Crave by Monica Murphy
“I want her. Only her.” I clear my throat, realizing how that sounds. “For the project,” I add weakly.
“Good luck. I doubt you’ll get her, but more power to you.”
Gage’s words are just the challenge I need to hear.
Chapter Nine
* * *
Ivy
“CHICKEN, I NEED your help.”
Icy shock moves through my veins at the first sound of Archer’s familiar, deep and sexy-as-hell voice. The very last person I expected to call me at my office on an early Wednesday afternoon—and just how did he get my work number anyway?
Duh, your brother.
Freaking Gage.
“No, ‘Hello, Ivy, how’s it going?’ And I really, really wish you wouldn’t call me chicken.” I’m trying to joke. Or more like trying to figure out if he really does need my help. I mean, come on. Like hearing from him out of nowhere nearly a month later, after what happened between us, is no big deal.
It’s such a big deal.
“So nice to hear from you, Archer. What’s it been, a couple days?” Almost twenty-five days, not that I’m keeping count.
“Very fucking funny, Ivy. I’m not kidding,” he growls irritably. “I need your help, and I needed it yesterday.”
“And you’re calling me? Why? How exactly can I help you?” Wow, I sound remarkably cool and calm, but deep within my insides are trembling. And for whatever crazy reason, my nipples are hard. All from his gruff, commanding tone. So ridiculous, but it’s like the second I hear his voice, my body reacts. I haven’t been able to get that night out of my mind. Images of a naked Archer above me, kissing me, buried deep inside me are burned on my brain.
“You’re still single, right?” he asks, knocking me from my thoughts.
“How is that any of your business?” My heart lodges in my throat. As if he would care. “And who told you that?” Fine. I so am. I haven’t talked to Marc, the jerk, since I broke it off with him. And I haven’t talked to any other guy either, let alone gone out on a date since my night with Archer.
Has he somehow ruined me forever? God, I hope not. I’m only twenty-four. I don’t want to die a shriveled up old lady pining for a man who had sex with me once and then walked away.
“Gage told me.”
I’m going to kill my brother. “Why do you care if I’m single or not?”
“I have a proposition for you.” He pauses and my heart falls into my stomach with hope. “A business proposition.”
Of course. Not that I expected a sexual one. Hello, been down that road once before and look where it got me? A lot of lonely, achy nights waking up after sweaty, too-graphic dreams involving me and him naked. “What sort of business proposition could you possibly have for me?”
“We’re getting ready to open a new set of suites at Hush. There’s only a handful, but they’re bigger, much more exclusive—and expensive—and I need someone to design the interior.” He pauses and my heart squeezes. “I want you.”
Hearing his familiar, deep voice say he wants me in that commanding way of his sets my legs shaking. And I’m sitting down. Ridiculous. “Maybe I’m busy,” I say haughtily, which is true.
“Come on, Ivy. You’re not too busy for me, are you?” He’s teasing me, but there’s a sexual edge to his voice. One I want to ignore.
“Actually, I am. I have a lot of projects I’m working on currently for clients.” I sound like a prim schoolteacher, but damn it, I know I have an appointment I need to get to soon. I really don’t have time to listen to him go on and on about how much he needs me. Getting my hopes up only for them to come crashing down when he never contacts me again.
He’s real good at that.
“I’ll make it worth your while.” His voice lowers, deceptively soft yet edged with smoky, sensual heat.
Tingles sweep over my skin. “I’m sure you will,” I say sarcastically. I refuse to let him know how much he still affects me, especially after he so callously ignored me this past month.
We got naked together. We had sex. And he acts like it never happened. I do too, because how else should I handle it? Confront him?
Hey, what the hell was that night all about anyway? I felt the earth move and thought maybe . . . you felt the same?
Can’t go there. No matter how badly I want to. And wasn’t he the one who called it a mistake?
Yeah, so not going to bring any of that up to him. He’d rather forget. Just like I would.
