Best Man's Conquest (9 page)

He patted the mattress. “Why don't you slip out of that robe and squeeze in here beside me.”

If only he knew how tempting that was.

The bedroom was the one place he had never disappointed her. And it wasn't just the sex, although, Lord knew that had been out-of-this-world marvelous. But, being something of a nerd, one of her favorite things had been to just talk. Back then, few people had had the privilege of meeting the intellectually intriguing man lost behind the rebellious, party-boy facade. Some nights they had made love for hours, then had lain awake until dawn discussing social issues and politics and world events.

She wondered when that had stopped. When going out to the bar with his buddies had become more appealing than spending time with her. When the discussions had turned into arguments, the arguments to angry sex. Until even that had no longer been able to connect them. Until they had been just plain angry.

When she didn't move, he sighed and let his head fall back. His neck was lean and tanned, and she could see a tiny mark under his chin where he'd nicked himself shaving. “Is it safe to assume that we're not going to pick up where we left off downstairs?”

“What happened downstairs was a mistake.” A huge, monster-size, “ginormous” mistake.

“Wouldn't be my first, and I doubt it'll be my last.”

“That doesn't justify what we did. It's pretty obvious we have some unresolved issues, but I don't think hopping into bed is the way to fix them.”

Not that it wouldn't be fun.

He flashed her that hungry, devilish grin. “The only thing unresolved between us is that we still make each other hot. And hopping into bed together, right here, right now, is the perfect way to fix that.”

“May be that was the problem with our marriage. May be it was only about the sex.”

“Who could blame us, since we did it so well.”

She shot him a look. One he would no doubt recognize as exasperation. “I'm serious, Dillon.”

“So am I.” He reached over and pulled back the covers. “Come here, I'll remind you.”

She just stood there, arms folded over her chest. He blew out an exasperated breath and fell back against the pillow. It was so typically Dillon, so familiar, her heart ached the tiniest bit.

“Darlin', you're sending so many mixed signals I'm getting whiplash. Did you or did you not kiss me? Twice in fact.”

“Call it temporary insanity. Let me say this loud and clear so there's no confusion. We are not having sex. Not today, not tomorrow, not ten years from now.”

“How about Saturday? Could we do it then?”

“Never.”

He considered that for a second, then asked, “When you say sex, do you mean intercourse only, or are you lumping foreplay in there, too?”

She wasn't going to justify that with a response. “No wonder our marriage went to hell. You can't be serious for two seconds.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and she knew she'd hit a sore spot. She seemed to have a knack for doing that. “How's this for serious? I can tell you
exactly
why our marriage went to hell. You didn't trust me.”

So, they were back to blaming her. How typical. And to think that only a few minutes ago she had seriously been considering sleeping with him. “If I didn't trust you, Dillon, I had a damn good reason. You weren't exactly reliable.”

“Reliable?”
Now he looked downright resentful.

“Did I ever make you a promise I didn't keep?”

She wanted to be able to say yes. But the honest truth was, he'd never broken a promise. When he gave his word, he'd never failed to follow through. The tricky part was getting him to make the promise in the first place.

Did that make him unreliable or self-centered? Or simply smart enough to know his own limitations?

And what difference did it make now?

“No,” she admitted. “You never made a promise you didn't keep, but like always, you're grossly oversimplifying. It wasn't about lies or broken promises. In all the time we were together you never once showed an ounce of incentive. A drive to succeed.”

“How do you figure?”

Was he kidding? “Dillon, you were flunking out of school! All you did was drink and gamble.”

He shrugged. “So?”

So? Was that all he had to say? Just
so?
“You had so much potential. You could have gone so far.”

“
Could have?
I run a billion-dollar corporation, Ivy. How much further did you expect me to go?”

“You know what I mean,” she said, although he did have a point. But turning out okay despite his behavior didn't make it right. It just meant he was lucky.

“What I know, Ivy, is that my future was set. My parents had been priming me since the day I was born. I knew that when my dad retired I would take his place. You may find this hard to swallow, but I considered it an honor. One I took
very
seriously.”

