About That Night

by Beth Andrews

  Ivy just hoped they didn’t crush her as they fell.

  * * *

  YOU HAVEN’T BEEN YOURSELF.

  Gracie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of her dad’s truck as she drove down Brookline Drive. As much as she had wanted to ignore Ivy’s concerns and her words, she hadn’t been able to. On the contrary, she’d thought of little else over the past two days.

  She’d always prided herself on being true to who she was, no matter what other people thought. Had, at times, taken too much satisfaction in being different. Had felt so superior to other girls her age because she hadn’t fallen prey to teenage stereotypes. No moodiness or jealousy. No cattiness or angst.

  She snorted. So much for that.

  Flicking on her indicator, she turned right onto Orchard Park Place, then pulled into Luke’s driveway, relieved to see him shooting hoops there. At least she didn’t have to worry about knocking on the door and having his mother answer.

  He tucked the ball under his arm and watched as she turned off the ignition and slowly got out.

  Gracie’s heart raced. Her palms were damp, but she forced her feet to keep moving, to take her closer and closer to him. She wished Bradford House wasn’t closed for a week while Fay was away. This would be so much easier to do on neutral territory. And while she could wait until both she and Luke returned to work, she didn’t want to.

  It was past time she got back to herself.

  “Hi,” she said, when it was obvious he wasn’t going to speak first.

  “Hey.”

  She cleared her throat. A cloud drifted in front of the bright late-afternoon sun. “Can I...can I talk to you a minute?”

  “Sure.” He bounced the ball. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “Everything okay?”

  Some of her nervousness eased at his concern. “No. Yes. I mean...I’m fine, I just... I wanted to apologize.” She swallowed, but it felt as if there was a peach pit lodged in her throat. “For not being fair to you. For getting so angry about what happened with Kennedy at the coffee shop. And for...for lying to you.”

  He caught the ball. Tossed it onto the grass. “You lied to me?”

  “Well, it wasn’t a lie exactly. More like I...I wasn’t honest with you about...about my feelings,” she said in a rush. “About why I didn’t want to be your friend.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You said we were too different. That you didn’t want to deal with my drama.”

  She winced. Hearing him repeat her excuses made them sound even worse. And they’d been pretty horrible to begin with. “I just said those things because I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That you’d get back with Kennedy. And that was wrong of me,” she said quickly. “Even though I think it would be a mistake, I have no right to judge you. Especially when the main reason I hate the thought of you and Kennedy being together is that I...I like you.” The last part came out so soft, she doubted he heard her. So she inhaled deeply and forced herself to hold his gaze and tell him the truth. “I like you.”

  Saying it should have been hard. Should have made her uneasy. Scared. But it wasn’t. Somehow, standing there in his driveway, looking into his eyes, telling him how she felt about him was the easiest thing in the world.

  “I like you,” she repeated because he looked sort of stunned and very confused. “As more than a friend. And I didn’t want to put myself in the position of having feelings for someone who was never going to feel the same way.”

  Been there. Done that.

  “Gracie, I...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. I like you, too. A lot. It’s just that Kennedy and I have been talking and...I’m not saying we’re getting back together or anything. But we do have a history and...damn it!” He exhaled heavily. “I don’t even know anymore.”

  “It’s okay,” she told him gently. Though it hurt to know he might get back together with Kennedy, Gracie wasn’t going to let that stop her from being true to herself. Nothing would stop her from doing that ever again.

  “I don’t want you to feel bad for not returning my feelings,” she continued. “I don’t want you to feel bad about anything. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for not being honest with you. I’m not going to suggest we try to be friends again. At least, not right away. You’re obviously confused and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”

  “I’m not,” he insisted, shifting as if he was about to take a step toward her, only to rock back on his heels. “I never could be.”

  “Thanks for saying that. I just think it’s too soon for that. For both of us.”

  “You’re probably right.” But he scowled. Sounded disappointed. “I guess I’ll see you at school.”

  She smiled. “And at work.”

  He blushed. Looked so adorable, her chest ached. “Right.”

  “Goodbye, Luke.”

  He nodded and she turned, walked away from yet another boy she’d fallen too hard, too fast for.

  And couldn’t help feeling as if she was walking back to the girl she used to be.

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE by the time C.J. pulled to a stop in front of Bradford House Friday night, later than he’d expected thanks to a delay at the Houston airport due to thunderstorms. When he’d landed in Pittsburgh, though, the sky had been bright and clear. Now it was dark, but the porch light was on as were others inside. He grabbed his bag from the backseat and locked the rental car behind him.

  He was beat. He’d been flying to and from Shady Grove for the past month, coming back to town every weekend. He wished he could stay—or convince Ivy to go to Houston with him—but she was still skittish, and he didn’t want to push her away. Still, things between them were going well enough that he had high hopes he could talk her into it before the baby was born.

  He stepped inside, frowning at how quiet it was. Usually there were guests in the library, having wine and cheese or coming and going, but tonight it was empty. Silent. Where was Ivy? She’d told him she’d wait for him here. Was he too late? Had she gotten tired of waiting and gone back to her apartment?

