Facing the Music (16 page)

He leaned in, planting kisses along the sensitive line of her neck. He let his hands roam over the back of her dress until he found the metal tab of the zipper. The slow, rhythmic sound of it unfastening mingled with her soft gasps.

Ivy’s neck had always been her weakness. He could talk her into anything as long as his lips were dancing along her skin. The zipper reached the end of its path, his fingertips brushing over the hollow of her lower back.

“You know,” she whispered, “I’ve learned a few sweet moves over the years, too.” Pulling away from him, she stood up, holding her limp dress to her body to keep it from falling.

Blake leaned back onto his elbows, watching the dark silhouette of her body move in front of the wall of windows behind her. She turned her back to him, looking coquettishly over her shoulder. She smiled and let the dress drop to the floor.

The light in the room was dim, but it was bright enough for him to make out every detail of her body. She was wearing a black lace thong that exposed the hard, round cheeks of her ass. She kicked out of the dress and turned back, showcasing the tight little bustier she’d worn beneath her outfit. The boning and lace clung to her ribs and the satin cups pushed the full swell of her breasts nearly up and over the top.

“You packed
that
,” he said, “to come home to Rosewood?”

Ivy softly chuckled and shook her head. “No. This came courtesy of a shop in Birmingham that Pepper and I stopped at when we went dress shopping.”

“I like that store,” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes from the body he’d ached to touch for a week. It was just as well he hadn’t known what she had on under that dress. He would’ve rushed them out of that dance before they’d had a chance to get their crowns.

Ivy slipped her arms behind her neck and lifted them, letting her dark hair fall back down into a cascade of waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were focused on him as she started a seductive little dance. Ivy gyrated her hips, her hands sliding down her body and touching the places his own palms tingled to touch. She moved to the rhythm in her mind. She didn’t need music to dance when there was always a song in her head.

She came closer, settling between his thighs. She boldly reached for his collar, unbuttoning his shirt. If she wanted to show off some moves, he wasn’t about to stop her.

Pulling the shirt open to expose his chest, she ran a palm down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his trousers. She dropped down to her knees, then unbuttoned his fly. Ivy leaned in to press her lips against his stomach. They left behind the mark of her light pink lipstick. Ivy tugged at his waistband and Blake arched his back to raise up off the bed so she could get those pesky pants out of the way.

“Tighty-whiteys?” Ivy asked as she desperately tried to hold in a laugh.

“I had to,” he said in self-defense. “With the cut of those pants and the light-colored fabric, I couldn’t wear boxers or anything with color.”

“I understand,” Ivy said as she stroked his large bulge. “Panty lines can be so annoying.”

“Panty lines?” Blake sat up on the bed and scooped Ivy into his arms. With a roar of mock outrage, he lifted her onto the bed and plopped her beside him on her back. His body covered hers in an instant. He was happy to have this distraction from her caresses for a moment to regroup and gain the upper hand. “The only panties in
this
house are in my way.”

Ivy giggled again, but this time he smothered the sound with his mouth. Settling between her thighs, he pressed himself against the black lace barrier. With a slow grind of his hips, his tongue glided along hers. After a few long strokes, Ivy was writhing beneath him and groaning against his lips. When her cries grew louder and more desperate, he pulled away.

Breaking the kiss, he focused on removing the lace-and-satin top. With a practiced flick of his wrist, it came undone and he whipped the garment onto the floor.

This. This is what he’d been dying to taste. The small, firm breasts she’d hidden beneath her hands that first day were finally on full display. He took in the sight for a moment and then noticed the elusive tattoo he’d only glimpsed at the cabin. On the left side of her rib cage were a bass and a treble clef, combined to make them look like a heart. His fingertips brushed over it. “Nice tattoo,” he said.

Ivy curled her neck up to look at the ink. “Yeah. Don’t ever tattoo your ribs. Trust me when I say that. It was supposed to be bigger.” She laughed and the movement drew his attention back to her nipples where it belonged.

His tongue flicked over one hard pink tip, eliciting a sharp gasp from Ivy. He ran his tongue over the firm nub again, taking the other one into his hand.

Blake drew the nipple into his mouth at last, sucking hard until Ivy cried out and arched her body, burying her fingers in his hair.

