by Beth Andrews
“No one gets in trouble with Fay. It’s why her six-year-old is on the fast track to reform school. What do you want?” she asked, hoping he’d get the hint that she was busy and not in the mood for idle chitchat. She’d never be in the mood for it with him. He put her on edge. Put her back up.
And made her feel like a complete bitch.
God, pregnancy was making her unhinged. She’d never minded being a bitch before he’d come along, before she’d known she was going to be a mother. Mothers should be held to a higher standard, shouldn’t they?
C.J. helped himself to a cookie, which irritated her for some reason. “Gracie, she’s about what...fifteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“That’s around my niece’s age. Maybe the next time Estelle visits Kane and Charlotte, Gracie and Estelle could meet. Hang out.”
She remembered his niece from the engagement party. Blonde, beautiful and, if she had to guess, spoiled rotten. “I doubt she and Gracie have much in common.”
“They’re both teenage girls,” he pointed out as if being the same age and gender automatically made two people bosom buddies. “They can talk about boys and movies and music.”
“Absolutely,” Ivy said as she plated cookies, “because the only thing of any real interest girls have to talk about are boys.”
He grinned, and damn him for being so sexy. “If teenage girls think about boys half as often as teenage boys think of girls, then Kane is in big trouble.” He frowned as if suddenly realizing something. “You really think the baby’s a boy? Because I just had a flash of my life in sixteen years if the baby’s a girl.”
His face was white, and he looked so freaked by the idea of having a daughter, she didn’t have the heart to remind him that they didn’t have the information he needed to prove the baby was his.
But she could poke him a bit. “Well, I did say I was new at all of this, so I’m probably way off base. And if the baby is anything like me, you won’t have to wait sixteen years.” She winked at him. “Let’s just say I was an early bloomer.”
He sat heavily on the stool. “Shit.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. When he swore, his accent came out, making him seem less wealthy playboy and more...normal. “Your niece is pretty wild, huh?”
“No. She’s a good girl. And if she’s not and someone knows about it, I don’t ever want them to tell me.”
“So you don’t mind a bit of deception in certain situations?”
“Mind? It’s how I can sleep at night.” He took another cookie. “When Estelle went to the prom a few months ago, I almost hired someone to follow her and that college boyfriend of hers. Shouldn’t he be dating girls his own age?”
“I’m sure not even college girls can compare to Estelle.”
He grinned. “Yeah. She’s a beauty. Takes after her mother. But don’t let those angel looks fool you. She got her mean streak from her daddy.”
“So, Estelle lives in Houston?”
“With her mother, about half a mile from me. I get to see her often. Well, as often as work allows, which hasn’t been much since my father’s stroke.”
“It’s nice,” Ivy allowed, wiping up the counter, “that you’re there for her. That you’re willing to spend time with her.”
“It’s no hardship. She’s funny and bright. Besides, it gives me a chance to keep tabs on her, since Kane is more than happy to let her run wild.”
“Would you stop eating the cookies?” she asked, wishing she wasn’t so disappointed that he spent time with his niece only to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was behaving properly as a Bartasavich should. “They’re for the guests.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m a guest.”
“They’re for later,” she said, feeling flustered because he was right. She moved the rest of the cookies out of his reach. Maybe if he didn’t have something to nibble on, something sweet, he’d go on his way.
“You really don’t think Estelle and Gracie would like each other?” he asked. “I know Estelle loves visiting her dad and Charlotte, but I think she gets bored, not having many kids her own age to hang out with while she’s here.”
“Teenage girls can be tough to befriend,” Ivy said, remembering how they sure hadn’t wanted her to be in their groups. “They tend to congregate in packs of at least two or more, and it’s tough to break in. Especially if one in the group doesn’t like you or is jealous of you.”
“You sound as if you speak from experience.”
He sounded interested. As if he was trying to figure her out, get to some deep dark secret she kept inside her head. She smiled. “This might come as a shock to you, but I was a teenage girl at one point in my life.”
“Not so hard to imagine,” he murmured. “Were you a member of a group, making the rules about who could and who could not join?”
“Hardly. I was one of the girls they kept out of their inner circle. It’s tough to be friends with someone you’re afraid is going to steal your boyfriend.”
He was watching her closely. Too closely. “Is that what you did? Steal their boyfriends?”
“Didn’t matter what I did, only how I looked. They disliked me, though they never bothered to take the time to get to know me.” She scrubbed the counter so hard, she was surprised she didn’t leave a groove. “The boys were attracted to me. The girls were jealous or just insecure or not strong enough to go against their other friends. Some women still judge me, but I’ve learned not to let it bother me. I’m fine on my own.”
Even if sometimes she was lonely.
“You’re not alone or on your own,” Clinton said. “The day I checked in here, Fay took me aside and threatened to toss me out if I upset you. And it’s obvious Gracie admires you.”
