Читать книгу Dreaming Ivy - Rhonda Lee Carver - Страница 7

Chapter 3

Max snorted. What the hell just happened? The tightness in his southern region had finally dampened. A strange woman had just given him a woody. He’d survive the hard-on and the black eye he was sure he’d have, but the lady Ivy Kennedy stood before him looking like she was on the brink of peeing her pants. He wanted to laugh but he resisted. Had he just gotten his ass kicked by a girl? The girl carried a wallop. He swiped his knuckles over the spot on his cheek. “I guess you taught me a valuable lesson, Ivy Kennedy. Never come up on a woman unannounced.”

That should have been the end of it. What was done was done. He had to give the woman credit where credit was due. She could defend herself. He wanted to move on and forget it, but it wasn’t happening. Ivy stood on her tiptoes, reached up and touched the place she’d socked him with the tips of her fingers. The gentle, warm touch made him jerk. “It’s swollen.” Her minty breath sweeping across his cheeks and the feel of her breasts brushing his chest pushed every arousal button he knew he had, and some he didn’t. Not that he didn’t like it–or rather, he liked it too much.

“No kidding,” he answered. Was that quivering that he noticed in his own voice? No, not possible. Did she have to stand so close, though? His body was acting like it’d been neglected for months. Hell, he should be glad to find out he was still a man after the Renee incident. He was taken back by Ivy’s touch and her closeness. Looking deep into her eyes, he was caught. They were crystal blue and surrounded by the longest lashes he’d ever seen. When had he ever noticed any woman’s eyes? He sniffed loudly. Enough with the admiration. “That’s usually the effect a hit has on the face.”

“We need ice.” She interrupted his thought. “I have a cooler. It’s that way. I’ll meet you in the sitting room, or whatever the room is with furniture. If I don’t return in ten, can you come and save me? You never know what’s hiding in these dark crevices. I keep thinking the floor is going to give out and I’m going to fall through.” She laughed, which quickly turned somber.

His quiet wasn’t in anger–only irritation at his body’s betrayal. He’d left a desirable, naked woman in his bed, untouched and unwanted. Now parts of his body wanted action with a woman who looked as innocent as a newborn kitten, as skinny as a rail and who talked way too much. There was only one thing he liked more than a voluptuous body–silence.

“I guess we got off to a rough start.”

“Guess so.” Rough wasn’t the word he’d use. Annoying was a better one. He was irritated with himself as much as he was with her

“Okay, I’m going now.”

She walked away and he couldn’t help but admire the swaying move of her firm backside. Nice. But Ivy Kennedy wasn’t his type–if he had one.

The smell of honeysuckle lingered in the room as a reminder that she smelled sweet. He liked the smell. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy who got a rise every time a girl got close. What was happening to his male anatomy?

A sting in his cheek caught his attention. He touched the area and moaned. She couldn’t be much more than five-feet-four, in a good pair of stilettos, and one hundred pounds dripping wet. He’d think she was the size of a linebacker by that punch. And what the hell did he need an ice pack for? He didn’t need or want one, but if it made her feel better then so be it.

Max took off for the room with the furniture. He took a seat on what he thought was once a couch. A puff of dust surrounded him but he didn’t give it much thought. He’d been in worse joints spying on the extraterrestrial. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. The stillness was deafening and yet he felt like he was being watched. Opening his lids to a slit, he saw that indeed he was alone unless one counted the massive spider crawling across the wall. He hated spiders. He certainly didn’t want to meet up with the creepy crawly during the night.

Reluctantly, he got up and crossed the room. Using a pen from his pocket and his notebook, he trapped the spider. With one hand keeping the spider contained, he quickly opened the window and tossed the critter out. “Go find another home. This one isn’t big enough for the both of us.”

Light footsteps broke into his thoughts. He turned as Ivy rambled into the room. “Were you talking to someone?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nope.” He slammed the window back down. He’d keep his fear under wraps. He turned to her with every intention of denying the urge to take a leisurely gaze down her body, but he just couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed the sensual perusal of her body, taking in every soft inch until he came to the pointed toe of her shoes. He swept up the same route and his eyes collided with her baffled blues. He made no effort to hide his admiration. This was dangerous, he knew, but even her you’re-not-getting-any-of-this look didn’t deter the heat in his loins.

“All of the ice melted in my cooler but I thought this would help. A leftover from breakfast.” She held up a container.

“Blueberry yogurt? This is a snack. Not a cold pack for my eye.”

