Brazen Ivy, page 1
Brazen Ivy
Poppy Tuistra
Brazen Ivy
Copyright © 2019 by Du Jardin, LLC
All rights reserved. In accordance of the U.S. Copyright Act of 1975, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by federal law enforcement agencies and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
This book is dedicated to Cord —you missed out, buddy!
Special thanks to the rockin’ lovelies at the Reverse Harem Romance groups who’ve encouraged, offered advice and helped me make this dream a reality!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
About the Author
Chapter 1
I’d never thought a guy like Elliott Murray would make me nervous. The type of male who sent my heart racing came in three varieties. One–the sex and bail bad boy. Two–the dudes who’d drop plans with me for a poker game with his buds. Three, and my personal favorite, the ones that call me stupid. That’s my wheelhouse. Only…Elliott Murray was smart, nice to me and never canceled or flaked. Not once. Yet, he made me jumpy.
Since I paid him to tutor me in math, he always kept our relationship strictly professional. College algebra kicked my backside. Until Elliott.
I’d maintained the professionalism, too. Until today. After shoving a textbook into my backpack, my gaze fell on my favorite little flirty skirt I’d left out to air dry on a hanger rather than ruin in the dryer. There it hung–daring me to put it on. I adored the aqua striped skirt with the ruffle I’d found the in the thrift store with the Bloomingdale’s tag still attached. Instead of rushing out the door like I should have, I changed, then raced from my dorm room and onto the bus before I’d even realized what I’d done.
That’s not entirely true. I knew what I’d done; I just preferred not to talk myself out of switching from messy study buddy to sexy student who needs to be taught a lesson.
I’d been a sweat pant and hoodie gal since we’d started our tutoring sessions together in the fall, but now Spring had officially sprung in Lawrence, Kansas. Along with sweet-smelling flowers, the longer days and warm sunshine, out came my camis, painted toenails and shorts.
The jocks I used to date would have called Elliott a nerd. I’m embarrassed to say I would never have given a guy like Elliott the time of day back in high school. But hard knocks and dismissive boyfriends had a way of turning things upside down for a girl. I’m so over the bad boys. Never again would I overlook solid and smart. Now I found those qualities downright alluring, and my tutor topped my To-Do List.
I knew nothing would happen with Elliott while he tutored me. He was too steadfast for that, but finals week loomed around the corner, and afterwards...who knows? Just in case he didn’t know, I worked to make it obvious. Tonight the V of my T-shirt delved lower down my chest. And I wore the good bra. The lacy one I found on clearance at Victoria’s Secret. I’d never owned lingerie so sensual. Or impractical. Blush pink tulle with the tiniest of bows tucked between my breasts. The satin and lace made me feel provacative. Desirable.
Elliott’s cool blue eyes darkened after he swung open the door at my knock. Unless he possessed X-ray vision, he couldn’t spot what I wore beneath my T-shirt. But as my roommate had once told me, my whole attitude morphed into something seductive and hot when I sported the pushup. Based on his harsh intake of breath as his gaze lingered on my body, this bra wasn’t so impractical after all.
I’d planned on flashing him a coy smile, maybe bat my lashes at him a bit to let him know it was Game On after finals week. But even with the confidence boost of putting together an outfit that was both studious and provocative and perfecting my contouring, I couldn’t pull off true flirting with him. I liked him too much. Whoa! I wanted more with him that just a few wild nights in bed.
Elliott cleared his throat, startling me out of my daze. I stepped inside his apartment and he closed the door behind me. He had three other roommates, who happened to hang around the front room whenever I’d arrive. “Hey, guys,” I called.
Archer Chan nodded, his eyes lowering from the bare skin beneath my skirt to the pink-painted tips of my toes. The dude literally studied to be a rocket scientist, and he’d already signed up to help me with the physics class I’d need to take next semester.
“Hi, Ivy,” Graham Draper said as he tossed the game controller to the cushion beside him. He stood, stretching well over six feet, and his focus zeroed in on my tits. Like always.
My nipples pebbled under his attention, and the thin material of the bra and my T-shirt did nothing to hide my body’s reaction to their scrutiny. The quick peeks at my body from Elliott’s roommates never bothered me. It’s not like I didn’t steal a glimpse at their muscled biceps or tight asses when I thought they weren’t looking. They rarely lingered overlong or were gross. If anything, Elliott and his roomies did everything they could to make me feel comfortable in their apartment.
“Ready for finals?” Julio Norwood called from the hallway. His lanky strides brought him into the living area.
“If I can just pass this math class,” I replied, crossing my fingers.
