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But when he came to her, he caught her reaching hands and held them above her head. He lay beside her with one strong thigh slung across both of hers, locking them down. ‘I want to taste all of you, Ivy,’ he said, his hotly simmering gaze dropping to her breasts.
Her breath caught in her throat as he dipped his head and circled one aureole with his tongue, causing her nipple to harden further into a taut bullet. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the wild flow of sensations as he licked and sucked. He was so good at it, soft and slow, flicking, lashing, drawing her flesh into his mouth at just the right strength. It was so blissful, her back instinctively arched, inviting him to do more, take more.
She slithered her hands out of his grasp, wanting, needing to touch him, to stroke his hair, to glide her fingers over his back, to press him closer, imprint all of him on her memory. She felt his flesh flinch under her caresses and smiled, knowing he found it erotic, glad she excited him as much as he excited her.
‘Can’t wait,’ he muttered, jerking up to change position, swiftly inserting his leg between hers.
At last, she thought exultantly, moving just as swiftly to accommodate him, to give him achingly ready access for the intimacy she craved. A wave of ecstatic satisfaction swept through her as he thrust inward, filling the yearning core of her need. She fiercely embraced him, her legs goading him into a hectic rhythm, harder, faster, deeper, revelling in the explosive action, feeling it drive her closer and closer to the exquisite splintering chaos of intense pleasure he had given her earlier tonight.
He took her there again.
With even more shattering intensity.
Ivy heard herself cry out at the incredible peak of tension before it broke, flooding her with a tsunami of sweet sensation. Some loud unintelligible sound broke from his throat, too, and he collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. She hugged him tightly, wallowing in the possessiveness of the moment, loving him for the gift of this marvellous experience.
He rolled onto his side, carrying her with him, hugging her just as tightly. Her head was tucked under his chin. He kissed her hair, rubbing his mouth over it as though he had to taste that, too. Ivy felt drained of all energy, yet beautifully replete. A perfect feast, she thought contentedly. It had been right to give in to temptation. She would never forget this as long as she lived.
He started stroking her back, lovely, long, skin-tingling caresses. She sighed with pleasure. He knew exactly how to touch a woman. She wished she could always have a lover like him. It was a pity a relationship with him wouldn’t last, but Ivy was not about to fool herself on that score. She was a temporary episode in the life of Jordan Powell, and it was best for her to cut it short and not get too attached to him.
One night.
That was what she had decided.
It was a very sensible decision—one she would definitely keep.
‘This time we are going to do it nice and slow, Ivy,’ he said in a tone of determined purpose.
She smiled, wondering if it annoyed him that he hadn’t managed to completely control the pace. She stirred herself enough to say, ‘I liked it fine the way it was, but carry on as you like.’
If he wanted to do more, she was not about to object.
The night was still young.
She was happy to pack as much into it as he was capable of giving her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IVY’S BODY-CLOCK WOKE her at six. It was her usual rising time at the farm. Still feeling tired from the night’s unusual activities, she could have easily gone back to sleep, but looking at the man lying beside her—the absolutely yummy and extremely seductive man—she decided this was the time to leave, before he woke up and used his very persuasive powers on her to stay with him for the weekend.
Which would be terribly tempting.
However, she was half in love with him already. What woman wouldn’t be after the night they had just spent together? Any longer with him would be getting in too deep and being dumped when he’d had his fill of her could hurt a lot. Better for her to do the dumping right now.
Her curiosity about him had certainly been satisfied. She hadn’t seen much of the house he lived in but that was relatively unimportant. Her gaze roved quickly around the bedroom as she eased herself off the bed. Everything was black and white, like the en suite bathroom she had visited during the night.
There were two paintings on the walls she hadn’t noticed before—both of them from Sydney Nolan’s Ned Kelly series. It seemed a strange choice to have the legendary Australian bushranger on display in his bedroom. Ivy had imagined there’d be something more erotic—nude scenes or whatever—but the black frames and the famous black armour Ned Kelly had worn did suit the decor.
The thick white carpet muffled any sound her footsteps might have made on her way to the bathroom. Very quietly she closed the door and had a quick wash. A black silk wrap-around robe hung from a hook near the shower. She borrowed it to wear down to the car—easier than redressing in the sequinned stuff, which she could put in the trunk where her normal clothes for driving were stowed. A quick change into them and she would be on her way.
