Best Man's Conquest (6 page)

And she was pretty sure he was offering to do the job. Did he honestly think he could charm his way back into her bed? Could he possibly be that arrogant?

Of course he could.

The real question was, what did she plan to do about it? How would she put him in his place and teach him a lesson he should have learned a long time ago?

She would do the one thing he would never expect. The only thing that would knock
him
completely off balance.

She stopped abruptly, right in the middle of the street, in front of God and everyone, and turned to face him. Before he could get his bearings, or she had a second of clarity to talk herself out of it, she reached up and curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. She wrapped her other hand around the back of his neck and tugged him down to her level.

He smelled of soap and shampoo and his hair was soft around her fingers. His wide-eyed surprise was the last thing she saw as she planted a kiss right on his damp and slightly parted lips.

 

Just when Dillon thought he had Ivy pegged, she did something completely off the wall and totally out of character. He'd expected some sort of reaction from her. One of those cool, deadly stares or a snippy remark. The last thing he'd expected was a kiss.

And he sure as hell hadn't expected to enjoy it.

One brush of her full, soft lips, one taste of her sweet mouth, and the memory of the fighting, the bitter, angry words they had flung at each other like daggers, misted like the ocean spray, then evaporated in the hot, dry Mexican air.

It came on swift and sudden, like a sniper attack, and before his brain had a chance to catch up with his body to process the acute physical response, it was over.

In a flash he was back on the noisy, crowded street. Ivy stood with her hands propped on her hips, looking up at him. Her eyes cold. In that instant he understood exactly what she was doing and what she meant to accomplish. And for reasons he didn't understand—or didn't want to admit—he felt cheated.

No one had looked at him with the same genuine and honest admiration as Ivy had. As long as he could remember, his family name had afforded him certain privileges. With little more than a snap of his fingers he could have had any woman he desired.

Ivy had been the only one he'd ever
needed
.

She saw through him, to the real man inside. She understood him in a way no one else had. Or May be she had been the only one who bothered to try.

She studied him for a good thirty seconds, looking almost bored, then shrugged. “Nothing.”

Ouch. She'd scored one on him, no doubt, and it had been a direct hit.

“I guess you just don't do it for me anymore,” she said apologetically. “But I appreciate the offer.”

She spun away, skirt swishing around her legs. Only then did it register; the slight tremble in her voice, her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat and the smudge of color riding the arch of her cheeks.

A man didn't spend a year of marriage without learning a woman's signals. And he could read hers loud and clear. He wasn't the only one turned on by that kiss. She wanted him, too.

This called for a slight change of plans. There was only one thing that could possibly be more fun than annoying Ivy, and that would be getting back into her panties. That would be the ultimate payback.

He was smiling as he set off after her. It looked as if they would be taking this competition to an all new level.

Divorce recovery typically takes two full years. Take it day by day. Trust me, the time will soon come when you'll look back and wonder what you ever saw in him.

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

K
iss your ex-husband. Brilliant idea.

As fast as her wobbly legs would carry her, Ivy headed blindly in what she hoped was the general direction of the villa, praying that Dillon didn't follow her.

Weathered stucco buildings, brightly colored canopies and an ocean of moving bodies blurred together like smudged oil paint on a three-dimensional canvas. Voices and sounds echoed through her ears and jumbled around inside her head, disorienting her. Her hands were trembling and her heart beat hard and fast in her chest.

One stupid kiss and she was a walking disaster area.

What had she been thinking?

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to be proving how over him she was. She wasn't supposed to
enjoy
kissing him.

She wasn't supposed to
feel
anything.

And if she had to feel something, why couldn't it have been hate? Disgust would have been a good one, too. Or good old-fashioned anger.

And what if by some remote chance someone recognized them? Someone who had read her book? What if word got out that she was messing around with her ex? What would people think of her? How could her readers, not to mention her patients, trust her if she couldn't even follow her own edict?

This was bad.

Really,
really
bad.

Although she had to admit that seeing the stunned look on his face, knowing that for once
she
had flustered
him,
had almost been worth it. In a sadistic sort of way. Like cutting off her nose to spite her face.

“You sure move fast when you have something to run from,” Dillon said from behind her, and Ivy cursed under her breath.

Oh, crud.

She needed a minute to pull herself together. She couldn't let him see her thrown so far off-kilter.

This was just a fluke. She'd been too immersed in her career, too swamped promoting her first book and writing the second to even think about sex, so, yeah, she'd overreacted a little.

