Best Man's Conquest (2 page)

“Sure.” It did sound like a good idea. For
her
. That didn't mean
he
had any intention of doing it.

She had no idea the flack his family had taken after her book was released. Call it childish and immature—hell, he'd been called worse—but the way he saw it, he was long overdue for a little payback. Some good old-fashioned revenge.

If keeping his distance was what she really wanted, for the next week he would be stuck to that woman like glue.

Feeling helpless, hopeless? Stand up and take control! Show that man who's boss.

—excerpt from
The Modern Woman's Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)

I
vy sat outside on the private balcony of her bedroom, at the cute little wrought-iron patio set, reading the novel she'd started on the plane. The sun felt warm on her skin, and a damp, salty ocean breeze flipped the ends of her ponytail.

What better place to relax? To kick back and put her feet up? Yet she was so tense she'd read the same paragraph half a dozen times and still had no idea what it said.

She marked her page and set the book down, rubbing at the beginnings of a headache in her temples. This was supposed to be a vacation. It was supposed to be fun.

She heard her bedroom door open, and her cousin called to her. “Are you in here?”

Ivy looked at her watch. It had taken Deidre a full hour to work up the courage to face her again.

“I'm out here,” she said.

Several seconds passed, then she heard Deidre behind her. “Are you mad at me?”

Mad?

Mad
didn't scratch the surface of what she was feeling. She felt hurt and betrayed and
humiliated.
They were supposed to be best friends. The sister neither had ever had.

A
team.

How could Deidre pull a stunt like this? How could she lie by omission?

She turned to her cousin. Deidre stood in the bedroom doorway wringing the color from her hands, looking like the poster girl for guilt and remorse.

She'd been a nervous wreck for weeks, sure that at any moment Blake would come to his senses and finally accept the truth. Deidre, with a family history of obesity and bad skin, would never be a supermodel. Then he would undoubtedly start listening when his parents and brothers assured him that, for all his money and family connections, he could do much better.

Deidre also had what looked like a smear of chocolate in the corner of her mouth. Just that morning Ivy had confiscated a six-pack of chocolate bars and a half-empty box of Ding Dongs from Deidre's bedroom. She didn't want to venture a guess as to how much weight Deidre had gained back in the last month or so, but a few more pounds and she would look like an overstuffed sausage in her ten-thousand-dollar designer wedding gown. Even worse was the random acne that had begun to spring up on her chin. Which of course only made her more upset, and more likely to stuff her face with junk.

She'd been a neurotic mess for weeks. Still, that didn't excuse what she had done.

Ivy concentrated on keeping her voice calm and rational. “How could you do this to me?”

“I'm so sorry. But I knew if I told you, you wouldn't have come. Without you as my maid of honor, it would ruin
everything
.”

Deidre was one of those women who had begun planning her wedding the instant she left the womb. She'd accumulated a ceiling-high stockpile of bridal magazines and catalogs by the fifth grade.

After a few miserably failed false starts, she had finally snagged Mr. Right. Ivy got the feeling Deidre saw this as her last chance and that, if everything didn't go exactly as planned, she was destined to spend the rest of her life alone and childless and die a bitter spinster.

“I told you the best man was a buddy from college, and you knew he and Blake went to school together.”

Ivy knew they had shared an apartment at Harvard, until Dillon had been expelled, that is, but she hadn't known they were that close. Her and Dillon's quickie Vegas wedding had been too last-minute for a best man or maid of honor.

Or a cake.

Or even a wedding dress.

It had been more of a
we'll show them
when their parents had tried to interfere in their relationship. Proving that not only is love blind, it's downright idiotic.

The sad truth is, she and Dillon had barely known each other when they'd gotten married. Out of bed, anyway. Only after their vows had she realized her mistake.

The day after
.

“I know you probably won't believe this,” Deidre said, “but Dillon has changed.”

“You're right. I don't believe it.” Men like Dillon never changed. Not deep down, where it counted.

“May be it's time you…” Deidre paused, her lip clamped between her teeth again.

“It's time I what?”

She shrugged. “May be…get past it.”

“Get past what?”

“What I mean is, May be it's time you…forgive him.”

Forgive
him?

Was Deidre joking? Had the wedding jitters short-circuited her brain? Had she forgotten what Dillon had put her through?

Did a woman ever get past having her heart stomped on and filleted into a million pieces? Did she forget losing an academic grant, being tossed out of college and having her reputation decimated?

And how did you forgive someone who showed no remorse? Someone who sat back and watched with a smile on his face while her world fell apart? A man who had promised to love and honor her until death? “What Dillon did to me was unforgivable and you know it.”

Deidre lowered herself into the chair beside Ivy's, a look of genuine concern on her face. “I just hate to see you so unhappy.”

Her words nearly knocked Ivy out of her chair. “What are you talking about? My book is selling millions, my private practice is flourishing. Why in the world would I be unhappy?”

“You're the psychologist. You tell me.”

Ivy had everything she'd ever dreamed of. A good career and an impressive stock portfolio. Personal and financial independence.

She was not unhappy. In fact, she was freaking ecstatic. “For your information, I am very happy with my life.”

“When was the last time you were in a committed relationship? When was the last time you had sex? Hell, when was the last time you were on a date?”

“I don't need a man to complete me.” The words spilled from her mouth automatically. It was her mantra, the basis for her book. The only constant in her life.

“May be not, but they sure can be fun to have around.”