Liar.
I wish he hadn’t called. Just hearing his voice works me up. Archer Bancroft is dangerous for my well-being and I know it. Delicious. Wicked. Appealing. Wrong. At least, he’s wrong for me.
“I have to go, Archer.” I keep my tone brusque as my gaze lands on my computer screen. My to-do list mocks me, it’s so long. And my calendar app dings, reminding me I have an appointment with a client in thirty minutes.
Which means I need to leave now if I want to make it on time.
“Listen, I’m in town and I want to see you,” he says, shocking me. I didn’t expect him to say that. “Let me take you to dinner tonight and I’ll explain everything. How about we go to Spruce?” He refers to an ultrapopular restaurant not too far from my office. I’ve been there before and it’s amazing. Amazingly intimate too—the perfect restaurant for a date. Not that we’re going on a date.
Yeah, right.
“I’ll pick you up at your office, we can have a few drinks first, then dinner,” he continues.
“No,” I say vehemently, rendering him completely silent. I’d bet a million dollars not many women utter that word in his presence, but the very last thing I want is Archer invading my private workspace, spreading his devastating charm all over it.
I really don’t need that reminder lingering around long after he’s gone. Some things should remain sacred from the Archer effect. “How about I meet you at the restaurant?”
He’s silent for a moment. Like he doesn’t approve of my suggestion. As if I care. “That should work,” he finally says, his words clipped.
“Is seven too late?” I glance at my calendar, see that I have one last meeting with a new client at five-thirty to go over wallpaper samples, but the restaurant he suggested isn’t too far from the office. I could probably make it on time.
“I’m staying the night in the city so seven’s perfect.” He pauses, the silence heavy with unrecognizable . . . tension. “It’ll be good to see you again, Ivy.”
Clutching the phone tight, I close my eyes for the briefest moment, all those unwanted memories bombarding me. The way he kissed me, the taste of his lips. How he’d touched me, his big hands everywhere, settling between my legs, teasing me while he murmured the hottest, sexiest words I’d ever heard.
And that was only the moment out on the terrace. Never mind later, when we ended up naked in a bed. I can’t even go there. Not now, with his velvety deep voice in my ear.
“Seven o’clock at Spruce,” I confirm, opening my eyes to glare unseeingly at the computer. “See you then.”
I hang up before he can say another word, proud of myself. Women don’t hang up on Archer either. Hell, no one really hangs up on him. He’s a force to be reckoned with.
And now he calls me out of nowhere declaring he needs me—please. He’s stringing me along, I’m sure. Why, I haven’t a clue.
But when do my past experiences with Archer ever make sense?
Deciding my client can wait a few minutes, I bring up Google and type in Archer’s name, waiting breathlessly as a list of recent articles pop up. Talk of Hush and how he made it such a huge success. One article written a week ago catches my interest, about the expansion of the Hush brand and how he’s refurbishing a location in Calistoga.
Frowning, I click on the link, reading the few details they have about the new Calistoga spot. He never mentioned it during the phone call. Or when we were last together and we were actually at Hush. He’d been so proud showing me everything. You think he would’ve at least mentioned
So why didn’t he tell us about it?
Weird.
I close out Google and gather my things, my mind awhirl with what I read. Was this the job he referred to, the one he so desperately needs me for? All logical thought flowing through my brain is telling me not to bother meeting him. Cancel via text with no explanation. He would totally deserve it.
Curiosity rules me though, it always has. There’s no way I can pass this dinner up. Despite how difficult it will be, sitting across from him for hours in a dark, intimate restaurant, gazing adoringly at his beautiful face. Wondering yet again how stupid could I be, having sex with him. Nursing this renewed crush of old that can go absolutely, positively nowhere.
I’m pitiful.
Archer
I GLANCE AT my watch for what feels like the millionth time, wondering where the hell Ivy is. She’s close to twenty minutes late, and I know for a fact she’s ridiculously punctual.
