Hair of the Dog (8 page)

Grant pounded his steering wheel before getting out,
slamming the door behind him. He looked to the night sky and cried out in
anguish like a wounded animal. Who he was, or rather what he was, directly
conflicted with what he wanted.
Ivy
. She’d never accept him, even if he
could bring himself to betray the deathbed promise he’d made to his wife out of
guilt and grief. Now sober, he realized he’d nearly made a tragic mistake by
seducing Ivy. Or had she seduced him?

Jack Crump jolted his golf cart to a stop behind Grant’s
jeep. He stalked over, nostrils flaring, a murderous glare in his eyes.

Holding his hands up, waving them in protest, Grant said,
“The topic of Ivy is closed for discussion.”

Grabbing Grant by his shirtfront, Jack jacked him up against
a tree. “Open it.”

“Don’t make me—”

“Like you could,” Jack ground out between sharp, gnashing
teeth. His eyes sparked with the change already upon him. Jack would have him
in shreds before Grant could change. “Listen up. Dirk Fallon isn’t just old
enough to be her father. He very well could
be
Ivy’s father. Don’t let
it happen. Understand?”

Speechless, Grant nodded.

Jack dropped him, shrugging off the urge to shift that must
have hit him hard and fast. Without another word, he was in his golf cart and
Grant was sucking on his dust.

* * * * *

Ivy heard the screen door smack shut and footfall on the
wood floor. She’d zoned out for a moment, reflecting on the previous night. She
hadn’t seen or heard from Grant all day. Nothing appeared in the paper about
the accident and she hadn’t seen the young driver of the vehicle from the night
before. There wasn’t even any gossip about the incident.
Talk about damage
control
.
These guys are good.

“I’ll be done and out of your hair in a minute!” she called
from under the kitchen sink.

The footsteps stopped. “What are you doing under there?”

Her heart leapt nearly out of her chest hearing Grant’s
voice.
How did he track me down?
Act cool
. She scooted out from
under the sink, a wrench in one hand, an engagement ring in the other. “Diamond
ring down the kitchen sink. An emergency of sorts.”

He twisted the gold wedding band on his own finger. “We have
a maintenance man, Ivy.”

“But we need two. This place is falling apart faster than
one guy can duct tape it back together.” And so far she wasn’t impressed by the
Jack-of-all-trades maintenance guy, whose name happened to be Jack. The same
guy who’d chased her wolf away at the pool. A second mark against him.

Combing his fingers nervously through his hair, Grant said,
“That’s what Jack’s been telling me for years.”

“For once I’ll have to side with Jack, as much as it pains
me.” Ivy flashed him a fake smile.

“Do you have dinner plans?” He offered her his hand. “I’d
love to talk to you about something.”

She let him heave her off the floor, suddenly feeling
embarrassed about the dirty coveralls she wore. Ivy placed the ring on the
kitchen counter and gathered up her tools. She wondered if she’d ever have a
ring of her own—or a man, for that matter. Not likely. “I do, actually. Have
plans, that is.”

One eyebrow shot up.

“Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Mayor.” She led the way out of
the cottage, squinting against the sun overhead. “I’m like the prom queen in
this backwoods hick town of yours. It’s as if I have a sign on my back—free
blowjobs, the line forms here.”
I don’t, do I?
“Too bad you lost your
turn.” She smiled smugly at him.

Raising both eyebrows, he asked, “Bobby Joe again?”

“Guess again.”

“I feel I need to warn you off about a certain cad in town.”
He walked next to her, leaving a couple feet separating them, his hands shoved
in his pockets. “Can’t be trusted with hearts or wallets. Wouldn’t surprise me
if he had multiple wives and STDs.”

“Tall, dark and handsome?” she guessed. He’d already tried
to slither into her life. “Sort of smarmy and slick and all teeth? Derek
Falconer or something?”

“Dirk. Fallon.”

“I’m not stupid, Grant.” She slung the toolbox into the golf
cart. “He struck me as a creep in sheep’s clothing. As well as a poor tipper
and one of those guys who wears a Speedo at the pool.”

He cleared his throat. “That’s him.”

She treated Grant to a pleasant smile, one that told him he
was nothing more than a mistake she’d almost made one drunk and lonely night.
Only she couldn’t even blame the booze. She’d been sober. He’d been buzzed. She
was the mistake. If he’d come back that night, no matter how late, she’d have
banged him until dawn and made him a breakfast fit for a king. She hated gorgeous
men. They made her act crazy and feel shitty.
Not this time.

