Читать книгу Wedding Party Collection: Always The Bachelor: Best Man's Conquest / One Night with the Best Man / The Bridesmaid's Best Man - Michelle Celmer, Karina Bliss - Страница 16

Most women are brought up to believe that their husband will take care of them for the rest of their lives. But that’s only true 50% of the time. The other 50% end in divorce.

—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)

Ivy was flirting.

Shamelessly flirting with a member of the crew. A kid who looked as though he was barely out of high school. Or May be still in high school for all Dillon knew. Since they’d left the marina she had been cozying up to him, and the kid was practically drooling over her form-fitting tank top and short-shorts.

Okay, May be the shorts weren’t that short, but they seemed to show an awful lot of leg.

She’d worn her hair down, and it rested in soft chestnut waves on her shoulders and tumbled down her back to just above her bra strap. Everything about her screamed pick me up.

Since Ivy was not, and never had been, the type to flirt—she was way too uptight—Dillon guessed this little show was entirely for his benefit. To make him jealous. Though he had no idea why she thought he would be. Because he wasn’t.

At all.

She’d made her feelings pretty damn clear yesterday. She regretted ever marrying him. Wasn’t that just great.

Well, it hadn’t been all roses and sunshine for him, either. Did she think she’d been easy to live with? Always complaining, her panties always in a twist over something. If she thought he gave a damn what she felt about their marriage, she was mistaken.

And people wondered why he stayed single. Sheesh!

It had been her idea to “talk.” Her telling him they needed to resolve things. Far as he could figure, she was pretty gung ho about resolving things, until she heard something she didn’t like.

He was all for working things out, but how could they if she refused to admit she was wrong?

He had the feeling they were just going to have to agree to disagree and leave it at that. He would go his way and she would go hers and they could forget they ever knew each other.

Although he had to admit, it would have been really nice getting her under the covers one last time.

When they reached the dock later that afternoon, he saw Ivy slip her new boyfriend what appeared to be a business card. It looked as though the lovebirds planned to hook up later. Did she have the slightest clue how ridiculous a woman her age would look dating an adolescent? Did she have no dignity?

He had dated a lot of women in the past couple of years, but never one young enough to be his daughter. Or at the very least, a young niece.

A car waited to take them back to the villa. As they were rolling out of the parking lot he said, “Looks like you made a new friend today.”

Ivy cast him a sideways glance, a grin on her face. “You could say that.”

Didn’t she see how foolish she looked? Pining over some kid. And obviously the kid in question was only in it to get some tail. And what a fine tail it was, he couldn’t help noticing.

But that was beside the point.

In college, Ivy had always had been on the naive side. She probably had no clue this kid was using her. She was not the type to settle for a one-night stand. She’d made Dillon wait three excruciating months before she would sleep with him.

May be he should point out the obvious and save her a bit of humiliation.

“You don’t think he’s a little young for you?” he asked.

She was looking out the car window, but he could see her smile widen a fraction. “Just the way I like ’em.”

“I hate to break it to you, but he’s only after one thing. When you leave Mexico, you’ll never hear from him again.”

She turned to him, her expression blank. “What’s your point?”

She wasn’t fooling him with her casual attitude. “I know you, Ivy. You don’t do casual. You’re a commitment kinda’ girl.”

She shrugged. “Go ahead and tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I don’t care what you do. I just don’t want to see you get your pretty little heart broken.”

“I think men should be like tissues,” she said. “Soft, strong and disposable. The jealousy is flattering, though.”

He snorted. “Jealous of what? You’re a complete pain in the ass.”

“May be, but you still want to sleep with me.” She looked over at him. “Admit it.”

Great, now she was stealing his material. “Why would I want to sleep with a woman who regrets marrying me?”

Only after the words were out did he realize how pathetic that sounded. Like she’d hurt his feelings or something.

Which she hadn’t. He didn’t give a damn what she thought about their marriage.

She looked out the window and said in a soft voice, “I didn’t mean it.”

Was that some sort of veiled apology from Miss Perfection? Miss I’m-Never-Wrong. “You didn’t mean what?”

She fiddled with the strap of her purse, eyes downward. “As bad as things got between us, there were good times, too.”

“What are you trying to say, Ivy?”

She took a deep breath, looked up and met his eyes. “I’m trying to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

He waited for a sarcastic remark, a caustic dig to pop into his head. Instead he was drawing a blank.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Ivy was proud, so he knew that hadn’t been easy for her.

He settled for, “You didn’t, but apology accepted.”

“He’s a twenty-two-year-old psychology major,” she said, and it took him a second to realize she was talking about the cupcake on the tour. “Really smart kid. He’s engaged to a lovely girl that he is absolutely crazy about and plans to marry after they both graduate. They’re considering moving to Texas. I told him to give me a call when and if he’s ever looking for an internship.”

“A bit of advice. Next time you might want to tone down the flirting.”

“I was not flirting.”

“I saw you, darlin’. You were most definitely flirting, and laying it on thick.”

