About That Night (32 page)

Outside the sky was cloudy and gray, the rising sun doing little to dispel the gloominess.

But inside, in bed with Clinton warm and solid beside her, Ivy had never felt happier.

“That,” she murmured, “went well.”

He chuckled and pulled her against him so she could lay her head on his chest. “I’d have to agree.” He rubbed her back, his touch sending tingles of pleasure through her body. “You put a lot of effort into it.”

“Some,” she admitted lightly, trying to brush off what had actually taken planning and work.

Yes, she’d set the mood, had tried to create a romantic atmosphere, but she hadn’t done it just for him. She’d wanted to make this moment memorable.

Special.

Her throat tightened. It didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean she’d become one of those women who confused lust with love. Whatever this was between her and Clinton, it was still too new. Too fragile to try and make it more than what it was.

He sniffed the curve of her neck. “You smell delicious.”

She’d rubbed scented lotion all over her body, and he’d shown his appreciation by loving each and every inch.

He’d been enthralled by her stomach, had rubbed it and kissed it and talked to the baby, making her laugh, making her, for some crazy reason, want to cry. And the way he’d made love to her, so gently, so carefully, their fingers entwined, had threatened to break her heart. She hadn’t been able to think at all, could only feel.

She snuggled against him, felt his heart beat against her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said, playing with her hair. “For going to that much trouble. For letting me love you.”

His words caused a shiver of panic to climb her spine. She tried to ignore it. “You’re the one who did most of the work,” she teased. “And believe me, I got much more than I gave. As a matter of fact, one of us is ahead, five to two. Not that we’re keeping score.”

She lifted her head to grin at him, but he was watching her seriously, not smiling, his gaze unwavering. “No, I mean...I’m falling in love with you, Ivy.”

She froze. Shook her head at the quiet, intense words, at the look on his face, the truth. Denial flowed through her. No. She didn’t want this.

She would have gotten up, would have gotten out of the bed, but he must have sensed her intent, because he held her arms, forcing her to look at him. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked quietly.

She forced a laugh. “Well, now, you’re not the first man to tell me that after sleeping with me.”

“Don’t joke,” he ordered, his accent heavy despite his soft tone. “Not about this. Not with me.”

She swallowed. “Clinton, let’s just... Let’s go downstairs. I’ll make us some coffee, maybe something to eat. Then we can come back to bed, make love again. Just let’s...let’s not ruin this.”

She thought for sure he’d agree, that he’d want to get past this moment as quickly as possible, that he’d want to go back to the way things were between them, the way she needed them to stay, at least for a little while. But he sat up, shaking his head.

“I think you should move to Houston. I think you should move in with me.”

She yanked her arms free. “What?”

One side of his mouth kicked up, but she saw the nervousness in his eyes, the fear and the hope. “I care about you. You’re having my baby. I want you to move to Houston. I want you to live with me.”

She put both hands in her hair. Pulled. Hard. “God. Would you please stop saying that?”

He didn’t mean it. Couldn’t. Didn’t all men say those things to get what they wanted, because the words were what they thought women wanted to hear? Except she’d already given him what they’d both wanted, and he kept right on saying them.

“Don’t say what?” he asked, his tone warning her that their perfect moment, their perfect night was over. “Don’t say that I have feelings for you? That I want to be with you?”

“Yes,” she snapped, sliding off the bed and grabbing his shirt, since her clothes were in the bathroom. She shoved her arms into the sleeves, ignoring how it smelled of him. She buttoned it at her breasts, but they wouldn’t reach over her stomach. She scooped up her panties and pulled them on. “Quit saying all of it. You are not falling in love with me, I am not moving to Houston and we are not going to live together.”

He got to his feet, unconcerned with his own nudity. Why should he be, when he was so glorious? “I think I’m smart enough to know my own feelings. I started falling for you the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

She was shaking. Cold and scared and so terrified of losing what they had. But she wasn’t strong enough or brave enough to reach for what she really wanted. It was safer to pretend she didn’t want it. That she didn’t want him. Better to lose him now, like this, than to think they could have had it all.