“It’s cold.”

“I don’t need it.”

“It’ll keep the swelling down.”

“Whatever.” He’d rather not fuss.

She tossed the yogurt. He caught it against his chest. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pushy?” he asked.

“A time or two,” she said.

He’d forgive the fact that Ivy was trigger-happy with her fist. He’d also forgive her for being so damn attractive. He was capable of keeping the line drawn between his business and personal life. However, he wouldn’t forgive the fact that she was annoying. “I guess we should be thankful for leftovers.” He hoped she caught the sarcasm. He pressed the container against his face. “I don’t see how this will help.”

“It was either the yogurt or a banana. I went for the yogurt.”

“Should I say thank you?”

“You should but I’m sure you won’t.” She went to the fireplace and stared up at the painting of Thornton House from years ago.

He was a good boy and let a minute pass before he lowered the so-called ice-pack. “So why are you here?”

She didn’t take her eyes off the oil painting. “What?”

He shrugged one shoulder and juggled the container between his hands. “You’re a journalist. Why would you waste your time investigating a haunted house?” He knew why she was there and it had nothing to do with ghosts. There was always a motive. He’d realized that the hard way. He set the container on the mantel.

“You use the word ‘journalist’ like it’s dirty.”

“I guess it’s all in how you take it.”

“I’m here for the same reason you are.” The area between her eyebrows wrinkled. “To find whatever you find in this old place.”

“You’re a journalist. I figure I’m the story.” No need to mince words. They were both adults. And if she could hit like a man then she could take the truth like one.

Ivy waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you okay? Are you going to keep repeating that I’m a journalist like you have to pound it into my head? I know what I do for a living.”

“You chose your profession.” He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt hostility toward her. Yeah, he knew exactly why. He was agitated by her being there. Their characters clashed.

She squinted her eyes as if she were shooting him with an imaginary weapon. “I’m beginning to get an idea of what people meant when they said you have a chip on your shoulder.”

* * * *

Ivy could see by the thin line of his lips that she’d struck a sensitive chord in him. Was he good at dishing it out but not receiving it?

“I’d say I’d heard rumor about your reputation as a journalist but you’re not old enough to have left a mark.”

She smirked. He was rude, but since she had the patience of a monk, she’d let it roll off. She didn’t need the drama. She had a job to do and the main idea was, what did he want at Thornton House? He may think it was none of her business but he was on her territory now and that made it her business. “I understand why you’re annoyed. But it’s best just to let it go.”

“Oh, you think you understand why I’m pissed?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“And why is that?” He challenged.

“Because you got your ass kicked by a girl. I guess that would play on most men’s egos.” Ivy knew it wasn’t entirely true, and her words certainly wouldn’t build a bridge between her and Max, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to knock his egotistical attitude down a notch or two. At least she hoped she gave him something to think about.

Without another word, he stomped across the room.

Ivy watched him. It was only natural instinct that she’d notice his broad shoulders encased in the white cotton, back lowering to the perfect narrowing of waist, pausing a bit too long on his behind until she made a turtle’s path down his long legs. Her gaze had landed on his boots when he stopped walking. She dragged her attention back up his tall frame and met his intense gaze. He’d caught her red-handed, or rather, red-eyed. She grinned in embarrassment.

“That might not be safe when we’ll be holed up here together, alone, for the next few weeks. I’m assuming we both know the line between work and play.” His voice echoed off the bare walls.

Ivy’s mouth fell open in disbelief. Max Shepard couldn’t possibly think she was trying to seduce him. True, anything that had the words ‘Max’ and ‘seduction’ in the same sentence didn’t leave a bad taste on the tongue, but she wasn’t interested. “You’re safe, trust me. I’m not interested in playboys.”

He faced her. “Playboy?” He appeared amused.

“Do the tabloids lie?”

“Never.” He laughed and shook his head. “But you’d know, since that rag you work for is only a step above the bottom feeders.”

She tried to form words that resembled a juicy comeback but all she could manage was a pathetic sputtering of, “Uhhh…” And to make matters worse, he turned and strolled out of the room. Anger charged up her spine. How dare he insinuate that she belonged in a group of ‘bottom feeders.’

Ivy heard the voice in the back of her mind telling her to let it go. It didn’t matter what he thought, did it? Of course not. But Ivy had no desire to allow him to think he could get away with such a despicable attitude. She marched after him, catching up to him as he stepped through the door onto the rickety porch. “I’ll let you know, Mr. Shepard, what I write is called ‘journalism.’ If you haven’t heard of it, then I’ll explain. It’s where you write true stories about true events. You wouldn’t know what I’m referring to considering you write about extraterrestrial beings and ghosts.”

