Triple Dare (16 page)

“It bought me a dance with you,” he continued as if she wasn’t about to dissolve into a puddle of love right there on the dance floor. “That’s money well spent in my book.”

She tore her gaze from the strong, tanned column of his throat and locked eyes with the mother of the bride, who pursed her lips and whispered something in her husband’s ear. “I’m on the clock. I really shouldn’t be...”

“Shh.” Cade shushed her with a finger on her lips. “Relax. Enjoy yourself. One dance, then you can go back to being Margaret Bourke-White.”

Ivy tipped her head to stare up at him incredulously. The female photographer, known for her war correspondence and
Life
magazine covers, wasn’t exactly a household name. “You know Margaret Bourke-White?”

“Not personally.” His smile was broad but forced, and it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. She couldn’t see that special light they got when his pleasure was genuine. “But I’m familiar with her work. I might not be a Rhodes Scholar like my parents, but I’m not living under a rock. And I do read.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid.” She reached up to caress his cheek and realized that they’d stopped moving. “I don’t believe that. I never have. And I never will.”

“I know. Hell, you’re the one who encouraged me to take the lieutenant exam.” He turned his head to kiss her palm. “Just a sore spot, I guess. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She slid her hand along his stubbled jaw, down his neck to his shoulder. “Now are you going to dance with me or just stand there? From the look on Momzilla’s face, I’d say we’ve got three minutes max before she storms over here, rips us apart and reads me the riot act for ruining her precious baby’s special day.”

“Then by all means, let’s dance.”

His arms tightened around her, and they swayed together in silence for the rest of the song. As they danced, every inch of her body became more and more aware of every inch of his. Especially the rock-hard inches pressing against her thigh.

When the song ended, the lead singer swung his guitar around to his back and gripped the microphone. “Okay, folks, we’re gonna take a little break while the staff gets everything set up for the cake. Be back in fifteen.”

Reluctantly, Ivy stepped out of Cade’s arms and clapped politely along with the rest of the crowd. “I need to use the little girls’ room before they cut the cake. Can you rescue my camera from the teenage extortionist you entrusted it to?”

“Sure.”

She started to kiss his cheek but froze midpucker when she saw the mother of the bride bearing down on them. Instead, she settled for a quick squeeze of his manly forearm, bare now that he’d shed his tux jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Who knew forearms could be so sexy? Corded and sprinkled with just the right amount of soft, fair hair. Biceps had nothing on them. “Gotta run. Meet me over by the cake table, okay? And bring the camera bag. I want to swap lenses.”

She hurried to the restroom before the festivities started up again. She was washing her hands, remembering the feel of Cade’s sculpted back muscles under her palms as they swayed in time with the music, when the door swung open and Sasha tottered in, more than a little unsteady on her four-inch heels and reeking of cheap beer.

“Hiding out in the bathroom?” Sasha stumbled to the sink next to Ivy, leaning heavily on it for balance. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Ivy dried her hands on a paper towel and tossed it into the wastebasket. “I was just on my way out.”

“It won’t last, you know.” Sasha fumbled through her clutch, finally pulling out a lipstick.

Ivy stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“This thing you’ve got going with Cade. I give it two months, tops.” Sasha uncapped the lipstick and rolled it up to reveal a shade of do-me red. No surprise there. “And if my math’s right, it’s close to that now.”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

“What he needs is someone like me.” Sasha leaned in to the mirror for a closer look and ran the cherry-red gloss over her lips, smacking them together when she was done. She was amazingly proficient for someone who’d clearly had a few too many. Probably due to years of experience applying makeup while shitfaced.

“Someone pretty and put-together, who’ll be happy staying with him here in Stockton,” she rambled on, not even bothering to spare a glance at Ivy. “Not a fat, frumpy photographer who’s made no secret of how much she hates this place.”

It’s not the place I hate. It’s people like you.
Ivy clutched the edge of the sink basin in front of her to prevent herself from committing any number of crimes involving serious bodily injury that her brother, Mr. Law-and-Order, would be first in line to prosecute her for. She could pretend all she wanted, but even after twelve years, six continents and countless lectures from her mentor-turned-business-partner Andre, fat shaming still stung.

“I think that’s for Cade to decide, not you. Maybe he prefers a woman with curves to a stick figure.”

