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“You okay, Little Storm?” The rasp and tenor of his voice is a gravelly lullaby.
“No. I mean …” What do I mean? What does okay even look like? My inheritance, my freedom, my foot shoved down throats.Jesus, this rage.
I’m staring again, spellbound by him in some bizarro magnetic realm.Did he call me Little Storm?That’s … oddly fitting.
“I’m having a bit of a bad day,” I mutter.
His fingers graze down my arm, soothing, comforting, and yet emitting a thrilling jolt that I don’t want to end. His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m sorry to hear that. My name is Wells. This is Ty.” He gestures to his friend, who’s still smiling at me, now with a courteous nod. “And you are?”
“Ivanna Kingston. Although those without sticks up their asses call me Ivy.”What the hell is wrong with me?Am I incapable of dripping any sort of class at this moment? A lifetime of training snuffed out by a single gale.
His warm chuckle tickles my ears while my eyes sail over his charcoal-gray suit, tailored perfectly over his lean, muscular frame. No tie. Black button-up unfastened at the top. I have a feeling that’s his casual look—dress shirt, vest, and jacket to let loose. When my attention rises, his mirthful eyes are crinkled and waiting.
“Noted. Ivy it is then. Can we help ease your day,Ivy?” That voice. It’s like … a ripple in a pond.
“Not likely. Unless you’re willing to run off and get hitched.” A bark of my laughter follows. It’s as though I’m possessed. The uninhibited revealing of my innermost thoughts—one of my less desirable quirks—will doubtlessly be my undoing. Something my mother has been impressing upon me since I was in preschool. “I am so sorry for my lack of manners. You’ve really caught me on an off day.”
“Hitched?” His eyebrow kinks on the word, a stellar choreographed dance.
My cheeks, neck, and chest surely match the red of my hair at this point. I’m fairly certain beads of perspiration dot that ginger hairline too.
“Joke.” And now, my standard backpedaling will round. “I’m in desperate search of a guy I can nail down and marry for the next five years. That part is true. The joke was the suggestion that you’d volunteer. Not a super-funny joke, but I’m working on my comedic delivery. Not quite ready for the stand-up life. Honing my skills.” My rambling could be used as a cautionary tale for an etiquette class.God, why can’t I shut up?“Like I said, bad day.”
His luscious lips tip up into a pensive, lopsided smirk. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe this devilishly handsome man was considering my non-comedic nonsense as a genuine proposition. His intense gaze never travels past my face, which leaves me feeling both respected and deeply disappointed. My hammering pulse would relish those green gems slowly raking over my curves.
“Interesting,” he muses.
Interesting?
A boisterous laugh spills straight out of my belly. That’s a first for today. “Is it?” Before he can answer, I give my own. “Maybe I asked for this. I’ve always craved a more exciting life.”
“Is that so?” Wells’s choreographed eyebrow dance returns while Ty chuckles beside him, obviously caught off guard by this preposterous conversation yet capable of holding his tongue far better than I am.
I nod, speechless again, wondering what good this could possibly do other than leading me to a hot and bothered lonely night. This brief encounter already rivals my five minutes with a masked stranger at the age of eighteen, and that memory has kept me panting with a toy and my forbidden fantasies plenty of nights. It couldn’t hurt to have some fresh material.
Inhaling the crisp early evening air, I take them both in again. They’re absolutely delicious. Perilous. Mesmerizing. My mother would hate them. My father would respect them. It’s not thatthey don’t have money—Armani suits, Cartier aviators, Rolex Submariner watch on Ty, Patek Philippe watch on Wells; they definitely do. But it isn’t old money, and something about them tells me it’s tainted. My father appreciates a self-made man. He isn’t a stickler for the method, nor is he particular about the company he keeps—or kept before he was sick. Characteristics I revere.
Wells winks at me, and some dam of flurries breaks inside my chest. “I think we may be able to help each other out, Ivy.”
What in the ever-loving hell is happening?
Heisconsidering my flippant proposition. I’m not sure what to do with that. It’s certainly not the most levelheaded scenario, and I can’t fathom his angle. He’s beautiful and wealthy, and he could clearly have anyone. Not to mention that my first impression has been downright cringeworthy, but he did sayhelp each other out. Maybe he’s got some odd need for a speedy marriage too?
I wonder if he’ll be up for authenticating a sham marriage, a surefire way of fueling a toasty winter. Good God, I’m glad my yoga pants are black because I’m soaked through. Dripping with an eagerness to verify what’s beneath that suit. This day might not be so bad after all.
That line of thinking stems purely from hormones because it is positively absurd.
Asinine even.
Who considers binding themselves for all of eternity, or even five years, to a man—no matter how panty-wetting hot—after five minutes?
On the other hand, if I’m forced to marry to get what’s mine, it might as well be an epic adventure. Like my mother said, this is the time for it.
WELLS
Ivanna Kingston is a vision of perfection. So goddamn gorgeous, standing before me, her fiery locks swept into a messy bun, wisps framing her sweet, freckled face, pink from embarrassment. She’s a wreck, rambling and nervous. I’d like to think that’s all my doing, but it seems her day may have already knocked her off-kilter. Regardless, she makes unhinged sexy as hell. My cock twitches to life. I can’t get enough.
A flash of excitement crossed her big blue doe eyes a moment ago when I suggested we could help each other out, but now I see her wheels turning. I’m glad. Willingness to blindly jump with a man she just met would be both alarming and disheartening. I expect more.
