chapter Three
Ivy pulled on the shoulder harness of her seat belt and eased it back into place. She was turned so that her back was against the door and she could watch Jake drive. He had a strong profile and when he smiled, which didn’t happen often, the stiff cast of his face relaxed. She noticed that his eyelashes were gold, that he had a small scar shaped like a starburst over his eyebrow, and that beneath his solid build he had a soft heart.
“So why, exactly, were you ordered to Las Vegas?” Ivy returned to their roadside conversation because she found it fascinating—that someone would resent a little time off. Her life was so hectic now, and had been for so long, that travel, exotic places and long hours of nothing to do, had become her favorite daydream.
“R and R,” he returned.
“Because. . .?”
“I haven’t been on vacation in two-plus years,” he revealed.
Ivy nodded. “Me, either.” There was a wistfulness in her voice. She was happy with her life. She loved where she lived, the job she went to everyday. She loved every moment she could spend outdoors with the sun and the sea on her face. She had it good. But she’d also taken on a lot of responsibility after the crash. For the first year, Holly hadn’t been able to work. She’d gone through her savings and Ivy had taken on extra hours to help out. Other than her time in Vegas, she hadn’t had even two days off back-to-back. A vacation sounded nice. It sounded sinful.
She tipped her head back and sank into the moment—hot sun, warm sand, pale green water. The Caribbean, definitely. She’d been only once. A week in the Grand Caymans. She’d learned how to scuba dive and had parasailed. Exhilarating. She collected five pounds of shells she’d taken home with her and kept in a glass vase on a table in her tiny apartment. There were moments, when she inhaled deeply, that she believed she could still smell the soft scents of the Caribbean. It reminded her of the easy days and sultry nights, and though she had spent them alone, there had been something carnal in the stroke of the water against her flesh and the caress of the ocean breezes.
She lifted her hand and smoothed it over her arm, up to her shoulder and cupped her neck. She’d meant to ease her body’s response to the remembered experience, but felt her nipples bead and the satin material of her bra became too rough to her sensitive flesh.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was harsh and as powerful as an undertow. It crashed over her and pulled her out of her sweet memories.
She opened her eyes and speared him with a glance.
“Damn, you really ruined that,” she complained. She didn’t bother softening the sharp edges of accusation in her voice, either. She’d been enjoying the moment.
“Sorry, but you should never look like that,” he warned. “Not unless you’re planning on
sharing it.”
“What?”
“Wherever you were,” he demanded. “My guess would be heaven.”
Yes, it had been heaven. And she’d promised herself she would return, multiple times. She had hoped for once a year. But life was full of rude intrusions.
“OK, I owe you that much,” she allowed. “But then I want to hear about your last vacation.” She reached back for the memory of her long ago travels. “The Grand Caymans, almost three years ago. Have you ever been?”
She moved her gaze from his profile and over his broad shoulders, barely contained in the thin cotton t-shirt. She could see the outline of his pectoral muscles beneath the NIKE lettering stamped across his chest. She wondered if he had any tattoos. There were none visible on his arms. No scrolls working their way up his neckline. Still, she’d bet he had one somewhere. . .Her eyes drifted down his flat stomach to where his shirt fell over his jeans. Faded denim encased his hips and thighs. Her body was responding to his closeness, to her perusal of his body, by growing tight. Her breath hitched in her throat. She followed the lines of his legs, back up to the juncture of his thighs.
“No,” he said.
It sounded like she’d strangled the word out of him and she reluctantly let her eyes lift to his face. His skin was flushed. He’d caught her looking. Well, undressing him really. And she didn’t know what had gotten into her, except that she was imagining him in a swimsuit, beside her on the white sand, and she had just let herself go. She wasn’t at all repentant about it, and she wondered about this, too. Where was the control she’d learned to harness? And from where did this new boldness come? It didn’t bother her so much as she found it exciting. Powerful, even. And she’d never felt that before. She liked it, wanted to hold onto it. But what would it cost her?
She pushed that warning thought to the back of her mind and smiled into his discomfort.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “I think you’d love it there.”
“Hell, yeah,” he agreed and they both knew they were talking about a whole lot more than the Caribbean.
She laughed and even to her it sounded like more of a purr. “I’ll tell you more about it.”
“Start with the basics,” he ordered. “What color was your swim suit?”
“They’re totally optional there.”
She heard him swear, short and swift, and her smiled deepened with delight.
“Torture,” he decided. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“I am,” she agreed, surprised. “Though I didn’t know it.”
He snorted.
“Really.” She’d never indulged in word play, not during her short marriage to Trace. Not on the few dates she’d had since him. And she was finding that she really liked it. “And I was just kidding about that. The swimsuit thing. The Cayman’s are British owned. I brought several.”
“Let’s stick to the facts.”
“That’s no fun.”
But he was relentless. “One piece or two?”
“Both.”
“Color?”
“Red one piece, if you can call it that. I think most two pieces have more fabric.” He groaned and she moved on. “I used that one for diving. A floral tankini—that’s a two piece that looks like one—“
“I know what it is,” he assured her.
“That was my go-to for things like parasailing and windsurfing. A lot of movement and I wanted to be sure there wasn’t something private going public.”
His lips thinned and Ivy watched his hands clench around the steering wheel.
“I’m saving the best for last,” she announced.
“Of course.”
“A black barely-there bikini—strictly for tanning. All strings. Well, it did have a few triangles attached. Mostly for show.”
She turned the full brilliance of her smile on him.
“You want to know what I wore to bed?”
He shook his head.
“You’re being very accommodating,” he said, and it was almost a complaint.
