The Man Plan (10 page)

*   *   *

Hey, can’t talk right now. Leave me your digits. You know the drill.

James cut off the message with an impatient jab of his finger. One in the morning and Ivy wasn’t answering her cell.

Where in the hell is she?

He slipped his ultraslim cell phone into his suit pocket.

“Who was that, darling?” Parker asked, returning from her visit to the guest bath.

His head whipped around. “What?”

“On the phone. Who were you talking to?”

“No one. Just checking my voice mail.”

Parker
tsk
ed. “Working even on a holiday? You should slow down.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt. “Are you about ready to leave?”

“Hmm. Let me thank our hostess; then we’ll go.”

He waited until she’d crossed to the opposite side of the room and had fallen into conversation with Arlene Belford before he tried Ivy’s number again.

And got her voice mail again.

With a muffled curse, he hung up.

Where is she?

Was she home and just had her cell on mute? Or had she gone to that party?—the one he’d told her not to attend. The neighborhood where her friends lived might be showing signs of improvement, but it could still be a dangerous place, especially at night.

He was about to call her one more time when Parker exchanged air kisses with Arlene and headed his way.

Inside the car minutes later, he sensed Parker watching him.

“Is anything the matter?” she asked in a quiet voice.

He slowed for a red light. “No. Everything’s fine.”

“You’re so quiet. I just wondered.”

“It’s late, that’s all.”

“Hmm, but not that late.” She reached out and laid a palm on his thigh.

He covered her hand to prevent it from straying, stroked his thumb over the top.

The light changed to green.

He returned her hand to her lap, stepped on the accelerator. “Would you be terribly hurt if I didn’t come in tonight?”

She crossed her arms. “I thought we were celebrating the holiday. It’s been weeks since we made love.”

“You were away,” he hedged. “I’ve been busy and our schedules just haven’t meshed. And tonight . . .”

She shifted in her seat and glared at him. “Yes? What about tonight?”

“I’m . . . well, actually, I’m not feeling well.”

“Not feeling—oh, you poor baby.” She settled her palm across his forehead, then his cheeks, checking for fever. “I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to spoil your evening.”

“Don’t be silly. You should have said something. If you’re sick, you need to be in bed.”

He couldn’t help feeling guilty. “You’re right. As soon as I drop you off, I’ll go straight home and climb under the sheets.”

“Why don’t we save time and go directly to your place? That way I can mother you a bit.”

He shook his head. “You know I hate being fussed over.”

At least that wasn’t a lie, he thought. Since childhood, he’d detested people hovering over him when he wasn’t feeling well.

“You won’t be able to do anything but watch me sleep,” he said. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

She hesitated. “Well, if you’re sure?”

“Positive. It’s probably just a touch of food poisoning. Queasy stomach. You can’t be too careful these days, especially with shellfish.”

“You’re right about that.”

He slowed the car and doubled-parked in front of her brownstone.

She sat without opening the car door. “You’ll call if you feel worse? Food poisoning can be very serious, you know.”

“I’ll phone you in the morning.”

She leaned over and brushed her lips against his. “Feel better.”

He waited to make certain she made it safely inside her building, then pulled away from the curb.

Since when, he asked himself, had he started lying to women?

Lately, he seemed to be making a habit of it. If there was one thing he prided himself upon, it was his honesty. Yet tonight he’d blatantly deceived Parker, a woman who trusted him.

He didn’t like the feeling.

But he couldn’t tell her the truth. If he’d mentioned Ivy’s name, she would have worked herself into a snit and drawn all sorts of erroneous conclusions.

Dialing Ivy’s number again, he listened as the familiar message played one more time.

He scowled. This just wasn’t like her.

With a curse, he disconnected and called the security desk at his building.

“Did Miss Grayson go out tonight?” he asked the guard once he’d identified himself.

“Just a moment, Mr. Jordon. Let me check the logs. Yes. Looks like she left around six.”

“And has she returned yet?”

“No, sir. Not yet. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem.” At least not one the guard could resolve.

