Ivy

THE MOMENT I’M outside, I take a deep, gulping breath, the cold air filling my lungs, kissing my skin, and making me shiver. I’m angry, but thankfully the air cools my heated emotions and I lean against the railing that overlooks the golf course, happy no one else is around. Considering I’m in the farthest corner of the terrace from the open doors of the ballroom, that’s no surprise.

I still can’t believe what Archer said to me. He is the biggest jerk on the planet, I swear to God. He actually said I have a stick up my ass. I mean, what the hell? Could he hurl any more insults at me? Oh wait, I’m sure he can.

No wonder I always avoid him. This is what usually happens between Archer and me whenever we spend any time together. I try to be nice. He’s his usual jerky self. I get defensive. He insults me. We argue. We then avoid each other until for whatever reason we’re forced to see each other again.

We’re like a broken record. No matter what, we can’t get along. He is the most frustrating person I’ve ever met. He drives me crazy. And that I’m in his territory tonight, in Napa Valley where his resort is located—not too far, as a matter of fact—also makes me uneasy. Why, I’m not sure.

I wish I were back home in San Francisco, in my comfort zone. At my little apartment, where I’d watch a movie while contemplating going to bed early on another exciting Saturday night.

Frowning, I sigh heavily and hang my head. I’ve turned into this pitiful, dateless creature all in a matter of hours. What confuses me more? That despite our arguing and the constant animosity that brews between Archer and me, I felt something else between us earlier? Something I would never dare contemplate before?

Sexual attraction.

Tilting my head back, I drink in the night sky. Away from the city lights, I can actually see the stars and there are a bazillion of them stretched across the night’s velvety blackness. They twinkle at me, full of mystery and hope and opportunity.

My life is good. I shouldn’t let guys hang it up and make me miserable. Marc is a jerk who happened to be a bad kisser. Archer is an a**hole who could probably kiss the pants off of me, but I won’t go there.

Damn it, I should be happy. I’m working my dream job as an interior designer under one of the best designers in all of San Francisco. I have my own apartment—no more living with my parents, and thankfully no more college roommates. I have great friends and a supportive family. I shouldn’t let this sort of thing bother me.

But what Archer said . . . it bothers me. I don’t have a stick up my ass, do I? I’m not uptight. I swear I’m not uptight.

Maybe I can be a little controlling, but never stick-in-the-ass uptight . . .

Whipping out my phone, I send my friend Wendy a quick text and wait anxiously for her reply.

She responds in seconds, which impresses me since I know she’s out on a date tonight.

No, you’re NOT uptight. Who told you that? Let me gues . . . Marc. What an a**hole.

Laughing, I shake my head. I appreciate her immediate defense of me. That’s what friends are for, right?

Not Marc, I respond. Someone else. Someone I’ve known since high school.

Since I met Wendy in college, I don’t think I’ve mentioned Archer to her, have I? God, I don’t know. We talk about all sorts of stuff. She’s my closest friend.

So of course I’ve mentioned Archer to her.

One of your brother’s friends? She texts back.

Yeah.

Which one? Let me guess . . . Archer Bancroft. He’s hot. But he also must be a complete a**hole for calling you uptight.

Laughing, I type her a quick reply. “Isn’t that the truth,” I mutter.

“Isn’t what the truth?”

Gasping, I whirl around to see Archer standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets and looking absolutely miserable.

Good.

Oh, and also absolutely gorgeous, which sucks. Why, oh why, did this man have to be so handsome?

“That you’re an a**hole?” I smile as serenely as possible, ignoring the buzz of my phone indicating I have another text. I shove it in the pocket of my dress, thankful it came with one. A girl and her phone can never part.

“Listen, I came out here to tell you I’m sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up completely. Which of course makes him even sexier, and that’s so unfair it’s ridiculous. “It’s just . . . every time we’re together, we somehow end up arguing.”

“I can’t help it if you’re rude,” I say with a sniff. I sound like a complete snot but I don’t care.

“You push all my buttons,” he admits, his voice quiet and edged with a mysterious darkness that sends a thrill shooting down my spine. He keeps his eyes trained on me as he slowly draws closer.

“Right back at you.” Why do I sound so breathless? It doesn’t help that he’s stopped directly in front of me, his big, broad body obliterating everything else until he’s all I can see.

“I’m hoping you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.” He reaches out his hand toward me and I stare at it, not sure what he wants me to do. “Please?”

Did Archer Bancroft just say please? I’m sure this is a rare moment in history. “Why do you care about having my forgiveness?” I keep my gaze trained on his hand for fear he’ll see the confusion and emotion in my eyes.

Shit. What is wrong with me?

“Fuck, Ivy, why do you always have to be so difficult?” His hand drops.