Jordan was still sound asleep as she swept up her high-fashion gear and underclothes from the floor. Having crept out of the bedroom and closed the door on the scene of her surrender to temptation, she found herself on an inside balcony overlooking the foyer. It was easy to spot the staircase. She was bolting down it when a woman emerged from a room to the left of the foyer—smallish, grey-haired, wearing a white uniform.
They both halted in surprise at seeing each other.
The woman looked Ivy up and down, the expression on her face clearly saying, Here’s a new one.
It had to be the housekeeper, Ivy thought, trying to fight a hot tide of embarrassment.
‘Good morning,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Margaret Partridge, Jordan’s cook and housekeeper. You can call me Margaret. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
‘Hello,’ Ivy blurted out, grateful for the matter-of-fact tone of the other woman’s greeting though her heart was still thumping madly over being discovered in the act of doing a runner. ‘I’m Ivy…Ivy Thornton. I…uh…need to get some day clothes out of my car.’
‘I’ll unlock the front door for you,’ Margaret said obligingly, moving to do so. ‘I was just on my way to the kitchen. Would you like a cup of coffee? Jordan rarely rises before nine on a Saturday morning so there’s no need to hurry over anything.’
‘Thank you, but I won’t wait. I have to get home,’ Ivy explained in a rush, quickly resuming her descent to the foyer.
Margaret’s eyebrows lifted quizzically. It was probably something else new to have one of Jordan Powell’s women leave his bed before he did. Ivy was super-conscious of the housekeeper’s firsthand knowledge of her employer’s affairs. The flush she hadn’t been able to stop was burning fiercely on her cheeks as she walked briskly to the opened front door.
‘I’m happy to cook you breakfast before you set off,’ Margaret offered, obviously curious about her.
‘That’s very kind.’ Ivy managed a polite smile. ‘But it’s only an hour’s drive. I’ll eat at home.’
‘You should have coffee before you go. It will perk you up for the drive. I’ll make it while you dress and have it ready for you in the kitchen.’
The uncritical manner of the housekeeper did ease some of Ivy’s embarrassment. Nevertheless, while there might be no danger of Jordan waking up any time soon, the situation was too uncomfortable for her to delay her departure any longer than she had to.
‘You probably don’t know where the kitchen is,’ Margaret ran on. ‘Last door on your right at the back of the foyer leads into the breakfast room. You walk through it to the kitchen. And there’s a powder room under the staircase where you can change if you don’t want to go back upstairs.’
‘Right! Thank you,’ Ivy said firmly, not committing herself to anything though she welcomed the information about the powder room. The handyman/chauffeur might be roaming around outside the house.
‘There’s no need to hurry,’ Margaret repeated, apparently sensing Ivy’s urge to bolt and wanting to reassure her that time wasn’t a problem.
Which might be true, but Ivy still didn’t want to risk having a clean escape foiled.
The housekeeper left the front door open for her. Ivy made a quick trip to her car, unlocked the trunk, dumped the clothes she was carrying, grabbed the blue jeans, white top and flat navy sandals, and was back inside the house with the door closed within a few minutes. The powder room was smaller than Jordan’s en suite bathroom but just as classy in grey and white and silver. Having dressed in her casual clothes and plaited the messy cloud of her hair, she looked for a hook to hang the black robe on. There wasn’t one. After dithering for several moments, she folded it up neatly and placed it on the vanity bench.
The seductive aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit her as she stepped out of the powder room. Again she dithered, aware it would be very rude to the helpful housekeeper to simply walk out without acknowledging her efforts to please. It was also very ill-mannered not to thank Jordan for the pleasure he had given her last night. Being dumped without a word was really quite nasty.
Deciding to risk staying a couple of more minutes, she followed Margaret’s directions to the breakfast room, which had such a fantastic view it momentarily stopped her. Beyond a wall of glass, a tiled patio surrounded a glorious blue swimming pool. Past that was the harbour, sparkling in the early-morning sunshine and already busy with water traffic.
Her gaze quickly swivelled around to take in the whole room. White tiles on the floor were largely covered by a beautiful thick rug in shades of blue and aqua. On this stood a glass-topped table surrounded by white leather chairs. Two Pro Hart paintings dominated the back wall—bushland scenes with vivid blue skies. This was how a billionaire enjoyed breakfast, she thought, pushing herself on to the kitchen.