With a heavy sigh of regret, Ivy said, “He was way too
beautiful for me.”

“What does that say about me?” Grant asked, slapping his
chest where his heart should be. After the previous night, giving her hope only
to snatch it away, she was pretty sure he had no heart. “Don’t worry. You’re
equally gorgeous in a much more rugged way. I almost made an exception because
you tip well and wear boxer briefs.” Ivy climbed into the golf cart. “I feel like
I dodged a bullet where you’re concerned. Can I drop you somewhere?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I think the walk will
do me good.”

Chase me if you want me
. “Suit yourself.”

“Who are you seeing tonight, if I may be so bold?” he asked.

“I’ve decided to take Adam Griswold up on his putt-putt
offer.” No one would ever mistake Adam for a beautiful or gorgeous man. She
lurched forward in the cart, leaving Grant behind her, but not his scent in her
mind or his image in her heart.

Watching Ivy’s cottage from his front porch the night before
had become a sick obsession. She’d traipsed in well before nine—alone. He’d
watched her lights switch on one at a time and then subsequently off. He went
for a run after that to clear his mind. Logic told him to distance himself from
her, from the situation, especially now that Dirk Fallon was off the table.
Give her room to breathe and to meet an available guy. He’d adopt the out of
sight, out of mind philosophy.

How’s that working for you, pal?

Grant took a deep breath and knocked on her open office
door. He admired her open-door policy. She could keep an eye on who passed by,
hear the activity and she’d be approachable to staff and guests. When he’d
offered Ivy the job, he hadn’t expected her to be a great manager, but she was.

Ivy looked up from the work spread out on her desk and
stopped chewing on the end of her pen. “Mr. Mayor,” she drawled. Her eyes were
bright and alert from her early evening. Her tone conveyed indifference. “What
brings you here?”

Logic should have told him to have an excuse at hand for
stopping by instead of telling him to distance himself, because that advice
hadn’t stuck. “I thought you wanted to knock around some ideas.” He pretended
to swing at a baseball with his imaginary bat.
Very smooth
.

“Have a seat. Please.” She gathered up her papers and
arranged them in a file while he sat across from her desk. “I think there are
some simple, inexpensive things we can do as far as promotion.” Ivy absently
flipped her silky hair, and then leafed through a spiral notebook as he nodded.
“Social networking sites, for starters. Totally free. Easily maintained.”

“Interesting.” The citizens of Mystic would have a
collective seizure, starting with his own wolf pack. The last thing they wanted
were “norms”, as they called them, loose in town. Sure, there were a few
scattered in the rural areas. That couldn’t be helped. A few day-trippers now
and then came to see the hot spring and the falls. Mystic couldn’t keep
themselves off a map. If only. The world was getting smaller and Mystic was
becoming more accessible, like it or not.

“We need amenities,” she continued. “Cable TV by satellite
or something. And more planned activities. How about a social mixer on Friday
nights, or a happy hour for singles? Ladies’ night, maybe. Some kid-friendly
activities too.”

He nodded. “Uh huh.”

She folded her hands—tightly, judging by her white
knuckles—in front of her. Knuckles she’d probably like to rap against his
skull. “Suggestions? Comments? Objections?” she asked.

He simply liked watching her lips move.
Is that so wrong?
The sound of her voice soothed him, almost like her words petted him as her
fingers once had. He folded his hands on his lap to hide the erection her scent
caused. “No. Go on.”

“Is there someone else I should be talking to about this?”
Her annoyance bled through her words. “Someone higher up? Your boss? Mr.
Atwood, perhaps?”

He ignored her attempt to rattle him. “I’m listening.”

“I need a little less listening and a little more feedback.”
She tilted her head. “I want to be clear on what I can and can’t do here. I
feel like my hands are tied.”

Picturing her hands tied loosely above her head, tethered to
his headboard in a tangle of his silk neckties didn’t help to alleviate his
erection.
Whatever you do, don’t ask about her date
. “How was your
date?”

Ivy smacked her pen down on the desk, making him flinch.
“We’re in love, or something like it.”

Skeptical, he said, “Really?”

“That Adam really knows how to whack a golf ball.” She
relaxed into her chair, crossing one leg seductively over the other. “He’s like
the Arnold Palmer of putt-putt.”

I doubt that’s all he whacks
. Making a clucking
sound, Grant said, “No denying that.”

“Rarely misses the hole,” she added. “If you get my
meaning.”

“No kidding,” he replied, doubtful of her implied meaning.
“Who’d have thought?”

