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  Ivy groaned and stood up. “That’s all this day needs. Um . . . Trudy, I don’t suppose you could tell him I’m busy with my boss?” She turned to Blake. “I am busy, aren’t I?” she asked with a tone that implied his interruption into her otherwise neatly ordered existence should count for something.

  “Yes, and you will be busy in consultations with me for the next several days.” Where the possessiveness came from, he didn’t know, or care to analyze, but he did not want Ivy going out with another man while he was in Delicious, Ohio.

  Trudy’s eyes widened and then narrowed on Blake in obvious appraisal, but she only said, “I’ll tell him,” and left.

  Ivy stood up and pushed her chair into place at her desk with precise movements, then stepped back two paces and faced him. The smooth lines of her small face were tight with determination. “So, will two weeks’ notice be sufficient, or do you require a month?”

  The words were still reeling in his brain when Trudy came back, her expression pure female commiseration this time. “He asked, what about dinner?”

  Blake turned smartly on his heel and walked out to the front desk counter. He would deal with Ed while his usually super efficient brain grappled with the implication that Ivy was willing to quit her job over the proposed improvements to the inn. The sound of a gasp and his name being called in confused appeal from behind him did not slow him down.

  Ed was encroaching on his territory, and like millions of the male species before him, Blake had every intention of pushing back. If his behavior could be construed as pissing a circle around Ivy Kendall, that was too bad. She worked for him, and for the next few days she was his.

  That the territory of boss and boyfriend should be mutually exclusive did not deter his purpose.

  Ed did not belong here at the inn with Ivy, not when Blake wanted her undivided attention. Not when she was threatening to quit over central air-conditioning.

  Blake stopped when he reached the front desk. A tall man with brown hair and an impatient glint in his narrowed gray eyes stood on the other side. He was dressed like a businessman without even a hint of country hick about him. In Delicious, Ohio? Who was this guy?

  A female guest walked through the lobby toward the inn’s small restaurant and gave Ed the once-over on her way. Right. Definitely no trouble attracting women. So why did he have to pester Ivy when she so clearly wasn’t interested? Or had Blake misread her and Trudy’s silent communication? He wouldn’t be the first man misled by that kind of thing.

  Maybe her consternation had not been at Ed’s arrival, but the fact it coincided with her boss’s. The thought pissed him off so bad he scowled at the other man.

  Ed didn’t even blink, but his eyes narrowed further, and his jaw took on rocklike solidity.

  Blake figured they matched in that. His back teeth ground together. “Ivy will be having dinner with me. I am only in town for a few days and expect my property manager to give me her undivided attention.”

  His words came out clipped, surly even, and shock at his own behavior warred with anger that this man wanted his Ivy.

  Ed blinked then, his eyes going from angry to speculative. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous? She’s your employee, not your slave.”

  The image of Ivy’s sweetly feminine form trussed up to play love slave flashed in Blake’s mind, and his semiaroused flesh went fireman pole status in three seconds flat. Thank whatever architect had designed the sturdy, concealing guest check-in counter that hid the lower half of his body from the other man’s view.

  “Expecting my manager to be available to discuss business when I am in town is hardly an indication I see her in a subservient capacity.” But maybe I wouldn’t mind it, a certain very dark part of his mind suggested . . . just once.

  “Ed, what’s the matter with you? You can’t go around insulting my boss.” Ivy had arrived.

  “I’m not insulted. His accusation is too ludicrous for the serious consideration it would take to be offended.” Blake didn’t dare turn to face her with the raging hard-on pushing against the confines of his custom-tailored slacks. So, he said the words with his focus fixed squarely on the other man.

  The intruder.

  Ed frowned, his body shifting into a stance any other man would recognize. It was a challenge, plain and simple.

  Ivy gasped. Apparently, she recognized it, too. “What’s gotten into you, Ed?”

  “You haven’t returned my calls, Ivy. I want to talk to you.”

  That did have Blake turning his head at least to see her.

  Her cheeks stained a guilty pink. “I didn’t read your message until today.”

  Was that what her head banging on the desk had been about? She’d missed her boyfriend’s message?

  “Have dinner with me tonight. We need to talk about the direction our relationship is headed.”

  Cripes. He was one of those new men, the sensitive ones, who discussed his feelings willingly, without even being prodded. Blake snorted, and Ed glared at him, his jaw jutting pugnaciously.

  “You are not helping things, Mr. Hawthorne,” Ivy muttered from behind him.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she said to Ed before stepping around the counter and moving closer to him—too damn close—in an obvious bid to keep her conversation private.

  Both Blake and Trudy eavesdropped shamelessly.

  “Look,” she said quietly, “he’s my boss, and if he wants to have dinner with me, that’s what I’ve got to do.”

  Would she be that submissive about other things? Would she let her big, bad boss dictate sexual preferences to her vulnerable, sweetly nervous, but definitely amorous self? It was his favorite fantasy where she was concerned.

  Not one he’d ever get to play out and not just because she worked for him. Some of the sensual desires that rode him around her were definitely the antithesis of politically correct or even socially acceptable. He doubted the innocent Ivy would consent to them, much less be the enthusiastic partner she was in his dreams.