“Blake,” she gasped. Her bare leg drew up his side to cradle his hip. The movement brought him in more direct contact with her sensitive center. “Please.”

How long had he waited to hear those words from her lips again? Sometimes he’d imagined it just like this, a desperate plea in the dark that he gladly answered. Other nights, when that song had earned him a particularly suck-ass day, it had been an appeal for mercy, which he denied.

There were so many emotions wrapped up in his past with Ivy. Sometimes it was purely painful, but with so many other women, he was numb. After his accident, he’d screwed his way through a dozen women trying to convince himself that he hadn’t lost everything. It hadn’t helped. Part of him shut down the day they cut him from the team. With Ivy, he felt alive. There could be no high without the lows, and with Ivy he had it all.

Blake buried those thoughts as his lips found her throat again. His tongue glided over the saltiness of her skin while his hand slid down her side to her hip. He grasped a handful of the lace panties and tugged down around the curve of her ass. She arched up off the bed and the fabric moved easier. His fingers danced across the soft, smooth skin of her legs as he slipped the panties off and threw them to the side with the rest of their clothes.

He was tempted to continue exploring, but he knew himself too well. Once he touched her, he wouldn’t want to stop, not for anything. And some things were necessary. Blake kissed her, long and deep, and then climbed from the bed.

Ivy pouted. “You’d better not be going far.”

Blake turned back to see her nude body splayed across his bed. No, he wasn’t going far at all. From the dresser on the far wall he grabbed a handful of condoms and carried them back with him.

Ivy watched him with hooded eyes as he slipped out of the last of his clothes and walked back to the foot of the bed. He crawled up until he was kneeling between her ankles. Blake leaned down, slipping his arms beneath her knees. With a quick tug, her body slid to him and he was ideally positioned between her thighs with her knees hooked over his shoulders.

His gaze flicked down to the pink flesh he’d exposed. Dipping down onto his elbows, he sought her out with his tongue. The first contact drew a sharp cry. The second stroke, longer and more leisurely, left Ivy panting and squirming. He continued his pleasurable assault on her body until he could feel her every muscle tense and hear her cries grow more desperate. He’d made love to Ivy enough times in the past to know she was on the verge of coming undone. He wanted to stop just short of that. They would ride that wave together, at least this first time.

Reaching for the headboard, he snapped up one of the condoms and made quick work of putting it on. He lowered himself between her thighs and hovered there just as they touched.

Ivy wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Slowly, oh so slowly, Blake eased forward. Inch by delicious inch, he sank into the welcoming heat of her body. He buried himself fully, letting a strangled groan escape his lips. God, she felt good. Her body gripped him as tightly as it had when they were clumsy teenagers.

Ivy’s breath was hot in his ear. “Take me,” she whispered.

Withdrawing at an agonizingly slow pace, Blake thrust back into her again. He fought the urge to roll his eyes back into his head. Biting his lip, he did it again and again, feeling the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter inside his gut.

Ivy’s soft gasps of encouragement urged him on even after the ache in his leg started to burn as fiercely as the one in his groin. He ignored it, knowing that eventually the pain would fade. He eased up onto his elbows to focus on Ivy instead. Her eyes were pressed tightly closed, her attention centered on the pleasure he was coaxing from her body.

With single-minded determination, he thrust into her, watching every flicker of pleasure dance across her face. It wasn’t long before her pink lips parted and her brow furrowed in concentration.

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, Blake, yes!”

Her fingers grasped desperately at his back. He felt her body tighten around him as he moved faster, harder, into her. Closing his eyes, Blake focused on that feeling. When she came undone a moment later, her desperate cries echoed through the room, bringing on his own release.

His low groan joined hers as he poured into her, surging forward one last time. They were both still trembling and gasping for air when he collapsed onto his side beside her.

Blake’s lungs burned and his arms trembled, but he didn’t care. Whatever the price, it was worth it to make love to Ivy.

After several rounds of
lovemaking and naps, Ivy found herself wide awake, her brain spinning. She was staring up at the skylights overhead, watching the stars twinkle in the inky black sky.

Blake was awake, too. He shifted beside her and cleared his throat. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“What?” Ivy asked.

“I can hear you thinking. Listening to those wheels turning is keeping me awake.”

“Blake?” She struggled to voice the thoughts in her head. “What is . . .
this
?”