Ivy remembered how Fay had held her hand while Ivy had told her she was pregnant. How Gracie had jumped in with her offers to babysit. “Maybe,” she said quietly, afraid to count on either of them. Wanting so badly to be able to. “But Estelle is going to have some of the same issues, people judging her based on her appearance. They’re going to like her because she’s blonde, beautiful and rich and only because of those things. Or they’ll dislike her for the same reasons. But you might be right about her and Gracie. Gracie will give Estelle a chance. She’s the fairest person I know.”
“Good to know,” he said, looking out of place in his dress pants and button-down shirt. Did the man not own a pair of jeans? “What about you?”
“I’m too old to hang out with teenagers.”
“I’m not talking about giving Estelle a chance. I’m talking about me.” He stepped closer, and her heart picked up speed. She wanted to touch him, to see if that spark between them was still there. Stupid thought. Of course it was still there. She felt it every time they were together, like an electric current running through the air.
One that was alive and, oh, so dangerous.
“What about you?” she managed, proud her voice was even, that it didn’t betray her emotions or her weakening knees.
“Are you going to give me a fair chance?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze hooded. “Or are you going to keep disliking me based on my family’s name? My money?”
She smirked. “News flash, cowboy, I don’t dislike you based on those reasons. I dislike you because of your personality.”
“Maybe,” he said, not seeming the least bit offended by the idea. “Though you seemed to like me just fine before you knew how much I’m worth.”
It was true. But she didn’t want him to see her that clearly. She needed to keep some parts of herself hidden from him so he couldn’t use them against her. “Now, that’s the difference between us. You base worth on a number. I base it on how people live their lives. What they do.”
“Not on what they say?”
“Hardly. Words are too easy to twist, to manipulate.”
“Fair enough.” He reached back, picked up the envelope and held it out to her. “This is for you.”
She eyed it warily, f
elt herself shrinking back from it, sensing whatever was inside, she didn’t want to see. “What’s that?”
“It’s the report from the private investigator. The report on you.”
“When did you get it?” she asked, refusing to ask what he’d found out about her.
“Yesterday.”
Yesterday. The thought of him knowing about her past, about looking into her life, chilled her. “I’m sure it made for a riveting read.”
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t read it. I didn’t even open it.”
She snorted. “Right.”
“I didn’t open it,” he repeated, his voice low and intense. “I didn’t read it and I’m not going to. I’ve never lied to you, Ivy.”
“Everyone lies.”
He nodded slowly. “They do. But I won’t lie to you. Ever.”
It was pathetic how badly she wanted to believe him. How much she wanted to make him the same promise.
But she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.
She took the envelope, flipped it over to find it was still sealed. Maybe he was telling the truth after all. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“Whatever you want. Burn it. Rip it to shreds.”
“I suppose now you’re going to tell me this is the only copy.”
Disappointment flashed across his features. She wanted to take her words back, but she couldn’t. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“Not without a reason.”
He tossed up his hands. “What the hell do you think I’m trying to do?”
She knew. He was giving up a piece of his power—information he could have about her, about who she was—in exchange for her trust.
The least she could do was give him a small measure of it.
“Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “And...thank you...for not reading it.”
He smiled but it wasn’t cocky as much as...relieved. “You’re welcome,” he told her, his solemn tone mimicking hers. He reached out and touched her hair. Her breath caught. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Oh, how she wanted to agree. When he spoke to her in that low tone, when he touched her so sweetly, she wanted to agree to anything he asked. Give him everything.
And that made him dangerous.
“Why?” she asked, when she’d meant to just say no.
“Let’s call it a fresh start. No preconceived notions, nothing but you and me getting to know each other.”
That was the problem. She didn’t want to get to know him. But she couldn’t show that sort of weakness. Not when she worried he already suspected she was nervous around him. “Fine. A fresh start.”
“And dinner?”
She swallowed. “And dinner. But not tonight.” She’d picked up an extra shift at the River View. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, then.” Lifting her free hand, he turned it and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She wanted to curl her fingers, wanted to hold on to the feel of his lips against her skin. She wiped her palm down the side of her shorts. Licked her lips. “You might regret this,” she told him as he walked away. “I might still dislike you.”
He smiled at her over his shoulder, a confident smile that did nothing for her nerves or her equilibrium. “Or you might just find out you like me, after all.”
That was what she was afraid of.
CHAPTER TWELVE
C.J. HELPED IVY out of his rental car. He wasn’t thrilled she’d picked his brother’s bar as the scene for their dinner date, but he didn’t want to argue. Not when he’d gotten her to agree to dinner in the first place.
A major feat, that. One he wasn’t about to ruin by picking a fight.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her husky voice washing over him as she took his hand and straightened.
“You look amazing,” he told her.
She grinned. “So you mentioned when you picked me up.”
“That dress warrants a repeat.”
It was light purple and strapless, the material hugging every curve, showcasing the slight bump of her belly, the hem ending way above her knees. The dress, her smoky eye makeup and glossed lips, her loose hair—they all deserved a dozen compliments. Even pregnant, she was a goddess. Maybe more so, now that she was with child; there was an ethereal quality about her. One of fertility and sex and female power.
