The Ivy House (A Queensbay Novel)

by Drea Stein

  “Wine and popcorn. Who could have thought of a better combination?” Lynn said, grabbing a handful and taking a sip of the wine. She had traded her scrubs for a pair of cotton pajama pants and a faded sweatshirt. With her dark hair up in a ponytail and her glasses on, she looked more like a college student than a resident just a year or so out from being a doctor.

  “I know, genius.” Phoebe agreed. The Masters’ family room was comfortable: a two-story space with a fireplace, overstuffed leather couches, and plenty of blankets to curl up with. Family pictures, including plenty of Lynn and her brother Kyle, decorated the shelves along with books and a few knickknacks, keeping the room simple and uncluttered.

  “So which one are we going to watch fist?” Lynn held up two DVD cases.

  “Mystic Moon, definitely,” Phoebe said. “I think that one is my all-time favorite.”

  “Oh, good. Mine too.” Lynn got up, popped it into the DVD player and flopped back down.

  “I just love the costumes in this one. And Roger Dailey was such a hottie.”

  “She slept with him, you know? Before Leland, of course.” Phoebe couldn’t resist.

  Lynn turned to her, her brown eyes big. “Really. That’s so cool. I mean that you know all this stuff. It’s like sitting here with Leonard Maltin, or that guy who runs the Actor’s Studio and getting the blow-by-blow account.

  Phoebe smiled. Even though Lynn was two years younger than she was, Phoebe was already feeling like she had made a true friend, something that had proved a bit elusive in her harried life in Los Angeles. Sure, she had colleagues and girls she went out with, but it seemed like there was always an undercurrent of competition with them. Whose design was going to get picked, which guy at the bar would take an interest in them, who had gotten the best purse or designer shoes.

  At first, it had been exciting to be part of such a whirlwind and it had seemed to feed her creativity, but Phoebe had come to feel that it was more draining than energizing, and she’d felt that her inspiration had begun to suffer because of it.

  “Well, you wouldn’t believe what I found then.”

  Lynn’s nose twitched while she thought about it. “The hat she wore in Ghost Ship.”

  Phoebe smiled as she explained what she and Chase had found in the attic of Ivy House.

  “Wow, oh wow,” Lynn breathed. “Do you realize how cool that is? Cool and valuable.”

  “Valuable?” Phoebe tensed a little.

  “Yeah, to movie buffs. Not to be morbid, but since Savannah died, the online auction sites have been going crazy with her stuff—you know, autographs, movie posters. But there isn’t much of it out there.”

  “Probably because she kept it all in that attic,” Phoebe said.

  “Well, I bet it’s filled with cool stuff. Let me know if you want any help going through it.”

  Phoebe nodded. She hadn’t thought much about the attic because she’d been busy working on her designs for North Coast Outfitters. And not to mention the fact that every time her phone rang or an email popped up, she had hoped it was something from him. Not a word from him, not unless you counted the crews of workmen he kept sending her way. Someone to haul the junk, the floors, even a lawn guy. Still, there hadn’t been any presence of Chase himself for days.

  “My favorite part,” Lynn breathed a few moments later as Savannah Ryan and Roger Dailey kissed for the first time onscreen. Actually, the scene that had made it into the movie had been their tenth take. Savannah had confessed that she’d kept messing it up because she enjoyed the way he kissed. It had been before Leland Harper, if Phoebe remembered correctly, and Savannah had made a practice of sleeping with all of her costars.

  “Chase kissed me.” Phoebe didn’t know why she said it. Perhaps it was the glass of wine she had already finished or watching the kiss on the screen that forced her to say aloud what she had been remembering for days. The bruising passion of Chase and his lips on her.

  “What!” Lynn took the remote, paused the movie, so that Savannah and Rodger were frozen mid-kiss, and looked at her.