Blake’s arms sought her out beneath the blankets and pulled her body against his. “You should be basking in afterglow, not overthinking things.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But I just want to make sure we both know what’s going on.”

She could feel the low rumble of his chuckle against her back. “So what’s going on?”

Ivy squirmed anxiously in his arms. “You and I. You know that this isn’t . . . I mean, it won’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“You mean my lovemaking skills are not so stellar as to make you give up your music career and move back to Rosewood to be with me forever?”

Ivy was pretty certain that he was teasing her, but even then, she wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Blake, I . . .”

“Relax. I’m not planning to propose anytime soon, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” she said. “It’s just . . . you know that I leave in a week.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

He wasn’t taking this discussion seriously at all. “And this thing that has developed between us . . .”

“Was a lot of fun until you started overthinking it. Breathe, Ivy. We’re just two people enjoying each other’s company while we can. When you leave . . .”

“You can go back to Lydia.”

“What?” Blake’s sharp voice cut through the darkness. “Not if she was the last woman in Rosewood.” His mock anger was soon drowned out by giggles as his fingertips sought out her sensitive sides and belly. His hands and lips eventually found more interesting territory and giggles were quickly silenced.

Chapter Fifteen

Ivy woke up
early the next morning. Quietly slipping from Blake’s bed, she threw on one of his T-shirts before heading downstairs to make coffee.

She normally carried her lyric notebook wherever she went because she never knew when the inspiration for a song might hit, but her notebook didn’t fit in the tiny, fancy purse she’d taken to prom. Finding herself filled with words, Ivy looked around for anything to write on.

Eventually, she found a notepad and pen by the phone. She curled up with a fleece blanket on the couch, where she couldn’t move the pen fast enough to capture the thoughts pouring from her head.

And the best part? The song was good. Really good. She’d written four or five songs since she’d come home. But this one was different. This might be the first one with album potential that met Kevin’s challenge. There was no anger. No bitterness. It was about passion and desire. The physical drive to make someone yours, even if just for the night.

That was the only safe thing to write about after a night like she’d just had. It would be dangerous to lose herself in a romantic fantasy. What kind of real romance only lasted a week?

Putting down the pad of paper, Ivy frowned. The song was good enough, but she was more concerned about the fact that she was on Blake’s couch, wearing his T-shirt, the scent of him still lingering on her skin.

What was she doing? She’d let herself get all wrapped up in . . . nostalgia, she supposed. She’d underestimated how strong the drive would be to somehow relive her past.

“Up writing,” Blake said, coming slowly down the stairs. She noticed a slight wince as he reached the bottom. She knew he wouldn’t mention it, but he must be paying for last night’s performance. “Not much has changed over the years.”

“You know me. I can’t help it.”

“Hopefully I’ll inspire a better song this time around.” Blake was wearing a pair of Auburn logo sweatpants. The sight of him shirtless was inspiring enough on its own. Blake was solid, hard, carved muscle. She’d touched every inch of him earlier, but now, in the light, she could fully appreciate him.

“I’m certain that any song inspired by last night’s performance will do nothing but enhance your reputation with the single ladies of Rosewood.”

Blake flopped down onto the couch beside her and chuckled bitterly. “Thanks, but I have no trouble attracting the ladies of Rosewood, single or otherwise.”

Ivy arched a brow at him. “It must be your humility that draws them to you.”

Blake smiled and put his palm on her bare knee, absentmindedly stroking the skin. “I assure you it’s not because I try. Since I came home, they’ve been swarming around me like bees. My players’ moms slip me their number on the sidelines. My mom’s friends pat my rear as I walk past them. At first, I enjoyed the attention and made the most of it. Losing myself in an eager woman was a welcome distraction from the mess my life had become. But it never lasted. Lately, the attention has gotten a little old.”

Ivy tried not to focus on the stirring of jealousy in her chest, but it was easily roused. He had always been a magnet for women’s attentions, and that was just fine when they weren’t dating. And right now, they weren’t. “As my manager, Kevin, always tells me when I complain that the general public is more interested in my physical assets than my musical talents: there are worse things than being wanted.”

