The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,56
factory thousands of miles away. He’d had to head back into the office and when he was done, it was too late for him to head back to Ivy House, so he went right up to his own apartment at the hotel, a suite of rooms he’d fashioned into a bachelor pad when he’d bought the marina and the Osprey Arms. He had a long bank of windows overlooking the docks, and room service whenever he wanted. Even though it was late, he was too keyed up to sleep, so he poured himself a glass of single malt and sipped it while he sat in the dark and took in the view of the water.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Even when he was yelling and cajoling, his mind had slipped into wild fantasies. Not just of kissing of her, but of much more. Just how would her long, lean body look without one of her little v-neck sweaters? Or how her red-gold hair would spill across a pillow, or the way her supple legs would wrap around him as he rode her into wild release.
Or the way her eyes had flashed when she had laughed at him today, challenging him to track down ever more ridiculous items. The trouble he had gone to for a pair of pink-and-white-striped napkin rings. And it had all been a pleasure. Phoebe had been relaxed, her guard down, not eyeing him with distrust or keeping her distance.
He had been able to, for a moment, see the world the way she saw it, as a canvas of color and form, a palette of inspiration. She had been able to clearly explain to him how some of the things would influence her and how others just spoke to her, and she had enjoyed the hunt, the seeking of offbeat beauty, talking with all of the different dealers, learning where things had come from.
Chase shook his head. He wanted her; of that, there was no doubt. He had felt something the moment he’d walked into the house and there had been that odd feeling of recognition. True, she had looked a lot like Savannah Ryan that day, but she was as far from a movie star as could be. Phoebe was a jeans-and-sweater type of girl, who craved pretty, but not necessarily glamorous things. She could find a use for anything; even turn an ugly duckling into a swan.
He let himself breathe deeply, imagining the smell of her shampoo, the floral and citrus scent mixing with her distinctive aroma. What he wouldn’t give to have her here with him right now.
Easy tiger, he told himself. He’d started out on the wrong foot with her and she was as prickly as a cactus. But still, if she thought to deny her attraction to him, she was crazy. She was a terrible liar and couldn’t bluff worth a damn. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Chase glanced at his watch. The sun would be up soon and he hadn’t slept.
He had a few things to do before he was ready for his next meeting with Phoebe Ryan.
Chapter 25
Phoebe awoke from a pleasant dream. It took her a moment to orient herself. And then she blushed. She had been having one of those dreams. Her face and body felt warm, suffused with blood, and there was an ache between her legs. It came back to her in bits and pieces, the dream, flashes of a dark head and blue eyes, the almost real feeling of his lips on hers, his hands stroking her, arousing her.
She pulled the covers up and buried her face into them. Oh God, she thought, I am turning into a horny teenager. The idea that an imaginary Chase Sanders, with his arrogant grin and big sexy hands, could have done that to her was just too much.
Before she could think more about it, her phone buzzed. Reaching for it, she tamped down disappointment when she recognized the number.
“Dean,” Phoebe said, hoping the embarrassment didn’t come across in her voice.
“Well, it seems like you have been a busy little bee,” he said. It was cheerful, but Phoebe detected an undercurrent of disapproval.
“Oh,” she said, grasping for words. She had left the window up and cool morning air filtered in, bringing her heart rate back to normal. The wild dream of last night receded.
“You saw the press release?” Phoebe had allowed Chase and his team to issue one. A brief