  “Umm, why didn’t you lead with that? So amazing. Is he a good kisser? I mean, he must be. He’s just sex on a stick, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Phoebe sighed. She looked into her wine glass. There was no denying it. The kiss had been hot. Even now, at the memory of it, her whole body tingled, reliving the surge of electricity and lust that had shot through her while she was in his arms. She’d barely been able to think, glad that he had left her, but disappointed when he had finally gone.

  “So it was amazing. Are you going to do it again?” Lynn was looking at her eagerly, her nose scrunched up, her face happy.

  “I don’t know. It’s complicated.” How do you explain the fact that kissing Chase was a bit like reliving someone else’s history?

  “What’s so complicated? You think he’s hot, he thinks you’re hot. Shouldn’t you just get together, you know, do the horizontal mambo?”

  “Lynn.” Phoebe threw a pillow at her, felling the flush crawl up her skin.

  Lynn caught it neatly. “Ahh, I get it. You’re not the type.”

  “What type?”

  “You know, the casual, hot-sex type. And he probably is. I mean he’s gorgeous, rich, has a boat. And not to mention all the women he’s been linked with. Arm candy, every one of them.”

  “I know.” Phoebe had come to that very same conclusion herself, after flipping through several websites devoted to the East Coast’s social bigwigs. Chase Sanders had been a regular, a sailor with a girl in every port…or a different one for every occasion. He was a player plain and simple, and Phoebe, after being used for her personal connections all of her life, had no intention of becoming someone’s arm candy again. No matter how delicious he might be.

  “Still,” Lynn continued, “there’s always room for a fling. You know, the once-in-a-lifetime fling before you find Mr. Right.”

  “What makes you think there’s a Mr. Right?” Phoebe asked.

  Lynn smiled, looking completely self-assured. “Because there is. Everyone has a Mr. Right. Maybe you’ve just been dating the wrong guys, but you, especially, Phoebe, will find Mr. Right.”

  “You’re such a hopeless romantic,” Phoebe said, thinking that love was too complicated. Perhaps arrangements, with chemistry were a better way to go. Still, even casual flings took too much energy, energy that could be better put into her work and career.

  “Love makes the world go around. Or at least hot sex keeps it rolling. You should totally go for it. You’re not dating anyone. What do you have to lose?”

  Everything, Phoebe wanted to say. Lynn had her pegged. There was nothing casual about her and from the moment she had seen Chase, she’d been attracted to him, with just a look from him sending her body into somersaults. And since he had flown out of Ivy House so fast that he’d barely said goodbye, she didn’t even know if the kiss had meant anything to him at all.

  “I don’t even know if he meant anything by it,” Phoebe said.

  Lynn rolled her eyes. “Girl, you always know.” With that, she resumed the DVD player, and Savannah and Roger Dailey’s passionate embrace was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot.

  Chapter 23

  It was the Queensbay annual flea market and the bargain hunters, dealers, and junk sellers were out in full force. The sun was shining, with just a few of those super-white, cotton-candy clouds darting across a perfectly blue sky. A band was playing, there was the smell of coffee and grills going, families with kids dashed around, and groups of girlfriends prowled the tables.

  Chase had bided his time after leaving Ivy House the other day. The force of what he felt for Phoebe, what he wanted to do to her, had him holding back, seeing if it was just some sort of madness, some sort of weird reaction to kissing the granddaughter of the woman who had been his first crush.

  Perhaps there was some sort of residual lust build-up in the house, because all Chase had wanted to do was pull Phoebe to him and kiss her, run his han
ds over her long, lithe body, feel what he could do, how far out of control he could push her. Because that would be it. He had wanted to throw her down on that old steamer trunk, break through her air of studied casualness, and find what had to be a red-blooded woman below it.

  But he sensed that while it might have solved a momentary itch, Phoebe was a more complicated woman. She didn’t trust him yet, and until he could prove that he wanted her, just her, she wouldn’t be ready for what he had in mind.

  So, he had done his research. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she would be here. It was one of the town’s biggest events, held on the stretch of grass and parking lots near the town dock and marina.