It, also, was predominantly white and with the same view as the breakfast room. A quick glance around from the doorway revealed an extremely professional set-up with top-of-the-range appliances which would have seduced a master chef—a dream working area for any cook.
The housekeeper was pouring freshly brewed coffee into a mug. She smiled a welcome at Ivy and waved her to the stools on one side of an island bench. ‘Milk? Cream? Sugar?’ she inquired.
‘Please excuse me. I can’t stay. I must get home,’ Ivy said firmly. ‘I’ve left Jordan’s robe in the powder room. I hope you won’t mind returning it for me.’
‘Is there some emergency?’ Margaret cut in with a frown of concern.
‘I just have to go,’ Ivy replied, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d tell Jordan from me…thank you for the lovely night.’
Margaret nodded slowly. ‘All right. I’ll pass that on.’
Ivy flashed a smile of relief. ‘Thanks again for everything. Bye now.’
A quick wave of her hand and she was on her way out of Jordan Powell’s life, satisfied she had left with some grace.
Jordan was conscious of a sweet sense of well-being as he drifted up from sleep. Memory clicked in. Ivy. He opened his eyes, his mouth already curving into a smile. It was a jolt to find her gone from his bed, a further jolt to see her clothes were no longer on the floor. He darted a glance at the clock—8:27 a.m.
Maybe she was an early riser. People who worked on farms usually were. Margaret was always up early, too. Possibly she was giving Ivy breakfast. Feeling an urgent need to check, Jordan hurtled off the bed and strode to the bathroom.
His black robe was not on its peg.
It brought the smile back to his face.
Ivy would look very fetching in it with her glorious hair.
Feeling more confident of her presence in his home, Jordan had a quick shower, shaved, grabbed another black robe from his dressing room and went downstairs with a bounce of happy anticipation in his step. He actually grinned as he wondered what Margaret thought of Ivy—very different to his usual run of dates, and both women were quite direct in saying what was on their minds, nothing evasive or deceptive about either of them.
No one in the breakfast room.
Jordan frowned as he strode through it, not hearing any conversation coming from the kitchen and the door to it was open. He found Margaret sitting at the island bench—alone—sipping a mug of coffee.
‘Where’s Ivy?’ he snapped.
Margaret viewed him with sharp interest as she delivered her answer. ‘Gone. And you needn’t speak to me in that tone of voice, Jordan. I did try to keep her here. Offered her breakfast. Pressed her to have a cup of coffee, but she wouldn’t have it. Nothing was going to make her stay. She was determined to leave.’
‘Did she tell you why?’ he shot at her, his mind too fraught with disappointment to monitor his voice tone.
‘No. But she did ask me to thank you for the lovely night. I must say she had beautiful manners, unlike some of the other women you’ve dated.’
Jordan burned with frustration. Never had a woman left him before he wanted her to, and for it to be Ivy…no, he could not, would not respect her decision to reject what they could have together. She had been with him all the way last night, and lovely fell far short of what had happened between them.
A hard, cynical thought flashed into his mind. Was this some deliberate move to test how keen he was to have her in his life? A clever power game? Being the only one who didn’t throw herself at him had worked to hold his interest last night. Running off might be the goad for him to give chase.
A billionaire would be a great catch for a farm girl.
Except the billionaire had no intention of being caught.
But he did want more of Ivy Thornton. A lot more. And he could not believe she didn’t want more of him. So he would give chase, ensuring their connection would only end when he wanted it to end.
‘Did she tell you where she was going?’
‘Home.’
He grimaced with impatience at the short reply. ‘Can you be more specific, Margaret? I know Ivy works on a farm, but I don’t know its location.’
‘An hour’s drive from here, she said.’
He threw up his hands. ‘Too vague!’
‘Sorry. I can’t help on that point. If you want my opinion, I think she was deeply embarrassed at being found in your home and couldn’t get out fast enough. Very different to others I might mention who were positively smug about being here with you. And since she didn’t give you any contact details, it doesn’t look like she wants you to pursue her.’
He frowned. Maybe this wasn’t a calculated move. Margaret was very good at reading character. Possibly Ivy was shocked at herself. He’d taken advantage of her shock last night, sweeping her along with him. But she’d been fine in his bed. Fantastic in his bed! However, if she wasn’t used to having sex with a man on a first date…was she ashamed of herself for crossing some moral standard?