  He wanted to tie her to a bed and make love to her until she screamed.

  Did that make him a deviant, or just creative?

  He didn’t know. He’d never had these kinds of fantasies about other women.

  Ed was saying something low, but then his voice rose. “You don’t have to put up with this. You know I want to marry you. You don’t have to work at all.”

  What the hell?

  “She’s working right now, and you’re doing this little scene on my time. I don’t appreciate it.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he even meant to say them. “Take a hike, Ed.”

  Ivy’s head snapped around, her silky reddish brown hair floating in a whirl around her face and her pretty brown eyes round with surprise. “Mr. Hawthorne, I assure you, there is no need for you to get involved.”

  “It’s Blake, Ivy, and has been since the first time we met.”

  She rolled her eyes at his nitpicking. “Blake, then. Stay out of this. It’s not company business.”

  To hell with that. “You planning to marry this guy?” he asked in another uncontrollable burst of male aggressiveness.

  “I . . . uh . . .” She looked back at Ed, and her body went tense, her cheeks stained with embarrassed color.

  If Blake couldn’t read that sign, he’d turn in his Eagle Scout badge. She didn’t want the poor schmuck, but didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  “I’ll give you ten minutes.” Now that he knew the lay of the land, Blake felt a lot more charitable toward the other man.

  He turned and went back into Ivy’s office, passing Trudy, whose mouth hung open in pure, unadulterated astonishment.

  Two

  She was going to boil Blake Hawthorne in oil and serve him up as the deep-fried turkey for Thanksgiving.

  “He’d better have his life insurance paid up,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  Ed . . . darn it. Ed had to be dealt with before she could turn her arrogant jerk of a boss i
nto fricassee.

  She met his rainwater gaze straight on. “I can’t marry you, Ed. I’m sorry.”

  “I kind of figured that out when Hawthorne came out snorting fire and belching brimstone.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  Ed shook his head. “I’m not as boring as you think I am, but when you’re in love with someone else, any other man is just going to be a poor substitute.”

  She stared at him, her heart twisting in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, desperate pants. “I’m not in love with someone else.”

  She couldn’t be. Loving Blake Hawthorne would be criminally stupid. She could get ten years in Sing Sing for that kind of thing.

  “But you do find me boring.”

  “You’re an actuary . . . I don’t get numbers the way you do,” she said lamely in an attempt not to hurt him or have to lie.

  “I hope he knows what an incredible woman he’s getting.” Ed leaned down and kissed her temple before moving to cover her lips with his own.

  He drew the kiss out, even teasing her lips with his tongue, and if she hadn’t been so shocked by the move, she would have jerked back. His mouth on hers did not feel right. It didn’t belong there. Though he wasn’t a bad kisser, she had to admit.

  When he lifted his head, there was an unholy gleam in his eye, and he nodded at something . . . or someone . . . over her shoulder. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

  A strange noise from behind her said the kiss Ed had just given her had definitely been for someone else’s benefit.

  A strong hand landed on her shoulder a second after Ed walked out the door. Blake spun her to face him.

  “You’re quitting?” he gritted.

  “Yes.” She had no choice.

  His mouth slammed down on hers with the power of a conquering army, and her brain short-circuited in a blaze of sparks and hissing nerve endings.

  Firm, warm lips devoured hers, and she devoured them right back, tangling with his tongue and savoring the taste of a mouth that had been created for kissing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against hot, hard muscles not even remotely disguised by his conservative business attire.

  Superman lived.

  A growl emanated from his throat, a sound so primitive, it sent shivers down her spine and her thighs. Maybe not Superman. Blake Hawthorne was more like Conan the Barbarian.

  His hands cupped her bottom and lifted, pressing her into the awe-inspiring proof of his desire.

  Heat radiated between her thighs, making her aware of dampness there as well.

  “Um . . . Mr. Hawthorne . . . ” from somewhere behind them.

  He squeezed her butt, and she groaned, sucking on his tongue.

  “Ivy!” A high-pitched, woman’s voice near her ear, but it still didn’t register as something she had to respond to.

  Blake broke his mouth from hers, and she buried her face against his neck, licking and sucking salty, utterly deliciously masculine tasting skin.

  “What?” rumbled up from his chest.

  Was he talking to her? She lifted her head to look, dazed and needy in a way she’d never been before.

  “Mr. Hawthorne, there’s a call for you.” Trudy’s voice saying something that didn’t make sense to Ivy’s sensually drugged brain.

  “Damn it.” Blake dropped her and pushed her away.

  Ivy tottered on legs wobbly from her brush with a wild barbarian and looked around her.

  Horror was clawing at her insides before her gaze even reached Trudy’s shocked and clearly appalled countenance. Ivy, Trudy’s boss and manager of this inn, had stood necking like a horny teenager right in front of the reception desk. Anyone could have seen her. Probably lots of people had.

  Close to lunchtime, the restaurant was filling up, and Ivy could not help wondering in appalled fascination how many patrons had walked past the passion-locked couple in the lobby.