Disconnecting, he tossed his phone onto the empty passenger seat. At least he’d had the good sense to ask exactly where her friends lived.

Hooking a left onto Lexington, he headed south.

*   *   *

“Look, this has been fun, but I’ve really, really got to get going,” Ivy told Fred a couple of dances later. She glanced around, wondering how she’d ended up on the wrong side of a large potted palm in a secluded corner of the living room with him.

Fred planted a forearm against the wall next to her head. “Not yet, babe. There’s still a lot of party left to go.”

If he hadn’t been drunk before, he was now. In between dances, he’d procured more than one round of drinks. While she’d taken only occasional sips of hers, he’d emptied each of his own.

“It’s late,” she said. “I think people are starting to take off. Anyway, don’t you have dance class in the morning?”

He nodded. “I always have dance class. A
danseur
has to keep his muscles strong and limber. Of course, there’re other ways to keep in shape.” His voice deepened, eyelids drooping, as he lowered his head toward her.

She held him off with a hand. “Sleeping, for one. Can’t be at your best without enough sleep. If I have
any hope of being more than a zombie tomorrow, I need to get some rest.”

“Sleep here.”

She shook her head. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed.”

“Sure, we can use your bed,” he said with a drunk’s logic. “I’ll take you home.”

“
Neil’s
taking me home.”

Fred glanced over his shoulder. “Neil looks busy.”

“Josh, then.”

“Josh looks busy too.”

She glanced past Fred’s broad shoulder and spotted the two men wrapped in each other’s arms, slow dancing. “Fine. I’ll take the train.”

Fred scowled. “You can’t go out this time of night, not alone. You need an escort. Someone strong to protect you, like me.”

“You,” she said emphatically, “aren’t in any condition to go anywhere except to bed.”

She tried to spin him around and point him in the right direction, intending to give him a good shove. But he was immovable, a mass of solid muscle.

Misinterpreting her touch, Fred wrapped his arms around her. “Yeah, my bed. Let’s go, babe.”

He leaned in for a kiss.

She turned her head so that his lips landed on her neck. “No, Fred. Wait.” Perhaps a bit of trickery was called for, she thought. “Why don’t you go on ahead to your room? I’ll follow in a minute. I need to make a detour first. Bathroom break.”

He smiled. “Oh, okay. But you won’t be long, will you?”

“Barely an instant.”

“Promise?”

“Definitely. Now, let me go.”

“Yes,” said a hard, male voice. “Let her go.”

She and Fred both turned their heads.

“James!” she said on a squeak.

Meeting his eyes, she saw a look burning within them that she’d never seen before. A mixture of surprise, fury, and worst of all, contempt.

He inclined his head. “Ivy.”

She’d always loved the sound of her name on his lips. Hearing it now sent a chill down her spine. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your cell. It’s late, so I came to find you. I was worried.” He swept a condemning glance over her and the man in whose arms she still stood. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been.”

“He’s drunk.”

“I can see that.”

She swallowed, feeling unaccountably guilty. With clenched fists, she gave Fred a hard push.

Fred was distracted enough to release her. “You know this guy?”

“Yes, I know him.”

Fred’s cocky attitude returned. He draped an arm over her shoulders. “Yeah? Well, whoever you are, F off. I saw her first.”

James pinned the other man with a scornful look. “I sincerely doubt that, unless you were around to change her diapers.”

“Huh?”

Ivy shrugged out from under Fred’s embrace. “Stop it, both of you.”

James turned on her. “You want to stay with him?”

“No.”

“Let’s leave, then, while I still have a car. Assuming it hasn’t already been boosted for parts.”

“I need my purse.”

“Get it.”

“Hey, who are you to give her orders?” Fred demanded, swaying with a grace only a drunken ballet dancer could muster. He tossed Ivy a sappy smile. “Don’t you listen to him, sweet thing. I told you before—there’s hours left of this party.”

James visibly ground his teeth. “Ivy. Your purse.”