Which might mean…oh, hell! If she was a good girl, not on any contraceptive pill…he’d totally ignored that issue last night, deciding to deal with it later. If taking that risk had hit her this morning…if there was a very real possibility she had fallen pregnant…she might have been overwhelmed by a sense of panic.
‘I have to find her, Margaret.’ He started tramping around the kitchen, raking his hair in agitation. ‘I have to!’ It wasn’t just the pregnancy question, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of never seeing Ivy again, never having her again.
‘Not that it’s any of my business,’ Margaret said with an air of making it hers this once. ‘But it’s my observation that you’re not into having serious relationships with women, Jordan, and Ivy Thornton didn’t strike me as a sophisticated playgirl. It might be a kindness to respect her decision and let her go. Simply write her off as the one that got away.’
‘No! No!’ The emphatic negatives exploded off his tongue. He glared at Margaret, who looked stunned by the explosiveness of his reaction. ‘I can’t!’ he added decisively, not wanting to explain why. ‘I have to find her,’ he repeated in teeth-gritting determination.
‘And then what?’ Margaret asked, critical brown eyes putting him on the spot, holding judgement on his motives.
Ruthless purpose swept straight past the uncertainties in his mind. ‘Then she can tell me to my face that she doesn’t want anything more to do with me.’
Ivy wouldn’t be able to do it, not with any honesty.
‘Fair enough,’ Margaret conceded. ‘What would you like for breakfast this morning?’
She slid off her stool, ready to get down to business.
Jordan was infuriated by her matter-of-fact dismissal of his intense frustration with the situation. And breakfast was the last thing he wanted to consider right now. He shook a finger at her and fiercely declared, ‘Ivy Thornton is not going to be the one who got away!’
Margaret stopped and stared at him as though he’d suddenly metamorphosed into a stranger. ‘Sorry if I spoke out of turn,’ she said with uncharacteristic meekness. ‘It was just…I liked her, Jordan. And I wouldn’t like it if you hunted her down and hurt her.’
‘I have no intention of hurting her.’
Margaret pressed her lips together, buttoning up against offending him with any further comment, but her eyes definitely challenged him to keep that stated intention. He would be the lesser man in her estimation if he didn’t.
Ivy had clearly made a more strongly positive impression on her than any of the other women he’d brought here.
‘I like her, too, Margaret,’ he said more quietly. ‘Very much.’
She nodded, still tight-lipped.
He sighed.
Battle lines were drawn.
He now had to win over Ivy—and make her happy to be with him—in order to win over Margaret or he’d be getting burnt breakfasts. Possibly even worse! She might walk out on him, too!
A burst of adrenaline raised his fighting instincts.
Jordan was not a man to back down from a challenge.
One way or another, he’d have what he wanted!
CHAPTER EIGHT
IVY kept telling herself she’d been absolutely right to get out of Jordan Powell’s life, but her body was still fired up by the memory of him, and it was quite impossible to get him out of her head. Being home on the farm didn’t really help. She couldn’t stop imagining how it might have been if she’d spent the weekend with him in his beautiful Balmoral home.
It was a hot morning and shaping up to be an even hotter day. A quick dip in his gorgeous swimming pool would have been lovely, not to mention…
The ringing of the telephone was a welcome distraction. She dived on the receiver, hoping the caller would ground her in real life again. No such luck! It was her mother, who instantly recalled everything about last night.
‘Ivy, I’ve just had Jordan Powell on the line.’
Her heart kicked into overdrive. ‘What did he want?’ she asked, her voice uncharacteristically shrill. With fear or excitement?
‘Well, I thought it was rather odd. You did go out with him last night and you looked as though you were enjoying his company, but since you obviously didn’t give him your address…was that an oversight, dear, or don’t you want to see him again?’
A bomb of anxiety exploded in her mind. ‘Did you tell him where I lived?’
‘No. He was very charming. Always is. But I thought I’d better check with you first.’
Relief poured through Ivy. She didn’t have to face Jordan again, didn’t have to battle against her attraction to him. Her decision to leave had definitely been right and it was much easier to hold on to it from a distance. This call proved how shaky her resolution could be, given his immediate presence.
‘I’m glad you did,’ she said in a calmer tone. ‘He’s not for me. Good for a night out, but I’d rather leave it there.’
‘Are you sure, dear?’