  “I’ll take the call in Ivy’s office,” Blake said, sounding entirely too self-controlled and unaffected for the man who had been squeezing her bottom and pressing her against his erection only moments before.

  “Okay,” Trudy said, her eyes still fixed on Ivy as if she’d sprouted tentacles and a third eyeball.

  Ivy didn’t even try for unaffected detachment. She turned tail and ran. Right up the stairs, both flights to the top floor where she slammed into her small apartment with less relief than a sense of desperation.

  The small window air conditioner was on maximum cool, but her living-slash-dining room was still uncomfortably warm. Darn it. Blake was right. The inn needed central air, and of course it made sense to cater to the guests’ needs by installing individually controlled systems.

  She flopped down glumly on her white wicker sofa, and it creaked alarmingly. She shifted, and a twang between her thighs reminded her that though she was doing her best to block the memory of the past fifteen minutes, they had indeed happened.

  How could she have lost all decorum and her sense of self-preservation in one go like that?

  No way was she in the big city business mogul’s league, but now he had to know she wanted to be. And why the heck had he kissed her? He’d been acting possessive and territorial since Trudy announced Ed was there. Ivy had thought at first it was all about her being a good corporate employee, but she didn’t think bosses usually used kissing to keep their employees in line. Wasn’t that sexual harassment or something? She certainly felt harassed, but as hot as that kiss had been, she didn’t feel threatened by Blake. After all, she was the one who had told him she planned to quit.

  The kiss had been no threat. To her career anyway. Her heart was another matter.

  Ed had accused her of loving Blake Hawthorne.

  Remembering the way she had responded to him the first time they met, and every time since—the fantasies she’d had about him, the way she felt in his company—she feared Ed might be right.

  Blake was smart, and funny, too, when he wanted to be. He could also be a shark, and that gave her an atavistic thrill she didn’t want to admit to, but was there all the same.

  Oh, gosh . . . was she in love? Forget criminal stupidity, she was right on her way to total insanity.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  Her door shook with the powerful knocking, and that was saying something. The Old Orchard Inn was over a hundred years old and built with the solid construction of that century.

  “Open the door, Ivy. I know you’re in there.”

  Like it took a genius to figure out she’d be hiding after what had happened in the lobby.

  The knocking resumed, and she stifled an urge to laugh, afraid if she gave in to it, she’d slip into mindless hysteria. The door wasn’t even locked.

  “Ivy. Damn it.” Another bang on the door and then more cursing.

  He had a much more expanded vocabulary of colorful words than she did.

  “Ouch. Shit . . . a splinter . . . ” Silence. “Do you have any tweezers?” through the door.

  He was hurt? She flew off the couch and yanked the door open. He stood on the other side, sucking on his forefinger, the expression in his blue eyes scary.

  She shivered even as she stepped back to let him in. “The door wasn’t locked.”

  He glared at her.

  “I’ll just get the tweezers. Have a seat.” She waved her hand toward one of the dinette chairs.

  The light was better above the table, and she would have a better chance of seeing the sliver and getting it out.

  It took Ivy only a second to get what she needed from the bathroom and then come back to Blake. He watched her walk toward him, his temper on a shorter leash than it had been in years. This woman got under his skin and stayed there.

  But she had run from him.

  He’d expected her to join him in her office and talk about the kiss like two mature, consenting adults . . . She had been consenting, hadn’t she? With her tongue practically down his throat he was guessing yes, but no question—he’d initiated
the kiss, and he hadn’t given her a lot of choice in the matter.

  She squatted in front of him and put her hand out. “Let me see.”

  He didn’t even consider telling her he’d do it himself. Even though the last time he’d let a woman fuss over him, he’d been ten years old and it had been his grandmother.

  Ivy winced when she saw the splinter embedded in his skin.

  “This is going to hurt,” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just get the damn thing out.”

  She didn’t respond to his brusque tone. She was too busy torturing him with her small fingers against his skin. Okay, she was trying to get the sliver out, but having her touch him for any reason affected his already overactive libido in dangerous ways.

  He figured they needed to deal with the kiss before anything else. “It was mutually consenting.” Her silence was not reassuring. “You didn’t say no.”

  She sighed. “I know. You don’t have to worry I’m going to file a sexual harassment complaint or something.”

  Did she really think that after a kiss like that, he was worried about federal regulations? He was a heck of a lot more worried about the possibility she didn’t want to follow through on the passionate promise of her body.

  She pulled out the splinter, and he sucked in air at the sting. It wasn’t bad, but you couldn’t tell that by the way she was blowing on his finger and moaning in sympathy.

  When her lips pressed against the small drop of blood welling, he lost it.

  He yanked her into his lap without a second thought and kissed her again. She gasped against his lips, and he took the sound into his mouth and gave her back his tongue.

  Ambrosia.

  She was so sweet, he’d get a sugar overload just tasting her lips.

  She broke her mouth away, turning her head and panting. “We can’t do this, Blake.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re my boss.”

  “You said you were going to quit.” Which reminded him. “What the hell is up with that anyway? Do you have a moral objection to central air-conditioning or something?”