“Oh, please.” Sasha capped the lipstick and stowed it back in her purse. “He’s a man. What does he know? What do any of them know? It’s up to us to show them what’s good for them.”

“Sexist, much?” Ivy asked, rolling her eyes.

“It’s not sexist if it’s true.” Sasha stepped back, surveyed the results in the mirror and smiled. “There. That ought to do it.”

She turned her critical gaze on Ivy, scrutinizing her from head to toe, her eyes narrowing as they traveled over the lumps and bumps Ivy’s dress did nothing to conceal. “You should really consider liposuction. Or that surgery where they staple your stomach shut. I’ve heard it works wonders.”

Ivy’s grip on the sink went from firm to white-knuckled. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Your loss. Or not.” Sasha chuckled at her own bad joke, then pushed past Ivy and lurched unsteadily for the door. At the last second, she turned back with a knowing smile that dripped contempt. “But you might want to at least fix your dress. The skirt’s tucked into the top of your panty hose.”

16

I
VY
WAS
CLICKING
through the wedding photos on her laptop at the kitchen counter a few days later. She was weeding out the wheat from the chaff before she uploaded the good ones to Dropbox for the bride—and her mother, Ivy was sure—when her cell rang. The overseas number was familiar, and it gave rise to a mix of anticipation and dread.

“Now, Andre,” she half teased without preamble. “I told you I’d call you when I was ready to come back to work.”

“But
ma mie
,” he said in his lilting French accent, his voice a touch wounded. “What I have for you is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The corners of her mouth curved into a smile, both at the nickname—what was it with her and all the foreign nicknames? Her mother. Her father. Andre—and the overexaggeration. According to Andre, every opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime. “What is it this time? The cover of Italian
Vogue
? A week shooting another famous model in the Turks and Caicos?”

“Bah,” he scoffed, his disdain evident even thousands of miles away over the phone. She could just imagine him waving a well-manicured hand in annoyance. “You’ve been there and done that. This is the celebrity wedding of the year. Maybe even the decade. And they want you to have exclusive access. No competition. No assistants. Just you.”

Great. Another wedding. Except for this one she’d probably have to fly halfway across the globe to do the same thing she’d done not seventy-two hours ago practically in her own backyard. And she wouldn’t have Cade backing her up. What might have been tempting a few months ago suddenly didn’t seem all the appealing. “Can’t you do it?”

“Sadly,
non
. The bride wants you and you only. You shot her last year for
Marie Claire
.”

He named a model whose on-again, off-again relationship with a certain rock star had been tabloid fodder for months.

Ivy gave a low whistle. “Damn. Those photos will go for a pretty penny.”

“And then some,” Andre agreed. “Precisely why you can’t say no.”

I can and I will
, Ivy thought. Sure, the money was good. But she had money. She’d made plenty over the past few years and invested it wisely with Gabe’s help, giving her a nice little nest egg.

What she didn’t have—and desperately wanted—was more time with Cade. He hadn’t said a word about moving out, but seeing the way he’d handled those stairs at the waterfall she knew that was high on the list of coming attractions. And then there was Sasha’s warning. As much as Ivy hated to admit it, she had a point. Ivy had known going in that this relationship had an expiration date. She just didn’t want it to be over quite yet.

Or—truth be told—ever.

“Can I think about it?” she asked, stalling for time.

“Bien.”
She could almost hear him removing his wire-rimmed glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “But think fast. She needs an answer by the end of the week. The wedding’s the weekend after Labor Day at some private estate in Belize.”

Ivy checked the magnetic calendar on the refrigerator. Today was Tuesday. That gave her four days to come up with a game plan. “No problem. I’ll call you before then and let you know.”

“Make sure you do,” Andre scolded, sounding like he was the parent and she a reluctant teenager. “It’s the—”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted, laughing. “The opportunity of a lifetime.
À bientôt, mon cher
.”

“What’s the opportunity of a lifetime?”

Cade’s voice made her jump as she ended the call, just managing to fumble her cell onto the counter next to her laptop as it slipped out of her startled fingers. She turned around to find him in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, his feet spread apart like a prizefighter, one hand gripping each side of the doorjamb. Her heart swelled at the sight of him and she held on to the lip of the granite countertop behind her for support. If she ignored the cast on his leg, he looked like a fitness model in his tank top and athletic shorts, the finely developed muscles of his upper arms on full display. And then there were those damn forearms...

