Best Man's Conquest (10 page)

“Do you know what I need?” she asked.

Wow. The list was so long Ivy wasn't sure where to begin. But if she had to pick one thing, she would start with Valium. “What do you need?”

“I need chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.”

 

It took two hours and an entire box of Ho Hos to calm Deidre down. By the time the men returned, Ivy had managed to get her into her pajamas and tucked into bed. And thanks to one of the emergency sleeping pills Ivy kept on hand, she was resting peacefully.

She explained to Blake what had happened.

“What should I do?” he asked, looking so hopelessly baffled she wanted to hug him. She had several suggestions, but it would be better if Blake figured this one out on his own. He'd gone too long letting people run his life for him.

He needed to grow up.

Or Deidre needed to find herself a new future husband.

 

“Deidre isn't feeling well,” Blake announced the next morning at breakfast, when he came to the table alone. His brothers and the Tweedles looked from him, then to each other, and snickered. Didn't they feel the least bit guilty for what had happened? Didn't they realize they had pushed Deidre just a little too far this time?

She'd been balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff, and they had poked and prodded until she'd finally lost her balance and gone over it.

Dillon stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, quietly observing. He still hadn't said a word to Ivy, but she could feel him there, watching her. Yet every time she glanced up, he was looking the other way. Either he was trying to make her feel uncomfortable, or it was her own guilty conscience gnawing at her.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ivy asked Blake.

“I don't think so. The week has been pretty…stressful. I think she just needs some time to rest.”

Blake was living in the land of Deep Denial if he thought Deidre could
rest
this one away. He was going to have to face the fact that he needed to make some changes.

If he didn't, he was going to lose Deidre.

“She said you guys should take the boat tour without us. It starts at eleven.”

Six hours trapped on a boat sailing up and down the coast with Blake's brothers, the Tweedles and Dillon.
Don't think so.

“I wouldn't feel right going without her,” Ivy said.

Blake shrugged. “The charter is already paid for and it's too late to get a refund. It would be a waste not to use it.”

“We made other plans,” Dale said, but he wouldn't look his brother in the eye. Blake just shook his head. How many more ways could they let him down this week?

“Ivy and I will go,” Dillon said.

She was about to say,
I will?
But she had to wonder if this was his way of saying no hard feelings. And if she said no, what message would that send to him?

Besides, if the charter was nonrefundable, it was a shame to see all that money go to waste. And Deidre might feel better knowing that Ivy and Dillon were taking some time alone together and could potentially work things out.

Not that Ivy thought there was a chance in hell they ever would.

Blake shot her a questioning look. Normally she wouldn't tolerate anyone telling her what to do, but in this case she would make an exception.

“Sure,” she told Blake. “We'll go.”

Most women are brought up to believe that their husband will take care of them for the rest of their lives. But that's only true 50% of the time. The other 50% end in divorce.

—excerpt from
The Modern Woman's Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)

I
vy was flirting.

Shamelessly
flirting with a member of the crew. A kid who looked as though he was barely out of high school. Or May be still in high school for all Dillon knew. Since they'd left the marina she had been cozying up to him, and the kid was practically drooling over her form-fitting tank top and short-shorts.

Okay, May be the shorts weren't
that
short, but they seemed to show an awful lot of leg.

She'd worn her hair down, and it rested in soft chestnut waves on her shoulders and tumbled down her back to just above her bra strap. Everything about her screamed
pick me up.

Since Ivy was not, and never had been, the type to flirt—she was way too uptight—Dillon guessed this little show was entirely for his benefit. To make him jealous. Though he had no idea why she thought he would be. Because he wasn't.

At all.

She'd made her feelings pretty damn clear yesterday. She regretted ever marrying him. Wasn't that just great.

Well, it hadn't been all roses and sunshine for him, either. Did she think she'd been easy to live with? Always complaining, her panties always in a twist over something. If she thought he gave a damn what she felt about their marriage, she was mistaken.

And people wondered why he stayed single. Sheesh!

It had been her idea to “talk.” Her telling him they needed to resolve things. Far as he could figure, she was pretty gung ho about
resolving
things, until she heard something she didn't like.

He was all for working things out, but how could they if she refused to admit she was wrong?

He had the feeling they were just going to have to agree to disagree and leave it at that. He would go his way and she would go hers and they could forget they ever knew each other.

