“Nope. Still not married, Phoebe. Your uncle is just being helpful since I’m a little dizzy.”
Will pulled out Ivy’s chair, and she sank into it gratefully.
“C’mon, Phoebe. You need a bath, and your aunt and uncle need to eat.”
Ivy scowled at Charlotte. She was enjoying the aunt and uncle bit far too much for Ivy’s taste.
Charlotte grinned and waved then closed the door behind her.
Ivy cut her steak into small pieces and took a bite.
“You know...in some cultures, we could have been married for twelve years.”
Managing not to choke, she swallowed and said, “One round of drunken wedding reception sex does not make a marriage.”
He shrugged. “Well, I was a virgin.”
He was a what? She opened her mouth, but instead of speaking, she gasped and immediately started to cough.
Will calmly got up and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and offered her the cup. “Drink.”
She swallowed more than half the contents then looked at him. “You were not.”
“Trust me, I definitely was.”
She dropped her head into her hands and mumbled, “How old were you?”
“Sorry, love. Didn’t quite catch that.”
“How old were you?” she asked louder without looking at him.
He took a bite of salad, and she stared at him through fingers, waiting for him to answer.
“Seventeen. Just turned the week before the wedding.”
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “Seventeen. Barely seventeen.” She dropped her head back into her hands. “I had sex with a minor. I corrupted a minor.”
“Hey, now. Don’t take all the credit. I like to think I was fairly corrupt before we ended up in that closet. Besides, I learned some valuable lessons about what I liked that night.”
Unable to stop herself, she lowered her hands from her face, and met his intense green gaze. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what he meant by that, but she refused. She couldn’t do it. Besides, she’d seen his name in the tabloids, a time or two, connected with this supermodel or that popstar. And she’d definitely seen his name mentioned in the same article as some sort of underground kink club. Not that she regularly googled him or anything. Just once in a while, when she was feeling...nostalgic. So, she had a fair idea of the things he might be into. Her body clenched eagerly at the thought. “I don’t even want to know.”
His lips curved into a slow smile. “I think you do. I think you’re curious as a kitten.”
Oh, she was. She definitely was. But he didn’t need that confirmed. He already looked as if he were enjoying her discomfort far too much. Despite the lingering headache, she shook her head.
“Besides,” he continued, “the age of consent in the UK is sixteen, so I wasn’t a minor.”
Technically, the age of consent in Michigan, where they’d met at the wedding, all those years ago, was also sixteen. But she wasn’t about to admit that to him. Nausea soured her stomach, and she pushed away her plate. She’d been twenty-three. Twenty-freaking-three, and she’d fucked a kid. She’d taken advantage of a kid—a kid who should have had his first sexual experience with someone his own age.
Granted, that had been over a decade ago, and he certainly didn’t look any worse for the wear, but she was still horrified. And that didn’t even take into account what had happened afterward. She derailed that train of thought, immediately. What was done was done. There was nothing for it, now.
Now, at twenty-nine and thirty-five, the age difference didn’t seem as shocking, but that didn’t make her feel any better about what had happened.
“Where are you, Ivy?”
The way he pronounced her name shouldn’t make her stomach clench with longing. It shouldn’t. But apparently, her stomach hadn’t gotten the memo. Neither had the rest of her body parts. Not the entirety of her skin, which was desperate for the barely-remembered sensation of his hands and mouth. Not her nipples that were hard little points or her pussy, which was swollen and slick with his nearness.
“Ivy.” He said her name sharply, dragging her attention back to him. “Are you starting to feel lightheaded?”
“What? No. No, I’m—”
“Fine,” they said together.
“I know,” he said. “You’re perfectly fine. So prove it. Tell me what you were thinking about.”
“Nothing,” she said, far too quickly. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.” She stabbed another piece of meat, shoved it into her mouth, and chewed, making it impossible to say anything else.
His eyes dropped to her plate then climbed back to her face, the hint of a smile playing around his lips. He knew exactly what she was doing.
She rolled her eyes then winced at the resulting pain. “Fine. Pretty much everything after taking the limo ride to the reception is a little hazy. I was just wondering what all I’d forgotten. Especially, since you seem to remember everything so clearly. I feel like I’m at a bit of a disadvantage.”
The hint of his smile grew into something wide and wolfish. “I’d be happy to refresh your memory, love.”
She scowled. “I’m sure you would.”
“All you need to do is ask.”
She drained the rest of her water and moved to stand up, but before she could push her chair away from the table, Will had grabbed her glass and moved back to the fridge.
“Do you want more water?”
“Since you’re refusing to let me do anything for myself, there’s a pitcher of iced tea in there. Will you please pour me a glass of that?”
He wrinkled his nose. “I will never understand why you Americans insist on ruining perfectly good tea.”
“I was going to offer you some, but more for me, I suppose.”
He grabbed another glass from the cupboard, and she shamelessly stared at his backside and the exposed line of flesh between the bottom of his shirt and the waistband of his shorts. He filled the cup with water before bringing both drinks back to the table.