He sat up, closer now. Too close. His eyes serious. It was unsettling because Dillon didn't do serious very often. “But, damn it, if I was going to be chained to that company for most of my adult life, I was
not
going to spend my youth with my nose buried in a textbook. I was going to have fun.”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“You
did
know that. You knew it because I told you a thousand times. Every time you rode me because I skipped class, or blew off studying to hit a party. I never lied to you, I never made a promise I didn't keep. I never gave you a reason to not believe what I said was true, but that wasn't good enough for you. Which brings us right back to where we started. You. Didn't. Trust. Me.”

He was turning everything around, making it look like it was her fault.

May be he was right. May be she hadn't trusted him completely. But it was more complicated than that. “You may not have given me a reason to mistrust you,” she told him, “but trust has to be earned. You have to
make
promises to keep them.”

“If you didn't trust me, Ivy, why the hell did you marry me?”

“I wish I hadn't!” she shot back, regretting the words instantly. It was one thing to be angry, but that comment had been downright mean. A vicious low blow.

Dillon gave her this look. Not cold or warm, annoyed or insulted. His face was a blank page. A blank page in a book whose language she had never been able to translate. “I'm real sorry to hear that our life together was such a disappointment for you.”

Awkward silence echoed through the room like thunder.

It had happened again. No matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't seem to get along. As usual, nothing had been resolved.

Their relationship was like a long string of Christmas lights rolled up in one big, knotted ball. There was a very short beginning and a sharp, stubby end, but the middle part was so densely tangled and riddled with missing bulbs, she wasn't sure if they could ever make sense of it.

May be they weren't meant to resolve anything. May be the trick was to throw the old set out and shop for a new one. Or stop hanging the lights altogether, even if it did make life drab and colorless at times. Boring even.

Boring, but safe.

The air was thick and sticky with tension, and she had no idea what to say to him. Thankfully, Deidre chose that second to knock on the door.

Move forward and don't look back. The best part of your life lies ahead. Life's not about the destination, it's about the journey.

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

“H
ey, Ivy, you in there?”

“Come in,” Ivy called. Deidre's timing couldn't have been more perfect.

The doorknob jiggled and she said, “It's locked.”

She shot Dillon a look. He had broken in, then relocked the door? The man gave himself far too much credit.

She crossed the room and let her cousin in. Deidre looked considerably better than she had earlier. The color had returned to her cheeks, and she'd lost that muddled, slightly dazed expression. She always had been quick to bounce back.

“I can't find Dillon and I was wondering—” She spotted Dillon lounging on the bed. “Oh! There you are.”

Curiosity leaped like wild flames in her eyes, but she played it cool. Ivy could just imagine what she must be thinking. Dillon half-naked on her bed, Ivy in her robe.

It looked pretty bad.

He didn't even have the decency to look guilty or uncomfortable. Or May be that was a good thing, since they had no reason to feel either. As useless as this conversation had turned out to be, it hadn't been in any way inappropriate. “Yes, ma'am.”

“The tailor is here to do the final fitting on the tuxedos. They're waiting for you in the master suite downstairs.”

He pulled himself to his feet. “Guess I should get down there.”

Taking his time, he grabbed his shirt, turned it right side in, then pulled it over his head. There was something hypnotizing about a man getting dressed, the easy flex and pull of muscle. Yards of smooth skin.

Too bad it wasn't anyone but him.

He crossed the room to the door, but instead of leaving, he stopped. Right by Ivy. He stood there, closer than she was comfortable with. Close enough to look suggestive and raise even more questions.

Which was probably what he wanted. It was probably his way of getting back at her for hitting so far below the belt. She would apologize, but really, hadn't he brought it on himself? Wasn't he the one following her around, breaking into her room, harassing her?

And if that was true, why did she feel so guilty?

Their eyes locked, and his gaze was so intense she could swear he was seeing straight through her skin to her insides. And for some stupid reason she couldn't look away.

Could he really see inside her? And if so, could he see how bad she felt? Did he know that she wanted to apologize?

He leaned toward her the tiniest bit, tilted his head a fraction, and for one brief, horrifying,
exhilarating
second she thought he was going to kiss her. Right in front of her cousin. Her pulse began to race and her mouth went dry.

Explaining to Deidre why they were in her room together, and getting her to believe it, would be difficult enough.

