By Hook or By Crook (23 page)

“So how is your plan to break up Pock and Daisy going?” he asked, taking a deep draw from his mug before putting it on the nearby table.

“I didn’t say I wanted to break them up,” she said. “I just don’t want her to marry him.”

“So, what, you want them to date for all eternity? How is that better than getting married?”

“For one thing, if they don’t get married, he has no legal claim to her wealth.”

“I thought you were pretty certain your dad would cut her off if she married him.”

“Yeah, but there’s still the money in trust,” Ivy said. “Our mother left us some money in a trust fund that we’ll each inherit when we turn thirty-five. Our father can’t touch it.”

She immediately wished she could call the words back. If Joe knew about her money, how would she ever know whether he wanted her for herself? Her eyes flew to his face. He wore a thoughtful expression.

“How much money are we talking about here?”

His casual question made her heart sink. He reminded her of so many others in her life who had only seen dollar signs when they looked at her. She put her coffee mug on the table with a thud.

“A good bit of money,” she said. “Ten million, plus some other odds and ends. We also stand to inherit some of the artwork she purchased. Nothing too valuable. A couple of Matisse paintings, but they’re minor early works, before he really developed his style.”

“Matisse?” he echoed.

“Yes. He was a post-Impressionist. Well, not really, but they heavily influenced him.”

Okay, time to quit babbling now. Joe looked shell-shocked. It wouldn’t last. Calculation would take the place of surprise as he weighed how much money she likely stood to inherit and whether he could stay in her life for seven more years to collect on it.

Not bloody likely, she thought, pressing her lips tight together. She had been through this before, and wasn’t about to go through it again.

“So Pock and Daisy only have to get by for what, twelve years or so, and then they’ll come into her inheritance.”

“Yes.” No doubt he would do the same sort of math regarding her, as well. “For what it’s worth, I’m twenty-eight.”

He looked blank for a moment, and then his face hardened. “For God’s sake, I don’t want your money. Get that through your head, will you? Why are you so convinced that no one could want you for anything other than your money?”

“Because that’s all anyone ever has been interested in,” she shot back.

A silence fell, weighted with tension, as his eyes never left hers.

“I’m interested in this, much more than I care about your goddamned money.”

Before she could think, he leaned forward to take her mouth in a possessive kiss, sliding his hand beneath the blanket as he did. His hand at the juncture of her legs should have been an invasion, but it was a welcome one. Pushing aside her shock, she tilted her head back to give him access to the silky skin of her throat as he worked his way down with kisses.

His teeth nipped a tiny morsel of skin at the most vulnerable point of her throat, and she leaned into it. He pulled the throw down, baring the bright fabric of her dress.

“Get this damn blanket off,” he growled.

“I was cold,” she reminded him breathlessly.

“You cold now?”

“No.”

“Good. Then get it off.”

Without pause, he lowered the strap of her gown, shoved her bra down, and took her breast into his mouth. Pleasure rocked her. She tensed to keep from crying out as he suckled hard, never letting up. In the cabin, when he’d done this, it had been like being doused in ice water, a shock to her system. She’d pushed him away and put an end to their sexual exploration.

She wasn’t about to do it again. She couldn’t stop something that felt so instinctively right. Against her leg, she felt his erection. She slid one hand down to grip it through his jeans, and was rewarded by his groan.

“Good God, you’d better stop that.”

His desperation thrilled her. She’d never felt sexually in charge before. She could get addicted to it.

She fumbled for his zipper and button, freeing him from his jeans and slipping her hand inside to the silky-smooth warmth of his penis. She tormented him, as he was doing to her. Within moments, the sounds of his harsh breathing filled the room.

Eager to give him the hint, she tossed the cover to the floor and grabbed the waistband of his jeans, shoving them past his hips. She caressed his buttocks and then took his hardness in her hand, squeezing and stroking him frenetically.

He pushed her hand away. “Quit it, or this is going to be over right now.”

“I want you inside me,” she whispered, embarrassed at her bluntness but beyond subtlety. Her body ached for him. The only relief could come from him, deep inside her.

He grinned, and his roguish smile nearly made her heart stop. “You got it, sweetie.”

He reached beneath her wispy skirt and slid her underwear off, tossing the scrap of fabric aside. His hands moved to the nexus of her legs, gently exploring, but it wasn’t enough.

She lifted her hips, seeking more contact and a firmer touch. He complied, sliding one finger inside her while his thumb caressed her. Moisture flooded from her body, and he swirled it around, preparing her for his inevitable invasion.

“Oh, God,” she cried, unable to keep silent. This out-of-control feeling scared her. He could coax responses from her body that she couldn’t contain. He fumbled in his back pocket and then donned a condom. Thank God he’d remembered. She was too far gone.

“What do you want?”

“You,” she gasped.

“That’s not what you want. What do you want?”

“You inside me!”

He thrust deep inside her. She cried out, not from pain, but from the shock of a pleasure she couldn’t contain. She had never felt so out of control, so raw. The feeling frightened her even as it thrilled her. His green eyes wouldn’t let her escape. She squeezed her eyes shut tight to shield her thoughts, afraid of what he might see if she let him.

He settled into a shallow rhythm that gave pleasure but promised no satiation. She gripped his buttocks and tried to urge him deeper, faster—anything to break the maddening cycle she found herself caught in.

He ignored her, snatching her hands and moving them over her head, keeping them in his grasp. She could have pulled her hands free if she really wanted, but her body arching helplessly as she received his thrusts unexpectedly thrilled her.

