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A twitch plays on her mouth, her eyes twinkling with a bit of humor. “Not so fast,Mr. Wells.”
My heart stammers with the way she says my name, and I worry this is headed south, but then that playful twitch blows wide open, lighting up her gorgeous face. Dazzling.
“Most of my decisions are gut driven,” she says. “This feels promising, but I still need more to go on.”
Although only the first step of many and not quite ayes, this feels like a win, so I don’t bother hiding my celebratory grin. “Most definitely promising, and I’m happy to deliver more. Let’s go see your new home.”
She balks. “Arrogance is clearly one of your character flaws.” Holding up her index finger, she whips out her phone, snaps anunauthorizedpicture of me, and begins texting—audacious, ensuring I know what she’s doing and wise to be sharing her whereabouts. Those actions won’t amount to much in this situation, but her good instincts are appreciated.
“Age?” she asks, glancing up at me. “I suppose we skipped that due to my aversion to small talk. I’m twenty-two, need to be married before my birthday in December.”
“Thirty-one,” I say with a chuckle, swirling the ice in my tumbler. “And our nuptials will transpire within the week.”
Her eyebrows arch as she tips her chin in jovial disbelief. “Presumptuous too. And therein lies the reason I need more particulars.”
Maybe so, but it isn’t preventing her from pressing on.
“Home address?”
I rattle it off while her finger swipes over the screen.
“I’ll be ready to go in one minute,” she adds.
What does she do with that one minute? She rises with her phone still in hand, gathers her purse, sashays her fine ass to the bar, and requests to see the manager. After tossing a few bills on the table, I follow along and stand beside her while sipping the remainder of my scotch, utterly transfixed. The manager, a thirty-something blonde, appears, and Ivy thanks her for her time.
“My name is Ivanna Kingston, and this is Gavin Wells.” She throws her hand out, gesturing to me while the manager smirks. Ivy doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m leaving with him, and in the interest of sisterhood solidarity and safety, I was hoping I could text you ourphotos and basic information, so if I turn up missing or murdered, you’ll know precisely where and to whom to send the cops.”
Good girl.She gets better by the minute. Fucking brilliant.
The blonde hoots. “You are one smart woman, Ivanna.” She reaches across the bar for the phone. “I’ll put my number in so you can text me the pictures and info.” They make the exchange, and once Ivy sends the texts with pictures of each of us and our information, the manager smiles at me with a wink. “Always entertaining, Wells. Good to see ya. Take care of my girl here.”
I tap the bar. “Planning on it, Abby. Thanks for everything.”
Ivy’s face drops, hand on her cocked hip, eyes flitting between Abby and me. “Could’ve mentioned you knew one another.”
“You never asked, Little Storm. But now that it’s settled, let’s get you more to go on.”
IVY
The sane part of me—the part that isn’t drooling over the self-professed dangerous man who does some sort of undisclosed work with seedy, lost, or deranged people—is screaming that while this could be an enjoyable evening, considering marriage at this early juncture is absolutely absurd. Considering a relationship with Wells would probably be ill-advised.
But also so fucking hot.
Which is where the other part of me is parking. The part that recognizes he’s always one step ahead and is challenged and ignited by it. The part that feels enraged and twisted in knots because he knew the bar manager, wondering the nature of their relationship. The part that feels more alive than ever, simply by being in his mysterious, electrifying, dominating presence. It’s as though something inside me is begging to be unlocked and Wells holds the key.
None of that is quite rational though, so I’m following him to his home and panicking. It’s not like we’re getting married tonight. Now, that would be ridiculous.
Seven days from now, as he suggested? Still so fucking ridiculous.
Just because I alluded to being on board doesn’t mean I’m bound to him. No vows were exchanged. No contracts signed. I was clear that I needed more to make this decision. It’s not like he’s in my head,knowing how I think, or aware of how my body seems to be reacting to him. As far as he knows, I could very well tell him this isn’t going to work at the end of the night.
Maybe the bigger problem is that I don’t want to.
And I think he senses that. Being in his presence is an odd mixture of comfort and exhilaration. Like he’s an old friend who understands me, familiar with all the ways to get under my skin and offer a thrill.
I haven’t dated much. There’s never been anyone who captivates me the way I crave. Someone who can love me, strengthen me, heighten my voice while also being commanding enough to take control and free the darker side of me—the part I keep hidden. Maybe that’s asking for the impossible. Maybe I’ll end up alone.
If that’s the case, so be it.