She stood there frozen, holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do. If he would make matters worse.

“It's been…
enlightening,
” he finally said, then turned and walked out.

She didn't really see how he considered this interlude enlightening. Nothing had been resolved. Nothing was
going
to be resolved. Not until he took responsibility for his actions and stopped blaming everything on her. And she knew that would never happen.

Deidre waited several seconds, until they could hear the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then she shut the door and turned to Ivy. “Enlightening?”

“It's not what you think,” Ivy said.

“I'm not sure what I should think.”

“Nothing was going on. We were just talking.”

“
Talking?
Oh, my gosh!” Deidre squealed. “That's so awesome!”

No. Not really. “I was trying to take your advice. I wanted to resolve whatever it is we're still hanging on to.”

“And?” she pressed, her eyes bright and enthusiastic. And so full of hope it nearly broke Ivy's heart.

Deidre was so excited, Ivy hated to disappoint her. But as her mother used to say, part of growing up is accepting disappointment and realizing that there are some things you just can't change.

When it came to Ivy and Dillon's relationship, Deidre would have to learn to live with defeat.

Ivy had.

“We don't seem to be making much progress.” May be they weren't meant to resolve anything. May be what they needed was to simply forget the past and go their separate ways.

Tough to do when the guy followed her everywhere.

“But you're trying,” she gushed, undeterred. She took both of Ivy's hands and squeezed them. “That's what's important. I know that you guys will work things out!”

Ivy wished she could share Deidre's optimism, but it was tough to resolve anything with a man who refused to admit he may have made a mistake.

 

Dillon didn't say two words to her at dinner.

That had been what she'd wanted all along. For him to leave her alone. So why did she feel so lousy?

Clearly it was the I-wish-I'd-never-married-you statement coming back to bite her in the behind. Not only had it been mean and uncalled for, it wasn't the least bit true.

For every good day, they may have had two lousy ones. And if she had a dime for every night she'd cried herself to sleep she could buy herself a Mercedes.

But if not for Dillon, for their marriage—the good and the bad—she wouldn't be the person she was today. She was stronger because of him. She may have learned the hard way, but she knew how to take care of herself. To beat any odds.

And for some stupid reason she couldn't bring herself to tell him so.

The men went for a guys' night out that evening while the women had the final fittings for their dresses. Six months ago Deidre had gone through fifty different styles of bridesmaid dresses before the Tweedles would agree on one they'd be willing to be seen in. And as Ivy spun in front of the mirror she had to admit the color and design were flattering. Not just flattering, but sexy.

She wondered what Dillon would think. If he would like the way she looked.

Not that she cared, of course.

“Gorgeous!” the seamstress gushed after making a slight adjustment to the spaghetti strap. Of course the Tweedles' size ones were a perfect fit. They were like Stepford bridesmaids. Only scarier.

“We need our bride!” the seamstress called impatiently in the direction of the master bath, where Deidre had disappeared to put on her dress. She had been in there an awfully long time.

The bathroom door opened a crack and Deidre called back, “Ivy, I need you for a minute.” Then it slammed shut again.

The seamstress sighed loudly while Dee and Dum exchanged an exasperated look.

“At this rate we're going to be here all night!” Dum groaned.

“I'll see what the problem is,” Ivy told them. She lifted the skirt of her dress, so it wouldn't drag on the floor as she crossed the room. She knocked lightly on the door. “Deidre? You okay?”

The door opened and a disembodied hand shot out. It latched on to Ivy's arm and yanked her inside. She barely had time to pull her skirt in before Deidre shut and locked the door.

With her free hand Deidre was holding her partially fastened dress up, clutching the bodice to her breasts. Her face and chest were flushed and beads of sweat dribbled down the sides of her face and into her cleavage. She looked as though she'd just run a marathon.

“What's wrong?” Ivy asked. “The natives are getting restless out there.”

Tears hovered just inside her eyelids. “I'm too fat.”

Ivy sighed. Not this again. “You are not too fat. You're going to look beautiful.”

“No,” she insisted. “I mean I'm really too fat.” She turned, showing Ivy her back, and the gap between the two sides of the dress between the zipper. “I can't get the dress zipped up.”

