Brooklyn Bridge glimmering in the bright morning sunlight. The suspension bridge connected his past to his present. The same held true for her. Staring at the bridge’s cables, a plan formed in her mind.
“Everything okay?”
She turned and spotted Carter standing at the edge of the living room. He’d pulled on a pair of jeans, but he’d skipped the shirt. His perfect abs called to her. His broad chest and muscular arms crossed in front of his pecs.
Maybe I should rethink my plan. If we return to the bedroom…
She couldn’t. Morning had broken the spell.
“Everything’s fine.” She rose from the chair, careful to keep the blanket wrapped around her naked body.
“Your sister?” he nodded to the cell in her hand.
She shook her head. “A friend reminding me that I have one more place to show you before our adventure ends. Do you have a car?”
“In the garage downstairs.” He turned and headed for the kitchen they’d passed on the way to the bedroom last night. “I’ll make some coffee for the drive.”
“Aren’t you going to ask where we’re going?” she asked.
He rested a hand on the entryway and looked over his shoulder at her. The muscles in his back coiled. He was perfect. Too perfect.
Did I really make love to this man last night?
“Surprise me, Ivy.”
Chapter 19
“A graveyard adventure?” Carter steered his Tesla past the stone house at the entrance. “I thought those exploits took place in the dead of night.”
“I was distracted last night,” Ivy said.
And happier, he thought. Right now, she sounded damn near despondent.
He stowed that thought and focused on steering. The walls surrounding the Brooklyn graveyard showed signs of age. But the roads and the slopes lined with tombstones were well maintained.
“Take a right at this intersection and then park,” she added.
Carter glanced over at her as the car slowly rolled past one grave after another. She wore the same mask of determination she’d donned in his office yesterday afternoon. The playful woman who’d raced through the museum with him seemed far, far away. But the sultry beauty that had dropped to her knees last night was still there. Every time he looked at her mouth he remembered how her lips felt wrapped around him.
But she was focused on work again.
He shook his head as he took the turn. The qualities that drew him to this woman—her drive and her commitment to her goals—were also the barrier between him and her slipping back into bed.
“Here,” she said.
He guided the car to the shoulder. Before he’d cut the engine, she’d opened the passenger door, gathered the Marchesa’s full skirt in her arms, and slipped out of the car. She looked oddly cute, wearing her wrinkled gown and a pair of women’s slippers that he kept for the rare occasions his mother visited his apartment.
He turned off the car and followed her to a simple stone that read MATTHEW GRANT.
Oh, Ivy.
“Your father?” he said gently.
“Yes.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets to keep from pulling her close. If he touched her right now, he had a feeling she would shatter. He suspected she would save the tears for later, when she was alone. Ivy Grant might have gone willingly to his bed, giving in to a pull that went beyond a quest for adventure, but she didn’t reach out for emotional support. She didn’t let others see her weak and close to broken.
He knew the signs of trying to carry the weight of the world alone. He did the same thing. Asking for help felt a helluva lot like admitting he was letting someone down.
“My father died from amyloidosis ten years ago,” she said. Her voice wavered over the name of the damn disease that had landed them here. She drew a sharp breath. “I was in my third year of medical school. I knew a lot, but there is nothing like navigating doctors and diagnoses when they don’t have a cure. They didn’t even have a test to look for the disease in the early stages. By the time they were able to settle on a diagnosis, he was close to the end.”
“I’m sorry, Ivy.”
“Yesterday, I found a pathway to early diagnosis. And I’m close, very close, to finding a cure. I just know it.”
She wrapped her arms around her center as if she were trying to hold herself together. And he had to touch her. He reached out and ran his hand down her bare arm. He covered her hand with his. But she didn’t interlace her fingers with his.
Standing at her father’s grave, and she can’t reach out for support.
But she had asked. Not for someone to lean on. She’d asked for money.