I chance looking up at him, see the irritation and frustration written all over his face and I’m so overcome with the need to comfort him I take a step forward, ready to grab hold of his hand and . . .

And what?

“Archer?” A woman’s voice calls from nearby, causing the both of us to look at each other. The slightly panicked look on his face indicates he knows exactly who this woman is.

“Who’s looking for you?” I ask.

“No one.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Clearly someone is, since I can hear her call your name.”

“She’s not important. I went on one dinner date with her, Jeff, and Cecily a long time ago. She had us married and planning for babies by the end of it,” he says irritably, glancing over his shoulder.

“What’s her name?”

He turns to me. “What?”

“Her name? The no one who’s looking for you?”

“I, uh . . . don’t remember.” He runs a hand through that sexy hair again, strands falling over his forehead, and I’m filled with the sudden urge to push his hair out of his eyes. Comb my fingers through it.

Stop!

I need to remember he’s a complete jackass. I should run. Right now. In fact, I’m fully preparing to let him know exactly how much of an ass I think he is when the woman’s voice sounds again, closer this time as she continues to call Archer’s name like some worried owner looking for her pet dog.

“We should—oh.”

He practically shoves me against the railing, the rough concrete scratching my back through the thin fabric of my dress and he immediately slips his arm around my waist, protecting me. Holding me. His chest is against mine, my br**sts pressed flush to him, and I release a skittering breath, my mind hung up on having him too close.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, incredulous.

“Shh.” He rests his hand over my mouth, silencing me. His palm is big and warm, his fingers long, and I swear his skin tastes the slightest bit salty, not that I’m licking him or anything.

Oh God, I think . . . no, I know I want to lick him. Desperately. Slip one of those long fingers in between my lips and suck. And that is just so, so wrong . . .

“Maybe she won’t find us,” he whispers, dipping his head so his gaze meets mine. “Stay still.”

I slowly nod, his hand still over my mouth, his eyes locked with mine. His touch gentles as he takes another step closer and I want to melt at his nearness.

“Archer, are you back here?”

I flick my eyes to the left and see the woman. She’s standing about fifty feet away, her head whipping this way and that, almost frantically searching, and I press farther against the ledge at the same time Archer steps into me. His arm is still around my waist, protecting me from the rough concrete, and he’s standing so close I can hardly breathe.

There’s a giant pine tree giving us cover, throwing shadows over the corner we’re standing in, and I don’t think the woman can really see us. She’s oblivious to the fact we’re not that far from her.

Which I’m thankful for. I shouldn’t be. I should be kicking Archer in the shins and letting the woman know he’s right here and then throwing him to the she-wolf. Let him deal with the poor soul he rejected God knows how long ago who still harbors a thing for him.

He’s a complete womanizer. I’d be wise to stay away from him.

My head tells me this. But my body is singing a completely different tune.

Our gazes lock, his thumb sweeps back and forth across my cheek so slowly I want to die. It feels so good. This . . . is not right. His nearness confuses me. The way he looks at me, touches me, it makes me want him.

Desperately.

My earlier thoughts come rushing back, when I was being all “woe-is-me” wishing for a random stranger to make out with in a dark corner. Being with Archer like this is the next best thing. He’s looking at me like he’s thinking the same thing I am. Which is scary.

Exhilarating. Exciting.

As I stare up at him, I see how absolutely perfect his lips are. How come I never noticed this before? And when his tongue darts out to lick them, why are my knees suddenly shaking?

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

The woman finally gives up and leaves and I slump against the railing, ready for him to move away from me. Ready for him to grab me by the h*ps and lift me up onto the concrete ledge so I can wrap my legs around him and beg him to do me.

Wait, what? I so can’t do that. Clearly, I’ve had too much to drink, if two glasses of champagne could be considered excessive drinking. Which it must be, because I am making absolutely no sense.

“Ivy . . .” His hand slips from my mouth to cup my cheek, his thumb drifting across the corner of my lips. “I’m sorry.”

His touch distracts me as I try to frown. He’s doing everything I longed for not even an hour ago. Touching my face, nestled against me in a dark corner where anyone could find us. “What are you apologizing for?”

He cradles my face with his big, warm hands and dips his head, his gaze locked on my mouth for a long, breathless moment before he lifts his lids, his dark eyes meeting mine. “This,” he whispers just before he kisses me.

Chapter Three

Archer

I TAKE IT slow for fear Ivy will push me away, and at this very moment that’s the last thing I want to happen. Her lips part easily when I persist and within moments she’s completely open to me, her tongue sliding against mine. She winds her arms around my neck, her fingers buried in my hair, and I groan at her touch.

Slow goes straight out the window when I smooth my hand down her side, over her hip, curling my fingers into the fabric of her dress. I hitch it up the slightest bit, my mouth never straying from hers, and I feel her tremble beneath my palm as I slip my hand beneath her skirt.