  Chase saw Phoebe first, catching a glimpse of the red-gold hair, standing tall in the crowds. A smile creased over his face before he could stop it, and then he wondered what madness had him so happy to see her, a woman who’d not too long ago called him an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Perhaps it was the way the sun caught the highlights in her hair or the way her cheekbones cut across her sculpted her face or the happiness that danced in her eyes.

  He knew it well. “What are you after?” He slipped up behind her and put a hand on her elbow. She jumped in surprise, turned to him, and felt a tingle of anticipation at the changing expressions on her face. Surprise, delight and then the well-schooled look of indifference.

  “What do you mean?” She tried to move back, but he was enjoying the feel of her, the way her body was pulled taut, full of tension, but not necessarily directed at him. No, her attention was elsewhere. He hazarded a look over his shoulder to see which table she was focused on.

  “Don’t look,” she hissed, her blue eyes going dark, as she grabbed to spin him around in the opposite direction. He felt his skin go afire at her touch and an answering reaction between his legs. If the woman had any idea how much she turned him on, Chase thought, she wouldn’t be grabbing him like that in public.

  “Ahh, I knew it. So what are you after?” Chase looked over his shoulder again and watched sheer panic light up her eyes.

  “Stop, you’ll give it away.” Her voice had dropped to an urgent whisper.

  “I will, if you tell me what you’re after,” Chase said, pulling her closer to him, laying her arm on top of his.

  “Owl salt-and-pepper shakers.”

  “Owls?” Chase was confused, but was enjoying the sensation of having her close to him. She was so intent on her prize that she seemed not to have noticed how close they were, the way she was letting him lean into her so that he could see the clear blue of her eyes, count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and take in those full, wide lips, lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again.

  Her eyes widened and she stiffened. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Her breath had become slightly ragged and she was leaning away from him.

  “Don’t what?” Chase feigned innocence.

  “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  “And just what am I trying to do?” Chase countered.

  “You’re trying to mesmerize me with your big hulking presence.” Her eyes flitted around. “Damn,” she said.

  “What is it?” Chase asked with amusement.

  “That old biddy is looking at my salt-and-pepper shakers.”

  “Your salt-and-pepper shakers? The owls?” Chase said.

  “Yes, the owls. They’re ceramic and in prime condition.”

  “And let me guess: they’re only a dollar each and you’re worried someone else is going to steal the deal of a century.”

  “They’re five dollars apiece,” she answered loftily.

  “Oh, my,” Chase said with mock horror.

  Phoebe made a face. “You just don’t get it.”

  “I’m willing to be enlightened.”

  “Owls are going to be big next season. Those are perfect. The perfect inspiration pieces,” she said.

  Chase did hazard a glance over his shoulder now, and saw the pair of owls, only a few inches tall, gaudily painted in tangerine, brown, and that peculiar avocado green from the seventies. There was an older woman, gray-haired, dressed in tan polyester pants, a white cotton blouse, and a visor, poking around the other items on the table, but he could tell it was just for show. Like Phoebe, she wanted the owls.

  “I think I can take care of this.” He spun on his heel and sauntered over to the table, ignoring Phoebe’s cry of protest.

  Chase smiled at the redheaded woman who was behind the table. He asked about an old beer sign, effectively blocking out the gray-haired woman who started to hover anxiously.

  He examined the sign, made a big show of it, and then made his offer. The redheaded woman pretended not to be interested, so Chase took off his sunglasses, flashed a smile, and sealed the deal. He half-expected the lady in the visor to cry foul, but she just sniffed and wandered off.

  Chase promised to come back for the sign and took his other package, walked over to Phoebe and handed her a bag with two objects wrapped up like miniature mummies in tissue paper.

  “What’s this?” she said, suspiciously.

  “You can thank me later,” Chase said, laying his arm across her shoulder.

  Phoebe brought the bag up, poked around, and said, “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “How did you do it? I mean, what did you do? Pay full price for them?” Phoebe’s voice carried a tone of disapproval.