“Don’t worry, you’ll pass,” Elliott said. His cool certainty in my ability boosted my confidence. Who knew a guy believing in you could be so seductive?
I couldn’t stop myself from beaming up at him, and not the playful, flirtatious smile I’d worked out with my roommate. No, this was the goofy, I-think-you’re-amazing kind of grin that gave away all my power.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do great,” Archer added, his brown eyes kind.
“You guys hungry?” I asked, slipping off my backpack.
“Starved,” Julio said.
“I’ll get right on it,” I told them.
After unzipping my backpack, I dug around until I found the folder with my homework in it and handed it over to Elliott. That’s the cue for the other guys to leave. Graham returned to his game, and Archer turned on his heel. A moment later I heard the quiet click of his bedroom door. Elliott told me the guy had a thing for watching the NASA feed. Julio lifted his chin in a shy nod and plopped down on the couch, ready to battle Graham on some imaginary planet, game controller in hand.
I headed toward the kitchen. Somewhere around my third tutoring session with Elliott he’d showed how to multiply and divide fractions with the measuring spoons and cups. By the end of that evening I’d whipped up a hearty soup with the vegetables I’d found inside their fridge. The delicious scent had lured the other three roommates from their bedrooms and we sat around their dining table eating and laughing. We struck a deal that night, I’d cook and Elliott would get me through the math I should have learned in high school at a reduced rate.
Unlike these guys, I was a non-traditional admit into Central Plains Institute of Science and Technology. I’d been in the foster system since I was eleven after my parents died in a car accident. Bouncing around from home to home wrecked my academics. After turning eighteen, I no longer saw the point of finishing the last four months of high school. So, I dropped out, moved in with my loser boyfriend and began my career of moving from one restaurant to another.
A year ago, I was at yet another job fair when I bumped into Tara Hughes. Most people might not recognize her, but to me she’s a rock star. Every spring when the tornado sirens sounded across the plains, she’d chase them in her famous Tornado Bustermobile. I’d confessed to her my dream of becoming a meteorologist, too. Instead of laughing in my face, she took me by the arm and led me to the booth for Central Plains Institute of Science and Technology. After introducing me to one of the academic counselors, she turned to me and said, “Make it happen.”
So, here I was, twenty-two and a freshman in college. I’d qualified for an amazing scholarship that took care of tuition, fees and books. Working in the school cafeteria at lunch and then every other weekend provided me with room and board. Unlike most of the engineering and computer majors at Central Plains, the administration stuck me in remedial math and science classes, but each day the concepts grew easier. In two semesters I will have caught up enough to take my first meteorology class.
I opened the fridge and took out the supplies for tonight’s meal–chicken spaghetti. I’d texted Elliott the needed ingredients ahead of time so he’d always have everything waiting for me.
You can’t afford to get distracted. Summer is a few short weeks away.
I forced my attention to preparing tonight’s meal and grabbed the frilly pink apron off the hook by the pantry. Spying that girly fluff of material in a bachelor apartment made me smile, and I liked to think it reminded Elliott of me when I wasn’t around. In less than fifteen minutes, I had the pasta boiling, the chicken browning, and I’d even cut up a few stalks of broccoli to add to the sauce. With the loads of takeout cartons stacked in the fridge, I doubted the guys ate many veggies.
I split two large loaves of Italian bread in half, spread with butter and olive oil and topped with minced garlic. Nothing beat the scent of fresh garlic. After taking a deep whiff I opened the oven, slid the bread pan inside and set the timer. Shutting the over door, I backed away and into a broad chest. Elliot’s strong arms came around me, steadying me.
“Easy there, Ivy.” His deep baritone sent a shiver down my back.
I shifted on shaky legs and met his blue eyes. His hands never left my body and goose bumps formed across my skin despite the tiny kitchen being about a million degrees.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. His fingertips played an absent tempo on my arms. “I wanted to point out something on your homework.”
Yet neither of us moved. I gazed up at him, and his blue eyes blazed with hunger. Yes! The man felt it, too. What would we do about it?
Ring! The timer signaled, and I switched off the burner under the boiling pasta. Elliott dropped his hands from me, and the temperature in the kitchen fell despite the heat from the oven warming the tiny room. “We can go over it after dinner,” he said.
I turned away from him and stood over the stovetop dragging in air though my nose and out my mouth. My cheeks burned, but not from the steam wafting up from the boiling water, but from Elliott’s obvious reaction to me. I gave myself a shake and concentrated on straining the pasta over the sink. “Dinner in five,” I announced.
“Fantastic,” Archer called from the front room, unaware of what almost happened between his roommate and me. What had almost happened?
