The Man Plan (19 page)

Ivy worked to steady herself, feeling as if she were emerging from a fog. “She’s not attending the party?”

“No. Prior engagement. She already offered her regrets, but don’t let on that you know. It’ll spoil the card and gift she sent along.”

“I’ll do my best to put on a convincing show.”

She wished she were a better actress because getting through the night with James so near was going to take an Oscar-caliber performance.

*   *   *

James didn’t know how much more he could take.

Ivy needed to leave.

Soon, very soon.

All evening he’d gritted his teeth, watched her laugh and cavort with her friends. For hours he’d kept a smile pasted on his face, pretending it didn’t matter that she
sat hip to hip with her new lover on
his
sofa, flaunting their relationship right under his nose.

What on earth had possessed him to invite her crew in the first place? Her friends and that guy, that Kip. What the hell kind of name was Kip anyway? More like something you name a puppy dog than a full-grown man. Then again, the kid in question barely deserved to be called a man. James doubted the boy needed to shave the peach fuzz off his skinny cheeks more than once or twice a week.

He considered pouring himself another glass of champagne, then changed his mind, setting his glass down on a nearby table.

He’d had enough to drink for one evening, he decided. Besides, what was the point? Alcohol solved nothing. Lord knows it didn’t deaden the ache or wipe away the want.

When Laura Grayson had called three weeks ago with the idea of having Ivy’s party here in his home, he should have given her a flat-out “no.” Instead he’d ignored his instincts and gone along with the plan.

Now look what it had gotten him: a miserable evening and a likely hangover in the morning.

But at least Ivy was happy, enjoying herself. No matter what had gone on between them, he wished her nothing but happiness and success.

Unable to stomach another instant of the
Ivy and Kip Show
, he turned away.

*   *   *

Across the room, Ivy snuck another look at James.

Only a little while longer, she told herself, and she’d
be able to leave. Just a little while longer and she could quit pretending she was having the time of her life.

Considering all the trouble her family and friends had gone to to surprise and please her, it wouldn’t have been right to let them see how miserable she actually was.

Since the car ride over from the gallery, James had barely spoken to her, spending the entire evening on the opposite side of the room. Desperate, she’d made a show of flirting with Kip, but James hadn’t even seemed to notice. Maybe he should have invited that cow Parker Manning to keep him company.

Her stomach burned at the idea.

The night hadn’t been all bad, though. The party decorations were lovely—no doubt courtesy of her mother. The food and drink was delectable. The company festive, cracking jokes and telling stories.

She’d sniffed back tears at her parents’ prideful toast. Blushed and laughed when her sisters passed around embarrassing baby photos of her, followed by examples of her earliest attempts at art—crayon stick figures and finger-painted smears. No one but she and James were aware the party hadn’t come as a delightful surprise.

Only she and James knew a lot of things.

“If you keep looking at him like that,” Kip whispered in her ear, “everybody’s going to know you’re not the least bit interested in me.”

She turned her head and met his soulful brown eyes. “Sorry, and thanks for being such a good sport.”

“Always glad to help a pal. Sorry Melissa’s not here
so you could do the same for me.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “What do you say to some cake? It’s chocolate.”

When she hesitated, he jumped to his feet and yanked her up off the couch.

She overbalanced and gasped out a laugh. “Well, all right, if you’re going to be that way about it.”

*   *   *

“So what’s the deal with James and Ivy?”

Brie selected a triangle of the pale, creamy cheese that shared her name from a silver tray and set it on her plate next to a clump of juicy purple grapes. She plucked one of the grapes off its stem and popped it into her mouth as she waited for her sister to reply.

Madelyn took her time swallowing a bite of cake, then patted her mouth. “What do you mean?”

Brie pinned her with the look she used to break reluctant witnesses. “Don’t pretend with me. You must have noticed the way they look at each other, or rather, don’t look at each other. The tension between them’s so thick, you really could cut it with a knife.” She ate another grape. “So what’s up?”

“Privileged information, Counselor.”

“Privileged—ha. This concerns family. Nothing’s privileged when it comes to family. So give me the 411 already.”

Madelyn set down her half-eaten slice of cake. “You always were a nosy pest.”

“Hey, lawyer’s prerogative. Is he in love with her or what?”

Madelyn looked across the room at James, now deep
in conversation with their father. His jaw was squared in a way that could mean only one thing: They were talking politics.

