Kitabı oku: «The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection», sayfa 68
Six
Divorce recovery typically takes two full years. Take it day by day. Trust me, the time will soon come when you’ll look back and wonder what you ever saw in him.
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
Kiss your ex-husband. Brilliant idea.
As fast as her wobbly legs would carry her, Ivy headed blindly in what she hoped was the general direction of the villa, praying that Dillon didn’t follow her.
Weathered stucco buildings, brightly colored canopies and an ocean of moving bodies blurred together like smudged oil paint on a three-dimensional canvas. Voices and sounds echoed through her ears and jumbled around inside her head, disorienting her. Her hands were trembling and her heart beat hard and fast in her chest.
One stupid kiss and she was a walking disaster area.
What had she been thinking?
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to be proving how over him she was. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy kissing him.
She wasn’t supposed to feel anything.
And if she had to feel something, why couldn’t it have been hate? Disgust would have been a good one, too. Or good old-fashioned anger.
And what if by some remote chance someone recognized them? Someone who had read her book? What if word got out that she was messing around with her ex? What would people think of her? How could her readers, not to mention her patients, trust her if she couldn’t even follow her own edict?
This was bad.
Really, really bad.
Although she had to admit that seeing the stunned look on his face, knowing that for once she had flustered him, had almost been worth it. In a sadistic sort of way. Like cutting off her nose to spite her face.
“You sure move fast when you have something to run from,” Dillon said from behind her, and Ivy cursed under her breath.
Oh, crud.
She needed a minute to pull herself together. She couldn’t let him see her thrown so far off-kilter.
This was just a fluke. She’d been too immersed in her career, too swamped promoting her first book and writing the second to even think about sex, so, yeah, she’d overreacted a little.
Okay, she’d overreacted a lot. But she would have gotten the same result from kissing any number of men.
She tried to conjure up a name, an appealing, eligible man in her life. May be one in the office building where she worked, or at the club where she used the pool. Or even at the grocery store. There had to be someone.
Yet not a single one came to mind.
Oh, hell, who was she kidding? She could continue to blame her busy schedule, but deep down she knew that was bunk. The reason she hadn’t slept with anyone in…well, longer than she wanted to admit, was because she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to sleep with. Up until today.
Oh, no. She did not just think that. She didn’t want to sleep with Dillon. Not now, not ever.
“And what is it exactly that I’m running from?” she asked. She even managed to keep her voice steady and vaguely disinterested.
The deep baritone of laughter that followed rubbed across every one of her nerve endings until they felt raw and exposed.
He knew. He knew exactly what that kiss had done to her, and he would spend the rest of the week rubbing it in her face.
Would this nightmare never end?
She was about to turn, to face Dillon, still unsure of exactly what she wanted to do or say—and resigned to the fact that whatever it was it would probably only make things worse—when she spotted Deidre and Blake walking down the opposite side of the street like two angels of mercy.
“Deidre!” she called, waving frantically to get her attention. The instant Deidre looked her way Ivy knew something was wrong. Her skin looked pale, and the way she leaned into Blake gave the distinct impression he was holding her steady.
Forgetting Dillon and every other horrible thing that transpired that morning, she rushed across the street to her cousin. As she drew closer she noticed the bandage on Deidre’s forehead.
Her grotesquely swelled forehead.
Ivy’s horror and surprise must have shown, because the first thing out of Deidre’s mouth was, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Let me see.” Without waiting for permission, she lifted Deidre’s bangs to get a better look. The area over her left eye looked swollen and tender, and hints of purple peeked out from under the edge of the bandage. “Oh, my God, what happened to you?”
“An alleged golfing mishap,” Blake said bitterly.
Deidre ducked away from Ivy and shot him a look.
“It was an accident. And the doctor at the clinic said the swelling should be down in time for the wedding.”
“You had to see a doctor?”
Deidre nodded. “I needed three stitches.”