Neil suddenly appeared, Josh in his wake. “Hey, what’s going on? We sensed a little tension emanating from this side of the room. Problem?”

James swung slowly around. “No problem. I came for Ivy. And you are?”

“Oh, I’m Neil. Neil Jones. This is Josh Moran.” He nodded toward his partner, who waggled a set of fingers. “I guess you’ve already met Fred Pike.”

Fred reprimanded him with a loud shushing noise.

Neil rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. “I mean Frederick Picarovsky. This is our place.”

“Ah, the roommates,” James drawled as he surveyed the apartment and its party-pleasured occupants. “Thank God she was spared from taking up residence in this dump.”

Neil’s friendliness disappeared. “Hey, where do you
get off making comments like that? Who the hell are you anyway?”

Josh jumped in. “It’s for sure you weren’t invited to this party.”

James raised a superior brow. “Lucky me.”

“If you don’t like our place, then get the fuck out,” Josh said. “Here. We’ll help you leave.”

Taller by several inches, James glared down at him, his stance intimidating. “Touch me and you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

The other men bristled at the challenge, fists clenched.

Ivy stood, stunned by the brief, nasty exchange. She’d never seen James act in such a snide, arrogant way. What on earth was the matter with him?

She planted herself in front of James and held out a hand. “Don’t! There will be no fighting. All of you, stay where you are.”

“Let me knock him around,” Fred urged. “I’m trained in judo.” With a bloodcurdling scream, he leaped into the air and twisted, nearly kicking over a lamp. He stumbled on the way down, but caught himself at the last minute. Miraculously, he regained his balance, no harm done.

“Ivy, who is this guy?” Neil demanded, jerking a thumb toward James. As Neil glared at him, his expression abruptly changed. “Jesus, he’s not your dad, is he?”

“No!”
she and James exclaimed in horrified unison.

“Your brother, then?”

James glowered. “I’m not her brother either. I’m her friend. An old family friend.”

Josh snorted. “Old’s certainly right.”

She stood her ground, determined to make sure there was no bloodshed. “James is my friend. Just as the rest of you are my friends. And I want my friends,
all my friends
, to get along. Do you gentlemen think you can do that?”

James crossed his arms over his chest.

The other three looked away; Josh actually shuffled his feet.

Neil was the first to speak. “Yeah, all right. If it’ll make you happy, Ivy.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “It will. Thank you.”

Josh and Fred mumbled like a pair of boys caught brawling in school, forced to shake hands and make up.

James remained silent.

She prompted him. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“Yes. It’s late. Let’s go.” He placed a hand on the nape of her neck, curling it there in a possessive grip.

Neil frowned, eyeing her and James for a moment before unexpectedly reaching out to pull Ivy into his arms for a hard hug. “I hope you had a great evening, cupcake.” Under the cover of kissing her cheek, he whispered, “You sure you’re safe with that one?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course. I couldn’t be safer.”

He studied her for another long moment, then nodded. Rather than return her to James, he passed her on to Josh, who hugged her with the same defiant exuberance as Neil.

Then it was Fred’s turn.

Ivy waylaid him by holding out her hand. “Tomato juice, Tabasco, and a raw egg in the morning. My brother swears the combination works miracles.”

He clasped her palm between both of his. “Sounds nauseating.”

“It’s supposed to. Sleep it off, Fred. I mean
Frederick
.”

He grinned crookedly. “Sure you don’t want to help me? It’s not too late to change your mind.”

James grabbed her free hand, tugged her away. “Let’s find that damned purse of yours and go.” As an afterthought, he nodded. “Gentlemen.”

As soon as her purse was in hand, James towed her along behind him, forcing her to trot to keep up.

“James, slow down.”

He kept walking.

Shocked, she realized he was furious. James was never furious. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never so much as raised his voice. He could be annoyed, irritated, even grudgingly angry upon occasion, but she’d never seen him like this.

Blazing mad.

O
n the drive home, Ivy began to suspect Fred wasn’t the only one who’d had too much to drink this evening.

