Page 4 of Recovering Ivy

Islay, Scotland was a small island. It was not known as a tourist destination unless you liked whisky or wanted to experience a slower pace of life. The only thing the island had to offer were distilleries, peat marshes, and beautiful rolling hills covered in wild heather. There were also some of the oldest religious relics and ruins on the island, but Zane didn’t strike me as the type of man that would travel across the Atlantic to visit an old hand-carved stone cross or Viking relics.

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Trying to pick you up?”

My cheeks heated at my presumption. I hadn’t thought my statement through before I blurted out my question; only that I thought he was lying.

“No.” I shook my head, wanting to flee even more now that I’d embarrassed myself. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, I’ve really been to Islay. Several times actually when I needed the silence and solitude only the island can offer.” Zane looked a million miles away as he thought about the little Scottish island before he quickly masked his features and brought his hand to my face, his thumb rubbing the apple of my cheek. The soft touch short-circuited common sense and instead of batting his audacious hand away I leaned into it. “And for the record. When I’m hitting on a woman, she doesn’t need to ask if I’m doing it.” Holy shit. Warning alarms were blaring in my head and butterflies were in my belly. The mix of fear and excitement blended together, and I wasn’t sure if I was hoping he’d take me home for the night or if he’d pull his hand away and ignore me while I finished my drink. “Why don’t we start with your name and we’ll go from there?”

“Why do you want to know my name?” I asked.

“Normally, I like to know the name of the woman I’m taking to bed.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Normally, no. But with you, it does.” His hand hadn’t left my face. As a matter of fact, his grip had tightened. It was possessive, not painful, and tiny sparks of high-voltage sparks were shooting through my body.

“Ivy,” I answered.

“Ivy,” he repeated. I never much cared for my name but found I liked it a whole hell of a lot when it rolled off his tongue.

I was choosing to ignore his comment about him taking me to bed. As enticing as his words were, they weren’t actually an offer, and if they were, I wasn’t sure what my answer would be. Which was crazy because I didn’t do one-night stands. I didn’t pick men up in bars and go home with them. But if the thought was so absurd, then why was I hoping he was serious? And why was I thinking about him ripping my clothes off and squelching the ache that had started between my legs?

“What was that thought?” He leaned closer, and for a second, I thought he was getting ready to kiss me but he stopped just shy.

“Umm. I don’t know,” I sputtered, not willing to admit I’d been imagining him taking me and making me forget about my shitty day. It had been years since I’d had a man. What would one night in the bed of a stranger hurt? Zane was the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. I made the decision that if he was offering, I was accepting. I wanted one night to forget, to be carefree and not think about the mountain of grief and anger that weighed on my shoulders.

I deserved it.

I tried not to squirm on the stool as he continued to study me; his hand had moved from my face and was now squeezing the back of my neck. “I think you know exactly what you were thinking but you’re too embarrassed to tell me.”

“Why’s that?” I squeaked, afraid he knew exactly what I’d been visualizing.

“Your pretty eyes darkened as your pupils dilated. You shifted in your seat and clenched your thighs together. And right now, you’re thinking about what it would feel like to be under me.”

“You’re wrong,” I whispered.

“I don’t think I am.”

“I wasn’t thinking what it would feel like to be under you. I was thinking about what it would feel like to have you push me against the wall and take me.” I knew I was behaving like a brazen hussy but I was beyond caring. My mind had been made up; I wanted Zane.

“I stand corrected. Are you done with your drink?” His voice had deepened and by the way he was now shifting on his stool, I figured he was just as turned on as I was. Not wanting to waste time, I picked up my gin and tonic and swallowed the rest down.

“I am now,” I said, placing the drained glass down in front of me before I pulled my shaking hand back and placed it in my lap.

Zane pulled out his wallet and threw a hundred-dollar bill on the bar top, not bothering to finish his drink. He stood and offered me his hand.

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” I asked. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, I was stalling.

“Hell, no. I have something far better in mind.”

“Do you need change? A hundred is too much.”

Zane didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled me off the stool and now, standing next to him, I noticed how tall he was. The top of my head barely came to his shoulder. He lifted my chin, making me look up while he looked down; once again our eyes locked. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No.”

“Thank fuck.” He leaned down and closed the distance, brushing his lips over mine, leaving me breathless and wanting more. “Let’s get out of here.”