  He’d pulled out his cell phone when he noticed a piece of paper on the banister with his name on it. He unfolded it to find a key and a note telling him his room was ready. He went upstairs, the second floor eerily empty as he made his way to the Back Suite, and opened the door to find the room lit by the glow from dozens of candles.

  And Ivy reclining on his bed, the covers pulled back, the pillows stacked behind her. His breath caught. His heart jumped.

  She smiled, like an angel. Or like the devil, tempting him. “Hello, cowboy,” she said, her voice a purr. “Glad you could make it.”

  He stepped inside, shut the door behind him. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t find words because she was so beautiful. Her hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and she wore a sheer white nightgown that cupped her breasts, hugged her protruding stomach. Her legs were long, toned and tanned.

  “Have I died and gone to heaven?” he asked, his voice gruff, his hands trembling with the need to touch her. To take her. To make her his.

  She laughed, the sound incredibly sexy. “Not yet.” She slid to her feet, all graceful lines and curves. Walked to him in a sensuous sway that not even pregnancy could diminish. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss that had his heart thumping, his body thrumming with desire. “But soon,” she whispered against his mouth. “Very, very soon.”

  His bags fell from his hands with a loud thump and he threaded his fingers into her hair, held her face for his kiss. When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

  Her smile gave him her answer before she even spoke. “I didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing.”

  She had gone to trouble for him. The candles, the nightgown and—he noticed now that his head had stopped ringing—soft, smoky jazz playing on the stereo.

  “Thank you,” he sa
id gruffly. He’d had people do things for him before. Countless people trying to get on his good side, trying to earn his favor. But Ivy had done this for no other reason than to make this moment, this night, special.

  He was humbled. Grateful. To show her, he kissed her deeply, gently, letting the hunger between them build again, a slow burn that grew hotter and hotter.

  Breaking the kiss, he leaned back. Slid his hands down the sides of her body, the silk cool beneath his palms. Lifting the hem, he pulled it up, exposing her upper thighs, her stomach and breasts, before pulling it over her head.

  His fingers flexed on the nightgown still in his hand. He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “You are so damned beautiful.”

  Her skin was golden, her breasts were fuller than before, the pink tips jutting out as if begging him to taste. Dropping the nightgown to the ground, he fell to his knees and laid his palms on either side of her stomach. It was so hard, the skin stretched taut. He kissed her, just above her belly button. Felt his child move beneath his hands.

  Smiling, C.J. straightened. Led Ivy to the bed. He cherished her with his hands and his mouth. His only thought was to bring her pleasure. To finally make her his. He reveled in each and every sigh, his excitement building with each moan. And when she climaxed, he watched her, knowing he’d never see anything as beautiful.

  He hurriedly undressed and when he joined her again, she reached for him, her breathing ragged, her skin flushed. He made love to her slowly. Carefully. Every movement, every kiss, meant to show her how much she meant to him. She tightened around him with a soft cry and he emptied himself in her. Gave her everything he had.

  Gave her his heart and soul.

  * * *

  IVY PURRED AND rolled over, her hands seeking Clinton’s skin. They’d made love—twice—and he had, indeed, kept his promise all those months ago to worship her. Her body was lax and loose and very, very satisfied.

  In between their lovemaking, Ivy had explained they had the entire B and B to themselves. Taking advantage of their seclusion, they’d gone down to the kitchen—Clinton in just his pants, her in her nightgown—where she’d made them French toast with fresh berries and whipped cream. It had been fun, cooking for him, feeling his heated gaze on her bare legs while he sipped the chilled champagne she’d put in the fridge.

  By the time they’d finished eating, their hunger for each other had returned. She smiled, remembering how he’d made her come in front of the kitchen sink.

  She grinned. She was never going to be able to do dishes there again without thinking about it.

  Outside the sky was cloudy and gray, the rising sun doing little to dispel the gloominess.

  But inside, in bed with Clinton warm and solid beside her, Ivy had never felt happier.

  “That,” she murmured, “went well.”

  He chuckled and pulled her against him so she could lay her head on his chest. “I’d have to agree.” He rubbed her back, his touch sending tingles of pleasure through her body. “You put a lot of effort into it.”

  “Some,” she admitted lightly, trying to brush off what had actually taken planning and work.

  Yes, she’d set the mood, had tried to create a romantic atmosphere, but she hadn’t done it just for him. She’d wanted to make this moment memorable.

  Special.

  Her throat tightened. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean she’d become one of those women who confused lust with love. Whatever this was between her and Clinton, it was still too new. Too fragile to try and make it more than what it was.

  He sniffed the curve of her neck. “You smell delicious.”

  She’d rubbed scented lotion all over her body, and he’d shown his appreciation by loving each and every inch.

  He’d been enthralled by her stomach, had rubbed it and kissed it and talked to the baby, making her laugh, making her, for some crazy reason, want to cry. And the way he’d made love to her, so gently, so carefully, their fingers entwined, had threatened to break her heart. She hadn’t been able to think at all, could only feel.

