The Man Plan Read online

  “I can wait.”

  Briefly, he drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait at all. Maybe we should elope.”

  “Elope! You know my mother would turn three shades of puce if we eloped.” She caught the troubled look on his face and laid her hand over his. “James, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t start fibbing to me now.” She hesitated, then asked the question uppermost in her mind. “Are you sure you want to get married?”

  “Of course I do. Haven’t I said so?”

  He stood, paced across the kitchen, the floor swept clean of the glass he’d broken the night before. He refilled his cup of coffee, then left it untouched on the counter.

  “Actually, you didn’t,” she pointed out. “What you said is that we should get married, not that you want to get married.” She pushed aside the remains of her breakfast, her appetite gone. “You don’t have to marry me, you know.”

  He met her eyes. “Of course I do. What other options are there? Living together’s completely out of the question. Your family and mine . . . Well, I don’t even want to think about their reaction if you just moved in. So that leaves marriage.”

  “It also leaves simply dating for a while. I’ll come here. You can come to my apartment. I’ve been thinking of moving closer anyway. There’s a girl I work with at Reflections who’s looking for a roommate. With my art income, I should be able to afford the extra rent.”

  He scowled, crossed his arms. “So what are you saying? That you won’t marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her answer as much of a shock to her as it was to him. “I guess I am.”

  What have I just done? she wondered. How could I turn down the proposal I’ve been waiting my entire life to accept?

  Once, she would have been ecstatic, willing to take him on any terms. Even six months ago she would have jumped at the chance, however begrudgingly offered, to call herself his wife.

  But she wasn’t the same naive girl she’d been then, when she’d set out on her quest to make him love her. Now she wanted him to come to her with a willing heart. No games, no guilt, only a confident assurance that a lifetime commitment to her was exactly what he desired most.

  She left her chair and crossed to him. “Ask me again when you’re sure marriage is really what you want. When you know you’re ready.”

  “How do you know I’m not ready now?”

  “Because if you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  His face paled, his eyes intensely blue. “I don’t want to lose you, Ivy.”

  “You won’t lose me.” She slid her arms around his neck. “I love you, and that’s never going to change. And despite your fears, I’m not going to leave you either. But until you believe those things with your whole heart, none of the rest of it matters.”

  He huffed out a breath. “When did you get to be so smart?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve always been smart. You’ve just never noticed before.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “I do love you, you know.”

  “I know. And I know you need more time. I’m young, as you never get tired of reminding me. I can wait.”

  He gave her a penetrating look. “Can you?”

  “I’ve waited twenty years. What’s a couple more?”

  He clutched her to him, burying his face in her hair. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t deserve you.”

  She blinked against the sudden moisture in her eyes. “Probably not,” she teased, “but you’ve got me anyway.” She pulled away, forced a bright smile. “Now, where are you taking me for dinner?”

  “Anywhere you want, anywhere at all. How about Rome?”

  “Rome! As in Italy?”

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “I know just the place on Via Zanardelli. They serve spaghetti carbonara that truly is to die for. And over there I can ply you with wine, no age limit.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think I need much plying, but if you say it’s wonderful, then okay.”

  He tugged her against him and kissed her until stars burst behind her eyes. Finally, he released her. “Go call your family and tell them you’ve decided to spend the weekend with a—”

  “Friend,” she inserted.

  “Right. A friend. I don’t want them worrying about you.”

  “I’ll have to call Rhonda too.”

  “Fine, call Rhonda; then we’ll be off.”

  “I need to stop by the apartment to pack a few things.”

  “Just grab your passport. Don’t bother with the rest. We can pick up whatever you need in Rome. Otherwise, we’ll never get out of here.”

  She smiled. “All right. Ooh, this is exciting.”

  “You haven’t seen exciting yet. There’s a bedroom on the plane. I’m looking forward to seeing how you like making love at thirty thousand feet.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The weekend in Rome was divine and left Ivy floating on a cloud for days after.

  While in the city, she and James dined on fine Italian food, shopped for new outfits and accessories for her at the best designer stores, and slept in a palatial seventeenth-century suite in a bed with a tall, blue and gold satin canopy and real silk sheets.

  During the day the two of them played tourist, walking the streets hand-in-hand as they took in the sights: the Colosseum, the dome at St. Peter’s Basilica, the Spanish Steps.

  At night they would share an intimate dinner, then dance for hours at some popular nightspot. Later they made love, losing themselves in each other until dawn spread in pale pink ribbons across the sky.

  Far too soon, the weekend ended and she and James returned to New York.

  They settled into a new routine: days spent at work, nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms—usually in his big bed at his penthouse. It wasn’t an ideal arrangement, but for now it suited both of them fine.

  For convenience’ sake, she began leaving some of her things at his place. First she hung a couple of outfits in his closet. The next week she slipped a stack of clean panties in the drawer next to his underwear. Later she purchased a duplicate set of cosmetics, feminine sundries, and doodads so she could get dressed in the morning before work without having to race to her apartment.

  If James minded finding her belongings all over his apartment, he never once complained, silently making room for her things on his countertops and in his drawers.