“It’s nothing.” She waved her hand dismissively like she imagined Andre had done only seconds earlier. “Andre thinks every opportunity is a life-changing event.”

“Your boss?” He shoved off the door frame and strode into the room, leaning against the counter next to her and overwhelming her with his closeness.

She slid a smidge to the side, needing a little breathing room for sheer self-preservation. “More like partner, but yeah.”

“So what is it this time?”

“Some celebrity wedding.”

“Can I come?” He did that brow-waggling thing he did when he was trying to be suggestive. “I’m good at weddings.”

“One wedding and now you’re an expert?”

“Hey, I fended off Maude and her randy band of geriatrics. In a cast. I’d say that qualifies me for the big time.”

“It does, but I’m not going. And even if I was, the answer would be no. This one’s top secret. They haven’t even announced their engagement.” She turned back to her laptop and started scrolling through the pictures again, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He reached over and gently closed her laptop. “If it’s as secret as all that, those pictures will be worth a fortune.”

She faced him, arms crossed in front of her chest. “You sound like Andre.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“He’s sixty-five years old, wears plaids with stripes, but somehow manages to pull it off, and treats me like a petulant child.” She shrugged. “You be the judge.”

“Not exactly what I was going for.”

The alarm on her phone went off, telling her it was five o’clock. Time to text her dad and make sure he took his meds with dinner. Her thumbs flew on the keypad as she talked. “You’re home early. Weren’t you supposed to go to the Half Pint with the guys tonight?”

“Change of plans.” He plucked the phone out of her hand and set it on the counter. “And nice try, switching subjects. But you’re not getting off that easy. We’re discussing your schedule, not mine. Specifically your upcoming trip to...where did you say this shindig was?”

“I didn’t.” She squinted up at him. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Hardly.” He braced a hand on the granite on either side of her, trapping her between the counter and his hard, hot body. “But it’s just a couple of days, right? Your dad’s well on his way to a full recovery. The new staff at the nursery can pick up the slack. And I’ll be fine on my own for a little while.”

No, it wasn’t just a couple of days. If she said yes to this, she’d be saying yes to going back to her old life. She’d have no excuse when Andre called again. And he would call again. And again. And again. But she didn’t know how to explain that to Cade without revealing that he was the reason she wanted to stay. Sasha’s words of warning echoed in her head.
It won’t last.
So she stuck with the safe, if completely untrue, approach.

“Trust me, it’s no big deal. Andre’s a huge drama queen. We get offers like this all the time and turn most of them down. We even said no to George and Amal.” She crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed some higher power wouldn’t strike her down for lying.

“Seriously?”

She nodded, afraid to tempt fate by voicing the lie again.

He frowned. “You’re going to have to go back to work eventually, you know.”

Did she?

“I am working.” She reached behind her and patted her laptop. “We have the Levenson bar mitzvah this weekend. And a pet portrait tomorrow.”

Cade shook his head. “That stuff is small potatoes.”

“Not to the Levensons. Or Mrs. Thorpe and her Chihuahua.”

“You know what I mean.” He took a step back and ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. “There’s a big difference between photographing celebrities and taking pictures of a barking, hairless rat.”

Yeah
.
The dog is a thousand times better behaved
, she thought.
And knows how to follow directions.
“Maybe I like small potatoes.”

“No one likes small potatoes.”

“Please.” She put a hand on one of those manly forearms she loved so much. The fine, golden hairs teased her palm. “Trust me on this. I’ll know when it’s time to go.”

If that time ever comes. And it won’t, if you ask me to stay.

Ask me to stay.

Her Jedi mind powers must have deserted her because Cade ignored her silent plea. “Okay. I’ll trust you. For now.”

“Thanks.” She rose up on her toes and bussed his cheek, his sexy stubble tickling her lips.

He turned his head and captured her mouth in a searing kiss that left her breathless. “Wanna go get something to eat?”

Leave it to a man to think of food after a kiss like that.

“How about we stay in tonight instead?” Ivy asked when she’d regained her composure and could put words in a meaningful order. “My mom sent over a lasagna.”