  “I simply made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. The owls were part of the package deal.”

  “What package deal?”

  “I got a great new beer sign for my man cave—and you have a pair of tacky owl salt-and-pepper shakers.”

  “They’re not tacky!” Phoebe started to protest. And then she laughed. “OK, so, they’re a little tacky. But you wait and see. Owls will be huge next season. How much do I owe you?”

  He was seduced by the sound of her laughter. It was genuine, unaffected, and directed at him. He felt his heart soar and wondered how he could convince her to kiss him again.

  “Like I said, these were part of the package deal. They’re on me. Anything else you got your eye on? I’m a master negotiator.”

  “Yes, I’ve had some experience with that.” He expected her to go cold on him again and wished he hadn’t reminded her of how they met.

  Instead, she smiled up at him, a flirtatious slant to her eyes. “There’s an interesting vase three rows over, with a couple of ladies circling.”

  “Is it overpriced?” Chase asked.

  “Absolutely,” Phoebe said, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. She’d let him keep his arm over her shoulder for a while and Chase wanted nothing more than to snuggle her in closer to him, feel the heat of her body connect with his, brush his lips along the side of her face. He needed to stop thinking like that, he told himself. Otherwise, he would embarrass both of them in a very public place.

  Still, he had her here, carefree and relaxed, and he wasn’t going to lose that advantage. It was time to shake up Phoebe Ryan’s expectations of him.

  “Lead the way.”

  <<>>

  Phoebe was painfully aware of the way the sun caught the lightened hairs on Chase’s forearm as he shifted the gears of the Porsche. His presence overtook the car and she cast a quick glance at his profile. It was just about perfect, with a straight nose and strong chin, and when he threw her a quick look, one eyebrow quirking up as he accelerated up the hill, she felt her breath catch.

  They had spent the entire day at the Queensbay antique fair and flea market, and true to his promise, he had negotiated deals for everything Phoebe wanted. It had become a game between the two of them, with Phoebe picking something outrageous and obviously coveted by more than one shopper. Each time, Chase had managed to get what she wanted, usually for half the price. Sure, he often wound up with something else, like a barstool to go along with his vintage beer sign, but Phoebe had gotten everything she’d had her eye on.

  She had insisted on treating him to hot dogs and root beer, and now, with the t
runk stuffed full of stuff—at least with what could fit—they were heading back to Lynn’s house.

  Phoebe knew that she shouldn’t have let him drive her home, but Lynn, with whom she’d gone to the fair, had been paged into work early, and Chase had promised to make sure Phoebe would get home safely. He’d let his hand linger on Phoebe’s back just a moment too long and her mind had gone blank, while her stomach tightened; she didn’t have it in her to argue.

  Now, when he looked at her, his sunglasses dipping just low enough so she could feel his gaze sweep over her, she felt everything tighten and a rush of excitement. His hand shifted gears and brushed along the side of her leg. Lust shot through her and she shifted in her seat, but not before she caught his triumphant smile.

  Phoebe looked out the window at the green trees and houses flashing by. Suddenly, the air in the car had become too hot, too still, so she cranked the window open a little, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clear her head.

  Too soon, or not soon enough, he had pulled into the crushed shell drive of Lynn’s house. The sun was starting to set, and she could see it cast its sparkling trail along the harbor in the distance. Before she could do it herself, Chase was out of the car and opening her door.

  He held out a hand and pulled her up. She sprung up with such force that she wound up close to him. Deftly reaching behind her, he shut the door. Still, his arms were around her and his face was very close to hers.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. She could see the stubble on his face and the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her. “I had a nice time,” she managed to stammer.

  “A nice time?” he said with mock hurt. “Two of those whatchamacallem—topiary urns—for fifty bucks and you call that a nice time?”

  She smiled and he caught her chin with his hand. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and when she opened them, she saw that he was looking at her intensely, his eyes searching, pinning her down.