Although he had to admit, it would have been really nice getting her under the covers one last time.

When they reached the dock later that afternoon, he saw Ivy slip her new boyfriend what appeared to be a business card. It looked as though the lovebirds planned to hook up later. Did she have the slightest clue how ridiculous a woman her age would look dating an adolescent? Did she have no dignity?

He had dated a lot of women in the past couple of years, but never one young enough to be his daughter. Or at the very least, a young niece.

A car waited to take them back to the villa. As they were rolling out of the parking lot he said, “Looks like you made a new friend today.”

Ivy cast him a sideways glance, a grin on her face. “You could say that.”

Didn't she see how foolish she looked? Pining over some kid. And obviously the kid in question was only in it to get some tail. And what a fine tail it was, he couldn't help noticing.

But that was beside the point.

In college, Ivy had always had been on the naive side. She probably had no clue this kid was using her. She was not the type to settle for a one-night stand. She'd made Dillon wait three excruciating months before she would sleep with him.

May be he should point out the obvious and save her a bit of humiliation.

“You don't think he's a little young for you?” he asked.

She was looking out the car window, but he could see her smile widen a fraction. “Just the way I like 'em.”

“I hate to break it to you, but he's only after one thing. When you leave Mexico, you'll never hear from him again.”

She turned to him, her expression blank. “What's your point?”

She wasn't fooling him with her casual attitude. “I know you, Ivy. You don't do casual. You're a commitment kinda' girl.”

She shrugged. “Go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I don't care what you do. I just don't want to see you get your pretty little heart broken.”

“I think men should be like tissues,” she said. “Soft, strong and disposable. The jealousy is flattering, though.”

He snorted. “Jealous of what? You're a complete pain in the ass.”

“May be, but you still want to sleep with me.” She looked over at him. “Admit it.”

Great, now she was stealing his material. “Why would I want to sleep with a woman who regrets marrying me?”

Only after the words were out did he realize how pathetic that sounded. Like she'd hurt his feelings or something.

Which she hadn't. He didn't give a damn what she thought about their marriage.

She looked out the window and said in a soft voice, “I didn't mean it.”

Was that some sort of veiled apology from Miss Perfection? Miss I'm-Never-Wrong. “You didn't mean what?”

She fiddled with the strap of her purse, eyes downward. “As bad as things got between us, there were good times, too.”

“What are you trying to say, Ivy?”

She took a deep breath, looked up and met his eyes. “I'm trying to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

He waited for a sarcastic remark, a caustic dig to pop into his head. Instead he was drawing a blank.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Ivy was proud, so he knew that hadn't been easy for her.

He settled for, “You didn't, but apology accepted.”

“He's a twenty-two-year-old psychology major,” she said, and it took him a second to realize she was talking about the cupcake on the tour. “Really smart kid. He's engaged to a lovely girl that he is absolutely crazy about and plans to marry after they both graduate. They're considering moving to Texas. I told him to give me a call when and if he's ever looking for an internship.”

“A bit of advice. Next time you might want to tone down the flirting.”

“I was not flirting.”

“I saw you, darlin'. You were most definitely flirting, and laying it on thick.”

“Okay, May be a little. But you were jealous. Admit it.”

“If I say yes, will you sleep with me?”

She just grinned and turned back to the window. “I knew you were jealous.”

He didn't see any point in arguing. Once she set her mind to something she rarely backed down. And what the hell, May be he had been a
little
jealous.

If anyone was going to sleep with Ivy on this trip, damn it, it was going to be him.

When they got back to the villa everyone else was gone. Since dinner had already been prepared, they figured it would only be polite to sit down and eat. And it wasn't so bad.

Ivy would go so far as to say it was darn near pleasant. Something strange had happened on the ride back from the marina. The tension that had been dogging them since their fight yesterday afternoon seemed to wither away. They seemed to have come to some sort of understanding.

And she began to think that when he followed her around, incessantly bugging her tonight, it might not be such a bad thing. Since there wasn't much else to do.

After dinner he pushed back his chair and stood. “I'm going to call it a night and head up to my room.”

Sure he was. “It's barely eight o'clock.”

“I'm a little tired, and I have some work I wanted to catch up on.”

Did he really think she was that gullible? That she didn't know exactly what he was up to? He was pulling the same routine he always did. He would pretend he was going to leave her alone, then dog her relentlessly all night.

