The Man Plan Read online

  “Oh, he’d have been in his room, all right, and you’d have been in there with him.” His eyes gleamed an intense blue. “You’ve always been far too willing to trust people, to believe the best of them whether they deserve it or not. The sort of behavior that’s bound to get you into trouble one of these days.”

  She trembled with a rush of nerves. “That’s absurd. Just because I’m nice to people doesn’t mean one of them will eventually hurt me. Despite what you think, I’m not naive. I’m more than capable of looking after myself. Now, let me go.”

  “What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” he taunted.

  “Cut it out, James. I mean it. This is stupid.”

  “Would it seem so stupid if I were Fred or a stranger?”

  “This game is ridiculous, and I’m not playing along.”

  “Fine. Admit I’m right and I’ll let you go.”

  She wasn’t used to being pissed off with James, but boy, he was really pushing her buttons tonight. She could see the smug confidence on his face, knew he expected her to knuckle under.

  Giving in would be the easy way out.

  Well, damn the easy way.

  Without any warning, she lunged forward, giving him a hard shove and an elbow dig in the ribs. She twisted her hips, hoping the momentum would be enough to break free. For a split second, his grip loosened and she thought she’d done it. But just as quickly, he recovered, cinching up the slack to haul her close again.

  She gave a frustrated shout and tried again, feet shifting in an odd sort of dance as both of them struggled to gain the upper hand. She lashed out with one foot, then the other, trying to overbalance him with a clever hook behind his ankles.

  But James was entirely too fast, entirely too strong. He countered, planting his legs on either side of her own, trapping her thighs in between. With carefully controlled strength, he forced her arms behind her back and gathered her wrists into his hands.

  She could barely squirm and wondered whether this was how a turkey felt, trussed and helpless as it waited to have its feathers plucked for Thanksgiving dinner.

  Their faces were close. So close she could see the tiny creases that fanned out at the corners of his eyes. His short eyelashes, so pale they looked nearly white. And the color of his irises darkened to a deep, rich indigo.

  Their bodies were fitted together as tightly as a pair of hibernating minks, every millimeter touching.

  Torso, belly, thighs.

  Her nipples tightened as her breasts rubbed against his firm chest, up and down while she fought to catch her breath.

  Hot.

  His body seemed to radiate warmth. His heat, his scent, pouring over her, seeping through the thin cotton of her dress. Goose bumps rose on her skin at the vivid contrast between him and the air-conditioned coolness of the room.

  Her muscles trembled from the strain, her spine bent back in an awkward arch. She bucked and twisted in a final bid for freedom, grinding pelvis to pelvis. She stilled when she realized what she’d done. Against her, she felt the hard evidence of his arousal. An accompanying ache sprang to life in her, igniting an intimate pulse of want that beat deep within.

  Her mouth opened on a soundless gasp.

  Neither of them spoke; neither of them could.

  Air rushed in and out of his lungs, his eyes locked on the parted fullness of her lips.

  Then his mouth was on hers—or hers on his—since she had no idea which one of them had actually moved first.

  He caught her lower lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle bite. His brief nip shot straight to her core. She whimpered when he took her deeper, sucking her tongue into his mouth to kiss her in a way she hadn’t known anyone could.

  Caught in an agony of longing, she writhed against him, struggling to free herself from his relentless grip, desperate to wrap her arms around him and cling.

  Instead, he held her captive, arching her even tighter against his body. If not for his formidable strength, she knew she would have fallen. He ground his erection against her, pressing her hands into the small of her back as he made love to her through the barrier of their clothes. His fingers stretched to link with her own, clasping, clutching. She threaded hers tight in return.

  His lips fell upon the curve of her neck and burrowed there with erotic intent. She moaned as he kissed and laved her tender skin in a way that was certain to leave a mark.

  Then suddenly she was free, as he released her wrists to shift position—not to stop but to gain fuller access. She understood his need without the necessity of words, knew he wanted more.