Why did it have to happen this week? It was just one more thing to put a damper on the most important day of Deidre’s life.
“Who did this to you?” Dillon asked, and Ivy jolted at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t even realized he’d followed her.
“Dale’s girlfriend,” Blake all but spat out. “She swung her club and lost her grip. It went flying and pegged Deidre in the head.”
“But it was an accident,” Deidre said with a forced cheeriness that wasn’t fooling anyone. “Believe me, her aim is not that good. She can barely hit a ball much less a person standing fifteen feet behind her.”
Dillon looked from Deidre to Blake. “Which one is Dale’s girlfriend? Tweedle Dum or Tweedle Dee?”
Blake shrugged. “Who knows. I can’t tell them apart. When it happened, I was more concerned with stopping the bleeding than figuring out who was at fault.”
The only thing concerning Ivy was Deidre’s pasty-white pallor and the dark circles under her eyes. The way she clung to Blake’s arm, as though without him there she might topple over.
Dillon’s eyes mirrored Ivy’s concern. “May be you should go back to the villa and lay down for a while.”
“No! I refuse to spend the week of my wedding in bed feeling sorry for myself.” Deidre sounded awfully close to tears, and Ivy had the distinct feeling there was more to this than she was admitting. “I don’t want to talk about my head anymore.”
Blake looked curiously between Ivy and Dillon. “So, what are you guys up to?”
What he really meant was, what were they doing together.
“We were shopping and we bumped into each other,” Ivy said, shooting Dillon a look that said she knew damn well their meeting had been no accident. And if he said one word about what had happened, he would die a very slow, agonizing death.
He just smiled. “That’s right, and I was just about to invite Ivy to lunch.”
“Perfect!” Deidre gushed, perking up instantly. “We were looking for somewhere to eat.” She wove an arm through Ivy’s and clamped down. Hard. “We can all eat together.”
The death grip on Ivy’s arm said very clearly that this was not a matter of choice. Ivy was going, even if Deidre had to drag her there.
Seeing there was no way to get out of this without making a scene, and making matters worse in the process, Ivy plastered a smile on her face and said, “Great. Let’s eat.”
The second they were shown to a table inside the bustling, noisy café, Deidre said something about needing to freshen up, then dragged Ivy with her to the ladies’ room. Her grip on Ivy’s arm was so tight she was cutting off the circulation. When they were safely inside with the door shut Deidre finally let go.
Ivy shook the blood back into her tingling fingers. “All right, what’s going on?”
“I hate them,” Deidre spat with a ferocity that was completely unlike her. Angry tears pooled in her eyes.
“I hate the Tweedles and I hate Blake’s brothers.”
Deidre didn’t hate anybody. She was too sweet. But apparently even she had limits.
“What happened?”
“After I got hit, Blake went to go get the rental car. While he was gone, the four of them were—” Her voice broke and tears dribbled down her cheeks.
Ivy rubbed her shoulder. “They were what? What did they do?”
Deidre sniffled loudly and wiped the tears away with the heels of her palms. “They were…making fun of me. They were whispering and laughing.”
Was it possible that they could be that rude? That cruel? “Could you hear what they were saying? I mean, May be you misunderstood. May be they weren’t talking about you.” As she said the words she suspected they weren’t true.
“They were looking right at me, and I heard Dale say it was my own fault for standing too close while she putted.”
No, this was Ivy’s fault. She had been afraid that antagonizing the Tweedles at dinner last night would only make things worse. That they might retaliate. She never should have lowered herself to their level.
And who had encouraged her to do that?
Dillon.
It didn’t excuse her behavior. Or make her any less accountable, but in a roundabout way this was as much his fault as hers.
The thought made her feel a little bit better.
“Does Blake know about what they said?”
She sniffled and shook her head. “He already feels so bad. This would only make things worse.”
Ivy didn’t know if things could get much worse. That would take a tropical storm or a tsunami.
“She didn’t even say she was sorry.” Deidre wiped her eyes. “What did I ever do to them? Why are they so mean to me?”