“Okay, May be a little. But you were jealous. Admit it.”

“If I say yes, will you sleep with me?”

She just grinned and turned back to the window. “I knew you were jealous.”

He didn’t see any point in arguing. Once she set her mind to something she rarely backed down. And what the hell, May be he had been a little jealous.

If anyone was going to sleep with Ivy on this trip, damn it, it was going to be him.

When they got back to the villa everyone else was gone. Since dinner had already been prepared, they figured it would only be polite to sit down and eat. And it wasn’t so bad.

Ivy would go so far as to say it was darn near pleasant. Something strange had happened on the ride back from the marina. The tension that had been dogging them since their fight yesterday afternoon seemed to wither away. They seemed to have come to some sort of understanding.

And she began to think that when he followed her around, incessantly bugging her tonight, it might not be such a bad thing. Since there wasn’t much else to do.

After dinner he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m going to call it a night and head up to my room.”

Sure he was. “It’s barely eight o’clock.”

“I’m a little tired, and I have some work I wanted to catch up on.”

Did he really think she was that gullible? That she didn’t know exactly what he was up to? He was pulling the same routine he always did. He would pretend he was going to leave her alone, then dog her relentlessly all night.

But just to make him happy, she played along. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Sweet dreams.”

Dillon walked around the table, stopped beside her chair and held out his hand. She looked at it suspiciously. He stood there patiently waiting, and finally she slipped her hand in his. She assumed he meant to escort her from the table. Instead he turned her hand over, exposing her wrist, and he leaned forward.

Unsure of what he was doing, but curious to find out, she sat motionless. Even though her heart had begun pounding out a faster and slightly erratic rhythm.

His eyes closed and he inhaled the scent of the perfume she’d dabbed there. The bottle she’d bought in town yesterday.

He looked up at her, his eyes like a hot spring ready to bubble over. “I like it.”

Her hand felt small and warm wrapped in his and his breath was hot on her skin. Then his lips brushed just below her palm and tiny jolts of awareness, like little static shocks, rippled up her arm.

Oh, my God.

She found herself looking forward to the time he would spend nagging her, and figured, if today was like every other day this week, she wouldn’t have to wait long.

He let go of her hand, then walked inside. She didn’t doubt that he’d be back in a minute or two. He would find some ridiculous reason he should keep himself glued to her side.

Yep, any minute now.

She sat at the table several minutes, then got up and walked to the balcony railing and looked out over the ocean, at the sun sinking slowly below the horizon. Several minutes passed before she heard a noise behind her.

She couldn’t help grinning. The man was so predictable.

She wiped the smile from her face and turned to him. “I thought you were going to—” The words trailed off when she realized it wasn’t Dillon, but the housekeeper, preparing to clear the table.

“Ma’am?” she asked in a thick Mexican accent.

Ivy’s cheeks blushed with embarrassment. “Sorry. I thought you were…someone else.”

She scurried past her into the house. The poor woman must have thought she was a loon. Although, compared to Deidre, who scarfed chocolate and had nervous breakdowns, and Dillon, who walked around in his underwear with his winkie hanging out, and the Tweedles—she wouldn’t even go there—Ivy was definitely one of the most normal of the bunch.

Apparently Dillon was going to wait until Ivy went to her room, or May be he was there already, lounging on her bed. The way he had been when she got out of the shower.

That was probably it. All this time she’d been waiting for him, he was probably waiting for her.

She headed up to her room, making sure her footsteps were just heavy enough, so he would know she was coming. The hallway was quiet and dim. Her bedroom door was open, just the way she’d left it, the room dark. No doubt he was going to try to startle her again.

She stepped in the room and switched on the light, eyes on the bed where she expected him to be.

It was empty.

Was he on the balcony? In the bathroom?

She checked everywhere. Even in the closet, but the room was as empty as she’d left it that morning. Besides the bed being made and the bathroom cleaned spotless, not a single thing appeared to be out of place.

Huh.

She was surprised, and even worse, disappointment tugged at her conscience. Why had he picked now to stop being a pest? When she was finally getting used to having him around? When the idea of spending a little time with him didn’t repulse her?

May be she was just being impatient. May be he was going to give her time to settle in, then he would show up, all prepared to annoy her.

She could wait.

She kicked off her sandals and fluffed her hair with her fingers. Besides the times that it was wet and snarled, today was the first time Dillon had seen her hair down. Not that it looked all that different than it had ten years ago. It was a little longer, but still had a hint of unruly curl to it. Her mom used to nag her incessantly about it.

“Would you please do something with that mop,” she would complain when Ivy would let her hair dry loose and wavy. Which she did ninety-nine percent of the time.

Looking back, she remembered her mom nagged her constantly. She still did. About her hair and her clothes and her makeup. Her posture. Areas in which she considered herself an authority.

“If you learned to use eyeliner correctly your eyes wouldn’t look so small,” she would say, or, “I saw you interviewed on CNN and as usual you were slouching. Would it kill you to sit up straight?”