‘I’m sure. Thank you for protecting my privacy. I really appreciate it. And congratulations on the show. Lots of sales last night.’
‘Yes. Very gratifying. And it was lovely to see you looking so stunning, Ivy. Living right up to your full potential. I felt so proud of you.’
It was a nice feeling to have pleased her mother. Ivy relaxed enough to smile as she remarked, ‘Well, I didn’t want to let you down again and it felt really good when Henry’s jaw dropped at seeing me. He’s such a snob!’
‘But he’s very adept at wooing the right crowd at his gallery, dear, bringing in people with the money to buy. It’s a pity I have to disappoint a good client like Jordan Powell…’ She sighed. ‘Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t like to see him again, Ivy?’
‘Yes, I am. I don’t fit into his kind of life and he wouldn’t fit into mine. End of story,’ she said emphatically, ignoring the flutters in her stomach and forcefully remembering the way Jordan’s housekeeper had checked her over—the latest candidate for her employer’s bed.
‘Well, in that case, my lips are sealed. Such a shame!’ Sacha muttered and disconnected.
By Monday morning Ivy was more settled into the idea that her night with Jordan was a one-off experience which she could look back on with pleasure and no regrets. Heather, of course, wanted to know everything, the moment she swept into the office.
‘Did he zero in on you?’
‘Yes, he did,’ Ivy answered, and even managed to smile at her friend’s whoop of triumphant excitement.
‘Tell me all!’ Heather demanded.
Ivy confessed that she had succumbed to the temptation of enjoying Jordan’s company at the gallery and described the follow-up dinner date in great detail, much to Heather’s salacious enjoyment.
‘And then? Did you go and look at his paintings?’
‘Some of them,’ Ivy teased. No way was she going to confide what actually led to the trip to Balmoral! Some things were too intensely private.
‘If you came straight home after that, I’ll kill you!’ Heather ranted. ‘I want to know if he’s a fantastic lover.’
Ivy laughed, needing to keep the whole episode light and unimportant. ‘He is. I’d have to say he’s very, very good at sex. I’m glad I stayed the night.’
‘Only the one night?’
‘That was enough, Heather. You know he’s a playboy. I left while he was still asleep and ran into his housekeeper on my way out. If you’d seen the way she looked at me…’
‘Another notch on his bedpost?’ Heather interpreted with a sympathetic grimace.
‘It didn’t feel good. I was glad I skipped out when I did.’
‘Fair enough!’ Heather grinned. ‘Marvellous that he was great in bed, though. I think you needed to be taken down from the shelf and dusted off. Hopefully it will get you more interested in looking for some real action in your life.’
‘I shall hope for it,’ Ivy replied, grateful that Heather had already relegated the experience with Jordan Powell to the realm of fantasy. Where it belonged. ‘Now let’s get down to work.’
Occasionally, throughout the day, Heather questioned her further, but it was mainly curiosity about the Balmoral house, what Ivy had seen of it, nothing really personal. Orders for roses came in. The courier was loaded up and sent to the designated addresses. By late afternoon, Ivy was satisfied that her brief encounter with Jordan Powell had been dealt with and would quickly slip into the past. A memory. Nothing more.
Until he struck again!
‘Uh-oh!’ Heather muttered and swung her computer chair around to face Ivy, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect. ‘You’re not going to like this!’
‘What?’
‘Jordan Powell is ordering roses and double chocolate fudge to go to your mother.’
‘My mother!’
‘With a message attached. For you, Ivy.’
For one gut-twisting moment, she thought he knew the rose farm was hers.
‘It says…“Please tell Ivy…”’
No, he was still trying to get to her through her mother!
The relief was so intense she didn’t hear what the message was.
‘Say that again, Heather?’
‘“Please tell Ivy I need to talk to her. I’ll be at the Bacio Coffee Shop under the clock in the Queen Victoria building between noon and two o’clock on Saturday and Sunday. I’ll wait until she comes.”’
He wanted a face-to-face meeting, counting on his charm to win her over to what he wanted. She wasn’t going to risk it. No way! She might fall victim to it again.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Heather asked.
‘Put the order through. It’s business as usual. I’ll speak to my mother about it.’
‘Okay.’
But it wasn’t okay. The same order came through on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday, constantly reminding Ivy of the man.
‘Maybe you should go and talk to him,’ Heather said as she was leaving on Friday.