“You don’t have to say that. You don’t have to offer me a commitment. I’m not going to fight you over seeing the baby. You can spend as much time with our child as you want. You know that,” she told him, desperation coloring her voice.

“I’m not saying it because of the baby. Hell, even if there wasn’t a baby, even if that baby wasn’t mine, I’d be saying it because it’s what I want. I think about you all the time and I...hell...I miss you when you’re not with me. Why should we continue living in different states, why should we be separated when the answer is so clear?” His voice dropped, grew rough with emotion. “I want to be with you, Ivy. I want to live with you and raise our baby together. As a family.”

“It wouldn’t work. I don’t want to play house with you. I live here. In Shady Grove.”

“We wouldn’t be playing,” he growled. “This isn’t one of your games. This is the way it’s supposed to be. When two people care about each other, there are certain steps they take. Granted, we’ve done a few out of order and skipped a couple entirely, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get back on track.”

“Steps? Back on track? Is that what this is? You’re going down some sort of checklist and marking things off?” She began to pace, her steps jerky. “I’m guessing the step after Move In Together is Marriage.”

His jaw was tight, his hands fisted. He stood there, naked and so handsome it hurt her to look at him. “Eventually,” he said, the word almost a challenge. “Yes.”

Married. To Clinton. It was crazy. It would never work. Not for the long-term.

But she could picture what their life would be like. How it would be to live in that huge apartment, to see Clinton every day, spend each night with him. It was all too easy to imagine.

“I am not moving to Houston,” she repeated, sounding desperate when she wanted to come across as firm.

“Okay, okay.” He held his hands out but instead of coming across as beseeching, he still looked powerful. In control. “Just spend some time with me there. A few days. I want you in my home, Ivy. I want to show you my city. To have you be a part of my life.”

“I...I have to work...”

“You said the B and B is closed until Wednesday. We could fly to Houston today—”

“I’m scheduled to work at O’Riley’s tonight and Tuesday. And King’s Crossing Monday.”

“You could call off,” he said.

She could. Of course she could. Or she could find someone to cover for her. It was only a few days. A compromise. One that would show she was willing to meet Clinton halfway. That she wanted to make this work between them.

But she couldn’t give in. Not even on something so small. She had to be strong. To keep control.

If she gave it up for one second, she’d never get it back.

She tucked her hands behind her back to hide their trembling and had to force the word out, the one word she knew would cost her Clinton. “No.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

C
.
J
. WAS FREEZING
his ass off. It didn’t help that his ass was bare, that he was practically begging a woman to give him a chance, to give them a real chance at being together. Being happy.

Being a real couple.

“No.”

That one word went right through him, cutting him like a knife. “What?” he asked, because there had to be some mistake. When he asked a woman for anything, when he asked anyone for anything, they always said yes.

There was no way he could ask a woman to spend a few lousy days with him—to basically take a mini vacation—and have her say no. To tell her he was falling in love with her and hear her beg him not to say it again.

“I can’t,” Ivy said.

He wanted to swipe the lamp off the bedside table, to rant and rave and demand she stop being so damned stubborn.

Demand that she feel the way about him, that he felt about her.

He’d opened up to her. Had given her the key to his heart.

And she didn’t want it. Didn’t want him. He pulled on his pants before facing her again.

“You mean you won’t,” he said, the words ripped from his throat.

She stepped toward him, her hand reaching for him, but he backed up. He couldn’t handle her touching him. Not now. Not after what had happened between them last night, not when he was so raw now. “You want things I don’t. Marriage will never be in the cards for me. I’ve always known that. But that doesn’t mean anything has to change between us.”

She sounded so hopeful, looked a wreck, as if this was tearing her up inside as much as it was him, but that couldn’t be true. If it was, she’d see that they were meant to be together, that they should raise their child together.