She started to take a step onto the porch and he caught her with a hand on her elbow. “Don’t step out here with me.”

Oh, that man! She seethed. “Are you telling me what to do now?”

He chuckled. “Lighten up. What’d you eat with breakfast? A shot of speed? The boards won’t hold our weight.”

She knew her cheeks must have turned bright red.

“Ahh. Finally quiet.” He snapped a pensive expression at her as he stepped off the porch and headed to his Jeep.

Time seemed to stand still for Ivy as he grabbed his bag from the back seat and slammed the door. When he reached the doorway where she stood with her arms crossed over her waist, he said, “Regarding your crack about my job, all I can say is that not everyone’s a believer.” He swept past her and tossed his bag on the floor inside the door. “You’re a semi-believer.”

She shifted in her heels. “What?”

“I’m getting a good idea which side of the fence you hang on.”

Her muscles tightened. “Is that right?”

He scanned the entranceway and tried the light switch. It still didn’t work. “I know you’re not a fan of my work or my books, but I’m not convinced that you don’t believe in the spirit world.”

“I’d believe anything with proof.”

He went back to his car, unloaded more equipment bags and slammed the lift gate with one hand. She didn’t move from the doorway when he approached her. His gaze met hers in conflict. Tedious seconds ticked by until he finally snapped, “Excuse me.”

She sidestepped. “Maybe we need to sit down and clear the air.” Ivy closed the front door with a loud thud. Then a thought caught her. The door that had barely opened for her was now swinging without any trouble.

“Whatever.” He brought her attention back. He started for the stairway. “I can explore and listen at the same time.” He made his way up the stairs two at a time.

“Fine.” She left the doorway. Her patience grew thin. The man’s ego was enough to cause her exasperation. She stomped up the stairs behind him, huffing and puffing. “Look, I understand you’re not keen on sharing this house with me for the next few weeks.” No response. She shrugged. “You know, I don’t find this a pleasurable experience, either. I think if we both want to survive this we should accept that we’re here together and make the best of it.”

At the top of the stairs he paused long enough to glance down the hallway, then headed in the first open doorway. She watched him give the space a quick inspection. It was simply decorated with a chair and nothing else, and he seemed satisfied. “Mind if I take this room?”

“It doesn’t have a bed.”

“I have a sleeping bag.” He bent and unzipped one of the duffel bags he’d brought.

Momentarily sidetracked by the way his jeans fit his backside as he bent, she shook her head. “Fine by me. I had my eye on the master bedroom.”

“Great.” He pulled a small notebook from a side pocket of the bag and an expensive-looking camera from the inside.

Max stepped back into the hallway. She trailed close behind. “You didn’t answer me.”

“About?” He stopped to examine the wall, delicately pulling at the peeling wallpaper.

“If it’s possible that we can find common ground between us and work together.”

“We both know it didn’t require a response.” He scribbled something onto the notebook. “Do you have any experience in hunting ghosts?”

Ivy laughed. He shot her a sour expression. He was serious. “No, I’ve never hunted a ghost before.”

“Then you’re no use to me.”

Ivy gritted her teeth. She squeezed her hands into fists until she felt the sting of nails biting into her palms. The man was incorrigible. A half an hour into this situation and she’d already had enough. She stopped walking and closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. Eventually she’d verbally lay into him because no one could be expected to deal professionally with the likes of a man like Matt Shepard. He’d definitely give Marshall a run for his money. She opened her eyes in time to see that he’d come to a sudden stop, but not in time to keep from crashing into his broad back. She went bouncing backward and caught herself against the wall. He didn’t seem to be troubled by her impact as he made a quick examination of another room.

Feeling slightly ignored, she squeezed between the space of the wooden doorframe and his large, muscular body. This room was much like the last. Insufferably bare. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. She stared closer at the window. It had a thin horizontal crack. Along the top was a small vertical one, connecting the lines to make a T. Both lines were perfectly etched. “Did someone intentionally do that into the glass?” Ivy whispered as she strolled across the room and touched the splintered glass. It was odd. She couldn’t feel the crack but it appeared to be broken all the way through.

The clicking of a camera interrupted her thoughts. She heard the soft shuffling of Max’s boots against the wood floor as he came up next to her. He bent and inspected the glass. With the tip of his forefinger, he followed the long, straight line. “Interesting.”