And so not worth the hassle. She had her career and her friends. That was enough. For now. “Setting me up like this has put me in a terrible position. Considering all the people who will be at the wedding Saturday, it's bound to get out that I spent a week in Mexico with my ex. You know how brutal the media can be. What if they start spreading rumors that we're getting back together? What do you think that will do to my reputation?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that.” Deidre's lower lip began to quiver and tears hovered just inside her eyelids. “I was only trying to help. If you want to leave, I understand.”

Ivy sighed. As mad as she was at her cousin, deep down she knew her intentions were pure. Deidre didn't have a vindictive bone in her body. If she said she was trying to help, it was the truth, and it was executed out of love and concern.

Oh, hell.

She reached over and squeezed Deidre's fisted hands. “I'm not going anywhere. This is the most important week of your life, and I wouldn't miss it for anything.”

The tears spilled over onto Deidre's cheeks and rolled down, leaving wet dots on the front of her shirt. “Thank you.”

“Besides, Dillon and I talked, and we've reached somewhat of an agreement. I'll avoid him and he'll avoid me.” She gave Deidre's hands a reassuring squeeze and forced a smile. “Really, how bad could it be?”

 

It could be bad, Ivy realized fifteen minutes later after Deidre left to see about dinner. Really bad.

She experienced the same eerie, familiar feeling as she had downstairs when Dillon had entered the room, and she looked up to find him a stone's throw away, leaning on the edge of his own balcony on the opposite end of the house. His eyes were on her, steady and intense, as if he was biding his time, just waiting for her to notice him there.

“Howdy!” he called, wiggling his fingers in a casual, friendly, good-ole-boy wave. He looked out across the ocean, his chest expanding beneath his T-shirt as he drew in a long, deep breath. “Hell of a view, isn't it?”

Oh, yes it is, she agreed silently, her eyes wandering over his solid frame. And she could feel it coming on, that little shimmy thing her heart did whenever he was near.

Here it comes…

No, no, no!

She lowered her eyes back to her book. Don't look at him. Don't encourage him in any way. May be he would take the hint and leave her alone.

He didn't.

“Whatcha' doin'?”

“Reading,” she answered, not looking up from the page. May be if she kept her answers short and succinct he would get a clue. He would realize she wanted him to leave her alone. Like he promised he would.

He didn't.

She could still feel his eyes on her, feel him watching. Goose bumps shivered across her skin, and she felt fidgety and uncomfortable.

Ignore him and he'll lose interest, she assured herself. Keep reading and he'll get bored and go away. But she could feel her anxiety level climbing again. Her foot had begun to tap, the way it always did when she was nervous, and she was grinding her teeth.

She forced herself to relax.

“Good book?” He used a tone that suggested he was making friendly conversation. May be to break the ice, so the situation would be a bit less awkward.

He was wasting his time. The only conversation she was interested in having with him was the nonexistent kind. She didn't want to break the ice, and she had no desire to make things less awkward.

She just wanted him to go away.

There was also the distinct possibility that, despite his promise to leave her alone, he was doing this to annoy her.

Either way, she was beginning to feel like a specimen under a microscope.

She took several deep, cleansing breaths, tried to concentrate on her book and not on the man staring at her.

After a few very long, tense moments he said, “Must be a good book.”

“It is.” Up until a few minutes ago, anyway. Now, as she tried to focus on the small print, the words ran together in a nonsensical jumble. Was a few minutes of peace really too much to ask for?

Several more minutes passed quietly by, but she knew without looking up that he was still watching her. The question was, why?

When she couldn't stand it any longer she looked up and met his gaze. “Was there something you wanted?”

“No, ma'am,” he said, his eyes never straying from her face. “Just enjoying the scenery.”

Something in his eyes, in the intense way he stared, suggested that the scenery he was referring to was her. He was beginning to annoy the hell out of her, and she had the sinking feeling that was exactly his intention.

“Do you think you could possibly enjoy it from somewhere else?” she asked as politely as possible, despite her rapidly mounting irritation.

“What's wrong, Ivy?” He leaned forward on his elbows, deeper into her personal space. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

That was the last thing she wanted him to think. He no longer had
any
power over her. She was strong and independent. She answered to no one but herself. “No, but I would like to read a few more chapters before dinner. If you don't mind.”

“Not at all. You go on ahead and read.”

“Thank you.” She turned her attention back to her book. He was quiet for several minutes, but in her peripheral vision she could see that he hadn't moved from his spot. He was still watching her.

He was definitely doing it to annoy her. There was no other logical explanation.

“I saw your mom a few weeks ago,” he finally said.

She sighed and gathered her patience. So much for sitting outside, reading and enjoying the view.

She very calmly marked her page, shut the book and looked up at him. Ten years ago she would have thought he looked damned good standing there, the sun reflecting bluish-black off his dark hair, eyes slightly squinted against the glare and crinkled in the corners. The distinguished kind of crinkles that men got. The same things that on a woman were just plain old ugly wrinkles.

Dillon had that special something, a physical appeal that was impossible to ignore. Or resist. In the short term, anyway.

As she'd quickly discovered, looks aren't everything. What he needed was the personality to go along with it. One that wasn't quite so…
annoying
.

“You still fold your page over to mark your spot,” he said. “No matter how many bookmarks you bought, you always misplaced them.”

For a minute she was speechless. How had he remembered such a mundane, trivial detail about her? She honestly didn't think he'd been paying attention.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I was in downtown Dallas for a meeting, and I saw your mom through the window of her shop. She looks as though she's doing well.”