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Always, I sleep alone. For once, I wanted to sleep with someone else. Really and truly sleep. Hold her close, feel her skin on mine, smell her. I can still smell her. Feel her. Taste her.
She gave me the boot instead.
Yeah. Bizarre. I feel like the tables have been turned on me completely. I don’t like it. Not one freaking bit.
But ever since I saw her earlier this evening at the wedding reception, she’s flipped me on my head. What’s up is down and all that other bullshit. I haven’t felt right since. It fucking sucks. I have a business to run, employees to take care of, the potential to open another Hush location on the horizon, and a volatile father to handle.
The last thing I need is some woman twisting up my insides.
I stride inside my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, and head toward the bathroom. I need a shower. Maybe if I wash away the memory, the feel of her skin on mine, her scent, her taste, then I can forget her. Ivy.
Doesn’t help. As I stand under the scalding hot water battering my body and scrub at my skin, I can still smell her. Hear her panting, frantic breaths, the way she said my name just before she came. Smell her flowery, delicious skin, taste her greedy lips and tongue...
Fuck. I glance down, the water beating a rapid tattoo on the top of my head, and see my erection. Fucking stupid thing. No wonder women loved to go on and on about how men only think with their dicks.
They’re pretty dead on in that observation.
Restraining myself, I refuse to jerk off. I just came not fifteen minutes ago, you’d think I’d be over this. Over her.
Apparently not. Having her once wasn’t enough. I want Ivy again.
I furiously wrench the faucet off and grab a towel, rubbing it haphazardly across my skin, not really drying it. The soft terry cloth slides across my erection and I grimace. Pissed that I’m teasing myself. What the hell is wrong with me?
Ivy Emerson is what’s wrong with you, jackass. She’s played you at your game and actually came out on top. Where does that leave you?
Miserable. Pissed. Eager to go back to her room and have my way with her again... slower this time. So I can linger over her body, see what she likes, where she prefers to be touched, taste her between her legs and see how long it takes to make her come with just my tongue...
Rubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I blink them open, stare at my reflection in the steam-covered mirror in front of me. I’m a wreck. Eyes wild, skin still wet from the shower, mouth and jaw so tight I look like I might shatter. Rigid and tense.
All over a woman.
I let loose a loud, growling “Fuck!” and hit the lights off, stride back into my room. Climb into bed naked and still damp, yanking the covers over my head in the hopes I can shut off my whirling brain.
Doesn’t work. I want her with me. Snug against me. I need to come clean with myself. I’ve lusted over her for years. Since her high school graduation, like some sort of pervert, considering I have a solid four years on her and the last thing I should’ve been doing was wondering if she could possibly be naked beneath her ceremony gown.
Of course, she wasn’t. She’d been eighteen and pure and beautiful. She’d given me a hug and thanked me for coming and all I could think about was how much I wish Iwascoming. Inside of her...
Yeah. I had it bad for her then. I still do. And I shouldn’t. I’m not the relationship type. My parents warped me for good. Ruined me for any woman. I might be able to hold my shit together for a while, but she’d wear me down eventually and discover the real me.
I’m not worth it, not worth making it last. I’m selfish. A complete prick. She’d find out quickly, if she doesn’t know already, and she’d bail. Wonder why she wasted her time on me, if she’d even consider me, that is.
And then there’s that stupid, fucked-up bet I made only a few hours ago. A million dollars rides on the idea that I won’t let any woman trap me.
The crazy thing? I know Ivy Emerson is worth a million dollars.
But am I?
Chapter 6
Ivy
Somehow, Archer arranged for a fresh set of clothes to be waiting for me when I opened my bedroom door earlier. They sat in a neat, folded pile, tucked in a bag that was set in front of my door. A pair of black cotton cropped pants, a bright pink T-shirt, and a pair of my favorite brand of flip-flops. All in the proper sizes, all of it cute and something I would probably pick out on my own if given the chance.
How the hell did he know my sizes? Sorta scary.
I never heard anyone pass by the door either. And I would’ve. I’d tossed and turned, hardly getting any sleep, what with my thoughts consumed by what happened between Archer and me.
Images had flashed all night. The way he looked at me. How he touched me. The things he said to me.