“It’s not you, Deidre. It’s like I said at dinner last night. They’re insecure. Cutting you down makes them feel better about themselves.” She stepped into one of the empty stalls, pulled a length of toilet paper off the roll and handed it to Deidre. “It’s also very possible that they’re jealous.”
“Yeah right,” Deidre said with an indignant snort. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose. “I’m sure they’re both dying to be overweight and have my lousy skin. I’m like an ugly duckling next to them.”
“It has nothing to do with looks or weight. They’re jealous because no matter how skinny they are, or pretty they are, or how blond they dye their hair, they’ll never be as happy as you and Blake. Hell, I’m jealous and I don’t even want to get married.”
Deidre shrugged.
“I’m serious. Blake is crazy about you. Anyone can see how happy you two are, how much you love each other. And no matter how mean and nasty the Tweedles are, they can’t take that from you.”
A grin teased the corners of Deidre’s mouth. “You really think they’re jealous?”
“I honestly do. Those two may be aesthetically attractive. May be even beautiful. But on the inside they’re the worst kind of ugly.”
“Blake’s brothers don’t think so.”
“They’re no better than the Tweedles. I sometimes wonder how Blake turned out so normal when the rest of his family is completely wacky.”
The smile spread to her cheeks. “Wacky? Is that an official diagnosis?”
Ivy laughed. “Absolutely.”
Deidre may not have been conventionally beautiful, but she had a warm, genuine smile and a good heart. Ivy hoped Blake realized just how lucky he was.
And May be somewhere deep down, she was a little jealous. But not everyone was lucky enough to find what Deidre and Blake had.
Some people weren’t capable.
Deidre wiped her eyes one last time and tossed the tissue in the trash. “You know, no matter how lousy things seem, you always manage to make me feel better.”
“It’s what I’m trained to do.”
“No, it’s always been that way, even when we were really little. It’s a gift.”
If that were true, Ivy wished she could bestow that gift on herself.
“That’s the reason I got you and Dillon together,” Deidre admitted. “I wanted to help you the way you always help me. I wanted you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” The words spilled out automatically, but they sounded dry and hollow. Like May be she wasn’t so convinced anymore.
“Speaking of Dillon,” Deidre said, “what’s really going on with you two?”
Ivy shrugged. “Just like I said, we bumped into each other.”
“You’re sure about that.”
Something in Deidre’s expression said she knew something Ivy didn’t. “Of course I’m sure.”
“So what you’re telling me is, you were just walking along and accidentally ran into him with your lips?”
Ivy winced.
Oh, crud. Didn’t it just figure that not only had her plan backfired, but of the thousands of people roaming the city, Deidre had to be there to witness her mistake.
“Did Blake see?”
“Lucky for you he was looking the other way. And before you ask, no, I didn’t say anything to him. And if you ask me not to, I won’t. But do not think for a second that I’m going to let you off the hook. I expect an explanation.”
Ivy opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She didn’t have a clue what to say.
“Well?” Deidre asked, all but tapping her foot, waiting impatiently. “What’s the deal?”
“You know, if we don’t get to the table soon, the men are going to send in a search party.” She made a move toward the door, but Deidre blocked her way.
“I’m not letting you leave until you tell me the truth.”
Ivy sighed. She may as well come clean. The worst Deidre could say is I told you so. “Okay, so I kissed him. But I did it to prove I was completely over him. That I’m not attracted to him anymore.”
Deidre nodded. “I see. And did it work?”
“Umm…” She bit her lip.
“The truth, Ivy.”
“I may have been a little…flustered.”
“I saw your face, honey. You were more than a little flustered. You looked as if you’d gone ten rounds with the ghost of Christmas past.”
Okay, so May be I told you so wasn’t the worst she could say.
If her feelings had been so clear to Deidre, Dillon must have known exactly what she was feeling. The man always did have an uncanny way of reading her thoughts, her body language.