“Oh, he’s in love, though I don’t think he’s very happy about it.”

“What about you? Are you happy about it?”

Madelyn arched an eyebrow and stole one of the grapes off her sister’s plate. She let the sweet flavor of the fruit dissolve in her mouth before she answered.

“At first I was shocked, even outraged,” she admitted to Brie. “Then I started to think about it and realized they’d be great together. He needs someone like Ivy to put a little pizzazz back in his life. And she’s adored him forever, though I suppose until recently, I didn’t want to see it. I think, if they’d let themselves, they could make each other very happy.”

Madelyn told Brie what she knew of their relationship, how she’d discovered James and Ivy that first time, what James had confessed to her the day she’d met him for lunch.

“Hmm,” Brie mused, savoring a forkful of delicate cheese. “Maybe they could use some help.”

“Don’t interfere.”

“I won’t. I’m just going to give them a gentle nudge in the right direction.”

“Brie,”
she warned, “stay out of it.”

“I could, but since when have I ever stayed out of anything?”

T
he grandfather clock in the hall chimed out the hour.

One stroke. Two. Notes played in a stentorian bass that echoed through the empty quiet of the apartment.

Party over, James tugged himself free of his tie and tossed it, together with his suit jacket, over the back of one of the living room chairs. He switched off the overhead lights, leaving a quartet of table lamps to burn throughout the room; then he slumped onto the sofa.

Eyes closed, he leaned his head back and waited for the sense of relief to come.

But it wasn’t relief he felt, only sadness sweeping through him as raw and unforgiving as a bitter winter wind. He pinched a pair of fingers over the bridge of his nose and fought the ache.

It will pass,
he told himself.
It has to pass.

He sat for another long minute, then decided he might as well go to bed.

“Where is everyone?”

He jerked, spun around. “
Ivy?
Where’d you come from?”

“The powder room. Where’s Brie? She and Malynn were supposed to wait for me while Zack went to get the car.”

He climbed to his feet. “Are you sure? They all left minutes ago.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Of course I’m sure. They were supposed to wait.”

“I assumed you’d gone home with your—” He broke off, unable to say the word “boyfriend.” He swallowed and began again. “Why didn’t you leave with your friends?”

“They wanted to go late-night clubbing. I wasn’t in the mood. Brie said I could tag along with her and Zack and Malynn. They said they’d drive me out to my place and drop me off.”

He tucked his hands in his pants pockets, tried to ignore how fresh and pretty she looked despite the late hour. “Maybe you misunderstood.”

“One of us obviously did.” Her arms dropped to her sides. “I guess I can take the train.”

He frowned. “Not at this hour. I’ll drive you home.”

“There’s no need for both of us to be up all night. Look, I’ll take a cab, if it will make you feel better. Okay?”

He straightened. “I said I’ll take you home.”

A small war of emotions raced over her features; then she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She looked away. “By the way, if I didn’t say so before, the party was lovely. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But the person you ought to be thanking is your mother. She did the majority of the work.”

Ivy nodded. “Still, it was very generous of you to put up with all of us, particularly my friends. I don’t imagine you were jumping up and down with excitement being asked to invite them into your home.”

“I don’t have anything against your friends.”

She arched a skeptical brow.

“I’ve never objected to them personally. Well, not all of them,” he corrected, thinking of Fred and Kip. “It’s your living arrangements I’ve taken exception to. You’re entitled to be friends with whomever you like.”

Silence fell—the awkward kind that came so often between them these days.

His sadness returned. “I suppose we ought to go.”

“Yes.” Her gaze fell on the trays of food, the used plates and cups and glasses scattered around the room. “Why don’t I help you clean up a little first?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I’d feel guilty if I left you with this.” She crossed to the coffee table, began gathering dirty dishes.

“Estella will take care of it tomorrow.”

“Why don’t we give her a break for once? If we work together, it won’t take us long to clear things away.”

Dishes in hand, she headed down the hallway to the kitchen.

Knowing when he was beaten, James picked up a pair of hors d’oeuvre trays and followed her.

He could count on one hand the number of times he’d done dishes. But with Ivy at his side, he found the
process strangely enjoyable. He washed while she dried. Neither of them hurried, savoring the simple chore and the brief time together.

They were nearly finished, counters wiped clean, dishwasher loaded, when James reached for one remaining glass.

