Ivy, page 24
In all their years together, it had been one of the most intimate experiences they’d shared.
He said the eagle represented his freedom. He’d broken the chains tethering him to his family’s legacy and forged his own path.
Most men in Zain’s position would boast about their last name, but for him, it wasn’t a source of pride. He resented his lineage.
He and Elora had that in common.
But Zain did love his siblings. She hoped he’d extend that love to Lucas too when the truth came to light.
And she hoped that when Zain looked in the mirror ten years from now and saw that tattoo, maybe she wouldn’t be entirely forgotten.
Maybe when he slept in this bed, he’d remember her curled into this pillow.
Today, Elora was all about foolish hopes.
Zain drank his coffee and finished reading whatever it was he was reading, then set both the mug and his phone aside. When he shifted his attention to her, it was like she’d been standing in the rain and he had the only umbrella. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before tracing what she assumed was a purple circle under her eye. She’d been covering those dark circles with concealer for weeks. Then he trailed his finger to her nose, touching each of her freckles.
She closed her eyes, memorizing his touch and sending another foolish hope into the universe. Whenever Zain saw freckles, she wanted him to see her face.
“I have to leave in about an hour for a meeting,” he said. “I’ll drive you home on the way.”
One hour. She was going to spend it wisely.
Elora pushed up, the sheet falling to reveal her naked breasts.
Zain’s eyes dropped to her rosy nipples, his hand trailing down her neck to roll one between his fingers.
She leaned into his touch, rising higher until her month hovered over his. “What do you want?”
He answered by crushing his lips against hers and hauling her into his lap.
The tangled sheets fell away as she settled her knees outside his thighs. His cock swelled beneath her. His hand flicked and pinched her nipple as his tongue plundered her mouth, leaving no corner untouched.
Elora was frantic, touching his shoulders and arms and chest and stomach. Zain’s urgency matched her own, both of them determined to make the most of this hour.
There wasn’t much foreplay. Neither of them needed it. His shaft pulsed as she rocked against him, letting it fit into her slit and coating it with her wetness. They kissed, rough and wild, until the coil in her center twisted tight, demanding more.
She reached between them, taking him in her grip and fitting him to her entrance. Then she rose up on her knees and took him inside, so deep she knew she’d never feel this full again.
“Fuck, that’s good.” Zain groaned, his eyes closing as his head fell back against the headboard. That chiseled jaw flexed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He’d never looked so beautiful as he did at that moment, his expression full of lust while his body was tense, fighting for restraint.
Her fingertips touched the eagle tattoo, tracing a feathered wing. Then she skimmed the edges of the Roman numerals blocked across the top of his other shoulder.
XVIII
Eighteen, for his age when he’d outmaneuvered his father and grandfather, finding a loophole in his trust so he could take the money that was rightly his and tell them to both fuck off. Until he’d started Treason, Zain had considered it his greatest success. Because until that point, he’d played their game. He’d followed their rules.
And then he’d walked away.
As she moved, up and down, rolling her hips every time she was seated, she studied his face, watched as his breath quickened. She didn’t just love this man. She admired him.
Zain was the king of his own destiny and deserved a worthy queen.
Maybe Elora had the strength to be everything he needed. Maybe. But her fears had a grip on her heart, and when—if—she conquered them, it would be too late.
Her hands continued on their path down his arm, touching the skull on the underside of his forearm. It was black with wispy edges and had always reminded her of a ghost.
With his back to the pillows, she couldn’t see the lion that took up an entire shoulder blade. Or the intricate flames that licked the base of his spine. Those two, plus the Treason inked across his calf, were tattoos she’d simply have to remember from their other times together.
“Look at me,” she ordered, bringing her hands to his pecs.
He lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, she drowned in those crystal-blue pools.
I love you.
Could he see it? Did he know that she loved him? He was her heart. She loved Zain Clarence with her soul.
She loved him enough to let him go.
His eyes softened, his hand coming up to her face while the other went to her thigh, helping as she moved.
Her muscles burned but she wouldn’t stop, not today. Because when he had the next woman riding his cock, she hoped her face would always be in the back of his mind.
“El.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, then pushed the finger inside, past her teeth. She licked the pad, then wrapped her mouth around it and sucked.
Zain pulsed inside her, his eyes flaring with heat. His thumb popped free from her mouth and dropped to her clit. The moment he touched her, she ignited.
Her mouth opened, her back arching as she kept riding.
“That’s it, El. Fuck me.”
A moan escaped her throat as the pleasure built, higher and higher. His hips thrust up, meeting her as she sank onto him.
“Zain.” She gasped.
“Come. Now.” He pinched her clit and she was done, detonating on his command.
Her entire body quaked, her limbs no longer in her control as the wave crashed over her again and again.
Zain leaned forward, cupping his hand at the back of her head and hauling her mouth to his as he poured inside of her. He half kissed her, half roared against her lips so she could feel the intensity of his release melded with her own.