  She snuggled against him, felt his heart beat against her cheek.

  “Thank you,” he said, playing with her hair. “For going to that much trouble. For letting me love you.”

  His words caused a shiver of panic to climb her spine. She tried to ignore it. “You’re the one who did most of the work,” she teased. “And believe me, I got much more than I gave. As a matter of fact, one of us is ahead, five to two. Not that we’re keeping score.”

  She lifted her head to grin at him, but he was watching her seriously, not smiling, his gaze unwavering. “No, I mean...I’m falling in love with you, Ivy.”

  She froze. Shook her head at the quiet, intense words, at the look on his face, the truth. Denial flowed through her. No. She didn’t want this.

  She would have gotten up, would have gotten out of the bed, but he must have sensed her intent, because he held her arms, forcing her to look at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked quietly.

  She forced a laugh. “Well, now, you’re not the first man to tell me that after sleeping with me.”

  “Don’t joke,” he ordered, his accent heavy despite his soft tone. “Not about this. Not with me.”

  She swallowed. “Clinton, let’s just... Let’s go downstairs. I’ll make us some coffee, maybe something to eat. Then we can come back to bed, make love again. Just let’s...let’s not ruin this.”

  She thought for sure he’d agree, that he’d want to get past this moment as quickly as possible, that he’d want to go back to the way things were between them, the way she needed them to stay, at least for a little while. But he sat up, shaking his head.

  “I think you should move to Houston. I think you should move in with me.”

  She yanked her arms free. “What?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up, but she saw the nervousness in his eyes, the fear and the hope. “I care about you. You’re having my baby. I want you to move to Houston. I want you to live with me.”

  She put both hands in her hair. Pulled. Hard. “God. Would you please stop saying that?”

  He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t. Didn’t all men say those things to get what they wanted, because the words were what they thought women wanted to hear? Except she’d already given him what they’d both wanted, and he kept right on saying them.

  “Don’t say what?” he asked, his tone warning her that their perfect moment, their perfect night was over. “Don’t say that I have feelings for you? That I want to be with you?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, sliding off the bed and grabbing his shirt, since her clothes were in the bathroom. She shoved her arms into the sleeves, ignoring how it smelled of him. She buttoned it at her breasts, but they wouldn’t reach over her stomach. She scooped up her panties and pulled them on. “Quit saying all of it. You are not falling in love with me, I am not moving to Houston and we are not going to live together.”

  He got to his feet, unconcerned with his own nudity. Why should he be, when he was so glorious? “I think I’m smart enough to know my own feelings. I started falling for you the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

  She was shaking. Cold and scared and so terrified of losing what they had. But she wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to reach for what she really wanted. It was safer to pretend she didn’t want it. That she didn’t want him. Better to lose him now, like this, than to think they could have had it all.

  “You don’t have to say that. You don’t have to offer me a commitment. I’m not going to fight you over seeing the baby. You can spend as much time with our child as you want. You know that,” she told him, desperation coloring her voice.

  “I’m not saying it because of the baby. Hell, even if there wasn’t a baby, even if that baby wasn’t mine, I’d be saying it because it’s what I want. I think about you all the time and I...hell...I miss you when you’re not with me. Why should we continue living in different states, why should we
be separated when the answer is so clear?” His voice dropped, grew rough with emotion. “I want to be with you, Ivy. I want to live with you and raise our baby together. As a family.”

  “It wouldn’t work. I don’t want to play house with you. I live here. In Shady Grove.”

  “We wouldn’t be playing,” he growled. “This isn’t one of your games. This is the way it’s supposed to be. When two people care about each other, there are certain steps they take. Granted, we’ve done a few out of order and skipped a couple entirely, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get back on track.”

  “Steps? Back on track? Is that what this is? You’re going down some sort of checklist and marking things off?” She began to pace, her steps jerky. “I’m guessing the step after Move In Together is Marriage.”

  His jaw was tight, his hands fisted. He stood there, naked and so handsome it hurt her to look at him. “Eventually,” he said, the word almost a challenge. “Yes.”

  Married. To Clinton. It was crazy. It would never work. Not for the long-term.

  But she could picture what their life would be like. How it would be to live in that huge apartment, to see Clinton every day, spend each night with him. It was all too easy to imagine.

  “I am not moving to Houston,” she repeated, sounding desperate when she wanted to come across as firm.

  “Okay, okay.” He held his hands out but instead of coming across as beseeching, he still looked powerful. In control. “Just spend some time with me there. A few days. I want you in my home, Ivy. I want to show you my city. To have you be a part of my life.”

  “I...I have to work...”

  “You said the B and B is closed until Wednesday. We could fly to Houston today—”

  “I’m scheduled to work at O’Riley’s tonight and Tuesday. And King’s Crossing Monday.”

  “You could call off,” he said.

  She could. Of course she could. Or she could find someone to cover for her. It was only a few days. A compromise. One that would show she was willing to meet Clinton halfway. That she wanted to make this work between them.