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Every muscle in his face and neck seemed tense, although she couldn’t fathom why. “You know . . .” he began, “when we first started this, I liked that you didn’t want to get serious. The women around here aren’t really interested in me. They might say they are, but deep down, they want the name, the prestige, and the invitation to tea with my grandmother. My money is also an incentive, but they don’t actually give a damn about me as a person. They pursue me like hunters during bow season. You didn’t seem to want any part of me. That’s what made you attractive, I guess.”
Ivy looked at him with raised brows and he corrected, “I mean, you’re attractive. Of course you are. But I liked knowing that you didn’t have this underlying motive to lock me down.”
“You don’t know, Blake. I could’ve come back to town to reclaim you and snatch you from the bloodthirsty clutches of Lydia.”
“Ugh.” He shuddered. “What I’m getting at is that things have changed. For me at least. Despite the short time we’ve been together again, it feels like all those years apart never happened.”
Ivy understood what he was saying. They had been each other’s whole world for years. Once the animosity between them was gone, it felt like old times. It felt like she should tell him she loved him before they went their separate ways. It would be such a reflex to say it. She didn’t think she loved him, not really; the old feelings were just lingering from before.
“I know this relationship has this ticking time bomb looming on the horizon Saturday night, but does it have to? Do we have to write this whole thing off because your time here is done?”
“How will it work, Blake?” It all sounded good, but the execution would be the hard part. “We live on opposite sides of the country and we’re both busy with work. Our last attempt at a long-distance relationship didn’t end so well, if you recall.”
Blake frowned at her. “It’s different now. We’re older, more mature. I can assure you that you won’t catch me with a cheerleader this time.”
“It’s not just that, Blake. It’s the time factor. When I go back to LA, I’m going into the studio to record a new album. We’ll start filming music videos, scheduling press events to advertise the first release. Even if I came back here at my first opportunity, it would probably be Thanksgiving or even Christmas. That’s not fair to you.”
“What’s not fair is dismissing what we have together just because it might be inconvenient or hard. I think we deserve the chance to see what could happen between us if we really committed to this. Listen,” he continued, “even if we only try it a few months and decide it won’t work, at least we gave it a shot. We won’t have any lingering regrets. Maybe then . . . I’ll finally be able to sleep at night knowing I didn’t drive away the only woman in my life I’ve ever wanted to marry.”
Ivy’s eyes widened as all the breath whooshed out of her.
“I wasn’t ready back then.” Blake set the plate aside and leaned in closer to her. “I was too young and stupid to appreciate the gift I’d been given, but even then, I knew you were something special. And you still are. Now I know better than to let you walk away.”
An overwhelming feeling of hope surged in Ivy’s chest. She hadn’t had a man say something like that to her in so long . . . Dating bad boys had its price, but she hadn’t realized how steep the cost had been until that moment. She’d been desired, wanted, and shown off, but not loved, adored, cherished, or appreciated. It was no wonder she couldn’t write a real love song. She hadn’t felt loved.
Blake looked at her, his baby-blue eyes pleading with her for something she was desperate to give. “Let’s try. That’s all I’m asking.”
Ivy didn’t have to reply. Her lips answered for her when she closed the gap between them and pressed her mouth to his.
She practically crawled into his lap, straddling him to get closer as they kissed. She buried her fingers in his dark hair. He held her so tightly, every touch they shared so intense, that she knew this time it would be different. It wasn’t just sex. They were coming together like it was the first time. Like they were truly making love.
The words sent a shiver down Ivy’s spine. She’d convinced herself that her reaction to Blake was just old, residual feelings confusing her, but now she knew she’d been wrong. She loved Blake. And she did want to try. She was just scared to death to let herself really feel it. To share it. That was a huge risk she wasn’t ready to take.
And yet, admitting it to herself was somehow freeing. It was like a floodgate had opened inside her. She couldn’t touch or taste or experience Blake enough. She writhed in his lap as they kissed, their sensitive parts rubbing together until sparks lit beneath
her eyelids.
Although Blake would never say so, Ivy knew making love aggravated his leg. She’d seen him slink out of bed in the night to get pain pills when he thought she was asleep. Tonight, she wanted to take care of him. Pressing her hands against his shoulders, she pushed gently until he was lying back on the blanket.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Whatever I want to.”
Blake arched his eyebrow at her, but he didn’t complain. He held perfectly still as her nimble fingers moved down the front of his shirt, undoing each button and exposing the expanse of skin beneath it. Her palms ran over his skin, relishing the feel of his chest hair tickling her hands. She leaned forward, letting her tongue glide along his collarbone, and then she crept down his body to the button of his jeans.
“Your hair tickles,” he said.
Ivy gathered up the long, wavy strands of her hair into one hand and swept them over her shoulder. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Not on your life,” he said between tightly gritted teeth as her fingertips brushed the edge of his waistband.
“That’s what I thought,” she said with a smile. “Now, stop complaining.”
Ivy settled between his legs, resting on her knees as she unbuttoned his jeans and slipped one hand inside. Blake groaned loudly as her palm ran over the firm heat of his desire. She stroked it gently from base to tip. When Blake became so tense that she thought he might hurt his leg from flexing his muscles so tightly, she took her hand away. She tugged at his back pockets, pulling his jeans down the length of his legs and throwing them out of her way. She moved back over him doing the same with his underwear, which thankfully, this time, were a pair of charcoal-gray boxers. They slid easily out of her way, leaving nothing between her and her goal.
She leisurely traveled back up his legs. Her fingertips gently brushed along the puckered pink scars on his calf and across his kneecap. By the time she reached his upper thigh, he was nearly trembling. Ivy wasn’t sure if it was with anticipation, emotion, or pain.
His hand reached out and snatched her wrist as she moved higher. “This hardly seems fair,” he said. “You’re wearing entirely too much clothing for me to be wearing so little.”