‘No!’ Ivy answered firmly.
But her weekend was totally wrecked, thinking about him waiting for her, wondering if he had something to say she would actually want to hear. Which was ridiculous, given his track record with women.
He didn’t give up.
The order was repeated on Monday and every day of the next week. Her mother complained she was drowning in roses and putting on weight with all the double chocolate fudge.
‘You don’t have to eat it,’ Ivy cried in sheer frustration with Jordan’s determined campaign. ‘Give it away. Give the roses away.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t go and talk to him,’ her mother argued. ‘It’s not as if he’s asking you to come into his parlour, Ivy. It’s a public place. You can walk away any time you like.’
‘I don’t want to see him. Full stop.’
However, her refusal to meet Jordan did not stop him.
Her mother was inundated with roses and fudge for the third week running. Even Heather, with all her Rose Valentino knowledge, started doubting Ivy’s decision.
‘You must have made a big impact on him, Ivy. To be this persistent…and waiting two hours at a coffee shop for you to turn up…’ She frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think a dilettante would do that.’ Her eyes gathered a look of fantastic possibilities as she added, ‘What if it’s a serious attraction? Maybe you should give it a chance. You did say he was a great lover.’
‘How could it work between us? I’m here. He’s there,’ Ivy pointed out with considerable vehemence, needing to hang on to common sense.
‘Distance wouldn’t be a problem for a billionaire. He probably owns a helicopter.’
‘I bet it’s no more than an ego thing and I’m not giving in to it,’ Ivy declared with fierce determination.
Heather said no more, keeping her thoughts to herself, but Ivy could see the glint of pro-Jordan speculation in her eyes as the orders continued through the fourth week. Which was downright persecution!
Heather no longer supported her stance.
Her mother was ranting and raving.
On the fourth Saturday morning after Ivy had walked out of Jordan Powell’s life, she decided she had to meet him and give him a piece of her mind—an angry, outraged, totally damning piece which would rock him back on his billionaire-playboy socks and make him leave her alone!
She braided her hair back into one thick plait, minimising its impact. Blue jeans, a royal-blue T-shirt and navy sandals helped give her a fairly nondescript appearance. Without any make-up she was satisfied that Jordan would not find her particularly attractive today. It had to be impressed upon him that he was wasting his time with her.
She drove to Sydney and used the parking station under the Queen Victoria Building, which was expensive but handy for a quick getaway. The big clock inside the shopping mall was showing ten minutes past midday as she kept herself inconspicuous amongst the crowd of shoppers passing by the tables belonging to the Bacio Coffee Shop. They were set out in open view, most of them occupied by people wanting a lunch break.
Her heart kicked into a gallop when she spotted Jordan at one of them, a pen in hand, apparently working on a crossword in the newspaper spread out on his table. He wasn’t looking out for her, but he was there all right, all set up to wait patiently for her arrival. The relentless pressure for this meeting sent a bolt of panic through Ivy, quickening her pace as she walked straight past where he was sitting, too agitated by the sight of him to be in control of this encounter. Her righteous anger had just been swallowed up by a scary sense of vulnerability.
She stopped at a safe distance and turned to watch him surreptitiously. The back view of him was not so nerve-joltingly handsome, but it was impossible to set aside the fact she had gone to bed with this man, knew his body intimately, had run her fingers through his thick black hair, nestled her face contentedly into the curve of his neck and shoulder—sharp memories raising a terribly acute sexual awareness, both of him and herself. The moment she looked into his bedroom-blue eyes she would see them there, too, and how was she going to ignore or dismiss that once she sat down with him?
Ivy dithered, the need to stop Jordan from inserting himself into her life losing all its furious momentum in the power of his presence. She saw other women glancing at him from nearby tables, probably wishing they could catch his attention. Even though he seemed oblivious of their interest, he still had the charismatic magnetism to draw theirs. It kept tugging at her, too. Coming here had been a mistake—a big mistake.
He would stop sending the roses eventually.
She didn’t have to say or do anything.
Except tear her gaze away from him and go back home.
So go, she told herself, but before she could bring herself to act, Jordan’s head jerked up as though reacting to something. He rose swiftly to his feet, turned, shooting a questioning gaze around his vicinity. Ivy froze, couldn’t move a muscle, the certainty of no escape now seizing her mind, making another encounter with him inevitable.