  And if a niggling tension remained, an unspoken worry that he might decide to pull away from her again, she kept her fears well hidden. She’d promised him time, and no matter how it killed her, she was going to give it to him. At least while she was waiting for him this go-round, she wouldn’t have to wait alone.

  Busy in ways she’d never conceived, she cut way back on her hours at Reflections, much to her boss’s disappointment. Still, her boss, Nora, couldn’t contain her pride at Ivy’s talent and blossoming success, urging everyone she met to go see Ivy’s paintings at West Galleries on Thompson Street.

  Perhaps in part because of Nora’s glowing word of mouth, she sold two more paintings over the next month and earned a commission for another.

  She also moved uptown, leaving the guys behind amid tears and promises to visit often. Her new roommate, Amy, was as sweet as she was sassy, with a tongue in her head that sometimes made Ivy gasp in shock and then roar with laughter.

  She used her new apartment mostly as an art studio and a place to check the business phone messages that stacked up like cordwood on her answering machine. Except for Madelyn and Zack, her family knew nothing about her increasingly intimate relationship with James. A part of her hated keeping them in the dark, especially her mother, but another part of her wanted this time with James.

  Just the two of them. Alone.

  Recently, though, he’d surprised her, and pleased her, by taking her to the opening of a Broadway play. At intermission, he’d introduced her to a few of his friends and acquaintances, who’d studied h
er with fascinated speculation. She’d done her best to be charming and polite and to look as if she belonged on James’s arm. Despite the scrutiny, she’d enjoyed the evening very much, and as far as she could tell, so had James.

  He’d surprised her again last week by asking her to accompany him to a black-tie holiday charity event. She’d held her own at the dinner table despite an obvious age gap between her and rest of the diners. She discussed the latest fashions with the women and the upcoming football play-offs with the men.

  James had smiled softly at her, an enigmatic glint in his eye, as he’d helped her on with her coat at the end of the evening. She’d asked him what he was thinking, but he’d kissed her instead, then taken her back to his penthouse, where she’d promptly forgotten everything else but him.

  Now Christmas was upon them, only a few days left before the big day, the crisp smell of snow hanging in the chilly air.

  “I wish you’d come with me,” she said to him as they relaxed on his sofa sipping cups of hot coffee. She set her drink down on the end table, turned to trail her fingers through his hair. “My folks would love to have you.”

  He shook his head. “You know I don’t usually spend Christmas at your parents’ house anymore, especially when Madelyn and Zack are going to be there. I think your parents would wonder why I suddenly decided to put in an appearance this year.”

  “Tell them you and Madelyn have finally buried the hatchet and everything’s cool between the two of you again. Mom and Dad would be thrilled to know all the hard feelings are in the past.”

  He gave her a look. “They’d also want to know exactly how Madelyn and I came to make up after all these years. Your mom would be twisting my arm to get the full story, and I’m not sure how I’d explain without your coming into the picture.”

  “Oh.” Ivy thought for a moment. “Just say you’ve met someone and you’re over Malynn. You don’t have to tell them the someone is me.”

  “And when my mystery girlfriend doesn’t show up with me, then what?”

  Ivy shrugged. “She’s spending the holiday with her own family. It wouldn’t be a lie.”

  He gave a half laugh and rolled his eyes.

  She jumped up onto her knees beside him. “Please come. At least come for Christmas Eve. There’re always so many relatives packed in the house, you’ll hardly be noticed in the crowd.”

  “Well, gee, thanks.”

  She made a face at him. “You know what I mean. Everyone always asks about you anyway. This year they won’t have to. Besides, you live next door. All you have to do is say you decided to spend the holiday in Connecticut this year and dropped by like a good neighbor to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.”

  “A Merry Christmas, huh? Maybe I should slip on a red suit and bring a sack full of gifts?”

  “Quit avoiding the subject.” She leaned back, folded her arms over her chest. “If you’re not going, then I’m not going. I’ll tell everybody I’m staying here in the city this year.”

  He frowned. “You can’t do that. The moment you don’t show, your mother’ll be on the phone to both of us demanding to know what’s wrong and why you’re not coming home.”

  She shrugged. “It’s up to you. I’ll only go home if you come with me. I refuse to be parted from you for the holidays.”

  “That’s blackmail, you know.”

  She grinned. “Is it working?”

  He glared at her for a long moment, then let out a huff. “All right, I’ll come for Christmas Eve—”

  “And Christmas dinner the next day.”

  He rolled his eyes again. “And Christmas dinner the next day.”

  “Yes.” She lunged forward, wrapped her arms around him, and planted a big, smacking kiss on his mouth.

  “But—,” he continued in a stern tone.

  “But?” she repeated, smiling but trying not to gloat.

  “We’ll arrive separately, and we can’t spend the evening hanging all over each other.”

  “You mean I can’t sit in your lap and feed you eggnog and cookies?”

  “No.” He barked out a begrudging laugh. “You’re incorrigible, do you know that?”

  “But you love me anyway.”

  His gaze grew serious. “Yes. I love you anyway.”

  “As long as you do, that’s all I need to be happy.”