“I’m afraid it might just be a physical thing.” She swiveled
to and fro in her chair.

“Well, sure, I mean look at the guy.” His knee bounced
uncontrollably. Grant decided to congratulate himself that he was in control
from the waist up, at the very least. “It’s always the quiet ones.”
Whatever
you do, don’t ask if she’s seeing him again
. “Going out again tonight?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged noncommittally. “Any reason why I
shouldn’t?”

“No.”
Don’t let her know you’ve been stalking…I mean,
keeping an eye on her
. “Do you think he’ll get you home even earlier
tonight than last night?”

She stopped swiveling and gave him the evil eye. “He gets up
early.”

He sleeps late
. “And you too,” Grant said, but probably
shouldn’t have. “In the office by seven this morning, I noticed.”

“Would you please stop watching me like some sort of peeping
Tom?” Ivy closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Why are you angry with me?” It’s not like he had purposely
put the brakes on their frenzied make-out session. He should have, but hadn’t.
It had taken a fatality to pry them apart. Reluctantly apart. “What changed?”

“You did, Grant. You know you did.” She tossed her pen on
the desk. “As soon as you got that phone call. You pretended like I’m your
dirty little secret.”

“It’s not that,” he whispered. He shoved the door shut for
some privacy. “I told you, I lost my wife.”

“Two years ago.” She stood and rounded the far side of the
desk, dragging her fingertips along the veneer. A short, flirty skirt floated
around her thighs. Bare, tan legs looked like they went on forever,
disappearing under the thin fabric. “Why didn’t you come back?” The anger in
her tone was gone, replaced by hurt.

He pulled at his shirt collar. It wasn’t like he’d left her
hanging. She’d been satisfied. Grant was the one with blue balls. “It was
late,” he said. “And…and someone had died.”

“We could have comforted each other,” she practically
purred. “All. Night. Long.” Sensuality replaced the hurt.

The closer she inched toward him in a slow stripper strut,
the more his skin prickled.
Oh no. Stop right there. Don’t come any closer.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Stopping in front of him, she paused before
straddling his legs and easing herself onto his lap. The Mystic water affected
most everyone’s libido, but not to this extreme degree. She must have had a
gallon of it that day.

Ivy leaned in and claimed his lips, pressing, licking and
exploring with wild abandon. He clutched the chair to keep from grabbing her,
but that wasn’t working for him. His tongue reciprocated her advance by darting
into her mouth. It was Ivy who pulled away first.

“Who’s panting now, Mr. Mayor?”

His hand rose slowly, uncertainly in reply, but then he
quickly placed his palm on her breast, which was a much better choice.
Squeezing gently, he said, “I love it when you call me Mr. Mayor.”

“Fuck me, Mr. Mayor,” she whispered against his lips. “Do
you love it when I say ‘Fuck me, Mr. Mayor’?”

No doubt about it, a surge of desire grabbed him by his
balls. His throat dry, he nodded his reply.

She resumed her previous task of arousing him, with her body
this time instead of her words. Her words already had him twisted in knots.
Pulling out her bag of womanly tricks, she squeezed his biceps and ground her
hot pussy against his erection while biting and nipping at his neck and lips.

Grant responded in kind by stroking Ivy’s thighs and
returning her sizzling kisses. He gripped her hips and pulled her cunt against
his hard cock, hoping to relieve the building pressure. Experience should have
told him that wouldn’t work. They were pretty much where they’d been the night
before. Elevated heart rate. Heavy breathing. Sore lips. Just shy of the orgasm
he’d given her.

“Should I stop?” Her breathless words fell softly on his
face, but landed like a threat. “You know, on account of your grief.”

“Please, no,” he murmured against her lips, his hands
gripping her hips tighter. “Never.”

Leaning over him, pressing her pussy against his zipper, she
flipped the lock on the door. His hands left her hips to skim her thighs and
travel the curve of her butt. Grant groaned when he discovered she wore a
thong. He couldn’t resist running his finger under the strip of fabric while
his other hand caressed her bare ass.

Holding tight to his shoulders, she rolled against him, all
the time they exchanged heated kisses. “Oh. Mmmmm. Yes.”

Grant’s lips nipped and sucked at her neck. “Don’t see Adam
or Bobby Joe again,” he demanded, but it sounded more like begging. To sweeten
the deal, he reached between her legs and wiggled his finger along the panel of
her panties.
What am I doing? What am I asking?
His knuckle dragged
roughly between her legs.

