Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,39
taken.
Perhaps it’s the devil on my shoulder, or the way Ivy had laughed on that Jeep, but I want to mess with her. See how far I can push. “It’s surprised us too,” I tell Joy. “We had the same fear. Didn’t we, Ives?”
Her smile is locked in place, but the look she shoots me is deadly. “Sure did, honey.”
I give her a wide smile back.
“Well, the two of you make a beautiful couple,” Joy says, pulling onto the dusty road leading to the Rieler resort. “I should be the one photographing the two of you!”
“So we’re a couple?”
I bite my tongue to keep from grinning, grateful that the camera is shielding my face. Ivy reclines against the terrace railing, the sunset behind her draping the Kenyan landscape in a golden hue. “I couldn’t help myself.”
“Thought you didn’t like lying.”
“I make exceptions for comedy.”
She reaches up to notch a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“Something to bear in mind?”
“Exactly.” She smiles at me, looking straight at the camera. And there’s not a trace of disapproval or dislike on her features. I snap a shot of her like that, looking at me, rather than posing for the camera.
“That’s it,” I say. “I think we’ve got all the shots we need out here.”
“Awesome.”
“I’ll just get some of the landscape.”
“That means I can finally remove my face,” she says, heading into the lodge.
“Your face?”
“The makeup!” she calls back.
Shaking my head, I set about capturing the landscape. It’s not long until I have everything I need, which is good, because the sun doesn’t stay. It’s dark when I pull the door to the balcony door firmly shut behind me. With the AC on and the onslaught of insects outdoors, we want to keep one in and the other out.
I head to my suitcase. “I’ll grab the sofa.”
“If you insist,” Ivy responds. She’s taken a cross-legged seat on the sofa in question, her hair in a low ponytail. “But it’s not that late yet?”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“My crazy little jet-lag episode is over.”
“It was very amusing, so I didn’t mind.” I sit down on the opposite side of the couch, my eyes roving the shelves. Is there a minibar somewhere here?
“I can imagine,” she says, turning something over in her hands. “I don’t know if you’d be interested, but I bought this at the airport in Paris before we left.”
“What is it?”
“Cards. Just some simple, effective fun.” Ivy shrugs, looking at me. “But perhaps it’s too mundane for you.”
I snort, holding out my hand. She gives me the deck. “I’ll play.”
“Awesome.” She’s removed her makeup, and I’m struck with the desire to take a picture of her right here, right now. Sitting cross-legged and relaxed, with her face bare.
“What are we playing for?”
“The honor?”
I shuffle them smoothly. “We can think of something more interesting than that.”
“We can?” Ivy frowns, her gaze traveling across the lodge. Stopping on the giant bed. “We could play for who gets to sleep in the master.”
My lips twitch. “You’re sure? I’ve already ceded that, so you don’t have to put it back on the table.”
“Well, what else is there?” She nods at the cards. “Gin rummy?”
I haven’t played that in years, but I know the rules well enough. With three siblings, every type of game was played growing up.
“We’ll play for information,” I say.
“Information? You sound like a mafia boss,” she says, but she’s grinning. “I’m not sure if I have information that is worth enough to be a prize.”
“I’m absolutely positive that you do,” I say, dealing the cards. “The victor gets to ask a question.”
Her teeth dig into her lower lip. “And no deflecting? We’re both good at that.”
I hesitate only for a moment. “No deflecting.”
She rubs her hands together in anticipation, but there’s a furrow in her brow. So she has things she doesn’t want to talk about either. “I’m ready.”
Ivy wins the first round, but it’s close. She leans against the back of the couch and puts her head in her hand. “I keep thinking of what you said the other night with Baptiste. The real reason you wanted me there as a buffer… but I’m not sure if that’s a good starting question.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you considering giving me a softball?”
“I can be kind.” She looks down at the cards in her hands. “All right. Here’s my question—why did you decide to become a photographer? You already run a publishing company, right?”
“I’ve always wanted to write books, and