Finally, after what seemed like an era, he moved deeper, giving her the long, sure thrusts she craved. She arched into them. His breath sawed in and out. Without warning, the crisis hit her, tearing a cry from her against her own volition. The throbs and pulses of pleasure went on and on, until she collapsed, limp and gasping against the sofa.

Joe slowly lowered her hands, placing tender kisses along her arms as he did so. His gentleness was shot through with tension, and Ivy realized that he wasn’t finished.

Her eyes slowly opened to meet his gaze. Her breath caught at what she saw there—some indecipherable mix of tenderness, lust, and uncertainty.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Never better,” she said with a slow smile.

His lips curved in response. “Good. I thought maybe I got a little too rough there for a minute.”

Without breaking their connection, he levered himself up, taking her with him until he sat upright. He pulled her astride him and ran his hands down her back, caressing her hips and thighs. His tenderness soothed her. Pushing past her lassitude, she began a slow, teasing rhythm intended to torment him as he’d tortured her. Soon his tenderness faded and he gripped her hips, trying to urge her along.

Delighting in the opportunity to dish him out some of his own medicine, she resisted at first, enjoying the play of frustrated lust on his face. But her own pleasure started, unbelievably, to build again, and she lost the patience for games. Tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she settled in, moving powerfully atop him, taking satisfaction in his harsh breathing. All too soon she plunged into the abyss again, but this time Joe fell with her, gripping her hips and groaning as he poured into her.

****

Ivy didn’t seem to be meeting his eyes, but Joe was so damn happy, he didn’t care. He let her hide her face against his chest, stroking the softness of her hair tumbling around her shoulders. He let his palms drift down her sides, smiling as she flinched when his fingertips grazed her ribs.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Hmmm.”

That sounded like assent, and the utterance had such a satisfied lazy quality that he took it as a great compliment. Unwilling to disturb the peace of the moment by tickling her again, he moved his hands to safer territory, letting them bracket her hips. His fingers grazed the cleft at the top of her buttocks, and a soft sigh escaped Ivy. His body softened and retreated from hers, but it didn’t affect their other connection—the fragile bond that seemed to have formed between them, at least for the moment.

The bond snapped when Ivy raised her head, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I guess I’d better get back to my room,” she said in a near-whisper, adjusting the top of her dress as she spoke. He caught a tantalizingly brief glimpse of her lovely breasts, distracting him from her words.

“Or we could go to mine,” he suggested softly, flicking the strap of her dress. “I’ve got a king-sized bed.”

“No, I want to go to mine. By myself,” she emphasized.

“By yourself?” Her cool tone finally penetrated his pleasured-addled brain. “What the hell for?”

She stiffened, and then moved off him, turning her back to retrieve her underwear.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together.” She peered over one shoulder and waved her hand around, encompassing the two of them and what they’d just done, he guessed. “I don’t think
this
is a good idea. I’m not sure what we’re doing here.”

“Jesus.” She seemed to have the magic touch when it came to pissing him off. Of course, she also seemed to have the magic touch when it came to making his eyes roll back in his head from pleasure. It was a tradeoff, he supposed. “Here you go again. Can’t you let yourself relax and enjoy yourself for once? You seemed to be doing a pretty good job of that a few minutes ago.”

“Stop doing that!” Her eyes flashed as she jerked on her underwear. In her haste, she missed the opening and stumbled momentarily before righting herself. “Stop making everything about sex!”

“Stop making nothing about sex!” he shot back. “You would like to pretend it doesn’t exist, except when you’re doing it, when you seem to like it pretty well. But the rest of the time, a relationship to you is something you balance out on a spreadsheet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

More or less fully dressed once again, she faced him, arms crossed and face taut with anger, while here he sat like a jerk, with his pants shoved around his hips, still wearing a condom.

“Hang on a minute. I can’t possibly have a fight like this.”

He yanked his jeans up and disappeared into the kitchen to dispose of the condom and restore his dignity, and then he returned to where Ivy stood, still looking furious.

“I’m saying that you balance everything out. Fat bank account, check. Good education, check. Solid family, check. Attractive, check. Successful career, check.” He ticked each item off on his fingers. “
Actual
compatibility, sexual or otherwise, doesn’t rate very high on your list.”

“We may have sexual compatibility, but nothing else!” she spat.

“How do you know? You haven’t even given us a chance. You spend all your time railing about how we’re so wrong for each other. On the few occasions you stop thinking everything to death, we’re all over each other!”

He stopped abruptly, feeling he’d given too much away. His words had come out almost like a plea, almost like he really wanted her. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want anyone. Why pretend otherwise?

“What do you want, Joe?” she said, her voice taut.

He thought he heard the sound of a sob, barely held in check. Surely not. He couldn’t imagine Ivy, the voice of cool blue reason, crying over him.

“Do you want a relationship?” she pressed. “What are you offering me? Are you saying that if I ignore everything I believe about myself, forget everything I’ve learned about the kind of man I need, and defy my father, that you will...what? Hang out with me for a while? Sleep with me for a few months until you get tired of me and move on?”

She stopped, tears in her eyes now, and waited for his answer. He had none to give her. She was right. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted from her.

He would never marry. He knew what that was like, by watching his parents and some of his clients, and he would never take that on for himself.

Ivy was most definitely the marrying kind. He could get involved with her, spend some time with her, and hope he would change his mind some day...

He caught himself up short.

What was he thinking? He would never change his mind. If he did, it would be a disaster. He’d been rootless and uncommitted his entire life, and he couldn’t change now.

He couldn’t even maintain a relationship with his sister, who had never done anything but love him like a big-brother hero. He’d screwed up everything he touched.