TWENTY-FIVE

Ivy was left standing in the doorway of her truly spectacular suite, watching Lark’s truly spectacular arse flex and bunch as he marched purposefully away from her. Although she couldn’t be positive what had prompted his sudden change in attitude, she could make an educated guess. It was because of her. After that first day when he had pushed her up against the car and given her the best orgasm of her life, she had reverted back to the old ranger who was cold and unfeeling. Why? Because the fact that he had given her a blinding orgasm without even taking her clothes off had terrified her as much as thrilled her.

She had known there was something special about him the moment she laid eyes on him. Attraction, yes, but after so long on the road with him, she knew there was so much more. When he had touched her, never once looking away, as if he saw the real her – as if wanted to see the real her … Well, it had given her something she knew she couldn’t afford; hope.

She was a ranger, her duty was to imprison, punish, and kill. Lark was all happy, warm, and fun. Basically? Everything she wasn’t. She hadn’t wanted to tarnish that shine he had and she knew that is exactly what would happen if she let that hope keep blooming in her chest. So she had cut off their budding friendship and easy comradery at its knees and proceeded to only talk shop for the last three weeks.

It had been hell, pure and simple. She had been forced to sit next to him in the car day after day, his fresh scent driving her crazy, and his warm attempts at conversation and humour making her melt inside. She was dying to respond to him, to ask him questions, but she had held back, figuring he would give up in time. He hadn’t – until today. She had never seen him like this – so closed off, so cold. It was like he was channelling her or something. Her knees buckled with that thought and she had to hang on to the doorframe for support when she realised she had done the exact thing she thought a relationship with him would do; take away his shine.

Thinking quickly, she wondered what she could do to repair the damage she had caused – if he would even be receptive to reigniting their fledgling, friendly relationship. She wasn’t looking for anything further, she told herself. She just wanted the happy Lark back. Picking up her phone, she dialled the one person she knew would give her unconditional help.

“Bey? I need your advice.”

*****

Apologise? Ivy thought as she made her way downstairs to where she knew the restaurant was. After listening carefully to her tale of her poor attitude and even poorer behaviour, Beyden’s golden advice had been to apologise. She supposed to anyone else the solution would have been obvious but like Ryker had suggested; she was a little socially stunted. Her brother had broken it down in his customary, sensible fashion;

“Let me get this straight. Lark has apologised to you countless times now for his assumptions, his words, or his actions. From what I understand, your assumptions and faults have been far worse than his and yet, how many times have you apologised to him?”

Ivy hadn’t answered, letting her silence speak for itself. But she knew he was right. Her mother would have kicked her butt by now; stoic was one thing but rudeness was something else entirely.

Spotting him at a table by himself close to the man playing a black baby grand, she took a fortifying breath of humble and made her way to him, “Do you mind if I join you?”

His green eyes flicked up, looking her over with disinterest, before settling once more on his menu. He shrugged, “The seat’s free.”

Not exactly the warmest of welcomes but at least he hadn’t said no. For want of anything better to do, she picked up her own menu and began to scan its contents. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head – fifty dollars for a starter! She didn’t even want to know what the main courses ran for. Quickly looking around, she noticed for the first time how fancy the place was. Every other occupant in the room was dressed in formal attire of dresses and suits. Patting her hair, she suddenly remembered she hadn’t taken a brush to it since that morning and she had been hacking off heads all day. What’s more, she was still wearing her plain black cargo pants and shirt. She wished she had the protection that was her ranger uniform. She had never felt so exposed before.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice startled her as much as his words and her eyes flew to his. She was able to witness first-hand how his eyes lost their coldness and the lines of tension bracketing his mouth smoothed out. “Huh?” she managed to stutter out.

“I said you look beautiful. You outshine every woman in this room.”

Ivy ducked her head, feeling her face flame. But not from embarrassment – no, it was from pleasure. Lark thought she was beautiful. Nobody had ever told her she was beautiful before. Well, other than Beyden and her mother but they didn’t count. And although she hadn’t heard them from any man in the past, she knew they couldn’t possibly have meant more to her than they did when spoken from the man in front of her right now.

Apologise, Beyden had said. But Ivy thought she could do one better and appeal to him on a deeper level – show him she had been listening every time he spoke. And prove she had been watching every time he moved. Standing up, she held out her hand, “Will you dance with me?”

He stared at her outstretched hand so long she began to think he wasn’t going to take it and she felt a small ball of dread settle in her stomach. But just as she was about to lower her hand, he grasped it firmly, allowing her to pull him to his feet;

“I’d love to,” he assured her, softly.

There were three other couples on the dance floor, so she didn’t feel like a complete moron but it took her all of ten seconds to step on his foot, “Sorry,” she hastily apologised. “I don’t dance often – or ever.”

Warm fingers caught her chin, tilting it up and she found herself ensnared by the jade depths of his eyes, “You’re doing fine. Although, if you stopped trying to lead …” he quirked a smile at her.

“Oh,” she exhaled, loosening her steel grip on his hand and beginning to follow his steps as he moved her slowly but surely in a circle across the dance floor. By half way through the song, she had relaxed enough to close her eyes when she heard him whisper;

“Apology accepted.”