Okay, she'd overreacted
a lot
. But she would have gotten the same result from kissing any number of men.

She tried to conjure up a name, an appealing, eligible man in her life. May be one in the office building where she worked, or at the club where she used the pool. Or even at the grocery store. There had to be
someone
.

Yet not a single one came to mind.

Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She could continue to blame her busy schedule, but deep down she knew that was bunk. The reason she hadn't slept with anyone in…well, longer than she wanted to admit, was because she hadn't met anyone she wanted to sleep with. Up until today.

Oh, no. She did
not
just think that. She didn't want to sleep with Dillon. Not now, not ever.

“And what is it exactly that I'm running from?” she asked. She even managed to keep her voice steady and vaguely disinterested.

The deep baritone of laughter that followed rubbed across every one of her nerve endings until they felt raw and exposed.

He knew. He knew exactly what that kiss had done to her, and he would spend the rest of the week rubbing it in her face.

Would this nightmare never end?

She was about to turn, to face Dillon, still unsure of exactly what she wanted to do or say—and resigned to the fact that whatever it was it would probably only make things worse—when she spotted Deidre and Blake walking down the opposite side of the street like two angels of mercy.

“Deidre!” she called, waving frantically to get her attention. The instant Deidre looked her way Ivy knew something was wrong. Her skin looked pale, and the way she leaned into Blake gave the distinct impression he was holding her steady.

Forgetting Dillon and every other horrible thing that transpired that morning, she rushed across the street to her cousin. As she drew closer she noticed the bandage on Deidre's forehead.

Her grotesquely
swelled
forehead.

Ivy's horror and surprise must have shown, because the first thing out of Deidre's mouth was, “It's not as bad as it looks.”

“Let me see.” Without waiting for permission, she lifted Deidre's bangs to get a better look. The area over her left eye looked swollen and tender, and hints of purple peeked out from under the edge of the bandage. “Oh, my God, what happened to you?”

“An alleged golfing mishap,” Blake said bitterly.

Deidre ducked away from Ivy and shot him a look.

“It was an accident. And the doctor at the clinic said the swelling should be down in time for the wedding.”

“You had to see a doctor?”

Deidre nodded. “I needed three stitches.”

Why did it have to happen this week? It was just one more thing to put a damper on the most important day of Deidre's life.

“Who did this to you?” Dillon asked, and Ivy jolted at the sound of his voice. She hadn't even realized he'd followed her.

“Dale's girlfriend,” Blake all but spat out. “She swung her club and lost her grip. It went flying and pegged Deidre in the head.”

“But it was an accident,” Deidre said with a forced cheeriness that wasn't fooling anyone. “Believe me, her aim is not that good. She can barely hit a ball much less a person standing fifteen feet behind her.”

Dillon looked from Deidre to Blake. “Which one is Dale's girlfriend? Tweedle Dum or Tweedle Dee?”

Blake shrugged. “Who knows. I can't tell them apart. When it happened, I was more concerned with stopping the bleeding than figuring out who was at fault.”

The only thing concerning Ivy was Deidre's pasty-white pallor and the dark circles under her eyes. The way she clung to Blake's arm, as though without him there she might topple over.

Dillon's eyes mirrored Ivy's concern. “May be you should go back to the villa and lay down for a while.”

“No! I refuse to spend the week of my wedding in bed feeling sorry for myself.” Deidre sounded awfully close to tears, and Ivy had the distinct feeling there was more to this than she was admitting. “I don't want to talk about my head anymore.”

Blake looked curiously between Ivy and Dillon. “So, what are you guys up to?”

What he really meant was, what were they doing together.

“We were shopping and we bumped into each other,” Ivy said, shooting Dillon a look that said she knew damn well their meeting had been no accident. And if he said one word about what had happened, he would die a very slow, agonizing death.

He just smiled. “That's right, and I was just about to invite Ivy to lunch.”

“Perfect!” Deidre gushed, perking up instantly. “We were looking for somewhere to eat.” She wove an arm through Ivy's and clamped down. Hard. “We can all eat together.”

The death grip on Ivy's arm said very clearly that this was not a matter of choice. Ivy was going, even if Deidre had to drag her there.

Seeing there was no way to get out of this without making a scene, and making matters worse in the process, Ivy plastered a smile on her face and said, “Great. Let's eat.”