Oh, crap.

“I pulled and pulled until I heard the fabric start to rip.”

Yep. Ivy could see a small tear where the lace had begun to pull away from the silk.

Double crap.

“What am I going to do?” she half whispered, half shrieked. “I can't go out there like this. If Blake's mom finds out it doesn't fit she will
kill
me! This thing cost a fortune!”

In Deidre's defense, Blake's mom was the one who had insisted Deidre order a size smaller, assuring her that it would be a perfect fit after she lost a few pounds. At least at the last fitting she'd been able to zip it up all the way. She'd have been fine if she didn't eat, or move. Or
breathe
.

As far as Ivy was concerned Blake's mother was getting exactly what she deserved for being such a demanding, controlling twit. But Ivy
did not
want to see Deidre unhappy.

“Turn around,” she ordered and her cousin complied, her lip clamped so hard between her teeth Ivy worried she might bite clear through. “Don't worry. We'll make it fit.”

She grasped the zipper tag. It was slightly disfigured from the workout Deidre had given it. “I want you to inhale and suck it in as far as you can. You ready?”

She nodded.

“On the count of three. One…two…three!”

Deidre sucked, and Ivy pulled for all she was worth. Deidre grunted as Ivy managed to get her zipped about halfway. Then there was an earsplitting rip, and the zipper tag popped loose and flew across the bathroom.

The little tear was now a gaping hole.

Oh, shit.

“That sounded bad,” Deidre said, her voice small and frightened.

“It was bad.” Ivy was no expert, but she was pretty sure it would take at least an inch of fabric to fix it.

At
least
.

There was no way this dress was going to fit Deidre by Saturday. It wouldn't fit by next week, either. She would have to starve herself and work out nonstop for a month just to get it zipped up.

Ivy had to wonder if all this was worth it. All this frustration and compromise, just to be married.

Not for her. She liked being single and intended to keep it that way.

There was a loud bang on the door. “Are you planning on staying in there until the wedding?” Dee snapped.

All the color had drained from Deidre's face and her eyes were wide with terror. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

Ivy didn't know, but they had to do
something
. Deidre started to hyperventilate and her face was ashen.

“Give us a few minutes!” Ivy shouted back, and told her cousin, “Relax. We'll figure out something.”

Deidre started to cry. Big, fat tears ran down her cheeks. “This is an omen.”

“Everything will work out,” she assured her, but Deidre wasn't listening.

“This whole stupid week, my whole
life
has been one big, bad omen!”

“Deidre, shh—”

“And I hate this stupid dress!” she shrieked. She tugged it down and shoved it to the floor then proceeded to stomp it flat with her bare feet. “I've hated it from the second that witch forced me into picking it.”

Oh, jeez. The stress was too much. It had finally happened. She had come completely unglued.

There was another loud bang on the door. “We're waiting!”

Deidre snatched the dress from the bathroom floor and, wearing only panties and a strapless push-up bra, ripped open the door.

“Here I am! Are you happy?”

Ivy cringed and followed her out. There wasn't much she could do at this point. Other than hold Deidre back if she tried to strangle one of the twins.

The Tweedles stood there in their identical size one dresses with identical stunned looks on their faces.

“Yes, I'm fat!” Deidre all but screamed at them, wild-eyed and sweaty, spinning in a circle so they got the full view. “Does that make you feel better?”

The seamstress looked downright frightened. Apparently she'd never seen a bride-to-be have a total nervous breakdown. She flinched and cowered when Deidre thrust the tattered, wrinkled dress at her.

“This dress does not fit me. I wear a size sixteen. Not a fourteen, not a twelve. A
sixteen
. Find me a size sixteen or I will hurt you. Understand?”

The seamstress nodded, her head wobbling on her neck like one of those bobble-head dogs in a car window. She grabbed the dress and scurried out of the room. The Tweedles, their pea-size brains apparently sensing danger, weren't far behind her.

Then it was just Ivy and Deidre.

Deidre sat on the edge of the bed looking shell-shocked. “I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't.”

Ivy wasn't sure what
this
was. If she meant she couldn't go through with this particular wedding, or if she couldn't marry Blake at all. And honestly, she was afraid to ask.