  She wanted more as well.

  His hands cupped her breasts.

  She raised her arms to touch him, to hold him as she’d been longing to do. She stopped, crying out as a sharp spasm of pain jabbed through her right shoulder.

  James blinked and stared, her distress shredding the passionate haze around him as nothing else could have done. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice little more than a harsh croak.

  “Charley horse.” She massaged the cramped muscle. “It’s not so bad.” She grimaced and lifted her arm into the air to stretch.

  James’s eyes went immediately to her breasts, watching them shift beneath the bodice of her dress. He turned away, scrubbed a hand over his face.

  Dear God, what am I doing? What have I done?

  Trembling, he raked his fingers through his hair.

  His behavior was appalling. Inexcusable. Vile. Never in his life had he handled a woman so roughly, so thoughtlessly. To know he’d treated Ivy—his dear, sweet, little Ivy—in such a way, made it all that much more reprehensible.

  How would she ever be able to speak to him, look at him in any sort of a normal way again?

  Yet even now, overwhelmed as he was by guilt and regret, he couldn’t stop wanting her. “Ivy, I’m sorry.”

  She paused, a hand on her elbow as she flexed her arm. “I’m all right now. No pain.” She lowered the strained limb to her side, wiggled her fingers. “See?”

  He stepped away, not trusting himself to touch her, even in an innocent way. “Go home, Ivy.”

  “What?”

  “Go home. Let yourself out and lock the door behind you.” He turned and headed up the staircase toward his suite of rooms.

  He didn’t look back.

  * * *

  Upstairs, he plunged his head beneath the punishment of a cold shower spray.

  Sleep was next on his agenda, assuming he could sleep. At least tomorrow was Sunday, so he wouldn’t have to worry about rolling out of bed at his usual early hour.

  He lowered the water temperature another notch. Shivered as he leaned his forehead against the slick white tile wall of the shower enclosure, his mind as tortured as his body.

  Five minutes later and about three-quarters recovered, he toweled himself dry and slipped on a pair of loose-fitting, navy blue cotton boxers. He scrubbed his teeth with a minty-tasting toothpaste, drank half a glass of water, then snapped off the lights before exiting the bathroom.

  The lamp next to his bed cast a weak amber glow that left most of the room in darkness. When he’d walked in earlier, he’d paused only long enough to switch it on before flinging his clothes haphazardly to the floor. He was halfway across the room before it dawned on him that the clothes were gone.

  Ivy drifted out of the shadows. “I put your things in the hamper in your dressing room. I hope that was all right.”

  His head jerked in her direction, the shock of finding her there sizzling along his nerve endings. “I thought you’d left.”

  She shook her head. “I locked up like you asked me to, but I couldn’t go, not after what happened.”

  He scowled. She shouldn’t be here. Didn’t she know that? This was no time to talk. No place to talk either. Hell, even if it were, what would he say? What could he say?

  “If you’ve come looking for an apology,” he told her gruffly, “it’ll have to wait. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”


  God help me, she has to leave, he thought.

  For both their sakes, couldn’t she see she had to go?

  “I don’t want an apology,” she said, her voice soft and melodic.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, wishing he’d put on a robe. “What do you want, then?” His voice deepened, rough with frustration and remorse. “It’s done, Ivy. I can’t take it back.”

  Graceful, she glided toward him, halting only inches away. “I know that, and I’m so glad you can’t.”

  He blinked, his arms falling to his sides. “What?”

  She caressed him with her eyes. He couldn’t mistake the look for anything else as it roved over his skin like a violinist admiring a prized Stradivarius.

  “You asked me what I wanted,” she murmured, stretching out a hand. Her fingers trembled as she laid them against his bare chest. “What I want is you. I always have.”

  He tried to swallow, his throat dry. Her touch was warm and smooth and seared him to the bone. “I thought you’d gotten over your infatuation with me long ago.”

