Page 19 of Recovering Ivy

She shouldn’t be here.

8

Ivy

I shouldn’t be here.

Zane did crazy things to my head. Things that I’d worked a long time to push away.

He made me forget the lesson I’d learned.

He was a wealthy, super-hot guy, and I was… nothing. I didn’t own a home, I rented a shitty apartment because it was close to where I worked, and I could walk.

Why did he bring me back here? I didn’t belong here. I didn’t belong anywhere near him. Last night when I thought I’d never see him again, none of this bothered me. I knew where I stood, a piece of ass he’d picked up for a mutually beneficial night.

And holy shit it was beneficial.

I walked to the bank of windows that overlooked the marina below. It was peaceful way up here, high above the traffic and city bustle. I felt like no one could touch me. I’d never had that. In my twenty-seven years all I’d known was struggle.

“You sure you’re not hungry?” Zane’s voice startled me and I turned.

Holy sweet Jesus. Was there anything this man didn’t look good in? He was wearing a pair of low-slung athletic pants. You know the kind, black with the two white lines going down the legs. But that’s not what had my attention, even though I knew what he was packing under those pants. What I zeroed in on was the black t-shirt he had on. It wasn’t meant to be tight, but damn if it wasn’t, and in all the right places, too. The short sleeves looked like the seams were about to come apart as they strained to contain his biceps.

“Ivy?” he prompted.

“I think I should go home.”

His eyes narrowed, and he asked, “Why?”

“There’s no need for me to be here. And I sleep better in my own bed,” I quickly added. It was a lie. I didn’t sleep well in my tiny apartment with my cheap mattress, but at least I’d have peace of mind knowing a hotter than hell man I’d had a one-night stand with wasn’t in the next room.

Zane ignored me as he walked to a side table in his dining room and poured himself a drink. He held the glass in my direction, silently asking me if I’d like one. As much as I’d love some liquid courage, I knew I needed my wits about me or I’d do something stupid like jump the man and beg him to take me to his room until we both were sweaty and tired.

No, I didn’t need a drink.

I needed to get my head straight.

“Why don’t you tell me what you meant about not affording me?” he asked when he sat on his expensive-looking black leather sofa.

“Why don’t we forget I said anything and you take me home?” I returned.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“And what would you do if I tried to walk out the door?” I asked.

He leaned back and took a drink before he answered, “I’d stop you.”

“So, you’re holding me against my will. I’m a prisoner.”

Stupidly, that didn’t scare me as much as it should’ve.

“Is that what you think you are? A prisoner?”

“You’re maddening,” I declared. “I don’t understand why this is important to you. I’m no one to you. A woman you fucked. That’s all. It’s a coincidence I work for a man you’re investigating.”

“Worked.”

“What?”