Unless...

“Do you love me?” he asked, never having asked the question before, ever. He’d always known where he stood with people, from his family to his friends to his lovers to people he worked with and people who worked for him. But now...this...he had to know.

“Clinton, I...” She pressed her lips together. “I care about you.”

“That’s a start.” A good one, if not exactly a declaration of her undying affection. As a matter of fact, she didn’t look very happy to be admitting it at all. “Do you think the feelings you have for me now could grow into love?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” she cried, throwing her hands up. “I have no idea what the future will bring.”

He shouldn’t push her but he had to know. “It’s not that hard a question, Ivy,” he said, unable to stand there and listen to her placate him with useless, meaningless words. “Do you want to be with me? Do you see yourself building a future with me? A family? Yes or no. Damn it,” he snapped when she hesitated. “They’re simple questions, ones that deserve an answer.
I
deserve an answer.”

She swallowed. Stared over his right shoulder, then met his eyes. Sighed. “I don’t know.”

And just like that, with one simple whispered confession, it didn’t matter how much money he had, how much power, how he lived like a freaking king. He didn’t have Ivy and would never have her. He had nothing.

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to say.” He wasn’t about to take his shirt from her, so he grabbed his keys and the suitcase he’d brought upstairs with him last night. “I’ll have my attorney get in touch with you about child support. We can work out a custody agreement later. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me be present for the birth.”

“Of course. Clinton,” she said, walking toward him, so beautiful it hurt to look at her. “Don’t go. We can go back to the way things were. How they have been.”

“Go back to seeing each other only on weekends? To me giving and giving, constantly trying to prove myself to you? To prove you can trust me?” He shook his head. “No. I won’t go back. And you won’t move forward, at least not with me, so I’ll move forward on my own.” He went to the door. Opened it but didn’t dare look back, not when everything inside him screamed at him not to go. Not to let her go. “Goodbye, Ivy.”

And he walked out before he lost the last of his pride and accepted whatever small scraps of emotion she tossed his way.

* * *

T
HOUGH IT HAD
been over three weeks since Clinton had walked out of her life, Ivy could still remember that moment as if it had happened yesterday. She’d never forget how he’d looked, so crushed, so angry. Just as she’d never forget how it had felt as if her heart was breaking to watch him go. How she’d curled up on the bed, inhaling his scent from his shirt and cried, wishing things could have been different.

Wishing she could be different.

She’d thought...had hoped...he’d come back. That he’d change his mind. That he’d realize what they had was good enough. There was no reason to risk it by tossing around I love yous and moving in together with the ultimate goal of getting married. No, she’d done the right thing. He was probably just being noble, thinking he had to offer her a commitment because he’d gotten her pregnant.

She carried a serving tray of blueberry scones into Bradford House’s dining room. Smiled at the elderly couple staying in the Blue Room as she set the tray down.

She missed Clinton like crazy, and he hadn’t even called. Had just had his attorney contact her to set up child support payments. The amount was more than fair, and she wouldn’t have to work should she choose not to.

She wanted to work, needed it, which was why she was glad she had a shift at O’Riley’s tonight. Luckily, Kane hadn’t treated her any differently since she and Clinton had stopped seeing each other, but she knew he wondered what was going on. He might act as if he didn’t care about his brother, but she didn’t believe it.

He had asked Clinton to be his best man. She couldn’t help but think that had been an overture on Kane’s part. The first step at a possible reconciliation between them. She hoped she was right and that they would be able to mend the rift between them. She knew how important Clinton’s family was to him. Even Kane.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside the kitchen, went directly to the sink and stared out the window. Summer was over and school had started last week. It wouldn’t be long before the nip of fall entered the air and the leaves started changing. The baby kicked. Hard. Ivy smiled. She was now seven months along but she hadn’t done much to get ready for the baby, a part of her still hoping Clinton would come back. She hated that he was missing it, that he wasn’t able to enjoy the preparations.