With the exception of tonight when she’s meeting me. Shit.
Drumming my fingers atop the white tablecloth in a steady rhythm, I glare at the entrance to the restaurant. I hate it when people make me wait. In business, I flat out don’t tolerate it. That this woman I’ve known since she was a gangly teenager with a mouthful of metal leaves me waiting almost desperately for her arrival blows my mind.
And rarely is my mind blown. Funny, how the one person who keeps doing it on a regular basis is Ivy.
She’s angry with me. I could hear it in her voice when I spoke to her on the phone. It had taken me two days to work up the courage to call her. Like a complete wuss, I rehearsed that conversation in my mind a thousand times.
The reality had turned out worse than my imagination. At least I got her to agree to see me. But what if she decides not to show and leaves me hanging?
I push the thought from my mind, refusing to acknowledge it for even a minute.
“Another drink, sir?” The waitress appears, her gaze full of sympathy. She probably thinks I’ve been stood up.
Hell, I’ve never been stood up in my life. “I’m fine,” I mutter.
“Perhaps you’d like to order dinner? An appetizer, maybe?” She sounds hopeful and I’m beyond ready to crush her dreams.
Shaking my head, I glare at her. “I’ll wait a few more minutes.”
She takes off after flashing me a wan smile, leaving me to brood. If Ivy doesn’t show, I can hire someone else to do this job. It wouldn’t be a problem, there’s a goddamn list of designers who would give up their first born to work with Bancroft.
But damn it, I trust her. I want her. And not just for her amazing design skills.
She isn’t just Ivy. Could I really fall for her? Why else would I act like such an anxious asshole? This woman has me so twisted up in knots I’m ready to do anything to have her back in my life.
Anything.
Scowling, I glare at the door, as if that’ll make her magically appear. I’m thinking like a chick but I can’t deny it. I want her with me all the damn time. It’s scary how bad I need her. Trying to ignore her didn’t work. I went almost an entire month without contacting her, but she’s all I could think about. The moment I get into the city, I’m reaching for the phone, demanding that she meet me.
I remember how put out she sounded on the phone, her voice full of irritation. The first indication I’m most likely going to screw this up.
Hell. I cannot screw it up.
And then there’s the stupid bet. Matt sends me the occasional email asking on my dating situation. Hell, he haunts my Facebook page, probably just waiting for me to change my status from “single” to “in a relationship”.
As if I ever would do that. I know his ass is watching. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
The front door opens, letting in a gust of cold air that chills my skin, sends a rush of awareness through me that nearly steals my breath. She enters the dimly lit restaurant, windblown and gorgeous, her curvy body covered by a black coat. I greedily drink her in as Ivy pushes wild strands of long dark brown hair away from her face, her gaze searching the room before those pretty hazel eyes light upon me.
I work to keep my expression neutral, my mouth curving into a subtle closed-lip smile, but inside I burn.
For her.
She smiles in return, though it’s faint, and the sight of it is like a punch to the solar plexus. I wait impatiently as the hostess takes Ivy’s coat before leading her to my table.
The way Ivy moves captivates me. Sinful and sexy yet with an innocent air, her hips sway as she heads toward me, the skirt of her black dress swishing about her legs. The dress covers her completely, but I know exactly what it’s hiding beneath the clingy fabric. All I can think about is slipping my hands beneath her skirt so I can touch her thighs. I remember the first time I touched them, how they trembled. How smooth her skin was . . .
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she sits quickly, not giving me time to stand and greet her like I want to, with a hug. I wanted another chance to get my hands on her again, however briefly.
Ivy smiles up at the hostess as she pushes the chair in for her before hurrying away. “My meeting took much longer than I anticipated,” she explains apologetically. Always polite, though I see the strain around her mouth, in her entire expression. She’s uncomfortable being with me. I get it.
I don’t like it, but I get it.