The goblet slipped in his wet hand, then tumbled to the floor. The delicate crystal shattered, jagged pieces flying everywhere.

Instinctively, Ivy jumped out of the way to avoid the sharp fragments.

“Are you all right?” he demanded, his voice harsh with concern.

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Fine.” He waved off her worry, then crouched down to pick up the pieces.

“Hey, don’t do that,” she cautioned. “Let me get the vacuum.”

Ignoring her, he began to stack a few of the larger shards off to one side. He hissed as he misjudged a piece, a ruby-colored line of blood beading across his palm.

“Oh God, look what you’ve done.” She rushed forward, glass crunching under her shoes. “How badly have you cut yourself?” She grabbed a dish towel from the countertop and gently pressed it to the wound. She pulled the cloth away moments later to check the cut.

“It doesn’t look too deep,” she murmured. “Still, you might need stitches.” Fresh blood welled into the gash. She wrapped the cloth around his palm again, vivid splotches blossoming on the material. “Maybe we should take you to the emergency room.”

“I don’t need the emergency room. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re hurt.”

“A little cut. I’ll recover. All I need is a Band-Aid.” He laid his other hand over hers. “Ivy, I’ll be fine.”

Her lips tightened, clearly irritated by his male obstinacy. “Are there any bandages here in the kitchen?”

“I don’t think so. I have a box in my medicine cabinet upstairs.”

“Then let’s go find one before you bleed to death.”

“In a minute. Let me finish cleaning up this broken glass first.”

“The glass can wait,” she said, glaring at him. “That cut on your hand can’t.”

She took hold of his uninjured hand and pulled him along behind her. She paused on the kitchen threshold to step out of her shoes, indicated to James that he should do the same.

“We’ll leave our shoes here so we won’t track any glass,” she explained.

He tossed her a look, wondering when she’d gotten so bossy. Deciding it wasn’t worth fighting over, he did as he was told. She led him upstairs into the cool tiled expanse of his spacious bathroom.

“Sit,” she ordered, motioning him toward a chair near the bath’s one window, blinds closed against the night.

Obediently, he sat.

She rummaged in the medicine cabinet, found the bandages, then opened a pair of drawers on either side of the sink to gather cotton balls, ointment, and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

“Put that stuff away,” he complained, gesturing toward the peroxide. “It stings.”

“Don’t turn crybaby on me now.” She set her supplies on the counter next to him. “You’re the one who vetoed any real medical attention, and this’ll keep out an infection. Now, let me see your hand.”

“Won’t soap and water do?”

“No.” She pinned him with a stern eyebrow.

Reluctantly, he offered his hand. Her touch gentle, she unwound the bloodstained cloth and inspected the cut.

“The bleeding’s stopped at least. I still think you could use a stitch or two, but if you want to risk a scar, that’s your choice.”

She reached for the antiseptic, soaked a trio of cotton balls, then pressed them to the cut.

He sucked in his breath. “Jesus Christ, that stings.”

“It’ll feel better in a minute,” she soothed, continuing to clean the wound.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Hey, I’ve had my share of cuts and scrapes over the years. I know how it feels.” She tossed the last bloodied cotton ball into the trash, then bent closer to inspect the gash on his hand.

He jolted in surprise when she stroked a fingertip across his palm just beneath the cut. Mesmerized, he sat statue still as she raised his hand and blew a cooling line of air across the wound.

His belly muscles tightened, desire flaring to life. His hand trembled in hers.

“Better?” she murmured.

Hardly,
he thought, though he had to admit the cut didn’t hurt anymore. He’d practically forgotten it was there.

Long moments ticked past. Slowly, she glanced up and met his eyes.

The power of her gaze struck him like a fierce wave crashing to shore, sweeping him in and under. All the longing, all the pent-up need inside him rushed to the surface, demanding to break free.

Suddenly he could be silent no more. “Do you love him?” he asked, his voice rough.

Her eyebrows rose in obvious surprise. “Love who?”

“That guy, that Kip,” he spat. “The one you’ve been seeing.”

“Is that what you think?” she murmured.

“What else am I supposed to think?” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, lowered his eyes to their still-joined hands. “Well, do you?”

She sank to her knees before him. “No. He’s my friend, nothing more.”

“Not your lover?” he asked, the question all but wrenched from him.