“Proving that what you said was right,” she told Deidre. “I haven’t had sex in a long time. Too long, obviously. And it had nothing at all to do with Dillon.”
“That’s good, Ivy.” Deidre reached for the knob and pulled the door open. “If you keep telling yourself that you might start believing it.”
Seven
Want to discover the secret (and dirty!) tactics men use to make our lives hell? (Shh…don’t tell them we know!)
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
The man clung to her like lint on a black wool blazer.
After lunch, which she grudgingly admitted was not as bad as she’d anticipated, Deidre, Blake and Dillon took off to sightsee. Ivy headed back to the house and found it blissfully empty. No Tweedles, no ex-husbands or neurotic battered brides. Only tranquil silence.
Thirty seconds later Dillon strolled through the door.
She felt like throwing up her hands in surrender, breaking down and crying, and shoving Dillon over the balcony, down the rocky bluff and into the ocean below. All at the same time.
Just remember, he’s doing this on purpose, she reminded herself. He’s doing it to annoy you. Do not let him know it’s working.
“I thought you were going sightseeing,” she said in a flat, I’m-only-asking-to-be-polite voice.
He just shrugged—a slight hunch of his shoulders and an almost imperceptible tilt of his head. “Changed my mind.”
No, he hadn’t. This had been the plan all along.
Tease her with a hint of freedom, a few precious moments of peace, before he was back annoying her again.
Despite how many times she brushed him off, cosmic static cling kept drawing him back.
Just like lint.
Only, in this case, a dryer sheet wouldn’t be much help. They didn’t make one big enough or powerful enough to get rid of someone like him. The way to avoid Dillon, Ivy realized, would be to shut herself away in her room for the remainder of the week.
It couldn’t be any worse than spending a week with him.
“I’m going up to my room to rest. I’ll see you later.” Much, much later.
“I understand why you might need some time alone,” he said, a devilish glint in his eyes. “That kiss did get you pretty hot and bothered. You go ahead and take care of business.”
“Business?” For a second she was confused, then it hit her. She realized exactly what he meant by business. Did he really think she was going upstairs to—
“I have nothing against going solo.” He stepped closer, eyes sparking with desire. His voice dropped a few decibels, even though they were the only ones there. “In fact, you might not remember, but I love to watch.”
Oh, she remembered.
The things he’d talked her into doing back then still made her blush. Unlike past boyfriends, he’d never played the if-you-loved-me-you-would card. He’d been patient. A tender, generous lover. The kind of man who never failed to put her needs before his own.
The memory poured over Ivy like melted milk chocolate. Rich and sweet and warm. And her head had begun to get that light, fuzzy feeling…
Damn, damn, damn.
He was pulling that sexy, simmering thing he did so well. And like an idiot she was falling for it. Again! How could someone she disliked as much as Dillon be so darned appealing? Could it be that she didn’t dislike him as much as she thought?
Or was she just losing her mind?
The worst part was he knew it. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he was loving every second of it.
Someone needed to cool that man’s engines.
Since tossing him over the balcony into the ocean wasn’t an option, she would have to settle for the next best thing.
“On second thought, May be I’ll dip my feet in the pool for a second and cool off.” She switched direction, heading instead for the French doors that would take her to the pool deck. She knew he would follow, and he didn’t disappoint her.
The man’s libido had been bound to get him into trouble one of these days. She was just glad she would be around to see him get a dose of his own medicine. And even better, she would be the one to dispense the bitter pill.
He reached past her, like the gentleman he’d always been, and opened the door.
She stepped outside, a wall of dry, sweltering heat drawing her into its grip.
“Damn!” Dillon said. “Sure is hot out here.”
Not to worry, he would be cooled off soon enough.
“I could use a cold drink,” he said. “Can I get you something?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Two mineral waters comin’ right up.”
His arrogance, his unshakable self-confidence, would be his undoing.