 

The second they were shown to a table inside the bustling, noisy café, Deidre said something about needing to freshen up, then dragged Ivy with her to the ladies' room. Her grip on Ivy's arm was so tight she was cutting off the circulation. When they were safely inside with the door shut Deidre finally let go.

Ivy shook the blood back into her tingling fingers. “All right, what's going on?”

“I hate them,” Deidre spat with a ferocity that was completely unlike her. Angry tears pooled in her eyes.

“I hate the Tweedles and I hate Blake's brothers.”

Deidre didn't
hate
anybody. She was too sweet. But apparently even she had limits.

“What happened?”

“After I got hit, Blake went to go get the rental car. While he was gone, the four of them were—” Her voice broke and tears dribbled down her cheeks.

Ivy rubbed her shoulder. “They were what? What did they do?”

Deidre sniffled loudly and wiped the tears away with the heels of her palms. “They were…making fun of me. They were whispering and laughing.”

Was it possible that they could be that rude? That cruel? “Could you hear what they were saying? I mean, May be you misunderstood. May be they weren't talking about you.” As she said the words she suspected they weren't true.

“They were looking right at me, and I heard Dale say it was my own fault for standing too close while she putted.”

No, this was
Ivy's
fault. She had been afraid that antagonizing the Tweedles at dinner last night would only make things worse. That they might retaliate. She never should have lowered herself to their level.

And who had encouraged her to do that?

Dillon
.

It didn't excuse her behavior. Or make her any less accountable, but in a roundabout way this was as much his fault as hers.

The thought made her feel a little bit better.

“Does Blake know about what they said?”

She sniffled and shook her head. “He already feels so bad. This would only make things worse.”

Ivy didn't know if things could get much worse. That would take a tropical storm or a tsunami.

“She didn't even say she was sorry.” Deidre wiped her eyes. “What did I ever do to them? Why are they so mean to me?”

“It's not you, Deidre. It's like I said at dinner last night. They're insecure. Cutting you down makes them feel better about themselves.” She stepped into one of the empty stalls, pulled a length of toilet paper off the roll and handed it to Deidre. “It's also very possible that they're jealous.”

“Yeah right,” Deidre said with an indignant snort. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose. “I'm sure they're both dying to be overweight and have my lousy skin. I'm like an ugly duckling next to them.”

“It has nothing to do with looks or weight. They're jealous because no matter how skinny they are, or pretty they are, or how blond they dye their hair, they'll never be as happy as you and Blake. Hell,
I'm
jealous and I don't even want to get married.”

Deidre shrugged.

“I'm serious. Blake is crazy about you. Anyone can see how happy you two are, how much you love each other. And no matter how mean and nasty the Tweedles are, they can't take that from you.”

A grin teased the corners of Deidre's mouth. “You really think they're jealous?”

“I honestly do. Those two may be aesthetically attractive. May be even beautiful. But on the inside they're the worst kind of ugly.”

“Blake's brothers don't think so.”

“They're no better than the Tweedles. I sometimes wonder how Blake turned out so normal when the rest of his family is completely wacky.”

The smile spread to her cheeks. “Wacky? Is that an official diagnosis?”

Ivy laughed. “Absolutely.”

Deidre may not have been conventionally beautiful, but she had a warm, genuine smile and a good heart. Ivy hoped Blake realized just how lucky he was.

And May be somewhere deep down, she
was
a little jealous. But not everyone was lucky enough to find what Deidre and Blake had.

Some people weren't capable.

Deidre wiped her eyes one last time and tossed the tissue in the trash. “You know, no matter how lousy things seem, you always manage to make me feel better.”

“It's what I'm trained to do.”

“No, it's always been that way, even when we were really little. It's a gift.”

If that were true, Ivy wished she could bestow that gift on herself.

“That's the reason I got you and Dillon together,” Deidre admitted. “I wanted to help you the way you always help me. I wanted you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” The words spilled out automatically, but they sounded dry and hollow. Like May be she wasn't so convinced anymore.

“Speaking of Dillon,” Deidre said, “what's
really
going on with you two?”

Ivy shrugged. “Just like I said, we bumped into each other.”

“You're sure about that.”

Something in Deidre's expression said she knew something Ivy didn't. “Of course I'm sure.”

“So what you're telling me is, you were just walking along and accidentally ran into him with your lips?”

Ivy winced.

Oh, crud. Didn't it just figure that not only had her plan backfired, but of the thousands of people roaming the city, Deidre had to be there to witness her mistake.