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IVY
The October breezeripples around us, crisp and cool, but I don’t feel a thing through my Spandex. Instead, every nerve in my body shivers like it’s hanging on this handsome stranger’s response to my bold question.
“Count me in,” Reeve says without hesitation, and my heart glows warm.
“Great,” I say casually, as if I’m not turning backflips in my mind. “It’s this way, I think,” I say, nodding down a nearby street.
Reeve offers his arm. The gesture of old-fashioned chivalry surprises me, so I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow, and fall into step beside him.
“Are you sure you’re not leading me astray?” he teases, as we turn off the main drag. “You’ve got ‘trouble’ written all over you.”
“Sure, that’s me.” I have to stifle a laugh.Trouble? I spent last Saturday night organizing my spice drawer by cuisine, and then alphabetically within each category. I even brought out my label-maker, and made it a real party.
But Reeve doesn’t need to know that I’m a small town historian with a passion for the Dewey Decimal system, not when I’ve got the spirit of a true femme fatale suddenly surging in my veins, making my hips swing and my voice somehow emerge all breathy and seductive.
“Do you live here in Asheville?” I ask, as we weave our way through the crowd on the sidewalk.
“No. I’m actually just passing through, on a work sabbatical,” Reeve explains, suddenly steering me out of the path of an oncoming zombie.
“Like a vacation?” I ask, recovering my balance – and, yes, clinging to his arm long enough to feel the taut muscles beneath the leather jacket.
Sue me.
“That’s the plan. Relax and unwind. It wasn’t my idea,” he adds, clearly still annoyed. “But I was encouraged. Strongly.”
“How strong?” I ask, amused.
“There was kind of an intervention,” he admits, breaking into a smile. “I guess I needed it. I’m usually the one running things,” he explains. “So it’s hard to take a step back and let things slide.”
“You’re the man in charge, huh?” I tease. “You like bossing everyone around and giving orders.”
“That depends,” he says, catching my eye.
“On what?”
“If you like taking them.”
My stomach twists with lust, so unexpected it makes me want to cheer.
There you are. Hi. It’s been a while.
I give a breezy laugh, as if I’m not melting at the smoldering look in his eyes. “I’m used to running things, too,” I confide. “I mean, you have to, as an international super spy.”
“An independent contractor,” Reeve nods. “The taxes must be a bitch.”
“Actually, there are a ton of write-off’s,” I quip. “Weaponry, travel … plus, rental on the tropical lair.”
He’s laughing as we pause at another set of lights, and I catch him looking at me again – with that same awestruck heat in his eyes.
I feel my confidence grow. Is this what Angelina Jolie feels 24/7, with men hanging off her every word? My god, a woman could get addicted to a power like this.
And all it took was to be transformed into the complete opposite of my usual problem-solver personality …
I push that inconvenient thought aside and check my directions as we approach what’s supposed to be this amazing party Mary-Alice got me all dressed up for …
…. Only to find it’s a sketchy-looking frat-house of a building, with more college kids spilling drunkenly into the yard. Drake blasts. Beer pong is in progress.
Where did she get the invite from, her freshmanbabysitter?