  “Letting you believe that seemed easier.” Undeterred, she stroked her other hand over his shoulder, fingers playing like silken ribbons against his skin.

  His cock hardened again inside his boxers. “Ivy, don’t. We can’t do this.”

  “Why not?” She bent forward and pressed her lips to his neck, zeroing in on a particularly sensitive spot just under his chin. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”

  Blood beat in his temples, slowed and thickened in other places. “Even so, it—wouldn’t be right. We—the two of us—we shouldn’t be together, not like this.”

  Her free hand stayed busy, roaming over him while her lips scattered kisses across his collarbone. “We were together downstairs,” she whispered. “I thought we fit together perfectly.”

  “What happened downstairs was a mistake. I didn’t mean to kiss you. I—well—it all got out of hand.”

  “Hmm, didn’t it, though?” She kissed his cheek, then sighed into his ear. “Let’s get out of hand again.”

  He fought the red haze that rolled through his brain.

  Show some restraint, he thought. Have enough willpower to do the right thing.

  “Ivy, no.” He untangled himself from her and stepped away. “Stop. I mean it.”

  She pinned him with a smoldering look, her eyes brilliantly blue. “I mean it too. You want me. Why deny what both of us want?”

  “Because it’ll change our relationship. If we do this, nothing will ever be the same between us again.”

  “It’ll never be the same no matter what we do tonight,” she said. “These feelings on both sides are in the open now and can’t be taken back.”

  She was right.

  Never again would he be able to look at her, think of her, in the way he used to.

  She wouldn’t ever again be the child who’d once solemnly held out her shoes to him, laces dangling, to ask if he’d teach her how to tie a bow.

  Or the shy adolescent who’d phoned him the first time she’d ever stayed home alone, then talked with him for more than two hours, until her parents came home, so she wouldn’t be afraid.

  Or the teenage girl whose cheeks had bloomed with innocent delight when he’d placed a strand of cultured pearls around her neck as a gift on her fifteenth birthday.

  As she’d reminded him, she wasn’t fifteen anymore. The girl she’d once been was gone, a memory of the past. She was a woman now and no longer an innocent; her bold actions tonight assured him of that. Still, that didn’t mean he had to take advantage of her.

  He shook his head, denying himself as much as her. “All the old reasons against our being together still apply. There’s too much history, too many years. I’m too old for you, Ivy.”

  “Your mind only thinks you are.” Pointedly, she skimmed her eyes downward. “Your body doesn’t seem to agree.”

  Dressed as he was, there was no disguising his erection. “What my body thinks doesn’t matter.”

  She drew a breath, then reached for his hand. In silence, she carried it across the space between them and placed it over her breast. “Doesn’t it?”

  His palm cupped the warm curve of her pliant flesh as though fashioned for that express purpose. He fought to yank his hand away. Instead, as if controlled by a will of its own, his thumb slid sideways, brushing across her nipple.

  The sensitive tip peaked beneath his touch.

  Her lips parted, eyelids growing heavy.

  His thumb moved again.

  And again.

  A flush raised bright flags of color in her cheeks. She shivered once, then took his hand, slipped it inside the bodice of her dress, fitting his palm around the warm softness of her naked breast.

  He held himself rigid as he fought one last battle, as he tried to gather the will to resist.

  You can’t, he ordered himself.

  It would be a mistake, he warned.

  There will be regrets, pain, recriminations, and loss.

  But his aching body cared for none of those things.

  He hungered for her in a way he couldn’t remember ever hungering before.

  With a shudder, he buried his face in the sweetness of her hair and let himself be lost.

  Ivy gasped when his hand moved, kneading her flesh with a skill that drove the breath from her lungs. He reached around and unfastened the buttons on the back of her dress. She closed her eyes and let the sensations wash over her, better than anything she’d ever imagined.

  She didn’t know where her daring came from tonight. Seducing him, enticing him with the confidence of a woman far bolder, far more experienced than herself. Of course, nearly any woman was more experienced than she, Ivy thought wryly.