It was fitting, for the last time to be the best time. To have a climax so powerful and passionate that she would remember it until the end of her days.
As the haze of her orgasm cleared, she leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. She hugged him, tucking her face into the crook of his neck.
Zain did the same, holding her so tight it was hard for her to breathe. His nose was buried in her hair, and when he took a long inhale, it sounded pained.
They stayed locked together, bodies connected, until she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.
It was time to let him go.
So she unwound her arms, forcing him to do the same, and leaned away, cupping her hands on his face to take one last look at him this way.
Mine.
His cock twitched and he took her hips, lifting her free. “I’d better take a shower.”
She nodded, waiting for him to walk down the hallway. When she heard the click of the bathroom’s door, she sprang from the bed, searching the floor for her dress to tug it on. Her phone was still tucked in a pocket.
But where were her panties? She crouched to look beneath the bed but she couldn’t see them, and she didn’t have time to search, so she snatched up her heels and rushed to the kitchen.
Elora went straight for the drawers next to the fridge, finding his junk drawer first. She dug past the mail he’d shoved inside looking for a pen. She found one at the same time a square of yellow caught her eye.
She tugged out a single yellow Post-it, clicking the pen open, ready to leave her note. But before she could scribble down her message, ink from the other side of the note made her pause. When she flipped it over, her stomach dropped at the note scrawled in neat handwriting.
* * *
I had fun last night. I forgot how much we used to laugh.
I’m so glad you called me.
xoxo
Mira
* * *
The blond. Mira was probably Zain’s blond from the night she’d seen them at Club 27. The image of them together, of her on his lap and the smile on his face, flashed in her mind.
He’d looked so happy that night. So carefree.
Mira.
Elora loathed that name. But mostly, she hated that Mira was better for Zain. He’d realize that eventually too. Maybe he already had. Maybe this note wasn’t from that night, but another. Maybe Mira had slept in his bed and this note had been a morning farewell.
Tears flooded her eyes as Elora gently returned the sticky note back in the drawer, careful not to bend the corners. Then she pulled the top piece of mail from the stack, taking it to the island to write on the white envelope’s blank back side.
* * *
I wish I could tell you I was in this.
But I’ll always remember.
El
* * *
The pen dropped from her shaking fingers, clattering on the granite countertop. A single note and she’d shattered her own heart to dust.
Elora backed away before she could rip up the envelope, then she ran for the door, feeling Zain’s come leak down her legs. She wouldn’t wash him away, not today.
The stairwell was cold when she stepped outside his loft, the chill seeping into the bare soles of her feet. She pulled out her phone and ordered an Uber. With it on the way, she turned and gave Zain’s door one last look.
Then Elora did what was best for him.
And maybe what was best for herself too.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “Bye, Zain.”
twenty-six
“He’s visiting his mother,” Sal told Ivy.
She shifted her phone from one ear to the other. Maybe Sal’s voice wouldn’t grate on her nerves so harshly on the opposite side. “How long is he staying?”
“His flight leaves next week.”
Yep, this conversation was painful no matter how she heard it. Fucking Cooper Kennedy. Since she’d bumped into him last night, her fear had morphed into simmering rage.
She’d tossed some of her fury at Sal when he’d called, giving him a stern lecture about notifying her before Cooper got on a plane to Boston, not after he’d landed. But the remainder of her anger smoldered beneath the surface, making her skin hot and her limbs restless.
“He usually only comes home at Christmas,” she said.
“I guess this year he’s making an extra trip. But there’s no indication he’s moving back.”
Yet. The knot in Ivy’s stomach said this trip of Cooper’s was different.
“Watch him,” she snapped. “I want to know where he goes and if he comes anywhere near Aston or the manor.”
“Done. I’m outside of his mother’s house as we speak.”
“Good.” Clearly Sal’s priorities had been reshuffled. “And what about Cassia Collins?”
He sighed. “Still on my list.”
“Bump it up.”
“I need a couple more weeks.”
Ivy’s nostrils flared but she stayed silent. There was no need to voice her frustration. It rang loud and clear through the phone.
Sal excelled at his job, but an unhappy client, especially someone like Ivy, might tarnish his reputation. His work might be garnering secrets, but Sal’s true love was money. And Ivy had provided him a steady stream of cash over the years. It was something she’d continue to trickle his way, but if he pissed her off, she’d dry that river up faster than a raindrop beneath the desert sun.
“I’ll get to it,” he said. “Soon.”
“Excellent,” she said dryly. “Text me with updates on Cooper.”
“I will. I’ll stay on him until he’s gone.”
That should have made her feel better. But Ivy wouldn’t relax until Cooper was back in San Francisco, where he belonged.
Without another word, she ended the call, setting her phone aside and standing from her desk. Her eyes felt puffy and the coffee she’d been guzzling this morning had given her jitters.