She shook her head. “You’re my only lover.”

Reaching up, she stroked her palm, soft and smooth, over his cheek. His eyelids lowered to half-mast, her touch radiating all the way to his toes. “I want no one else,” she said.

He whispered her name, murmuring it like a prayer. He bent to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand.

“What about her?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Parker.”

He curled a finger beneath her chin. “There’s nothing between Parker and me, not anymore.” He brushed a thumb across her cheekbone and confessed. “There’s been no one since you. How could there be when you’re the only woman I want?”

“Oh, James.” She wrapped her slender arms around his neck. “I thought . . .”

“What did you think?”

“That you were back with her. That you realized you were completely, totally over me.”

His mouth twisted in irony. “Then it would seem we’re both damned good at fooling each other these days. It’s been hell without you, Ivy, pure hell.”

She pressed her mouth to his, her yearning caress one of wonder, relief, and delight. The contact sent sparks whirling between them.

He tugged her up into his lap, took the kiss deeper. He breathed her in, losing himself in the scent and texture of her skin, the honeyed flavor of her lips on his.

“I love you,” she whispered on a shivery sigh.

His heart caught inside his chest. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how much he wanted, even needed, to hear those words, sentiments he’d once distrusted and dismissed. Could he trust them now? Did she truly love him? Would she, now and forever?

He leaned his forehead against hers. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

He kissed her gently, tenderly. “Oh, Ivy, what is it that you do to me?”

“The same thing you do to me.” She skimmed her mouth along his jawline.

“I’ve tried to fight these feelings for you, but it’s just no use. I can’t get you out of my head. Or my heart. I love you, Ivy. So much sometimes it frightens me.”

She smiled, joy spreading inside her eyes like a brilliant sunrise. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that. Sometimes I despaired you ever would. But don’t be afraid. Not of this, not of me, not ever of love.”

He kissed her again, unwilling to wait even a second longer to claim what he’d been so long without. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she tightened her arms around him, returned his kiss with a fervor that sent hot blood rushing through him.

He reached for the zipper on her dress. “
Ouch,
” he said, fresh pain from the cut stabbing through his palm.

“Oh no, your hand . . .” Ivy pulled away. “Is it bleeding again?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t much care, either. All he cared about was getting her out of her clothes. He settled his mouth on her neck, trailing a line of kisses over her satiny skin.

“Let me see.” She reached around, caught hold of his arm. She cradled his palm to her breast. “Oh, it is bleeding.” She snatched a few tissues from a nearby box, pressed them against the cut.

He leaned over to steal another kiss.

She pulled away after a quick peck. “Stop it, James. Let me take care of your hand.”

“You can take care of it later. Right now we have more important things to do.” He located her zipper tab, grasped it with his good hand, and slid it home, straight to the base of her spine. The dress sagged around her shoulders, exposing her breasts, clad in sheer, lacy white cups. He buried his face against them, breathed in her scent.

He groaned in frustration when she pulled away, climbed off his lap.

“There’s no need to rush,” she said, letting the dress slide into a pool at her feet. “We have all night.” She leaned forward, feathered a kiss over his lips, against his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Now, why don’t you relax and let me take care of everything?”

“Everything, hmm?”

She reached for the box of bandages, an irrepressible gleam in her eyes. “That’s right. Everything.”

Considering the possibilities, he extended his palm. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?”

In bra and panties, she bandaged his cut, unaware of the incredibly sexy picture she made.

When she finished, she tidied the countertop, rinsed and dried her hands, then turned to him. “Come along.”

She led him into the bedroom, over to his wide, king-sized bed. She pushed him down on the mattress, where he landed with a slight bounce.

“No using your injured hand,” she warned. “Let me take care of you.”

Ivy stepped between his legs, then reached out to
undo the buttons on his shirt. She watched his eyes darken.

A shiver of anticipation slid through her, turning her molten inside.

He loved her. He wanted her.

Tonight was everything she’d waited for and more. And whatever difficulties might lie ahead, she knew they would weather them together.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, unfastened his cuffs, and eased the garment free, careful of the cut on his hand. His eyes closed as she glided her hands over his exposed flesh, his body acquiescent beneath her touch. Powerful, masculine, he could have taken over their lovemaking in an instant, controlled every nuance and sensation. Instead he gave himself to her, and she reveled in the gift of his trust.