“I suppose. They’re all very nice women. Some are quite attractive and pleasant to be around, but that’s it. When we were finished, all I could think of was getting out of there. None of them inspired me to pursue them or made me think about a future with them. I have this new life now that allows me the time to really dedicate myself to a relationship and possibly have a family, and damned if I can find the right woman for me.”

Blake frowned slightly, his gaze focused on his hand as it stroked her knee. “You were the only woman who ever inspired those kinds of feelings in me. The only woman I could ever look at and know exactly what our life would be like together. And I threw it away because I was young and stupid.”

Ivy wasn’t sure what to think. They’d fallen asleep after agreeing this was fun and nothing more. Now, he was talking like she was the lost love of his life. “You’re not even twenty-seven yet, Blake. For the love of God, don’t start talking like your chance at love is over. We’re both young with plenty of time to find the right person.”

“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. Instead, he got up from the couch and padded into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”

She was happy to change the subject to something less serious. “Much to my personal trainer’s dismay, I’m always hungry.”

Blake chuckled and went to the refrigerator. “Pancakes or waffles?”

“Yes,” Ivy said as she joined him in the kitchen.

Blake started mixing up a pancake batter, eyeballing Ivy from his position near the gas range. “Do you realize what shirt you’re wearing?”

Ivy looked down. It was the Auburn SEC Championship shirt from the year Blake led the Tigers to an undefeated regular season. That was the win they were celebrating at the infamous party where Ivy and Blake broke up. “I just grabbed a shirt from the drawer in the dark so I wouldn’t wake you. I should’ve looked closer.”

She felt silly enough walking around in nothing but one of his oversize T-shirts, much less an Auburn one, but she didn’t really have much choice. It was either the T-shirt or last night’s prom dress.

Ivy pulled a stool up to the island and sliced fruit while she watched Blake cook. When the food was ready, they took their plates and a pitcher of orange juice out onto the deck.

It was a completely different experience in the daytime. Now, the mysterious darkness was a tangle of trees and bushes. She could see the part of his lawn that stretched out beyond the deck behind the house. In the distance, she could make out more water. “Is that a pond out there?”

“It is. The creek feeds into it.” Blake sat down at the table. “I keep it stocked with fish and I have a smaller boat I keep at the dock. Maybe we could go out there sometime this week.”

Ivy wrinkled her nose and shoved a piece of cantaloupe into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. Fishing. Fishing meant bugs and slimy things. And even worse—sitting idle for hours. That sounded like pure hell to her. “I think that’s a terrible idea. I haven’t been fishing since I was eight. There’s a reason for that.”

“Yes, because you’ve never gone fishing with me. I’m certain you’d enjoy it if I was there.”

Ivy didn’t think even Blake’s company could salvage it. “Being trapped in a tiny boat with a box of live crickets is not my idea of fun, even if I’m trapped with you. What if there are water moccasins?”

Blake listened to her thoughtfully, but she could tell he wasn’t about to give up his idea. “What if we went out on Willow Lake instead? It would be more convenient and comfortable for you. I could pick you up at your dock in my bass boat. There’s more room, for sure. Would that be better?”

“It sounds better,” she had to admit.

“Great. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Ivy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She had plans that would most definitely push out any fishing trips. “I’m driving to Birmingham in the afternoon. A friend of mine is flying in to spend a couple days. He’s always wanted to see where I grew up. I’ve tried to convince him that it’s not as exciting as he imagines it to be, but he’s got this overly romantic view of the South, like we’re walking, talking
Gone with the Wind
cast members.”

Blake frowned at her. Judging by the odd expression on his face, he was no longer concerned with fishing but focused entirely on this
guy
coming to see her. “Who’s coming?”

“My friend Malcolm. You’ve probably seen him in a couple of movies. He does a lot of guy-friendly action flicks. He was in that cop movie—
Outlaw Justice
—this past summer.”

“Malcolm Holt?”

Ivy smiled. “That’s him. I can get you an autograph if you’d like.”

Blake didn’t seem impressed. Or interested in her offer. “Is he staying at Miss Twila’s while he’s in town?”

Ivy opened her mouth to respond, but her answer was stolen by the positively jealous expression on Blake’s face. She was eating breakfast with Blake while she was half-naked, but he was jealous of Malcolm. “I think so,” she lied.