“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Oh. Mmmmm. No. I
won’t.”

“Promise?” He applied more pressure, rubbing and pressing
his fingers on her clit to ensure the desired response. Her panties were damp
to the touch.

“I…I…promise.” Her fingers dove into his hair.

“Or Dirk Fallon. Ever,” he added, although Fallon no longer
seemed a threat. But while Grant was here…and Ivy was being so very agreeable,
he decided to throw it out there. Besides, he enjoyed her husky promises
blowing on his neck.

“Never. Ever. Not in a million years.” She blasted him with
kisses between words. His fingers slid into her panties, stroking and petting
the folds of her slick pussy. “Oh. My. God.”

He eased a probing finger deep into her body. Her phone
rang, but went unanswered.
Not again
.

Seemed Ivy didn’t hear the phone at all. She grasped his
shoulders. Her eyes were closed, mouth open and her head fell back. Her teeth
clamped down on her lower lip as she rode his finger.

“I want to taste you again,” he groaned in her ear. The
scent of Ivy, the sound of her soft mutterings, her erotic image, the feel of
her skin wasn’t enough. He wanted, no
needed
, all five senses wrapped
around her, buried in her.

Shaking her head, she whispered, “Too late.”

He recognized the signs and perfume of her arousal without
being told. He’d love to drag this out for hours, taking her to the brink of ecstasy
again and again, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Grant teased her G-spot
with a second finger buried in her passage and pressed his thumb against her
clit. Her warm, damp core quaked against his demanding touch and she moaned as
she came, spasming around his fingers. Grant bit lightly into her shoulder to
rein in his own desire, but her salty taste had the opposite effect.

Ivy dove into his mouth, tangling her tongue with his for
the last few ripples of her climax. “Damn,” she said, her voice gravelly, like
she’d just awoken from a deep sleep.

“Double damn,” he muttered, resting his forehead against
hers. “You’re something else.”

“You’re something else.” Eyes closed, she threw her head
back. “What just happened?”

“Come by the house tonight. Let’s make it happen again. Or I
could come to you.” He feared she thought he didn’t want to be seen with her in
public, which was true, but not for the reasons she might guess. He hated to be
the subject of gossips, of jealousy, of scorn of possible retaliation. “We’ll
go out and then in, or in and then out. Am I moving too fast?” Yes, considering
he wasn’t supposed to be moving at all. He could be keeping her from her
destined mate. He knew that couldn’t be him. He’d met and lost the love of his
life, but Ivy was damn close. He doubted she’d want to be the runner-up. He
could be bringing on the ruination of the entire town. “I want you.”

Leaning back to look him in the eye, she said, “Six
o’clock?”

“Six.”

* * * * *

Ivy pushed through Grant’s front door at five forty-five.
Why not? He’d blessed her with the mother of all orgasms in record-breaking
time. Twice now. And she hadn’t even removed her panties the second time. She
didn’t need to knock. He’d better not have any secrets, blow-up dolls or the
like that he needed to hide. She found him leaning casually against the sofa
back, the phone in his hand. Maybe she didn’t want a cell tower in town. They
had enough phone interruptions without mobile phones.

Grant beckoned her closer with a crook of his finger. “Yeah,
hey, Charlie, thanks for getting back to me. Do me a favor.” He kissed her
cheek. “Check the water against last week’s samples.” He held his hand up and
she laid her palm flat against his. “Yes. Now. Right now. Actually, five hours
ago when I originally called would have been better.” His fingers folded into
hers and he lightly, silently kissed each knuckle. “Here’s the rub. Do it again
five hours from now.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a trio of condoms,
wriggling her eyebrows at him.

“Yes, I’m serious,” he said into the phone, but his eyes
spoke volumes to her about desire, attraction and hopefully a few strong
feelings. “It’s important with a capital I. Talk to you tomorrow, buddy.” He
hung up. “You look amazing.”

She curtsied. “Thanks.” She’d better look amazing after
spending nearly a half-hour futzing with her hair just so he could mess it up.
Ivy had tried on four different outfits, knowing he’d strip it right off her.
“What was that about?” she asked. He opened his mouth to reply. “Never mind. I
don’t care.”

“Dinner?” he asked.

Ivy didn’t smell anything cooking. She shook her head.

“Drink? I’ve got beer, red wine and soft drinks.” He
continued as she persisted shaking her head. “Milk? Water? Something stronger?”

“Grant, would you rather go to a movie or something?” she
asked, sensing his sudden reluctance to bed her.