She walked to the deep end of the pool, hiked her skirt up to the midthigh region so it wouldn’t get wet—and hell, why not give him a decent view before he went down—and sat on the edge, the hot tile scorching the backs of her legs. She dipped her feet in and cool water lapped around her ankles. The midday sun reflecting off the surface strobed in her eyes and made her squint.
She watched as Dillon stepped around the bar and fished two bottles of water from the refrigerator. With the exception of a sip of champagne, she still hadn’t seen him drink a single alcoholic beverage.
“You don’t drink anymore?” she asked.
He opened both waters and added a wedge of lime to each one. “Occasionally.”
Keep a casual conversation going so he doesn’t suspect, she told herself. Act as if everything is normal. “What made you quit?”
“You ever try to run a billion-dollar corporation with a raging hangover?” He carried them both over to where she sat, and the anticipation was killing her.
“So it was interfering with your work?”
He shrugged. “The truth is, I didn’t make a conscious effort to stop. I guess I just outgrew it.” He leaned slightly forward to hand her a bottle. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” She cast him a bright smile. This was going to feel so good.
She reached up to grab it, but instead she wrapped her hand around his wrist and yanked as hard as she could. He teetered for a second, trying to catch his balance, then he laughed and cursed and let himself fall.
He landed with a noisy, messy kersploosh, bottles and all, splashing her from head to toe with pool water.
“Yes!” She jumped to her feet, cherishing her victory. May be now he would stop messing with her; he would see she meant business. And even if he didn’t, it had been a lot of fun.
She gazed down into the water. Any second now, he would rise to the top and see her smug smile, the satisfaction in her eyes. May be the kiss idea had been a disaster, but this would be her moment of triumph.
Yep, any second now.
She squinted to make out his shadowy form against the dark tile lining the bottom of the pool. He was still way down there. May be he was looking for the water bottles. So someone didn’t accidentally step on one and cut their foot. Only thing was, he didn’t appear to be moving.
A pocket of air rose and bubbled to the surface but still no Dillon.
What if he’d hurt himself?
No, that was silly. She had seen him go in. He hadn’t hit his head or twisted anything. At least, she didn’t think so. He was fine. He was just trying to get her to jump in after him.
Well, she wasn’t falling for it.
But how long could someone hold their breath? It had already been a while, hadn’t it? Close to a minute even. At least it seemed that way.
As every second ticked past, her confidence began to fizzle.
What if there was something really wrong? What if he wasn’t breathing? What if he’d been telling the truth and he really didn’t know how to swim?
He’d told her he never learned how and she’d pushed him in regardless, meaning she would be responsible if he was hurt.
If he died.
Her heart dropped hard and fast, leaving a sick, empty hole in her chest as a dozen gruesome images flashed through her brain at the speed of light. Dillon being dragged from the pool, his tanned skin gray and waxy, his lips a deathly shade of blue.
Dillon’s funeral. Having to face his family and admit it had been her fault.
She thought of all the things she could have said to him, should have said, and had never gotten the chance.
Her stomach churned with the possibilities, and her head swam with disbelief. She didn’t like Dillon, but she didn’t want him dead, either.
And what if no one believed it was an accident? She could see the headlines now. Bestselling author murders ex-husband after publicly berating him in her tell-all book.
Dillon had floated closer to the surface, but he still wasn’t moving, and she was running out of time. There was no way he could hold his breath for that long.
Oh, hell.
She kicked off her sandals and dove in, the cool water swallowing her up like a hungry beast, numbing her senses. All she could feel was the dull throb of panic squeezing her chest, hear the beat of her own pulse in her ears, louder and louder as she descended. She opened her eyes, blinking against the burn of chlorine. Her gaze darted back and forth as she searched, desperate to spot his floating form. She would have to hoist him from the pool and do mouth-to-mouth, get his airway cleared. She’d been certified in first aid and CPR for years, but she’d never actually had to use it. She only hoped she remembered how.