Ivy got a whiff of his woodsy scent. She started to lean nearer, wondering what cologne he wore, but caught herself. Definitely not a good idea. She cleared her throat and looked past the broken window into the captivating view. “Wow. Beautiful.” A group of deer grazed along the edge of the woods. The clear blue sky seemed to go on forever along with the overgrown field dotted with purple wildflowers.

“Nice.” Max snapped the view. “This is enough to make the blood pressure drop.”

She started to nod in agreement when she realized he was latently referring to her as the reason his blood pressure was high. She turned and braced her hands on hips. “If you’re still sore about me hitting you, remember I did say sorry. I’d hardly say that was enough to cause your blood pressure to rise. I have made an effort to end this ridiculous attitude you are airing in my direction.”

His voice was calm as he said, “The cheek still stings, but I’m beyond that.”

Ivy wanted to say something, anything, but his piercing glare held her silent and the amount of space his massive frame dominated in the room made her feel…different. It wasn’t suffocating, but she had an uncomfortable, breathless feeling. His height towered over hers. No words formed on her lips. Her brain seemed to stop functioning.

“If you’d like for this situation to work, I suggest you do your work quietly and allow me to do mine by staying out of my way.”

“For your information, Mac–”

One corner of his mouth twisted. “The name’s Max. Not Mac.”

“Excuse me, Max.” She put blatant emphasis on his name. “You may not want my opinion–”

“I don’t remember asking for it,” he said frankly.

“You asked for it the moment you came in here presuming you could get by with being an ass,” she stated firmly.

“Then please, by all means, tell me what you’re thinking.”

She bit into her bottom lip. Okaaay. He asked for it. “I think this ghost hunting, or paranormal investigation, is all an illusion on your part. You play into people’s off-the-wall beliefs to sell your books.”

“Now aren’t you the one presuming a bit?”

“That you play off people’s beliefs? Not at all.”

“Aren’t you presuming that I’m an ass? Maybe I should presume you’re an ass. I’ve had warmer welcomes from evil spirits.”

Her palm ached to slap him. She’d never hit someone in anger in all her life. She’d hit him earlier in self-defense. “Me? An ass? How dare you!”

“No, how dare you. You think you can dish up your subtle put-downs with a side of smile and a flash of blues and I’m supposed to grin and bear it. I have no doubt that you got roped into this assignment. Secretly, you wish you had more to write about than a mother giving birth to her baby in the back seat of a Honda Accord or a flasher giving the Mayor a shot of nudity on the lawn of the courthouse. Remember something, sweetheart, we may have to share this space for the next two weeks, but I don’t have to like it. If you can’t take the heat, I suggest you jump out of the pot.”

“You’d like it if I got all flustered and furious and walked out of here, wouldn’t you? Let me warn you, it isn’t going to happen. I can tell you that much. While you’re here, I’m here. Like it or not. I was just trying to be nice–to break the ice, so to speak.” She started to walk away, and then stopped. She wasn’t finished with him yet. “And another thing, you should feel lucky that your work sold two million copies. I’m sure it was simply because of people’s rooted fascination in ghosts because if they met you and if first impressions had anything to do with it, you’d be selling peanuts out of a cart on some street corner.” Her words dripped with ice and she didn’t care one bit.

“For someone who doesn’t know a lot about my work, you definitely know about my sales revenue. You sure you haven’t read one or two?”

“Don’t embarrass yourself.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can appreciate anyone who can pick up a camera, point and click.” She took a deep breath. “I won’t drop to your level of insults.” She sniffed.

He was undisturbed by her disaffection. In fact, he curved his lips into a smile as he went back to recording in his notebook. “Are you finished?” he asked without looking her way. He was casual about the situation, like he had smashed a bug and was flicking it into good riddance.

Ivy knew the squabble should end, but something inside her just couldn’t let it rest. Getting everything out in the open absolved any chance that later she’d let him have it. “I haven’t yet given my opinion of you yet,” she stated.

“You could have fooled me.”

She kept her tension in check. No sinking. “I think you hold a personal grudge against me because I am a journalist. Not me as an individual, but all journalists as a group.”

“Okay,” he tossed over his shoulder, unconcerned.

“I read the articles written about you and your ex-wife. They called you a man who used his wife’s place in society as a ladder for success.” The tensing of his shoulders and the tightening of his jaw told her she’d struck a chord. Had she stepped over some hidden boundary of human kindness? She did feel better–slightly. Now who was the bug being smashed?