But just to make him happy, she played along. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. Sweet dreams.”

Dillon walked around the table, stopped beside her chair and held out his hand. She looked at it suspiciously. He stood there patiently waiting, and finally she slipped her hand in his. She assumed he meant to escort her from the table. Instead he turned her hand over, exposing her wrist, and he leaned forward.

Unsure of what he was doing, but curious to find out, she sat motionless. Even though her heart had begun pounding out a faster and slightly erratic rhythm.

His eyes closed and he inhaled the scent of the perfume she'd dabbed there. The bottle she'd bought in town yesterday.

He looked up at her, his eyes like a hot spring ready to bubble over. “I like it.”

Her hand felt small and warm wrapped in his and his breath was hot on her skin. Then his lips brushed just below her palm and tiny jolts of awareness, like little static shocks, rippled up her arm.

Oh, my God.

She found herself looking forward to the time he would spend nagging her, and figured, if today was like every other day this week, she wouldn't have to wait long.

He let go of her hand, then walked inside. She didn't doubt that he'd be back in a minute or two. He would find some ridiculous reason he should keep himself glued to her side.

Yep,
any
minute now.

She sat at the table several minutes, then got up and walked to the balcony railing and looked out over the ocean, at the sun sinking slowly below the horizon. Several minutes passed before she heard a noise behind her.

She couldn't help grinning. The man was
so
predictable.

She wiped the smile from her face and turned to him. “I thought you were going to—” The words trailed off when she realized it wasn't Dillon, but the housekeeper, preparing to clear the table.

“Ma'am?” she asked in a thick Mexican accent.

Ivy's cheeks blushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”

She scurried past her into the house. The poor woman must have thought she was a loon. Although, compared to Deidre, who scarfed chocolate and had nervous breakdowns, and Dillon, who walked around in his underwear with his winkie hanging out, and the Tweedles—she wouldn't even go there—Ivy was definitely one of the most normal of the bunch.

Apparently Dillon was going to wait until Ivy went to her room, or May be he was there already, lounging on her bed. The way he had been when she got out of the shower.

That was probably it. All this time she'd been waiting for him, he was probably waiting for her.

She headed up to her room, making sure her footsteps were just heavy enough, so he would know she was coming. The hallway was quiet and dim. Her bedroom door was open, just the way she'd left it, the room dark. No doubt he was going to try to startle her again.

She stepped in the room and switched on the light, eyes on the bed where she expected him to be.

It was empty.

Was he on the balcony? In the bathroom?

She checked everywhere. Even in the closet, but the room was as empty as she'd left it that morning. Besides the bed being made and the bathroom cleaned spotless, not a single thing appeared to be out of place.

Huh.

She was surprised, and even worse, disappointment tugged at her conscience. Why had he picked now to stop being a pest? When she was finally getting used to having him around? When the idea of spending a little time with him didn't repulse her?

May be she was just being impatient. May be he was going to give her time to settle in, then he would show up, all prepared to annoy her.

She could wait.

She kicked off her sandals and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Besides the times that it was wet and snarled, today was the first time Dillon had seen her hair down. Not that it looked all that different than it had ten years ago. It was a little longer, but still had a hint of unruly curl to it. Her mom used to nag her incessantly about it.

“Would you please do something with that mop,” she would complain when Ivy would let her hair dry loose and wavy. Which she did ninety-nine percent of the time.

Looking back, she remembered her mom nagged her constantly. She still did. About her hair and her clothes and her makeup. Her
posture.
Areas in which she considered herself an authority.

“If you learned to use eyeliner correctly your eyes wouldn't look so small,” she would say, or, “I saw you interviewed on CNN and as usual you were slouching. Would it kill you to sit up straight?”

Most people would be proud to have a daughter who even made it on CNN. But her mom didn't see it that way. Nothing was ever good enough for her.

Ivy wondered if her mom had nagged her dad like that. That might have been enough to drive him away. Or May be he just hadn't been ready for the responsibility of a family. And still wasn't if the rare Christmas card and occasional birthday call were any indication. After years of trying to build some sort of relationship with him, Ivy had come to terms with the fact that it would probably never happen.

She wondered, if she had stayed with Dillon, would the same thing have happened to their children? Would he have been an absentee dad? He'd made it all too clear that he hadn't been ready for children then. May be he never would be.