  Hormones and adrenaline, she decided. That must be the source of her confidence. An explosive combination that had fueled her system with a strength of purpose she hadn’t known she possessed.

  When he’d left her downstairs, she’d been a mass of seething emotions, desire flooding through her like a storm-swollen river. She’d been kissed before but never the way he’d just kissed her.

  For a long while after, she’d stood, half dazed, her lips throbbing, her blood humming, and she’d known she couldn’t leave. So instead of letting herself out of the apartment and heading for her own, she’d followed him up the stairs.

  Her limbs quivered as his hand slipped beneath her panties to caress the fleshy curves of her buttocks, the upper edges of her thighs. She whimpered and leaned against him, suddenly aware she was naked, her dress ringed in a colorful pool around her ankles.

  When had that happened?

  Coherent thought fled as he kissed her, ravaging her mouth, his scent and taste both dark and delicious. She looped her arms up over his shoulders, bare breasts rubbing against the silky hair covering his chest in a most tantalizing way. She ran her hands down the long supple warmth of his back, her fingertips tingling at the sensations.

  His hand, the one that had been roving over her bottom and thighs, made a sudden downward turn. He parted her legs and cupped her intimately. Before she fully guessed his intent, he dipped his fingers into her, slow and easy. First one, then a pair, easing them up inside where she was most vulnerable, most female.

  Her eyelids slid closed, breath panting from between her parted lips. She moaned and clung harder, her nails curving against his skin as he built the pleasure inside her, each stroke better than the last.

  His thumb moved, finding and flicking a spot that made stars spin behind her eyes. She shuddered, helpless against the delight as he kept on.

  When the climax hit, it rocketed through her with a force that shook her to her toes. She cried out, hanging limp and lax against him as she waited for a hint of sanity to return.

  But she didn’t have a chance to recover before he was kissing her again, deep and demanding, his arousal pressing insistently against her stomach. He locked an arm around her waist, pulled her with him to the bed.

  Her m
uscles were as wobbly as Jell-O and she nearly stumbled on the way. But it didn’t matter, as they fell upon the mattress, entwined.

  He stripped off his boxers, then covered her. His long, muscled body lay heavily against hers despite the weight he was careful to keep on his forearms and knees. Suspended above her, he captured her mouth in an intense mating of lips and tongues and teeth.

  She was panting, low moans coming from her throat, when he slid downward to suckle her breasts. First one, then the other, using a delicious suction as he swirled his tongue around each tender tip until they were tight and aching. She arched, assailed by a rush of new sensations. Fresh desire gathered deep within, weeping anew between her legs.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair, stroked his face and neck, then down his shoulders and back. He moaned as she touched his hips and buttocks, stroking his skin the way he’d stroked hers earlier.

  He levered himself upward, centered himself between her thighs. Then, pushing them wider, he thrust forcefully inside.

  She cried out, stiffening involuntarily against an intense stab of pain.

  A single teardrop leaked from the corner of her eye as she forced herself not to fight the intrusion, the feeling of being stretched too tight, too full. She’d known it would hurt the first time, but not like this. Somehow, she’d always thought her height would compensate for such things.

  He froze, meeting her eyes in the low lamplight. He clenched his teeth, muscles quivering. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” His breath fanned her cheek, hot with strain and suppressed need.

  “You might have said no,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear for you to say no.”

  “Christ, Ivy.” He hung his head. “Jesus H. Christ.”

  Trying not to move, she smoothed a comforting hand over his back. “Don’t be angry. Please. It had to be someone, sometime, and I wanted it to be you. I needed it to be you.”

  “Shit.”

  A second tear leaked from her eye.

  “Shh. Don’t cry,” he pleaded, kissing her damp cheek. “I can’t bear to see you cry.” He touched his lips to her temple and stroked her hair. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart. I’ll stop.”