“You’re going a lot out of your way,” she pointed out, and she had been having fun. But they did cross some kind of unspoken boundary. A small needle of discomfort pricked at her sensibilities.
“Forget it then,” he said, and there was a firmness in his voice that said, ‘game over.’ “There are no strings attached to this ride.”
“Meaning there are to others?”
But he wouldn’t go there with her.
She shrugged, suddenly unsure of herself and not liking it. “It was a little fun between strangers.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked.
“It’s starting to,” she admitted.
“Good.”
“We got out of hand,” she admitted.
“Definitely.”
“Why?”
“Attraction,” he said. “It’s intense and mutual.”
She didn’t deny it. “That’s not a good thing.” She’d fallen for Trace fast and had hung on with a tenacity that was unhealthy and even life-threatening.
“Hell, yes, it is.”
“If we knew each other, maybe.”
“We’re not strangers anymore,” he said. “We know more about each other than a lot of people do after a handful of dates.”
That intrigued her. “What do you know about me, Jake?”
“You’re strong, because you had to be,” he said. “And at this point in your life, you wouldn’t want it any other way. You had a major relationship go bad and you’re determined to use that as a compass. You’re a woman of action. You prefer to work on solutions than spend a single moment dwelling on your situation. You’re compassionate, intuitive, and responsive.”
Ivy sat speechless. Many of the qualities he’d listed were exactly as she thought of herself.
“You also work too much,” he continued, “and you could use a little more common sense.”
He stole a sideways glance in time to watch Ivy’s eyebrow arch.
“You should have been more concerned about being alone in the middle of the desert,” he insisted.
“I call that confidence,” Ivy said.
“Sometimes the line between confidence and casualty is blurred. It’s easy to find ourselves in trouble.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” she countered.
“I could be,” he admitted.
His words, and their solemn tone, made her think back to the moment on the side of the road when Jake’s whole demeanor had changed. Everything about him had stilled. She had sensed him withdrawing, drifting out of reach. Some thought had haunted him. She had watched the shadows shift in his eyes, his face grow dark.
He turned on his signal light and cruised into a lane change. Ivy looked at the approaching signs and noticed they were connecting with Interstate Fifteen. They were still at least an hour from the hospital. The clock on the dash read five-twenty-five. She would make it. She didn’t doubt him for a minute. But it would be by the skin of her teeth.
That was one thing Ivy knew about Jake. She could take him at his word. But why did she know that? Because he was a Marine? No, there was more to it—to him—than that. He had shown honor in a number of ways. First, by stopping to help. Then by distancing himself when the pot started to boil. He had called an end to their game when it became more than that.
Jake was a man she could trust. That was a foreign idea to Ivy. Her father had never so much as dropped a birthday card in the mail. He had left her and Holly long before Ivy had a decent memory of the man. And at this point, for all she knew, her father could be dead. Trace had done little to inspire trust. He had, in fact, crushed even the hope of finding that with the beatings.
“You learn anything about me, Ivy?”
She nodded but it took a moment to find her voice. Even so, she sounded breathless, “You’re a man I can trust.”
“That scares you.”
She nodded. “You’re dangerous.” And it had nothing to do with his size, his confidence or the certainty with which he conducted his life. Trust made a woman vulnerable.
“And you want to run.”
She turned to him, even though her eyes were flared with fear. “You’re wrong about that, Jake. I stopped running a long time ago.”
He nodded. “I won’t push. Not too hard.”
“And I might pull left, but I’ll stand my ground.”
She watched a smile lift the corner of his lips.
“It looks like we got the communication thing down.”
“So far,” she agreed. “So we’re going to see each other again?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Count on it.”
She liked his swift and sure answer, but decided to test it anyway.
“But we’re not in any hurry.”
He turned quickly and shot her a look. “Define hurry.”
“Is dinner Saturday night too soon?” That was a whole week away. She tried to look at him with wide-eyed innocence, but a teasing quality had entered her voice. Jake noticed it, too, and smiled into her challenge.
“You’ll need your car before then,” he pointed out.
She frowned. Ivy had no idea how she was going to get home from work at the end of her shift. But there was time enough to figure that out.
“Tuesday?” Jake offered.
“I work until seven.”
“You’ll need to eat.”
She nodded. “I’ll need exercise, too. I usually take advantage of the long days and run after work.”
“Sounds good to me. A run and then a late dinner.”
She let her eyes dip to his legs, powerful against the denim. “You’re a runner?”
“I’m a Marine.”
She thought about that. She knew there was a certain amount of physical aptitude required to join the Corps and that maintaining it was expected. Still, she had been running for almost two years now. “You’ve met your match,” she declared.
His bark of laughter startled her. “Competitive, too,” he said.
Ivy smiled. “Not really. Running is a very solitary sport. For me, anyway.”
“You’ve never run with anyone,” he guessed.
She thought about Holly. They had never run together. They talked about it, about when
she would be ready and how Ivy would be right by her side. She hoped that day came, and soon. She hoped they weren’t grasping at the impossible.
“No, but I think I’ll like it.”
“Me, too.” He looked into the rear view mirror and then changed lanes. They passed a sign that read San Diego 67 miles.
“You want me to tell you more about the Grand Cayman’s? The G version,” she promised.
“No way. You can tell me more about your Caribbean vacation, picking up exactly where you left off, on our second date.” He paused and put a little more thought into that. “No, better make it our third or fourth.” He turned to her and smiled. “How’s that for pacing?”
Ivy pursed her lips as she pretended to think about it. “About the blinding speed of a freight train stuck in neutral.”