The truth was that he was staying at her cabin, but she didn’t think Blake would take that well at the moment. She and Malcolm were friends. Former lovers, according to the tabloids. But there was nothing Ivy could say right now that would make Blake feel better about her hanging out with a sexy movie star. Some secrets weren’t hers to tell.

“We’re probably going to spend some time in Birmingham, too,” she elaborated. “I’m doing interviews with the local news affiliates on Tuesday morning, so we’ll probably stay at a hotel Monday night and come back Tuesday afternoon.”

“When does Malcolm go back to Hollywood? Is he staying until the concert?”

He hadn’t even arrived yet and Blake was trying to send him packing. “Wednesday. I’ll drive him back first thing in the morning. He wanted to stay for the concert, but filming on his current movie resumes on Thursday.”

Blake nodded thoughtfully, chewing a bite of pancakes. “Okay. Well, once you’re done eating sushi and drinking champagne with movie stars, you’re going fishing with me.”

Ivy opened her mouth to argue with him, but Blake was probably right about her upcoming agenda. Malcolm was very fond of sushi. He might insist on some authentic southern food while he was here, but odds were that while they were in Birmingham, there would be sushi. And champagne. They’d made a habit of drinking champagne together on the occasions when their schedules lined up. It seemed indulgent and celebratory and they both loved that.

As much as she didn’t want to go fishing, she would. There was precious little time left to spend with Blake. That hadn’t been an issue when Malcolm made his plans to come out, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Instead, she would make the most of what time she could with Blake. If that meant fishing, so be it.

“Fishing on Wednesday,” she said. “It’s a date.”

Thinking of you. Thanks
for a great night.

Nash looked down at his cell phone and cursed softly, drawing looks from a couple sitting at the table beside him. He had another text from Cheryl. She was apparently unfamiliar with the etiquette of the woman waiting to hear from the man after a date. Of course, he had no intention of contacting her ever again, but she didn’t know that. Even so, it was the seventh text he’d received since he took her home the night before. That was a little much.

He should’ve known he would have a problem when she’d looked at him on her front porch with those smitten eyes. She wanted him to kiss her. She was a nice-enough-looking lady, but he couldn’t take his ruse that far. It had already gone far enough.

It seemed that in his attempt not to be a total jerk and just use the lonely woman to get into the dance, he’d been too nice and encouraged her ideas about their “relationship.” He’d danced with her and brought her punch. He even took dance photos with her under the balloon arch, although by the time they arrived in the mail from the photography company, he would be long gone.

Despite her blowing up his phone, the night had gone fairly well, he thought. He was able to avoid the fireman who had threatened him in the diner. No one else recognized him as a reporter, most importantly not Ivy or Blake. Cheryl never seemed to notice that they danced only when Ivy and Blake danced. She would rest her head on his shoulder during the slow numbers, unable to see him slip his cell phone out of his pocket and snap a shot of the famous couple nearby.

Thankfully, he’d only have to avoid Cheryl for a few more days. There weren’t any more public activities with Ivy until the concert on Saturday. Not being able to return to the ice cream parlor for his favorite flavor was a small price to pay for the photos he’d nabbed at the dance.

Nash had uploaded his shots from his memory card first thing in the morning and went downstairs to shop them to a couple of sites while he ate breakfast. He sold some before he finished his second cup of coffee in Miss Twila’s breakfast room. No one could pass up the chance to plaster Ivy and her latest romance all across the Internet. Especially knowing the man she was kissing was the same man from both last week’s viral video and from
that
song.

It was a far more enticing story than the horse debacle of the previous morning. Nash had several shots of that disaster playing out, but he’d opted not to shop those. Despite what most people seemed to think, he had an honor code under which he operated. Selling those photos didn’t seem right. Ivy had nearly gotten killed and several people might’ve gotten hurt if that horse had made one wrong step.

Now, the shots he got of that sneaky little blonde with the firecracker were another matter. Nash hadn’t noticed until he went through his pictures on his laptop later, but he’d snapped two shots in the moments before Ivy’s horse reared up. In the first, on the fringe of the picture, a woman was squatting down behind the crowd. She had a lighter in one hand and she was holding something in the other hand. In the second shot, the item was more easily identified as a small firecracker. She was tossing it into the street just as Ivy and Blake were riding past her. In the next picture, as the horse panicked, the blonde was gone.