“How much do you need?” The question slipped out even though he knew he couldn’t justify the open-ended expense to his shareholders. Plus, he would have to keep her facility open, which would have a negative impact on his bottom line.
“A hundred million for the clinical trial on the diagnostic test.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. “More to find a cure.”
“Hundreds of millions,” he said.
She nodded. “But less than the cancer research.”
“True.” He was allocating over a billion dollars to that project in the next fiscal year. “I only have so much to spend on projects that don’t turn a profit yet. If your clinical trial is successful and your new diagnostic test is approved—and I’ve been funding research and medical developments long enough to know that is a pretty big if—how many people will need this test?”
She glanced over at him. “You mean where is the path to profits?”
He nodded. “I’m not running a charity. The Burke Initiative funds research that in turn provides returns for the shareholders. That last vaccine led to a windfall. Those are the kind of projects I need to focus on.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “They’re all worthy, Ivy. But our pie simply isn’t big enough.”
“Are you sure about that?” she challenged as she stepped forward, pulling free from his grasp, and turned to face her.
He nodded. “I know the numbers.”
“Then that’s it.” Her arms dropped to her side and she walked past him, heading for his Tesla.
“Ivy,” he called after her. “I’d save the whole damn world if I could. But I can’t.”
His frustration rose up. Damn it! He hated walking into barriers. He hated letting her down.
“It’s not all my money,” he continued, wishing he could say something that would turn them around from this dead end. “Some of my shareholders depend on the returns. They aren’t all millionaires. Some only have a single share, but that doesn’t mean their investment should be worth any less than anyone else’s. This is their retirement. This is the money they use to send their kids to college. I’ve met these men and women at my shareholder meetings. I’m seeing them all again this week. I’ve shaken their hands and given them my word that I would do my best.”
“And you are doing your best for them.” She stopped by the passenger-side door and looked at him. “I meant what I said last night. You’re a good man. I guess I just hoped you’d be my miracle, too.”
“Ivy—”
“Please take me back to the hotel,” she said. “My car is parked up there. And my clothes are in the hotel suite.” She glanced down and ran her hands over the gown. “I think it’s time to leave the fairy tale.”
He opened the driver’s-side door. “I thought fairy tales had happy endings.”
“I think,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat and reached for the buckle, “that they have happy moments. And sometimes, we choose to call those moments the end. But who knows what comes next? Maybe it’s all downhill after that.”
“That’s pretty cynical for a girl who dances in the moonlight at castles in the middle of the night.” He turned the car and headed for the exit.
“That’s not me, Carter. That was just…one wild, hopeful night inspired by—”
“Don’t you dare give that dress any more credit,” he grumbled.
“It wasn’t the dress,” she said simply. “It was you.”
Chapter 20
The Pierre Hotel slid into view as they turned the corner. One more city block and Ivy would step out of his car—and his life.
“I’ll park and walk you in,” he said.
“I have the key. Your assistant gave me one last night. Along with orders to return the dress. Mrs. Lindsey’s not going to be happy when she learns I lost the shoes.”
“The gown is yours.” He steered the Tesla to the hotel’s entrance. “I don’t give a damn what Mrs. Lindsey told you. She works for me.”
A bellhop descended on them, but Carter waved him away. He climbed out of the car and went around to the passenger side. Ivy had opened the door herself, but she took his hand.
Don’t let her go!
He scowled. What kind of fate brought a woman who made him think, feel, and love life again right to his office and then stole her away? Maybe if he could make her understand his impossible position, she would agree to another night. Followed by another, and another…
If you stay, do it because you want to—because you want me.
He’d been clear last night. And, damn it, she’d stayed for him.
But standing beside her father’s grave and telling her that he couldn’t help save other families from suffering like she’d suffered? How did they move forward when he couldn’t help her? When he’d failed to give her what she needed?
He raised her hand to his lips. “Good-bye, Ivy.”
He felt her skin against his lips and part of him begged to throw reason aside and pull her close. He wanted to forget about his shareholders, his company…everything but Ivy Grant.