With a hand at her lower back, he led her to O’Riley’s door. The parking lot was full—not bad for a Thursday night—and when they stepped inside, he wondered if he’d made a mistake in assuming they didn’t need a reservation. The tables he could see were all filled, the air carrying the unmistakable aroma of tangy tomato sauce.
Did one even make reservations at a bar?
“Good thing you know the owner,” Ivy murmured so innocently he was sure she was being a smart-ass.
“I’ll find Kane. See about getting us a table.”
He hated leaving her there. For one thing, a short, thirty-something man was already making his way toward her. Not that he worried she couldn’t handle herself. He knew firsthand how well she could put a man in his place.
No, the real reason he didn’t want to leave her side, even for a second, was because he was scared she’d take off.
Spotting the top of Kane’s head at the far end of the bar, he made his way through a surprisingly thick crowd of people. “I need a table,” he told his brother. “For two.”
“Do you have a reservation?” Kane asked, exchanging a bottle of beer for cash.
“We’re in a bar.”
“A bar that serves lunch and dinner six days a week.” Kane stepped away to take another order. When he came back he sent C.J. a smug grin. “Tonight’s pasta night.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Kane shrugged a shoulder, poured tequila into a blender. “Means you’ll be waiting a good hour for a table.”
C.J. pushed away from the bar and stormed back over to Ivy. Ignoring the guy trying to chat her up, he leaned close to her ear so she could hear him over the music, the noise. “Let’s go into Pittsburgh.”
“I like it here,” she said. “Why else would I pick it?”
He knew damned well the reason she picked O’Riley’s was because Kane owned it. Because it was completely different from the type of place C.J. wanted to take her. Someplace pricey and classy and as far away from any member of his family as possible.
“Besides,” she added, “I’m craving pasta.”
And she laid her hand on her stomach.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who can test people,” he said. She inclined her head in agreement, not looking the least bit guilty about using her pregnancy to get him to stay. To get him to beg his brother to find them a table.
To see how far he’d go to make her happy.
Shit.
He whirled around, narrowly missing running into a guy carrying three drinks. “Sorry,” C.J. muttered.
He could insist on going somewhere else, he thought as he marched toward Kane, but that might give her the excuse she’d been looking for to cancel the whole night.
“Is there any way you can get us seated sooner?” he asked Kane when he reached the bar.
Kane, drawing a draft beer, didn’t even glance at him. “An hour.”
C.J. leaned forward, hating what he was about to do. He hated asking anyone for a favor, especially his brother. Especially this brother. “Come on, Kane. Help me out here.”
Kane followed his gaze to where Ivy stood, now surrounded by three men, all vying for her attention. Kane smirked. “It’ll cost you.”
He hadn’t expected anything else. C.J. pulled a couple hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. Laid them on the glossy bar.
Kane flicked them away with the tips of his fingers. “I’ve got plenty of those. No, Junior, you can’t buy this. What it’s going to cost you is a favor.”
C.J. didn’t like the sound of that. “What kind of favor?”
“The kind I decide. When I’m ready. Deal?”
“Deal,” he ground out.
Kane stopped a middle-aged waitress, said something to her C.J. couldn’t make out. After a moment, Kane turned back to him. “Looks like you’re in luck. A table for two just opened up. Gloria will seat you.”
C.J. raised his hand, caught Ivy’s attention. When she joined him, they followed the waitress to a table in the back corner of what C.J. guessed was the dining room. He held out Ivy’s chair, then sat across from her, and they gave the waitress their drink orders.
“Did I pass?” he asked when they were alone again.
She didn’t even bother pretending not to know what he was talking about. “With flying colors.” She winked at him before picking up her menu.
That wink and the accompanying smile almost made whatever hell Kane would put him through worth it.
After they ordered their meals, they made small talk while they waited, discussing current events instead of anything personal. Ivy had a quick mind and strong opinions. He enjoyed debating a few points with her, and while they may not have entirely agreed about politics and certain social policies, he could see her point. And he thought she saw his.
When their salads were delivered, he switched topics to Shady Grove. The people of this town where she’d lived her entire life, where his brother had made his home, had found his future wife.
“Not much to tell,” she said, sipping her water. “There are pros and cons of living here—like anywhere else, I assume. It’s small enough that everyone knows each other—”
“Is that in the plus or minus column?” he asked, shaking pepper over his salad.
“Well, now, that depends on who you ask.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m asking you. I didn’t think it was a difficult question,” he said when she remained silent.
“Not difficult. More like...complicated.” She stabbed a piece of lettuce, waved her fork. “It’s...nice,” she finally said, “knowing your neighbors. Especially, I would imagine, once I have the baby. I’ll know his or her teachers, the parents of his or her friends. And they’ll know me.” Her mouth twisted. She shrugged as if trying to rid herself of an unwanted thought. “It’s safe, too, for raising a kid. Pittsburgh’s close enough that if you want city living, you can get to it easily.”