It wasn’t James’s driving that clued her in—his reflexes appeared as sharp as ever. No, it was the glitter in his eyes that caught in the reflection of an occasional passing streetlamp.

She remembered a New Year’s Eve more than a decade ago when he’d drunk the entire Grayson clan—hollow-legged Scotsmen every one—straight under the table. She’d been young and wasn’t supposed to know anything about it, but long after her bedtime that night, she’d snuck out of her room to watch the spirited goings-on from a stealthy vantage point on the stairs.

With plenty of empty bottles to attest, James had pushed away from the table the winner, rock steady on his feet, acting no different than usual. But when he’d
come out into the foyer to don his coat to leave, she’d glimpsed a feral, overbright gleam in his eyes.

The same look he wore now.

They completed the trip home in silence. He parked; then they walked, still not speaking, through the dark to the entrance. In the elevator, he twisted his key in the panel and sent the car racing upward. He hadn’t punched the button for her floor, she noticed.

Once inside his penthouse, he slammed the door, then slammed his keys onto the entry table, a lovely old French provincial piece worth a small fortune.

She winced as he rounded on her.

“What in the hell was that tonight?” he demanded.

Her fingers cold from nerves, she set her purse on a small Louis Quatorze chair, then drew a breath to compose herself. “What do you mean? Why are you so upset?”

“Why am I upset? It’s”—he broke off to check the face of the grandfather clock stationed just outside the study door—“two forty-five in the morning and you want to know why I’m upset?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he marched down the hall into the wide expanse of the living room. Reluctantly, she followed.

“I’m upset because I had to drive all the way to Brooklyn and pull you out of that crack house.”

“Crack house!” she repeated, her eyes wide. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. There weren’t any drugs at the party. Neil’s very strict about that sort of thing.”

“Oh, is he? And what about the booze? He clearly doesn’t take issue with that drug of choice.”

“I wouldn’t be too critical on that score if I were you, not in your present condition.”

He froze. “What condition?”

“Your inebriated condition.”

“You think I’m drunk?” He laughed. “I don’t get drunk on a few glasses of wine.”

She held her ground. “Well, you’re not sober. I know that much. And as for
having
to drive to Brooklyn to find me, you didn’t
have
to do anything.”

“What else am I supposed to do when you don’t answer your cell and I find out from the guard desk that you’ve been out all evening and haven’t come home? It was either look for you at that damned party or start calling hospitals.”

“You called the guard desk about me?” she said, stunned.

“You bet your sweet ass I did.”

Anger burned in her chest. “Well, as you can plainly see, my ass is fine. And not that’s it’s any of your business, but I was about to leave for home when you showed up.”

“Yeah, I could see how much progress you were making. Wrapped up like a present in the grip of that ten-armed ape.”

“You mean Fred?” It was her turn to laugh. “
Please.
He’s harmless.”

“You think so?” James sneered. “I doubt you’d have found him so harmless once he had you pinned under him on his bed.”

She squirmed for a moment, since that’s exactly what Fred had been trying to do. “That wouldn’t have happened,” she stated. “I had the situation well under control.”

“Oh, I saw the kind of control you had, like a kitten caught inside a sack. Maybe you’d have gotten lucky and escaped, maybe not.”

She rubbed her arms, chilled in her sleeveless sundress. “Fred would have respected my wishes.”

“I saw the way he was
respecting
you.”

“He would have let me go or else I’d have gotten away.”

He reached out and yanked her close, his arms fastening at her back, strong as steel bands. “Try to get away from
me
,” he challenged.

She laughed but without humor. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Testing your theory. I’m a man. Get away from me.”

“It’s not much of a test, since I know you’d never hurt me.”

“You didn’t think Fred would hurt you either.”

“And he didn’t.”

“Because I stopped him.”

“You had nothing to do with it,” she said. “He was ready to follow my lead and toddle off to his bedroom, supposedly to wait for me, when you interrupted. If you hadn’t, he’d have been in his room, sound asleep, and the morning sun would have been streaming through his window before he realized I’d never shown up.”