Most people would be proud to have a daughter who even made it on CNN. But her mom didn’t see it that way. Nothing was ever good enough for her.

Ivy wondered if her mom had nagged her dad like that. That might have been enough to drive him away. Or May be he just hadn’t been ready for the responsibility of a family. And still wasn’t if the rare Christmas card and occasional birthday call were any indication. After years of trying to build some sort of relationship with him, Ivy had come to terms with the fact that it would probably never happen.

She wondered, if she had stayed with Dillon, would the same thing have happened to their children? Would he have been an absentee dad? He’d made it all too clear that he hadn’t been ready for children then. May be he never would be.

It was one of those subjects that they’d never brought up. One of many.

She glanced over at the digital clock beside the bed. It was eight-fifteen and he still hadn’t shown up. How much longer did he plan to make her wait?

Until she was tucked into bed and sleeping?

If that was how he wanted to play this, fine. If he could wait, so could she.

To pass the time she opened her laptop and launched her e-mail program. Might as well do something constructive while she waited.

There were the usual three hundred or so e-mails for male enhancement drugs guaranteeing her a larger penis in six months, erectile dysfunction drugs at a deep discount and replica watches for rock-bottom prices. There was also a message from her writing partner, Miranda Reed, marked Urgent. The body of the e-mail was a series of question marks and exclamation points. There was a second message that simply said, call me! in fifty-point, hot-pink type.

Ivy had promised to call her the instant she learned the identity of the mystery best man. She’d been so far off-kilter, she’d completely forgotten.

She dug her cell phone from her purse, and, sure enough, there were a dozen missed calls and half as many voice messages.

She dialed the number and Miranda answered on the first ring. “Who is he?”

Ivy laughed. “Hello to you, too.”

“Have pity. The suspense is killing me. Is he dark and sexy? Does he bear a striking resemblance to Johnny Depp or Antonio Banderas?”

In the weeks before the trip they had speculated who the mystery man might be, coming up with both the best-case scenario—he looked like Johnny or Antonio with a body to die for—or worst case—he would look more like Johnny Cash but older. And he would have a beer gut, thinning hair and ingrown toenails.

In some ways, what she’d ended up with was worse.

“Yes, yes, no, no.”

“Okay, dark and sexy is good. Is he nice?”

Rather than play twenty questions, she decided it best to just blurt it out. “He’s Dillon.”

There was a pause, then, “Like, Matt Dillon?”

“Nope.”

“Ugh, not Bob Dylan.”

“Dillon Marshall.”

Another pause while she digested that, then, “You mean, he looks like Dillon?”

Oh, didn’t she wish. “I mean he is Dillon. In the flesh.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah. Surprise.” She gave Miranda a blow-by-blow of the trip so far. The way he’d been following her and how they couldn’t be together five minutes without arguing. She left out the kissing parts, since they were completely irrelevant, and the way she’d made him jealous today. Oh, and the fact that she actually wanted him to intrude on her. “Deidre thinks I need to let the past go and forgive him.”

“May be that’s good advice.”

“Miranda, we can barely say two words to each other without an argument starting. How are we supposed to resolve anything if we can’t talk to each other?”

“May be you’re not trying hard enough.”

For a moment she was too stunned to reply. Surely Miranda of all people would be on her side. She would understand what Ivy was going through. Finally she managed a baffled, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. But you can be stubborn sometimes. May be you’re just not listening to what he has to say.”

“I listen to people for a living. I would not be where I am today if I didn’t know how to listen. And you think I’m stubborn? You should try having a serious conversation with this man. He’s impossible!”

Her tone softened. “I swear I’m not saying this to upset you. I’m just worried that the past is holding you back.”

“Holding me back how? Is this about my sex life?”

“Well, no, not exactly, although you’ve got to admit, it has been a while.”

“Next you’re going to tell me that you think I’m unhappy.” There was silence at the other end. “You do, don’t you? Why is everyone so convinced I’m not happy? I’m a psychologist, for God’s sake. Don’t you think I would have noticed? If I was so miserable, don’t you think I would have done something about it?”

“May be you’re so used to feeling that way, you don’t even realize it’s happening. I think…oh, shoot! The other line is ringing.” She paused, and Ivy knew she was checking the caller ID. “It’s our publicist. We’re supposed to make the final arrangements for my trip to NewYork, for that radio interview. I really should answer.”

“That’s fine,” Ivy said. She’d heard enough, anyway.

“I’ll call you right back. I promise.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” Ivy disconnected and shut off her phone. She didn’t want to talk to her again. Calling Miranda was supposed to make her feel better, not worse.

If everyone else was so convinced she was miserable, what about Dillon? What did he see when he looked at her? Did he think she was unhappy?

She looked at the clock. It was half-past eight, and she was tired of waiting. If everyone was so darned convinced her unresolved issues with Dillon were ruining her life, then damn it, she was going to resolve them. Once and for all.