He was a tall man. Ivy guessed about six-feet-two. She certainly had to roll her head back to look into his eyes. He was also more handsome in person than in his photos. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“What’s that?”
She realized she had said the words aloud. She winced. “I mean, bad…very bad.” She pointed to the redness and swelling quickly appearing on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” Would he walk out? “I guess that wasn’t the first impression I’d hoped for.”
He stood there, silent. Awkwardly silent. This was a complete disaster. She’d humiliated herself and at the same time managed to give him a black eye to match the dark scowl on his face. Maybe she needed to start searching for a new job? Marshall would have her head for this.
Chapter 3
Max snorted. What the hell just happened? The tightness in his southern region had finally dampened. A strange woman had just given him a woody. He’d survive the hard-on and the black eye he was sure he’d have, but the lady Ivy Kennedy stood before him looking like she was on the brink of peeing her pants. He wanted to laugh but he resisted. Had he just gotten his ass kicked by a girl? The girl carried a wallop. He swiped his knuckles over the spot on his cheek. “I guess you taught me a valuable lesson, Ivy Kennedy. Never come up on a woman unannounced.”
That should have been the end of it. What was done was done. He had to give the woman credit where credit was due. She could defend herself. He wanted to move on and forget it, but it wasn’t happening. Ivy stood on her tiptoes, reached up and touched the place she’d socked him with the tips of her fingers. The gentle, warm touch made him jerk. “It’s swollen.” Her minty breath sweeping across his cheeks and the feel of her breasts brushing his chest pushed every arousal button he knew he had, and some he didn’t. Not that he didn’t like it–or rather, he liked it too much.
“No kidding,” he answered. Was that quivering that he noticed in his own voice? No, not possible. Did she have to stand so close, though? His body was acting like it’d been neglected for months. Hell, he should be glad to find out he was still a man after the Renee incident. He was taken back by Ivy’s touch and her closeness. Looking deep into her eyes, he was caught. They were crystal blue and surrounded by the longest lashes he’d ever seen. When had he ever noticed any woman’s eyes? He sniffed loudly. Enough with the admiration. “That’s usually the effect a hit has on the face.”
“We need ice.” She interrupted his thought. “I have a cooler. It’s that way. I’ll meet you in the sitting room, or whatever the room is with furniture. If I don’t return in ten, can you come and save me? You never know what’s hiding in these dark crevices. I keep thinking the floor is going to give out and I’m going to fall through.” She laughed, which quickly turned somber.
His quiet wasn’t in anger–only irritation at his body’s betrayal. He’d left a desirable, naked woman in his bed, untouched and unwanted. Now parts of his body wanted action with a woman who looked as innocent as a newborn kitten, as skinny as a rail and who talked way too much. There was only one thing he liked more than a voluptuous body–silence.
“I guess we got off to a rough start.”
“Guess so.” Rough wasn’t the word he’d use. Annoying was a better one. He was irritated with himself as much as he was with her
“Okay, I’m going now.”
She walked away and he couldn’t help but admire the swaying move of her firm backside. Nice. But Ivy Kennedy wasn’t his type–if he had one.
The smell of honeysuckle lingered in the room as a reminder that she smelled sweet. He liked the smell. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy who got a rise every time a girl got close. What was happening to his male anatomy?
A sting in his cheek caught his attention. He touched the area and moaned. She couldn’t be much more than five-feet-four, in a good pair of stilettos, and one hundred pounds dripping wet. He’d think she was the size of a linebacker by that punch. And what the hell did he need an ice pack for? He didn’t need or want one, but if it made her feel better then so be it.
Max took off for the room with the furniture. He took a seat on what he thought was once a couch. A puff of dust surrounded him but he didn’t give it much thought. He’d been in worse joints spying on the extraterrestrial. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. The stillness was deafening and yet he felt like he was being watched. Opening his lids to a slit, he saw that indeed he was alone unless one counted the massive spider crawling across the wall. He hated spiders. He certainly didn’t want to meet up with the creepy crawly during the night.
Reluctantly, he got up and crossed the room. Using a pen from his pocket and his notebook, he trapped the spider. With one hand keeping the spider contained, he quickly opened the window and tossed the critter out. “Go find another home. This one isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
Light footsteps broke into his thoughts. He turned as Ivy rambled into the room. “Were you talking to someone?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.” He slammed the window back down. He’d keep his fear under wraps. He turned to her with every intention of denying the urge to take a leisurely gaze down her body, but he just couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed the sensual perusal of her body, taking in every soft inch until he came to the pointed toe of her shoes. He swept up the same route and his eyes collided with her baffled blues. He made no effort to hide his admiration. This was dangerous, he knew, but even her you’re-not-getting-any-of-this look didn’t deter the heat in his loins.
“All of the ice melted in my cooler but I thought this would help. A leftover from breakfast.” She held up a container.
“Blueberry yogurt? This is a snack. Not a cold pack for my eye.”
“It’s cold.”
“I don’t need it.”
“It’ll keep the swelling down.”
“Whatever.” He’d rather not fuss.
She tossed the yogurt. He caught it against his chest. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pushy?” he asked.
“A time or two,” she said.
He’d forgive the fact that Ivy was trigger-happy with her fist. He’d also forgive her for being so damn attractive. He was capable of keeping the line drawn between his business and personal life. However, he wouldn’t forgive the fact that she was annoying. “I guess we should be thankful for leftovers.” He hoped she caught the sarcasm. He pressed the container against his face. “I don’t see how this will help.”
“It was either the yogurt or a banana. I went for the yogurt.”
“Should I say thank you?”
“You should but I’m sure you won’t.” She went to the fireplace and stared up at the painting of Thornton House from years ago.
He was a good boy and let a minute pass before he lowered the so-called ice-pack. “So why are you here?”
She didn’t take her eyes off the oil painting. “What?”
He shrugged one shoulder and juggled the container between his hands. “You’re a journalist. Why would you waste your time investigating a haunted house?” He knew why she was there and it had nothing to do with ghosts. There was always a motive. He’d realized that the hard way. He set the container on the mantel.
“You use the word ‘journalist’ like it’s dirty.”
“I guess it’s all in how you take it.”
“I’m here for the same reason you are.” The area between her eyebrows wrinkled. “To find whatever you find in this old