“Oh, he’d have been in his room, all right, and you’d have been in there with him.” His eyes gleamed an intense blue. “You’ve always been far too willing to trust people, to believe the best of them whether they deserve it or not. The sort of behavior that’s bound to get you into trouble one of these days.”

She trembled with a rush of nerves. “That’s absurd. Just because I’m nice to people doesn’t mean one of them will eventually hurt me. Despite what you think, I’m not naive. I’m more than capable of looking after myself. Now, let me go.”

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” he taunted.

“Cut it out, James. I mean it. This is stupid.”

“Would it seem so stupid if I were Fred or a stranger?”

“This game is ridiculous, and I’m not playing along.”

“Fine. Admit I’m right and I’ll let you go.”

She wasn’t used to being pissed off with James, but boy, he was really pushing her buttons tonight. She could see the smug confidence on his face, knew he expected her to knuckle under.

Giving in would be the easy way out.

Well, damn the easy way
.

Without any warning, she lunged forward, giving him a hard shove and an elbow dig in the ribs. She twisted her hips, hoping the momentum would be enough to break free. For a split second, his grip loosened and she thought she’d done it. But just as quickly, he recovered, cinching up the slack to haul her close again.

She gave a frustrated shout and tried again, feet shifting in an odd sort of dance as both of them struggled to gain the upper hand. She lashed out with one foot, then the other, trying to overbalance him with a clever hook behind his ankles.

But James was entirely too fast, entirely too strong. He countered, planting his legs on either side of her own, trapping her thighs in between. With carefully controlled strength, he forced her arms behind her back and gathered her wrists into his hands.

She could barely squirm and wondered whether this was how a turkey felt, trussed and helpless as it waited to have its feathers plucked for Thanksgiving dinner.

Their faces were close. So close she could see the tiny creases that fanned out at the corners of his eyes. His short eyelashes, so pale they looked nearly white. And the color of his irises darkened to a deep, rich indigo.

Their bodies were fitted together as tightly as a pair of hibernating minks, every millimeter touching.

Torso, belly, thighs.

Her nipples tightened as her breasts rubbed against his firm chest, up and down while she fought to catch her breath.

Hot.

His body seemed to radiate warmth. His heat, his scent, pouring over her, seeping through the thin cotton of her dress. Goose bumps rose on her skin at the vivid contrast between him and the air-conditioned coolness of the room.

Her muscles trembled from the strain, her spine bent back in an awkward arch. She bucked and twisted in a
final bid for freedom, grinding pelvis to pelvis. She stilled when she realized what she’d done. Against her, she felt the hard evidence of his arousal. An accompanying ache sprang to life in her, igniting an intimate pulse of want that beat deep within.

Her mouth opened on a soundless gasp.

Neither of them spoke; neither of them could.

Air rushed in and out of his lungs, his eyes locked on the parted fullness of her lips.

Then his mouth was on hers—or hers on his—since she had no idea which one of them had actually moved first.

He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite. His brief nip shot straight to her core. She whimpered when he took her deeper, sucking her tongue into his mouth to kiss her in a way she hadn’t known anyone could.

Caught in an agony of longing, she writhed against him, struggling to free herself from his relentless grip, desperate to wrap her arms around him and cling.

Instead, he held her captive, arching her even tighter against his body. If not for his formidable strength, she knew she would have fallen. He ground his erection against her, pressing her hands into the small of her back as he made love to her through the barrier of their clothes. His fingers stretched to link with her own, clasping, clutching. She threaded hers tight in return.

His lips fell upon the curve of her neck and burrowed there with erotic intent. She moaned as he kissed and laved her tender skin in a way that was certain to leave a mark.

Then suddenly she was free, as he released her wrists to shift position—not to stop but to gain fuller access. She understood his need without the necessity of words, knew he wanted more.

She wanted more as well.

His hands cupped her breasts.

