She wants that sort of thing. A husband and kids and a white picket fence around the pretty little house she decorated. I know she does. She’s a dreamer, a romantic, a woman who deserves to be treated like a queen. I’d only end up hurting her and I couldn’t live with myself if I did. Gage wouldn’t let me live either.
He knows her well, considering I’m referring to his baby sister.
Once upon a time, when she was younger, I thought of her like a baby sister too. But then she blossomed into this hot teenager that had me thinking all the wrong thoughts every time I got near her. Seventeen-year-old Ivy made me feel like a pervert. Didn’t help that every time I tried to avoid her, she wanted to talk to me. As if she knew she drove me crazy and was determined to get under my skin with her sweet, thoughtful ways, how she laughed at my jokes and looked at me as if she could see right through me.
And when she grew into this beautiful, sexy, confident woman, I knew without a doubt I had to avoid her at all costs. I wanted to be with her in the worst damn way. She’s the first woman I ever truly cared for. I don’t want to hurt her, because I would. I hurt all the women in my life. Ask my mother. Ask any female who thought she had a fleeting chance at being with me.
“Maybe you could go babysit Ivy for a little while,” Gage suggests.
I turn to him, incredulous. Can he reach inside my brain and read my thoughts? Fucking scary how he just did that.
“What do you mean?” I ask warily.
“You want to win an easy fifty grand? Go be with Ivy. Like she’d marry your sorry ass.” Gage laughs, though I don’t. Why am I a sorry ass? Yeah, I know I’m not worthy of Ivy, but damn, his words still hurt.
When I don’t say anything, Gage continues.
“She broke it off with the guy she’d been seeing a few nights ago. Not that he was worthy of her, but she’s been down in the dumps ever since,” Gage explains. “You could go hang out with her for the rest of the night, use her to fight off any other female who might approach. Ivy’s always liked you, though I don’t know why since you’re such a jackass.” He pauses, his eyes narrowed. “I realize you enjoy chasing everything in a skirt, but I know you won’t take advantage of my sister. Right?”
The pointed look he gives me rings loud and clear. I want to promise him I won’t take advantage of her. But he’s talking about Ivy . . . and I always want what I can’t have.
Especially her.
“She doesn’t count anyway,” Matt says with a chuckle. “After all, it’s just Ivy.”
“Right. Just Ivy.” I nod as I look around, hoping to spot her. She’s here. I saw her earlier, though she avoided me. Most of the time, I choose to aggravate the shit out of her rather than let on how I really feel. “You mean she doesn’t count toward that crazy-ass bet you just made me?’
“Yeah, she totally doesn’t count. Besides, Gage would kill you,” Matt says matter-of-factly. “There are approximately twenty-five women spying on us at this very moment, all of them sorority sisters or whatever of the bride. They’re dying for you to even look their way, Archer. First one that talks to you, I guarantee you’ll marry.”
“Bullshit,” I mumble. My friend has lost his damn mind.
“Whatever.” Matt laughs as does Gage, but I ignore them.
Glancing across the room, I see her. Ivy. Sitting at a table alone, watching couples sway together on the dance floor to some sappy love song. Her long, brown hair is wavy when she usually wears it straight, and I’m tempted to run my hands through it, see if it feels as silky soft as it looks. Her dress is a rich, dark blue and strapless, revealing plenty of smooth, creamy flesh that my fingers literally itch to touch.
The wistful longing on her face is obvious and I’m compelled to go to her. Ask her to dance. Pull her in close, feel her curves mold against me as I breathe in her sweet scent.
Damn.
Yeah. She’d probably tell me to go to hell before she’d dance with me.
“I don’t want to touch her,” I say, which is a lie because I would f**king love to touch her. “You can trust me.”
More lies. Gage should kick me in the nuts just for thinking about his sister. Let alone actually doing something to her. With her. Over her, under her, any way I can get her. She’s the only one who could tempt me to break the crazy bet I just made. Who could make me want to go against everything I’ve ever believed in since I was a kid.
But I won’t. I refuse to give in. She’s not for me.
No matter how badly I want her to be.
Ivy
THERE’S NOTHING WORSE than going to a wedding alone, especially when I’d had a date approximately forty-eight hours ago. Before I realized the guy I was seeing was also still seeing the woman he claimed he’d broke up with well over six months ago.
How did I find out this amazingly bad news? The supposed ex called my cell and chewed me out while I was looking over wallpaper samples with a client. Talk about humiliating. Talk about my life turning into a Jerry Springer episode. She made me feel like a cheating whore-bag out to steal her man, the very last thing I am. I am not a man-stealer. I know some women are attracted to men in relationships but not me. Taken men are too much trouble, thank you very much.
I hung up on the still-ranting, supposed ex-girlfriend and promptly called Marc, letting him know I couldn’t see him any longer. He’d hardly protested—no surprise. What a jerk.
So now I sit here alone. At the single and dateless table, because when I called the bride and told her I wasn’t bringing my date after all, Cecily flipped out. Claimed I would mess up her carefully orchestrated seating arrangement and oh my God, couldn’t you just bring your date anyway and deal?