I carried the pasta and sauce over to the dining table. My first evening here, books and sports equipment and dozens of other things that had nothing to do with eating, covered the table. Once I began cooking for the guys, the table remained clear, and someone always set it with mismatched plates, glasses and silverware. I left the food on two trivets then spun around to grab the salad and bread only to run into Elliott who held a wine bottle.
“We keep running into each other,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I never mind,” he replied, his gaze on my lips. Whoa! Was this it? Was Elliott Murray finally flirting back? I mean, that was flirting, right?
The other guys joined us a few moments later, and we gathered at the table to eat. I adored listening to these geniuses. Well into their studies as juniors, their projects sounded so much more interesting than mine. Julio designed underwater drones for search and rescue teams. Archer shared fascinating tidbit about deep space, and Graham hoped to design his own video games. Elliott, like Graham, studied computers and developed software, but being a numbers guy, he focused on financial management, too.
As Graham poured the wine, my phone rang. An unspoken rule had formed between us over the weeks of this semester. Dinner became our time, and no one ever answered their phone or snuck a glance at a screen. But in this case, I’d been waiting to hear if I’d gotten the summer food service position in the student union. If they offered me this job, I could stay in the dorms rent free, and eat at least once per shift on the school’s dime. I’d heard the managers offered the coveted jobs by seniority, but I’d hoped my excellent performance reviews would put my name up at the top, anyway. I’d be homeless this summer if I didn’t score this job.
I glanced at the screen, and when I saw supervisor’s name, I stood and excused myself to the privacy of the kitchen. “Hello?”
“Ivy, it’s Janice. I know you’re anxious to hear about this summer’s schedule, and I’m sorry to say we weren’t able to find a place for you at this time. You are first on our alternate list, and usually one or two spots open up before the end of May, if you’re interested.”
I gripped the phone tight and tried to mask my disappointed sigh. “Thanks for letting me know, Janice. And yes, please keep me on the alternate list.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I’d learned long ago the price of showing your weakness to others. I wiped my cheeks and forced away the desolation that must be etched in every line on my face. I’d been homeless before, but damn, I’d promised myself to never be so vulnerable again.
The roommates whispered amongst themselves when I returned, but their words died off as I slumped in one of their mismatched chairs. Yeah, way to be obvious guys.
I swiped my fork off the table and began swirling pasta around the tines. I’d lost my appetite. Better eat the meals while I had them. I brought a bite to my mouth, but it was tasteless. Why’d Janice have to call while I hung out with the guys? My time with them had become my happy place. There was zero chance I’d get through my tutoring session with Elliott. Not to mention that I felt utterly defenseless. I couldn’t bluff my way through the meal and hide my anxiety from the guys.
“Ivy, uh you want to talk about it?” Julio asked. I met his kind, brown eyes, and almost shook my head to tell him not to worry. Except the words died on my lips. The compassion lurking in the dark depths of his gaze melted my heart. What was the point in hiding it?
I swallowed and angled my fork on the plate. “My scholarship and work study only covers the academic year. The school offers a job that encompasses summer expenses, but that didn’t come through.” I reached for the glass of wine and drained it and then slid it toward Graham for him to refill. What the heck? Not like I’d be able to concentrate on my homework with Elliott, and since I rode the bus–no harm, no foul.
Graham and Elliott glanced at one another, and after a quick nod from my tutor, Graham poured more wine. Had he sought permission from Elliott to serve me more wine?
“What will you do?” Archer finally asked.
“Tonight I’m getting drunk. Tomorrow I’ll start the job search all over again. Maybe a professor needs a house sitter for the summer or something.” I ate a bite of the pasta I didn’t want, because I seldom drank, and the alcohol would get me tipsy in a flash with nothing in my stomach.
The usual friendly conversation we shared around this table never materialized, the click of our utensils scraping along the plates accompanied our evening.
“This bread is really good, Ivy,” Archer said, breaking the awkward silence.
My head whipped up. His compliment made me giggle and my shoulders began shaking with laughter. Maybe it was the wine, or that I’d grown tired of our uncomfortable meal together, but I wanted to forget these last twenty minutes. “Thanks.”
Archer cleared his throat. “We’re going to the cabin my grandparents owned. Technically, it belongs to my parents now, but we’ve been working on projects there over the summer since our freshmen year.”
My heart began to pound. If the guys planned to live away from Lawrence for the summer break, maybe they’d let me stay here. If I got my old job back waiting tables at the Yellow Brick Diner, I could cover utilities and groceries. But not rent. My shoulders slumped. The idea died the second it was born.
“I bet that’s fun,” I said instead of asking for another glass of wine.