Impossible.
The determined scientist was a part of his company. He couldn’t continue to act on impulse, stealing the beautiful princess for a midnight adventure.
She pulled her hand free from his hold. “Good-bye, Carter.”
He watched as she disappeared into the hotel lobby. He could chase after her. He could follow her into the elevator…
He took a step forward and then stopped. Chasing after her wouldn’t lessen the pain. He’d taken a risk last night, jumping off a cliff into the unknown. Now all he could do was prepare for the crash. It was coming. And it was going to hurt.
“I’m going to miss you, Ivy.”
Chapter 21
Ivy stared at the typed checklist on her computer screen. It had been busy for a Sunday. She could check off “Write article about findings,” “Order supplies (before funding ends),” and “Call Kate.” Thankfully, her sister hadn’t picked up the phone, so Ivy had left a message telling her that her boss had turned out to be a great guy, not a serial killer, and all was well.
Except I lost my funding, my lab, and maybe my heart…
She especially wasn’t ready to admit that last part to anyone. Love took time. It grew from dates and shared experiences. Love wasn’t the result of breaking into a museum, or dancing in Central Park. Love didn’t happen in a single night.
I shouldn’t have slept with him. My hormones are confused.
Or maybe she needed to have sex more than once every two years. Just in case she walked into another accidental makeover followed by a midnight tour of Manhattan and lost her mind over a man again.
“You’re here early for a Sunday,” Penelope called as the door to their lab space closed behind her. “I thought you might catch up on sleep today after your wild and crazy Friday night.”
Ivy remained focused on her screen. “I need to get a jump start on finding a new home for the clinical trial.” She had told Penelope about the lab closure yesterday. “If I do find support, I need to resign myself to long hours of paperwork.”
“And you’re planning to do this all by yourself, huh?” Penny claimed the metal stool beside Ivy. She set her messenger bag on the stainless-steel table. Their small workspace came with an office, but they’d filled it with supplies and filing cabinets instead.
“Soon I won’t have the budget to keep you on this project.” Ivy looked at her friend. “You’re t
alented. You should apply for a position with Peter’s group and work on the cancer research. He’d love to have you.”
“I want to work for you. And don’t say you won’t have the funding. You will. We’ll find a way. Together.” Penelope reached into her bag and withdrew her laptop. “I’ve been looking into alternatives. Seeing what we have still coming in from NIH. We’ll make it work. I’m in this with you. It isn’t Ivy Grant versus the world anymore.”
“Ivy Grant versus the world?” she said. “Is that what you think?”
“No, but I heard your ex say it once and I thought it might spur you to say ‘Yes, please help me, Penelope, so I can spend some of my spare time with this sexy man I met on Friday.’”
“Stop,” Ivy said. “I’m not…we’re not together. It was a one-night thing. I can’t spend every night crashing galas and breaking into museums.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “And you think he was only attracted to the adventure?”
No, I don’t think that. But if you tell my heart…
The pain was like a weight in her stomach, resting on the muffin she’d inhaled for breakfast.
“Does it really matter?” Ivy said with a sigh. “Either way, his life is galas and Teslas.”
“You’re making excuses.”
“Penelope, the man arranged a six-person makeover team on a moment’s notice.”
“Don’t think you could handle that every day?”
“No,” Ivy said flatly. “I couldn’t.”
“You’re probably right. It would get old,” Penelope said as she typed.
“Penelope,” Ivy growled.
“Fine, I’ll drop it. It’s your choice if you want to spend the rest of your life married to your job. We don’t have to talk about it. Tell me about the dress again. Every detail. Fairy tale adventures don’t happen every day. I might never have a wild one-night stand with a billionaire. So I need to live vicariously through you. Did you feel like a princess?”
Ivy stared at the white board mounted on the far wall. She could still feel the bubble of excitement when she’d seen the Marchesa for the first time. “Yes.”
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