  * * *

  But is it enough? he wondered a few days later when he arrived at her parents’ house, buried under an armload of gifts. Was she truly happy with things the way they stood? Was he?

  He’d opted to leave the red suit at home, dressed instead in a black crewneck sweater and a pair of dark wool pants.

  He searched for Ivy the moment he came inside but couldn’t locate her in the crowd. She’d taken the train up three days before to help her mother with the preparations, and he’d missed her each and every moment since.

  Christmas Eve was in full swing at the Grayson home, the large, gracious rooms jammed elbow to ear with as many family members as would fit. Bejeweled for the season, the house boasted holly berry wreathes and twisted strands of gaily striped ribbons in reds and greens.

  Fragrant pine garlands adorned fireplace mantels, newel posts, and staircases. Ruby-hued poinsettias were set high and low to display their pretty foliage. Beeswax candles melted in slow drips beneath lighted flames while Nat King Cole crooned about chestnuts and children who wanted to know if reindeer really did know how to fly.

  In the center of it all, inside the massive great room, stood the Christmas tree. Rising upward like a majestic queen, it reigned as though garbed for a coronation in glittering glass balls, twinkling lights, and bunches of silvery tinsel. Twelve feet high, the tree’s massive limbs sheltered a mountain of presents, gifts of all shapes and sizes ready to be unwrapped.

  He walked forward to add more to its bounty.

  Laura Grayson found him moments later, gave him an enthusiastic hug and a kiss on the cheek, then led him to the refreshment table for a cup of hundred-proof eggnog and a plate of goodies. Philip Grayson stopped by next, grabbed his hand for one of his famous crushing handshakes, then launched into a discussion of horse racing—he’d recently developed an interest.

  James soon found himself passed from relative to relative, Ivy’s aunts, uncles, and cousins—all of whom he’d known for years, ever since that first Christmas at sixteen when he’d spent the holiday as a kind of adopted member of the family.

  The atmosphere was infectious, and he couldn’t help but be touched by the spirit of the season. Suddenly he was fiercely glad he’d let Ivy talk him into coming. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he missed being with them all.

  Where was she? he wondered again. He’d seen or talked to nearly every member of her extended family, Grayson and Bradford alike, but he still hadn’t seen her.

  Suddenly someone nudged him from behind and slipped an arm around his waist.

  He didn’t even need to turn to know it was Ivy. Her sweet, clean scent drifted to him, the lithe, lean shape of her that he’d come to know so well pressed to his hip.

  He swung around, barely restraining the urge to clutch her to him and smother her lips with a heated kiss. He settled instead for a peck on her soft cheek and a rather sexless hug that was as unsatisfying as it was short.

  Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at him. “Hi,” she said, her voice husky with suppressed excitement.

  “Hi back,” he murmured quietly. “Where have you been? I got here half an hour ago, at least.”

  “Locked in the kitchen, frying up oysters for the starving masses. Mom took pity and said she’d finish them up.”

  “Oysters, hmm? I’ll be sure to eat several since you made them.”

  Though what he’d rather take a bite out of was her. With her cheeks dusted a pretty pink, she definitely looked good enough to eat.

  But enough of that sort of thinking, he warned himself. After all, he was the one who’d decided to keep their relationship under wraps.

&nb
sp; They talked for a few minutes more; then Ivy moved away to circulate. Needing something to occupy him, he retreated to the buffet table.

  He loaded a plate with finger-sized ham sandwiches, an array of relish choices, and a circle of saltines mounded with Ivy’s golden, crispy fried oysters. He topped them with several dashes of fiery Tabasco sauce and began to eat.

  As he did, he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting toward Ivy. She stood on the opposite side of the Christmas tree in conversation with Caroline.

  Caroline’s recovery was clear to see, her cheeks blooming anew with healthy color, the once-gaunt lines of her cheekbones filled out with much-needed weight. The new doctors and latest treatments appeared to be working. Everyone, family and friends alike, had heaved giant sighs of relief, joyful to hear the news that her cancer was in remission.

  Ivy gestured to emphasize some point she was making, her expressive hands punctuating the air. A glimpse of straight white teeth flashed as she smiled, lighting an answering smile within him.

  How lovely she is, he thought, beautiful both inside and out in a way few people are. How lucky I am that she loves me.

  He frowned, then ate a forkful of cranberry conserves.

  Zack Douglas stepped up to the linen-draped table and dug a handful of spicy nuts out of a decorative candy dish. He tossed a couple into his mouth and chewed. “Jordan,” he said, nodding brusquely.

  “Douglas.”

  They stood, awkward in each other’s company. A full minute passed in silence.

  “Good nuts,” Zack commented, scooping up another handful.

  “Everything’s excellent.”

  Several children chose that moment to race up to the buffet table. Skidding to a noisy halt, they grabbed handfuls of cookies, then dashed away again amid shouts and laughter to resume whatever game it was they’d been playing.

  “I predict somebody’s going to have an aching belly tonight,” Zack said.

  “What’s Christmas for if you can’t overindulge?”

  “True, but you don’t have to listen to ’em cry. Wait till you have a couple of your own; then we’ll talk.”