She smiled into his chest where she knew he couldn’t see, feeling an insurmountable pleasure knowing he had read her actions for what they were; a request for forgiveness. As the last lines of the song came to an end, she found herself in an unusual predicament; she didn’t want to step out of the masculine arms that surrounded her. One song. One dance. That’s what she had allowed herself. One tiny moment of whimsy where she could just be a woman and not a killer. She knew better, she reprimanded herself, for now here she was, her body aligned with a lean frame that smelled of freshly cut grass in the spring time … and muscles that wouldn’t quit.

He had been the perfect gentleman, guiding her through the dance with one hand securely on her waist and the other covering hers on his chest. He didn’t step into her personal space at all, just moved them together with the beat of the music. She found the casual brushes of his body against hers even more arousing than if they had been slamming naked against each other. Although, she was sure that would be damn arousing as well.

She felt him inhale, bringing them into even closer contact, rather than letting her go. Seems she wasn’t the only one disinclined to part ways. Although, judging by the large bulge behind the zipper of his standard issue cargo pants, she was confident his reasons weren’t so innocent. Another inhale accompanied a nose brushing against her hair. Was he sniffing her?

“Are you sniffing me?” She demanded, frowning at him but still making no move to step out of his arms – because she was clearly a glutton for punishment.

He shrugged, “Yes. Your hair smells amazing.”

She quickly lowered her head, lest he see how much the comment warmed her. Her one vanity was her hair. It would have been far more practical to cut it all off. After all, anything an opponent could grab and use against you in battle was a hindrance. But she just couldn’t do it. The memories of her mother brushing her hair before bedtime every night were her favourite ones. Before she could formulate a response that didn’t make her sound like a weeny, Lark spoke again;

“Do you know what I wanted the first time I saw you?” he murmured, this time skimming his chin across the top of her head.

She smirked at that, pushing herself against the hardness at her hip, “I think I can guess.”

She fully expected a bawdy comment in return or a lewd gesture – the typical male response to such a blatant sexual innuendo. But when none was forthcoming, she glanced up at him again. Bright green eyes, the colour of the freshest of fields, met her own dark gaze. Those emerald orbs mapped her face, even as he raised a hand to trace her lips. Despite herself, she felt them part in anticipation – so sure he was going to lean in and lay siege. But the earth paladin only quirked his own and shook his head;

“I wanted to see you smile.”

Ivy gulped, oh boy, he sure is potent, she thought and tried to remind herself of all the different reasons why becoming involved with her partner, her brother’s best friend, and a man young enough to be her son, was a bad idea.

“I saw you dancing,” she abruptly revealed without thought and wanted to immediately slap her own forehead.

“Given you’re currently in my arms, swaying to the music, I’d say that was fairly obvious,” he smiled at her.

“No,” she fumbled, trying to explain herself, “I mean, I saw you dancing. Back at the camp. In the gym.”

Apple-green eyes narrowed and she felt him stiffen perceptibly, “Did you just? That was private.”

She blushed a little but didn’t lower her eyes, “I know. Ryker informed me of that when he caught me in the act.”

“Ryker?” he sounded surprised.

“Yeah. He’s a little protective of you. In fact, they all are,” she pointed out.

“Hmm,” was his only response.

“Who taught you?” she asked.

“Who taught me what?” he queried, although she was positive he knew her meaning.

“To dance,” she clarified. She was unsure why his answers were so important to her. She just knew she had an intense desire to get to know the youthful earth paladin on a deeper level. She knew he had been trying – all those hours in the car together. But she had feigned disinterest and he hadn’t attempted to talk about anything of true importance.

He was silent for so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer but she finally felt his tense muscles relax once more just before his breath fanned across the top of her head;

“No-one taught me; I taught myself.”

“What?” That couldn’t be right. The skill and the dexterity with which he had moved had not been those of an amateur. “How is that possible? You must have had lessons.”

But he shook his head, “You’d be surprised how much you can learn from watching TV and reading books when you have a photographic memory.”

“Your parents must have been proud of you, having so many talents,” she guessed and was caught off guard when he stopped moving abruptly. Looking up, she saw his eyes were fixed on her face with harsh intensity, “What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head, looking baffled, “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

He was looking so solemn and serious, she could only shake her head, “What do you mean? Who are you?”

He blew out a harsh breath, “Not here.”

Glancing around, she saw they were garnering some interest. Likely because they were still on the dance floor, wrapped in each other’s arms and subtly swaying to the now non-existent music. She stepped out of his arms, swiftly quieting her traitorous heart when it whined from the loss of contact. Clearing her throat, she said; “Thank you. For the dance, I mean.”

His lips quirked up, making him look entirely too young and edible, “You’re welcome. For the dance, I mean.”

She couldn’t help but smile back and he tilted his head, studying her for a moment, “Do you really want to know more about me?”

“Most definitely,” she quickly responded.

“Are you going to reciprocate?”

She frowned at that, “There’s not much to tell.”

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” he murmured, his gaze raking over her from head to toe. “Your room or mine?” he asked and must have read the wary look on her face, “Relax, Ivy. To talk. Just talk.”

She hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to forge ahead. She may as well get it over with. “Listen, Lark. About that day –”

“Let’s not, okay? Something tells me we’re not going to agree about what it meant and I don’t want to hear all about your regrets. So –” he continued before she could puzzle out what his meaning was, “your room or mine?”

She studied him for a moment, seeing no hidden agenda. Just his earnest, handsome face, “Mine.”