After she’d gotten home last night, she’d spent an hour in a hot shower washing away her costume makeup and trying to chase away the chill in her bones. She hadn’t even attempted sleep, knowing it was pointless. So she’d spent the night hours at her computer.
Studying would have been a better use of her time.
Instead, she’d read emails.
Email after email, Ivy had waded through them all until the sun had streamed through her office window and she’d taken a break for coffee.
When Ivy had walked into the kitchen, Francis had taken one look at her and known something was wrong. Francis had shifted from chef mode to mother mode, insisting that Ivy eat and drink a glass of orange juice. Breakfast had sounded as appealing as having her head shaved, but Francis had made Ivy’s favorite blueberry muffins.
It churned in Ivy’s stomach as she paced the room.
A knock came at the open door.
Geoff frowned when she faced him, but he didn’t comment on her appearance. “Tate Ledger is here to see you.”
“Oh.” Her stomach did a flip, but she couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad flip. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”
“Not necessary.” Tate’s rugged voice came from behind Geoff.
The butler frowned, clearly irritated that Tate hadn’t waited in the foyer like he’d surely been told.
“It’s fine.” Ivy sighed. Tate wasn’t exactly the kind of man who followed orders, and while normally that was a turn-on, today she would have liked a few minutes to freshen up.
Geoff backed away, giving Tate a scowl before disappearing down the hallway.
Tate strolled into her office, his hands in his jeans pockets. His charcoal sweater strained at his biceps and across his chest. His jaw was clean-shaven this morning and his hair combed.
“You got a haircut,” she said, disappointment lacing her voice.
“Yesterday.” His eyes raked her from head to toe. “You look like shit.”
“Aww. Thanks,” Ivy deadpanned.
Not that he was wrong. She was wearing a pair of black leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt. Not a stitch of green in sight except for her shamrock nails. After her shower last night, she’d tied her hair in a sloppy, wet knot. Her eyes were bloodshot, and without makeup, there was no hiding the pastiness of her skin or the circles beneath her eyes.
Tate closed the distance between them, stepping into her space. He raised a hand, his fingertips skimming her pale lips. “What happened last night? Why’d you change your mind?”
“Sorry,” she whispered. Oh, she was sorry.
Ivy was sorry she’d convinced Roy to let her walk. She was sorry she hadn’t left that Sigma party earlier with Elora. She was sorry she’d stopped to talk to Benjamin. Just five minutes earlier or five minutes later, she would have gotten to Tate’s and not known about Cooper until she’d read Sal’s email.
“What’s going on, baby?”
Cooper Kennedy was not a topic she wanted to discuss, today or any day. That asshole had already taken enough of her headspace.
“Do you call every woman baby?” she asked.
“No, just you.”
Good. She wanted that endearment for herself. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried.” He reached into her hair, tugging free the tie. Then his hands began to unwind the knot, letting her tresses, some still damp, fall down her back. Tate’s hands slid through the strands, his fingertips massaging her scalp.
Her eyes fell shut, the exhaustion from last night bubbling to the surface. It made holding up any type of façade impossible. “Why?”
“Why what?”
She relaxed into his touch. “Why do you worry?”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know.” The people who came into Ivy’s life usually wanted something. When they realized they wouldn’t get it, they’d vanish as quickly as they’d appeared.
But Tate didn’t need her money. He didn’t need her last name. If he was after sex, he could have had it weeks ago, yet he’d turned her down. So why was he here, worrying about her?
“You don’t want anything from me,” she whispered. “Everyone wants something from me.”
“Oh, I want something.” His lips dropped, touching the corner of her mouth. Except when she rose up on her toes, seeking more, he backed away. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“You don’t kiss me.”
“I just kissed you.”
“Not the kiss I want.”
He chuckled, his hands in her hair never stopping. “Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Promises, promises.”
Tate unwound his hands from her hair, causing Ivy’s eyes to open. His frown was waiting. In a swift sweep, he lifted her by the hips, making her gasp. Then he took two quick strides to deposit her on the edge of her desk.
Her eyes widened as he leaned into her space, towering above her as he stood between her open knees. Ivy wasn’t a fan of being manhandled, but there was something about Tate, something different.
For this guy? She’d let him haul her anywhere.
He arched his eyebrows. “I’m waiting.”
“I applied for a job at the Smithsonian in DC and didn’t get it.” It was one of many shitty emails she’d read this morning, and partially responsible for her mood.
“Sorry,” Tate said.
Ivy shrugged. “It was a long shot to begin with.”
The email had come through this morning. It was a Sunday, yet clearly someone at the institute was working. The timing was either a blessing or a curse. She’d received it just about the same time she’d finished wading through the other emails.
The emails she’d been rereading as a form of personal torment.
Getting bad news about a job was nothing compared to those, so in a way, having it arrive today had lessened the disappointment. Or maybe it was just worse, like lemon juice on a papercut.