“Trying to keep me on my toes?” I raise my brows and she frowns.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Archer.” She exhales shakily. “I’m not interested in playing games with you.”
“I don’t want to play games with you either, Ivy,” I say. God, I wish I could reach out and touch her. Rest my hand on hers. Tell her how much I miss her.
She sounds breathless, which makes my body twitch. Reminding me how breathless she’d been the last time I saw her—naked. How she begged for more when I had her pinned beneath me, her body shaking as I made her come with my name falling from her lips.
Having her sitting in front of me after not seeing her for a month is like a shock to my system, leaving me tongue-tied. Frozen. She picks up the menu, oblivious to my dazed stupor, and smiles when the waitress approaches, ordering a glass of wine.
“Want another beer, sir?” The server’s cheerfulness grates.
“Yeah,” I bite out, scowling at the waitress just before she hurries away. I catch Ivy sending me a secret smile as she shakes her head. Makes me wonder if she thinks I’m some sort of joke or something. The way she looks at me, like I amuse her.
Better than sending me the cold glare of death, which I suppose I deserve after how I’ve treated her since we were together.
“You look good,” I say, my rough voice startling her from her quiet perusal of the menu.
She flicks her gaze up, those pretty eyes meeting mine. “It’s . . . nice to see you too, Archer.” Her voice is the stuff of my wet dreams, low and melodic. “Have you already ordered?”
“I was waiting for you.” Damn, does she think I’m a total rude bastard or what?
Most likely—you are, after all.
“Oh. Well isn’t that sweet of you.” She checks out the menu again, biting her lip as she looks over her options. The restaurant’s packed, the buzz of conversation a low hum that falls away the longer I watch her.
What would it take to get back into her good graces? What do I have to prove?
Everything.
The waitress reappears, snapping me from my thoughts, and I order the steak while Ivy orders seared scallops. The server takes our menus, promises our drinks will be ready in minutes and then leaves us alone.
Finally.
Ivy watches me expectantly as she takes a sip of water, the delicate gold bracelets on her arm jingling with the movement. “So tell me about this job and why you need me so badly,” she says, getting right to the point.
I toy with my empty beer bottle, unsure how to start what will surely be an awkward conversation. It’s going to take
A little smile teases the corners of her lips. “I saw.”
“Where? Ah, let me guess. Online.” Her gaze meets mine and I stare at her, probably looking like a lovesick fool. She nods in answer, her gaze cutting away from mine, and I feel oddly defeated. “It’s in Calistoga. I’ve been in negotiations on the property for a while and at one point it almost fell through. But I finally put the deal together and we’ve been doing a quick renovation on it the last few months.”
“So you knew about this when you—when you showed Hush to Gage and me?” Her smile disappears when I nod. “Why didn’t you tell us about it?” She sounds shocked.
“I’ve been keeping it a secret. I didn’t want anyone to know. Most details about the location are pretty limited and I made sure of that. I don’t want anyone to know what we’re offering to our guests until we open.” I shrug.
“So now the new resort is almost ready?” She’s studying me like I’m crazy, which I probably am.
“Two months, give or take.” I shrug.
“So why are you here when you should be back in Calistoga supervising the remodel?”
Here comes the tough part. The stuff I don’t want to admit for fear she’ll laugh in my face. “I wanted to meet with you,” I say, my voice stiff.
“You came here for the sole purpose of seeing me?” She sounds incredulous, visibly swallowing as she reaches for her water glass, her shaking hand making the ice rattle against the glass when she sets it down. She looks nervous.
Welcome to the club. I’m nervous. And women don’t make me nervous.
With the exception of Ivy.
“This project is important. I want you by my side, Ivy, working with me.”
“I—I don’t understand where this is coming from. You’ve never come to Paxton before. You haven’t even seen my portfolio.”
“I saw samples of your work online.” Everything’s online, both a wonderful and scary thing. “Your portfolio is on the Paxton website.”