She tried to ignore the way the muscles in his forearms flexed ever so slightly as he set the glasses down on the table. He just looked so...biteable. And she needed to get her mind out of biting territory. At least, where he was concerned. He was so far off limits she refused to even entertain the idea. Maybe renewed desire was a sign that she was finally moving out of heartbreak territory. Or maybe it was a sign that she was blindly careening toward Reboundville. Or maybe she actually did have a concussion.
When she glanced up at him, she found his gaze on her—eyes bright with curiosity.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s just hard to believe twelve years have passed. You hardly look any different. Even your eyes have that same sad look.”
“No great mystery, there.” She bit out. “I got dumped the night before the wedding and again a few months before I came here. I guess you just always get to see me at my very best.”
She snapped her mouth shut at the concern in his eyes. Why the hell had she gone and said that?
“You know what? Forget I said anything. That’s just the head injury talking.” She looked down at her plate.
“Do you want to talk?”
A shrill laugh escaped her as her gaze rose to his face. “No.”
He continued to stare at her.
“No,” she said, more gently this time. “Thank you, but it’s old news. No big deal.”
“I’d beg to differ, love. As agitated as you are, right now, I’d say it’s still affecting you.”
She shrugged and took another bite of her meal. What had been delicious a few moments earlier, suddenly tasted like sawdust.
“Does that first breakup have anything to do with why we ended up in the closet together?” He watched her carefully, seemingly observing every little thing about her.
“We ended up in the closet together, because I was drunk and obnoxious and you were trying to prevent your sister’s wedding from being ruined.”
Pressing her palms to the table, she pushed to her feet, and Will laid his hand over one of hers.
“Where are you off to? You haven’t finished eating.”
She pulled from his touch. “I’m not hungry, after all. I think I’m going to lay back down for a bit. I’m sorry. I’m being...snappish.”
“You’re fine. You’ve had a rough day.”
She picked up her plate, but he took it out of her hands. “I’ll take care of your food. You go get into your pajamas, and I’ll check on you in a bit.”
“I can set the alarm. I’m—”
“Fine,” they said together.
His smile caused an unwelcome flurry of butterfly wings in her stomach, but she did her best to ignore them. He nodded toward her bedroom. “Go on with you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could get the words out, his smile faded, and he pointed. “If it wasn’t for your head injury, I’d say you needed a spanking.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as need fluttered darkly within her. And she could tell from his slightly narrowed gaze and his small tight smile that he hadn’t missed a millisecond of her reaction. Without another word, she turned and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
With shaking hands, she unbuttoned her blouse, tugged it off and draped it over the back of the chair. Her nipples stood out sharply against the lacy cups of her bra, and she quickly pulled that off, too, laying it over the blouse. For the first time since Daniel had left all those months ago, she was aroused—unbearably so. And the reason was in the next room, the threat of a spanking tripping off his tongue.
She shook her head at herself then swayed against the pain the movement caused, bracing her palms against the cold marble of the dresser top. Eventually opening her eyes, she came face to face with her rapidly bruising reflection. God, she was a mess. Glancing down farther, she noticed the goosebumps that stood out on her breasts—not to mention her desperately taut nipples. If Will wasn’t in the next room and likely to barge into this one shortly, she’d consider sliding her hands into her panties long enough to make herself come. Maybe then, she could sleep soundly enough to ward off the lingering headache. And the hazy memory of locking her ankles behind his back.
The sharp rap of his knuckles against the door startled her into motion.
“Just a minute,” she called, grabbing her pale pink sleep shirt and tugging it over her head, quickly shoving her arms through the capped sleeves. Sliding down the zipper of her skirt, she shimmied out of it, frowning at the ruined seam. She vaguely remembered hearing the sound of ripping fabric as she’d fallen to the ground earlier, but with everything else that had happened since then, she’d forgotten about it. Or maybe she actually did have a concussion. Either way, she hoped that Will hadn’t noticed her fish belly white skin through the tear.
Kicking her underwear into the corner, she tried not to lose her balance as she pulled on the matching pajama shorts, catching sight of her reflection again. Her still-hard nipples protruded obviously against the soft knit fabric. Plucking it away from her body, she darted into the little bathroom off the bedroom and quickly brushed her teeth before yanking back the covers on the bed and climbing beneath the sheet.
The last thing she wanted was to traipse around in her jammies in front of Will. She already felt vulnerable enough in regular clothes. She really didn’t need him seeing her like this. Not that he’d be interested, anyway. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that there was anything driving him beyond curiosity. Who wouldn’t be interested in seeing how the first person they’d ever had sex with had turned out? Well, she wouldn’t. That guy had been the reason she’d ended up in the closet with Will in the first place.
For fuck’s sake, the man was a world class athlete who had gorgeous women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis. A chunky elementary school teacher was nothing more than a passing novelty to someone like him. And aroused or not, she needed to remember that.