Good thing. Ivy’s own cooking skills were sorely lacking. It wasn’t like she had much chance to practice on the road, hence her burning of the pasta and the resulting need to be rescued from the indignity of the doggy door. Cade had it all over her in the chef department, thanks to his years of practice at the firehouse.

“And after dinner?” He circled his arms around her, pulling her close.

She melted into his embrace.

“Why, dessert, of course.” That much she could handle, with a little help from the Rolling Pin.

“Cream puffs?” he asked, reading her mind. Sure, when it came to sex he could tell what she was thinking.

“I thought we could finish what we started when we were so rudely interrupted all those weeks ago.”

“Do you have the blindfold?” His voice was a low, husky growl filled with raw, animal need that made her shiver with answering desire.

She nodded and blushed, suddenly unsure of herself, something she usually wasn’t with Cade. But this, what she wanted to ask him...was it too much? Would he resist? Sometimes what was good for the goose wasn’t good for the gander. She took a deep, shuddering breath and plunged full steam ahead. “I thought...maybe...you could wear it this time.”

He bent his head to whisper in her ear. “As you wish.”

* * *

C
ADE
PADDED
TO
the kitchen for a glass of water. Damn, the woman was unpredictable. And inventive. And exhausting. No doubt when she woke up she’d be ready for another round. Was it three? Or four? He’d lost count. Whatever round it was, it wasn’t going to happen unless he got some hydration.

He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard next to the sink and shuffled to the refrigerator, catching a glimpse of his naked form in the stainless steel and smiling. He liked not having to worry about wearing his brace—or anything else—at night. Liked knowing that the only person who could catch him wandering around in the buff was Ivy. Liked imagining what would happen if she did.

Liked her.

Loved her.

He’d stopped fighting his feelings, given up his idiotic plan to put some distance between himself and Ivy. Time was their enemy, and he wasn’t going to rob them of any more of it. That was why he’d blown off the gang at the Half Pint. The thought of another night apart, when for all he knew she’d be on a plane to who knows where tomorrow, made him literally sick to his stomach.

And what a night it had been. Cold cream puffs and hot sex with Ivy beat darts and watered-down beer with Sykes and Hansen any night of the week.

Cade poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser on the refrigerator, sucked it down and poured another. He leaned against the counter as he drank, watching dust specks dancing in the moonlight that filtered in through the window above the sink.

The night had been perfect in every way—save one. Cade couldn’t shake the feeling Ivy wasn’t being entirely truthful about the whole celebrity-wedding thing. It sounded like a bigger deal than she was making it out to be. And that meant this Andre guy was right, and she was passing up the chance of a lifetime.

Why? For her father? For him? Would she really choose him over her career? Would he want her to?

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the bright pink case of her cell phone on the other end of the counter, mocking him. He knew her pass code. They’d exchanged them one night in a raunchy, two-person game of strip truth or dare. It would be easy for him to locate Andre’s number, call him and find out what was really going on.

But he’d promised to trust her. And as much as he doubted her story about George and Amal and celebrity weddings being just another gig, he intended to keep his promises to her.

With a groan, he polished off his water, put the glass in the sink and headed back to the bedroom.

Cade was still reminding himself of his promise to trust Ivy the next morning when the house phone rang. He answered it and was met with a barrage of rapid-fire French. At least, he thought it was French. In the midst of the tirade, he caught Ivy’s name and the words
sérieux
and
pressant
.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted when the caller paused to take a breath. “But Ivy’s not home right now. This is her...”

What was he? Her live-in lover? Her boy toy? He settled on the annoyingly generic.

“This is her friend Cade.”

“Ah-h-h-h.” The caller drew the word out like he was savoring it, rolling it over his tongue to see how it tasted. “Now I understand her reluctance to leave Stockton and all its...charms.”

“Can I give her a message?” Cade asked, choosing to ignore the obvious implication and taking up the pad and pen Ivy kept by the phone.

“Please. She is not answering her cell.”

“She’s at the nursery. Reception’s spotty.” Plus, it was hard to take a phone call when you were shoveling shit.

“Tell her Andre called. There’s been a change of plan. The wedding’s been moved up two weeks, to the weekend before Labor Day. Something about needing to stay one step ahead of the gossip magazines. Anyway, the bride needs an answer by the end of business today, your time.”