But she would have to find him first. He was gone, as if he had vanished into thin air, or been sucked into an alternate universe.
She hit the bottom at the ten-foot mark and flipped over, her long skirt tangling around her legs. She looked up and saw a pair of booted feet and blue jeans and the lower half of a male torso. The rest of him was out of the water.
And he was very much alive.
She heard a muffled noise above her and realized it was laughter. He was laughing.
He was okay. All this time he’d been okay, and now he was laughing at her.
She pushed off the bottom of the pool and sailed to the surface, her lungs screaming for air.
A minute ago all she could think about was saving his sorry behind. Now she wanted to kill him.
Dillon hoisted himself up onto the pool edge beside the ladder, wiping water from his eyes and sweeping his dripping hair back from his forehead. His wet jeans clung to him like a cloying second skin, his boots were toast and his lungs burned like the devil from holding his breath for too long. But it would be worth it. Worth the look on Ivy’s face when she re-surfaced.
Would she never learn? No matter how dirty she played, he always sank an inch lower. He always won.
Ivy popped up out of the water, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. Her auburn ponytail hung lopsided and limp and one side of her tank top drooped down her arm.
She looked like a drowned rat.
He smiled and said, “Gottcha.”
She didn’t yell, didn’t call him a jerk. She didn’t even look at him. She just swam to the ladder in a few long, easy strokes and grabbed the rail. For a second he thought she might try to dunk him, but she only pulled herself up from the water. Her wet skirt stuck to her legs and was considerably more transparent than it had been before.
Was that a pink thong she was wearing?
Her eyes were rimmed with red, her mouth pulled into a rigid line.
“Hey.” He reached out and grabbed her arm but she jerked it away. Without a word she walked across the patio to the house, wet feet slapping, clothes dripping.
He knew every one of Ivy’s expressions and he could swear he’d just seen her on-the-verge-of-tears face.
Of all the reactions she could have possibly had, why would she cry? Anger he could understand. He’d expected her to be furious. But tears?
Or May be she was crying because he hadn’t drowned.
No. If she’d wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have jumped in to rescue him. May be she was just embarrassed that once again he had bested her. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to apologize, even though she’d started it, then May be rub it in her a face one more time for good measure.
He jumped up and went after her, his feet squishing in his sodden boots. “Ivy, hold up.”
But she didn’t stop moving. If anything, she walked faster. She flung open the door, but, thanks to a much longer stride, he caught her just inside the threshold.
“Come on, Ivy, stop.” He reached for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. Once again she jerked free and marched through the living room. She wasn’t just a little angry that he’d gotten the best of her. She was seriously peeved.
“Come on, Ivy, it was a joke. Lighten up.”
She stopped abruptly and swung around to face him. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face pale, and tears hovered just inside her eyelids.
“A joke?” she asked incredulously. Her lower lip quivered and her hands were trembling. “You call that a joke?”
He shrugged. “I was just fooling around.”
“Fooling around?” She took a step toward him, raising both her arms. For a second he thought she was going to deck him, or wrap her hands around his throat and squeeze. Instead she planted both hands on his chest and gave him a good, hard shove. Because he was prepared and outweighed her by almost half, he didn’t go very far.
“Fooling around?” she repeated. Then she gave him another shove, harder this time, knocking him back a couple of inches and darn near forcing the air from his lungs. “You scared me to death, you idiot! I thought you drowned! I thought you were dead.”
The tears flowed over and rolled down her cheeks, and whatever pride remained of his victory fizzled away. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
An explosive combination of fear and fury burned hot and lethal in her eyes. She wound up again, but before she could shove him he grabbed her wrists. She tried to jerk away, but this time he held on.
“Let go of me!” She twisted and yanked, struggling to break free, and he began to worry that she was so hysterical, she would hurt not only him, but herself.
“Ivy, calm down! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pulled her against him, managed to get his arms around her, pinning her close to his body to protect them both. She was cold, wet and trembling all over. “I’m sorry.”
