Was that caring she saw in his eyes?
“Ivy,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her. His soft lips were on hers, and they were softer and more enticing than she’d even imagined.
He kissed her again and again, and his kiss became more intense as he pressed his body into hers. She could feel his need—his beckoning desire was like nothing she’d ever encountered.
This is real, she thought. It has to be. He can’t be doing all this for show, could he?
Abruptly, Cullen stopped kissing her, and he stepped back. “We can’t do this.”
“Why not?” she said.
“You’re drunk.”
“Fine. Whatever, Cullen.” She sighed, starting to walk away from him yet again. “Thanks for a wonderful first day of work. See you later.”
“Come with me,” he told her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight while you’re like this.”
“I’ll catch a cab,” she said, pausing uncertainly.
“I have a private car.” He gave a loud whistle and a wave, and then she saw a shiny stretch limo pulling up the curb.
“You have a limo just waiting for you at all times?” she said, her brow creasing.
“I called for a car when I first got to the bar and saw you there. I knew that I was going to ensure you were taken care of properly.” His words brooked no discussion, and Ivy was through arguing with him.
She was tired, drunk and weak from trying to resist him.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
But then again, how could she not like the fact that he was thinking of her from the moment he stepped into the bar tonight?
Cullen opened the limousine door for her and then took her hand gently, helping her get inside.
Once they were inside the beautiful, spotless limousine, Cullen leaned forward towards the driver. “Take us to the Back Bay apartment, Dennis.”
“Yes, Mr. Sharpe,” the driver said, nodding as he raised the partition between the front and back seat to give them privacy.
Cullen was sitting next to her even though the limo had room for probably a dozen more people.
His leg touched hers and she found herself wanting him to kiss her again, right now. She turned towards him. “You have beautiful eyes,” she said softly.
He nodded. “Thank you for saying so.” Then he turned his face away from her and looked out the window of the car.
She felt a pang of rejection in her stomach. “Did I mention your eyes are also totally cold and emotionless?”
Cullen glanced at her. “It’s not the first time I’ve been told that.”
“That your eyes are beautiful? Or that you’re cold and emotionless?”
“Both,” he shot back. His leg moved away from hers.
She clenched her fists and rolled her eyes. “Why did you tell the driver to go to the Back Bay?”
“Because,” he said, “I’m not leaving you when you’re like this. I’m taking you to my apartment.”
A thrill went through her stomach as she processed this news. Her heart sped up a little. But then again, he was sending so many mixed signals that she didn’t know exactly what this development meant.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “I’m not that drunk.”
“Let’s not discuss it right now.”
“You don’t want to discuss anything.” She rolled her eyes.
“I don’t bother discussing things with people who won’t remember them the next day.”
Ivy slid away from him, folded her arms. She was getting more and more angry at the way Cullen was treating her. “I’m not a child,” she said finally.
“Then stop behaving like one.”
Now her frustration boiled over. She leaned towards the driver. “Please take me to Tremont Street! That’s the street my apartment’s on,” she told Cullen, just in case he was wondering why she wanted to go there.
The partition didn’t move and the driver didn’t respond.
“He takes direction from his client,” Cullen said calmly. “I’m afraid we haven’t changed destinations just because you’re having a tantrum.”
“So now you’re kidnapping me?”
He looked directly at her with his unreadable expression. “Please stop being melodramatic. You’re coming home with me and sobering up. We’ll talk more later.”
“I’m not drunk!” she said. “Please stop saying I’m drunk…” She couldn’t finish insisting that she was sober, however, because Ivy was struck by a wave of intense nausea. And she found herself retching in the limousine.
She vomited on the floor of the limo, shocking herself most of all.
“Oh god,” she moaned. “I’m so, so…”
Cullen was at her side in a flash, holding her, his arm encircling her back. “Dennis, please pull the car over.”
Moments later, Cullen helped her outside, and stood by the side of the road with her as she got sick again, puking into the gutter.
She was humiliated but too sick to really appreciate just how humiliated she actually was.
“Why are you still helping me?” she asked, between bouts of nausea, as Cullen rubbed her back and stroked her hair.