She raised her arms to touch him, to hold him as she’d been longing to do. She stopped, crying out as a sharp spasm of pain jabbed through her right shoulder.

James blinked and stared, her distress shredding the passionate haze around him as nothing else could have done. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice little more than a harsh croak.

“Charley horse.” She massaged the cramped muscle. “It’s not so bad.” She grimaced and lifted her arm into the air to stretch.

James’s eyes went immediately to her breasts, watching them shift beneath the bodice of her dress. He turned away, scrubbed a hand over his face.

Dear God, what am I doing? What have I done?

Trembling, he raked his fingers through his hair.

His behavior was appalling. Inexcusable. Vile. Never in his life had he handled a woman so roughly, so thoughtlessly. To know he’d treated Ivy—his dear, sweet, little Ivy—in such a way, made it all that much more reprehensible.

How would she ever be able to speak to him, look at him in any sort of a normal way again?

Yet even now, overwhelmed as he was by guilt and regret, he couldn’t stop wanting her. “Ivy, I’m sorry.”

She paused, a hand on her elbow as she flexed her arm. “I’m all right now. No pain.” She lowered the strained limb to her side, wiggled her fingers. “See?”

He stepped away, not trusting himself to touch her, even in an innocent way. “Go home, Ivy.”

“What?”

“Go home. Let yourself out and lock the door behind you.” He turned and headed up the staircase toward his suite of rooms.

He didn’t look back.

*   *   *

Upstairs, he plunged his head beneath the punishment of a cold shower spray.

Sleep was next on his agenda, assuming he could sleep. At least tomorrow was Sunday, so he wouldn’t have to worry about rolling out of bed at his usual early hour.

He lowered the water temperature another notch. Shivered as he leaned his forehead against the slick white tile wall of the shower enclosure, his mind as tortured as his body.

Five minutes later and about three-quarters recovered, he toweled himself dry and slipped on a pair of loose-fitting, navy blue cotton boxers. He scrubbed his teeth with a minty-tasting toothpaste, drank half a glass of water, then snapped off the lights before exiting the bathroom.

The lamp next to his bed cast a weak amber glow that left most of the room in darkness. When he’d walked in earlier, he’d paused only long enough to switch it on before flinging his clothes haphazardly to
the floor. He was halfway across the room before it dawned on him that the clothes were gone.

Ivy drifted out of the shadows. “I put your things in the hamper in your dressing room. I hope that was all right.”

His head jerked in her direction, the shock of finding her there sizzling along his nerve endings. “I thought you’d left.”

She shook her head. “I locked up like you asked me to, but I couldn’t go, not after what happened.”

He scowled. She shouldn’t be here. Didn’t she know that? This was no time to talk. No place to talk either. Hell, even if it were, what would he say? What could he say?

“If you’ve come looking for an apology,” he told her gruffly, “it’ll have to wait. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”

God help me, she has to leave,
he thought.

For both their sakes, couldn’t she see she had to go?

“I don’t want an apology,” she said, her voice soft and melodic.

He crossed his arms over his chest, wishing he’d put on a robe. “What do you want, then?” His voice deepened, rough with frustration and remorse. “It’s done, Ivy. I can’t take it back.”

Graceful, she glided toward him, halting only inches away. “I know that, and I’m so glad you can’t.”

He blinked, his arms falling to his sides. “What?”

She caressed him with her eyes. He couldn’t mistake the look for anything else as it roved over his skin like a violinist admiring a prized Stradivarius.

“You asked me what I wanted,” she murmured, stretching out a hand. Her fingers trembled as she laid them against his bare chest. “What I want is you. I always have.”

He tried to swallow, his throat dry. Her touch was warm and smooth and seared him to the bone. “I thought you’d gotten over your infatuation with me long ago.”

“Letting you believe that seemed easier.” Undeterred, she stroked her other hand over his shoulder, fingers playing like silken ribbons against his skin.

His cock hardened again inside his boxers. “Ivy, don’t. We can’t do this.”