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Authors: Tracy Anne Warren
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Ivy wasn’t there, and except for the dim lamplight, the apartment was dark. Obviously, she’d gone to bed. He couldn’t blame her for not waiting up.
What time was it anyway? he wondered.
A quick check of his watch showed him it was late—or really early, depending upon your way of thinking.
It was 3:42 a.m. Way past time to go home.
He raised a hand to cover a yawn.
It wasn’t like him to be so rude, falling asleep on his hostess’s sofa in the middle of the evening’s entertainment.
But Ivy wouldn’t hold it against him. That was the great thing about her. She was a comfortable person to be around, family in a way his own family had never been. If he’d had the bad manners to fall asleep on his mother’s sofa, he was sure she would have given him a hard rap on the head.
And how about that dream?
It sure had been a doozy, so vivid and clear it had almost seemed real. He remembered the woman, her sweet scent, her vibrant touch. The way she’d bent across him, her lovely, gentle mouth pressed to his with delicate pressure. She’d made him yearn, carnal needraging to life inside him, her whispering kisses not nearly enough to satisfy. In the dream, he remembered reaching up, pulling her closer to take more. And he had, exploring the silken depths of her mouth with eager thoroughness. She’d kissed him back, giving herself to him utterly.
The sound and taste and touch of her had burrowed into his soul.
Ivy, he realized suddenly.
The woman had been Ivy.
Ivy?
Alarmed, he glanced down the darkened hallway that led to her bedroom as if she could hear his shameful thoughts. He shook his head, mortified.
He scraped a hand through his hair.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me lately?
As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was noticing the way she filled out a blouse and a pair of jeans these days, now he was having erotic dreams about her.
What was next?
Nothing,
he assured himself harshly.
Nothing is next.
He had to get out of here.
He sprang to his feet, and that’s when he noticed it. The single golden hair stuck to his shirt. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have thought twice about it since his hair was blond. But as he plucked the strand off his clothing, he noticed the length.
It was long.
Ivy long.
C HAPTER FOUR
H er cell phone rang, jolting Ivy from a sound sleep. She fumbled for it on her nightstand. “’Lo.”
“Oops. Did I wake you up?”
Ivy slumped against the sheets as she recognized her sister Madelyn’s voice on the other end of the line. She let her eyes slide shut again. “Umm. What time is it?”
“Eight fifteen. Sorry, but it’s been so long since I’ve slept past six that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. If the twins aren’t up by sunrise, there’s something wrong.”
Slowly waking up, Ivy scootched herself up against her pillow. “And how are my little nieces?”
“Little terrors, you mean. They made a mess of breakfast this morning. I turn my back for a second and there’s Cream of Wheat and mashed banana everywhere—all over them, all over the walls. I gave Zack bath duty while I stayed to clean up the kitchen. He’s got them splashing in the tub right now.”
Ivy couldn’t keep from chuckling.
“Hey, watch it,” Madelyn warned. “Just wait until you have a couple of your own. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”
Ivy just laughed harder.
Madelyn loudly cleared her throat. “If you can contain yourself long enough to listen, I called to ask if you’d like to have lunch at Daniel
on Tuesday. They had a last-minute cancelation, and I managed to snag a reservation. As Weston-Drake’s newest creative director, I figure I’m entitled to a special meal every now and again.”
Ivy sat up. “You got the job?”
Satisfaction rang in Madelyn’s voice. “I got the job. My promotion starts effective immediately, and the best part is they’re going to let me telecommute two days a week so I can be here at home with the girls.”
“That’s fantastic,
Ivy wasn’t there, and except for the dim lamplight, the apartment was dark. Obviously, she’d gone to bed. He couldn’t blame her for not waiting up.
What time was it anyway? he wondered.
A quick check of his watch showed him it was late—or really early, depending upon your way of thinking.
It was 3:42 a.m. Way past time to go home.
He raised a hand to cover a yawn.
It wasn’t like him to be so rude, falling asleep on his hostess’s sofa in the middle of the evening’s entertainment.
But Ivy wouldn’t hold it against him. That was the great thing about her. She was a comfortable person to be around, family in a way his own family had never been. If he’d had the bad manners to fall asleep on his mother’s sofa, he was sure she would have given him a hard rap on the head.
And how about that dream?
It sure had been a doozy, so vivid and clear it had almost seemed real. He remembered the woman, her sweet scent, her vibrant touch. The way she’d bent across him, her lovely, gentle mouth pressed to his with delicate pressure. She’d made him yearn, carnal needraging to life inside him, her whispering kisses not nearly enough to satisfy. In the dream, he remembered reaching up, pulling her closer to take more. And he had, exploring the silken depths of her mouth with eager thoroughness. She’d kissed him back, giving herself to him utterly.
The sound and taste and touch of her had burrowed into his soul.
Ivy, he realized suddenly.
The woman had been Ivy.
Ivy?
Alarmed, he glanced down the darkened hallway that led to her bedroom as if she could hear his shameful thoughts. He shook his head, mortified.
He scraped a hand through his hair.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me lately?
As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was noticing the way she filled out a blouse and a pair of jeans these days, now he was having erotic dreams about her.
What was next?
Nothing,
he assured himself harshly.
Nothing is next.
He had to get out of here.
He sprang to his feet, and that’s when he noticed it. The single golden hair stuck to his shirt. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have thought twice about it since his hair was blond. But as he plucked the strand off his clothing, he noticed the length.
It was long.
Ivy long.
C HAPTER FOUR
H er cell phone rang, jolting Ivy from a sound sleep. She fumbled for it on her nightstand. “’Lo.”
“Oops. Did I wake you up?”
Ivy slumped against the sheets as she recognized her sister Madelyn’s voice on the other end of the line. She let her eyes slide shut again. “Umm. What time is it?”
“Eight fifteen. Sorry, but it’s been so long since I’ve slept past six that I’ve forgotten what it feels like. If the twins aren’t up by sunrise, there’s something wrong.”
Slowly waking up, Ivy scootched herself up against her pillow. “And how are my little nieces?”
“Little terrors, you mean. They made a mess of breakfast this morning. I turn my back for a second and there’s Cream of Wheat and mashed banana everywhere—all over them, all over the walls. I gave Zack bath duty while I stayed to clean up the kitchen. He’s got them splashing in the tub right now.”
Ivy couldn’t keep from chuckling.
“Hey, watch it,” Madelyn warned. “Just wait until you have a couple of your own. We’ll see who’s laughing then.”
Ivy just laughed harder.
Madelyn loudly cleared her throat. “If you can contain yourself long enough to listen, I called to ask if you’d like to have lunch at Daniel
on Tuesday. They had a last-minute cancelation, and I managed to snag a reservation. As Weston-Drake’s newest creative director, I figure I’m entitled to a special meal every now and again.”
Ivy sat up. “You got the job?”
Satisfaction rang in Madelyn’s voice. “I got the job. My promotion starts effective immediately, and the best part is they’re going to let me telecommute two days a week so I can be here at home with the girls.”
“That’s fantastic,
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