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Heady warmth spread through my body, along with an overwhelming fondness for this woman who had no reason to remain loyal to me, but did it anyway.

She grinned at my speechlessness. “You’re mine, now, Shay Honeycutt, and I take care of my own. Now excuse me while I set my plans in motion.” She stood, brushed a hand down her designer dress, and stepped from the room.

I faced Cam and, words utterly lost to me, pointed a thumb at the closed door.

He shrugged. “Ivy’s like a dragon. She hoards her friends like treasure and breathes fire at anyone who threatens them.”

Sitting back, I relived the last few weeks and tried to pinpoint when and why Ivy Hayes had taken such a shine to me. My musings were interrupted, however, when the man before me set his elbows on his desk and looked up at me through dark gold eyelashes.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said in a low voice.

Anything.

“O-okay.”

“My mother has requested the pleasure of your company at tea Sunday afternoon.”

Whatever I expected, it wasn’t that. My eyes widened. “Seriously? I thought that was a joke.”

On the desk, his long, elegant fingers interlaced one-by-one, and my subconscious tugged forth Bennett’s speech the day before.

What do you want?

“Look,” he said. “You don’t have to. I know it’s strange, but my mother is determined to know you better.”

Coming to, I yanked my gaze from his hands to look into those wintry eyes. “Why?”

“You really think I could hope to understand her motives? She’s a Southern woman with a twinkle in her eye. I do my best to never get in the way of that.”

That pulled a grin from deep inside. “Smart man.”

“I wasn’t first loser for nothing.”

Chuckling, I pressed one finger to my mouth and pretended to consider. “If I say yes, what exactly am I agreeing to?”

“I’m assuming—and don’t quote me here—that when one is invited to tea, one can expect, well…tea.”

“Seems innocent enough, I suppose, though I have my doubts that tea only means tea to a Southern woman.”

“To be sure.” A dashing smile illuminated his face. “May I give her your acceptance?”

“Yes.” I pulled my phone from my pocket to set a reminder. “Do you have her address?”

“Don’t worry about that. A driver will pick you up. You’re staying at Ravi’s, correct?”

I glanced up from my phone, but his computer screen had snagged his full attention. “H-how did you know that?”

He typed something, then returned to me. “I never reveal my secrets, Honeycutt. I really thought you’d figured that out by now.”

Twenty-Two

At 1:45 on Sunday, a black sedan pulled in front of Ravi’s house and escorted me to the Shepherd estate—a place of splendor the likes of which I’d only seen in movies. I throttled the butterflies attempting to crawl up my throat, and the driver made no commentary as I pasted myself to the tinted window, staring down the expansive grounds along a lengthy, manicured driveway.

Oaks arched overhead, Spanish moss dangling from the branches like streamers, creating a sort of tunnel. Yellow leaves dotted the grass in playful patterns. At the end of the paved path was a circle drive surrounding an elaborate fountain. The house—if it could be called a house—stood beyond that, its light stone facade made inviting by the multiple shiny windows reflecting afternoon light.

The driver pulled around the fountain and parked the car. I went for the door handle, but he turned in a panic. “Oh, please, miss. Allow me.”

“Sorry.” I released the handle as if it had electrocuted me and ignored the impatient jitters as I waited for him to release me from the vehicle. When I stepped out, Nessa Shepherd spilled from the overlarge double doors that served as the entrance to this enormous country estate.