He remained quiet. She’d given up on receiving a reply, but at last it came. His gaze connected with hers, and when he spoke it was eerily low and husky. “I see that my first impressions aren’t award-winning but they sure are interesting. You’ve gained a lot of information about me in this ten-minute chitchat that proves to you the logic behind the mumbo-jumbo that filled those trash magazines. Most reputable journalists wouldn’t cite information they’d found in a tabloid.” He smirked. “You’re like the fly that won’t quit biting the horse’s ass.”

She laughed. She couldn’t resist. “And you’re the horse’s ass in that statement? It’s nice to see we agree on something.”

He apparently didn’t find the humor as she did. He threw his notebook and pen down onto the floor and took three paces toward her. She sucked in a breath. He came so close that she could smell his cologne and see that he had two different colored eyes. One was a lighter green and the other was darker. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you, Ivy?”

His closeness was much like a sweet, cool breeze across her clammy skin. It felt good, and she didn’t like it. She blurted, “It’s no secret your life has been–” She carefully searched for the right word. “–eventful in the media.” Had he taken another step closer? She needed to get away but the only way she had to go was out the window or through him. “Why are you standing so close?”

His eyes were focused on her lips. Did he want to kiss her? “How many times are you going to do that?”

“Do what?” Her words were a whisper.

“Invite me to kiss you?”

She opened her mouth and nothing came out. It took a good five seconds before the words traveled from her near-man-alert brain to her tongue. “I’m inviting you to do no such thing.” Her voice cracked.

He reached up, took one silky strand of her hair, wrapped it around his finger and lifted it to his nose. Ivy thought men only did such things in romance novels. It especially didn’t happen in her life. “I’ve lost count on the times you’ve looked at me and silently asked me to kiss you.”

“You can’t count very high, can you?” She couldn’t believe he had the nerve to accuse her of such ludicrous nonsense. He could make her all hot inside, but she didn’t want him to kiss her. Hell no. “Do you come with a badge of warning–insanely arrogant, converse with at your own risk?”

He dropped the wisp of hair. “In my attempt to prove a point to you the reason behind it is lost between my rapidly beating heart and the bulge behind my zipper.” His eyes were molten. That should have been warning enough to stand clear. “Don’t worry, Ivy. Although physically I am a red-blooded male, fact is, you’re not my type.”

She stiffened. Why had his comment been a direct hit to her ego? Why should she care what his type was and whether she matched the criteria? He was hot, sure, but not her style, either. She liked men who were kind, sweet and worth a damn. “What are you doing in Morgan Sites, Max? Shouldn’t you be off in some other part of the country pointing and clicking your equipment?”

His jaw tensed underneath a five o’clock shadow. “I’m curious, Ivy, is it safe to take time away from your newspaper? Aren’t there a few more leprechauns that are in need of saving from elderly criminals?”

She cringed but kept her back straight. No cowering under his ego. Men like Max thrived on other people’s weaknesses. “It was a gnome. And it was only one story.” Dammit! She knew that story would somehow come around to haunt her. Just why did it have to be from a man like Max Shepard? “I’ll admit, it’ll win no Pulitzer Prize, but it served its purpose.”

“I bet it did.”

She could not argue with him on this subject. There was no defense she could use. He’d been all over the world. He was known for his work. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Divorce can make someone bitter–”

His face went cold. She realized immediately this was a point of contention for him. Wasn’t she trying to douse it and not add flame to the fire? She’d only meant to say that he had a right to be angry, but she’d screwed that up.

“That explains a lot,” he snapped. “You read all this information in a gossip column and that makes it all fact? That is one self-promoting, underhanded writer to another. There’s no reason for me to indulge in your opinions or knowledge any further since you know all you need to know about me.” He turned on his heel and started for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think we’re finished convincing each other we belong here.”

Ivy watched in perplexed silence as he stomped out of the room. He’d made her angry and she had unleashed on him. She didn’t believe everything she’d read in the tabloids. No one would want something so detrimental to be slammed in his face, especially by a stranger. The media had already torn him apart.

But there was something more important going on here. Why was he in Morgan Sites? And something else…

This wasn’t going to be easy. He was a dangerous man. He could wreak pandemonium on her senses with one look. She wasn’t the type to fall for any man’s macho tactics, especially one with an ego the size of a football field. If he thought he could bully her he was sadly mistaken. She may be younger and less achieved than him, but she was smarter, she’d guarantee that.