Chapter 8

Mike Paul knew the moment Ivy arrived at the charity event. The air changed, making it hard to breathe, and the guys he was talking to faded away like dust in the wind. His body was on high alert as if every single cell he owned was fired up. He didn’t particularly like the sensation. Was he doomed to feel like this for the rest of his life? He yanked on his tie and tried to slow his breathing down.

He’d caught sight of her dark auburn hair and profile, then lost her in the crowd, which did nothing to improve his mood. With a scowl firmly in place, he scanned the room but, after a minute or so, gave up and turned back to the guys.

He needed to focus. Keep his shit together.

His buddy Jefferson Smith droned on about his new crop of heifers, while Dale Martin was obsessed with some Sports Illustrated model who’d recently married a hockey player.

“Can you imagine that?” Dale asked. “A woman like her marrying some knucklehead from Canada.”

“A knucklehead who just signed a 100-million-dollar contract extension,” Jack Martin said with a shrug before changing the subject to the new pitcher for the Yankees, some up-and-comer from Florida. Since Mike Paul didn’t give two flying shits about the Yankees, he said nothing. And when Colin Mayberry kept complaining about the sad state of his marriage, Mike Paul rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. According to Colin, his wife was no longer interested in bedroom shenanigans.

“How long has it been?” Dale asked.

Colin scratched at his beard and winced. “Three months.”

“That’s nothing,” Mike Paul muttered. God, he wanted to poke out his eyes. He’d gone so long without sex, he was surprised his dick still worked. Even then it was a solitary quickie in the shower.

“Huh?” Jefferson frowned.

Mike Paul ignored the man and turned away. He was done with these bozos. He stepped away and searched the room for the only person that mattered and would have kept on searching, but one of the Danby twins, Melinda, if he wasn’t mistaken, grabbed onto his arm. The woman was tipsy and leaned into him, her pretty face flush from too much wine. He’d always liked the twins, but at the moment only had time for one woman, and damned if he could locate her again.

“They finally managed to get you up on that auction block.” She talked slowly as if trying her best not to slur her words. Definitely, Melinda, he thought. He noticed the mole near her right eye.

“I think maybe you need to have some of those fancy sandwiches the church ladies prepared.”

“That sounds good to me,” she said and giggled as she dug in and threaded her arm through his.

Now, Mike Paul had been raised a gentleman, and even though he wanted nothing more than to find Ivy, he could never leave an intoxicated woman to her own devices. With no choice but to help the twin at his side, he maneuvered her toward the banquet table, smiling and waving like a damn show pony as, seemingly, every single woman in Big Bend suddenly appeared and tried to catch his attention.

Jordan McHale waved from across the way. Fresh out of her third divorce, she was no doubt looking to fill the spot vacated by her ex-husband, Michael.

Bianca Martin raised a glass in his direction.

Cate Brady did the same.

Already annoyed at his sister for putting him in this situation, his mood was getting darker by the minute.

“Are you mad at me?” Melinda asked, clearly puzzled at the look on his face.

“No.” He forced a smile. It wasn’t her fault he was a featured item on a menu he wanted no part of. He held a plate in one hand and guided her with his other as Melinda piled up on ham and cheese, chicken, tuna salad, and a couple of brownies. He then tried to get her to sit at one of the tables, but Melinda wasn’t having it. She preferred swaying on her feet and leaned into him as she stuffed an entire ham and cheese into her mouth.

“This is so good,” she said, looking up at Mike Paul. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. I wanted to fit into this dress, so I didn’t eat at all today.”

“That’s just plain silly,” he replied, eyes back to scanning the room.

“It’s what we do. Us. Women.” She offered him a sandwich, but he declined.

“Let me find you a table.”

“I like it right here,” she said with a smile, then picked at a piece of cheese stuck between her front teeth. She was still trying to clear the offending slice of cheese when he caught sight of Ivy. She was across the room at the other bar, chatting with Ryland Bridgestone. She smiled at something the kid said, and his heart damn near fell out of his chest. She stole his breath without trying. It wasn’t fair. Feeling like this.

Her hair was loose and fell down her back in soft auburn waves, while her dress, a slinky midnight blue number which wasn’t exactly her style, showed a lot of skin he would kill to touch. With bare shoulders and most of her back on display, the dress was cut so damn low it barely covered her ass. Normally, he was fine with that—a woman should dress the way she pleased—but the looks from some of the men in the room had that he-man part of him boiling something fierce.

Hell, he wanted to throw a fist at Jefferson Smith because the guy couldn’t take his eyes off Ivy.

Mike Paul had to take a moment and get his shit together because the possibility of him turning into a Neanderthal was real, and Ivy didn’t deserve to see that side of him unless it was in the bedroom.

“Shit,” he muttered. Why in hell did he have to go and think about him and Ivy getting busy between the sheets?

Ryland tugged on his tie and took a step back—clearly, the young man was flirting—and Mike Paul watched the exchange, half hungry for Ivy, half annoyed at a kid for being in her orbit, taking the spot that belonged to him.

Mike Paul steered the still tipsy, still protesting Melinda over to a table and was able to sidestep her hand when she grabbed at him, trying to keep him there.

“Now, I don’t want you to move until your plate is clear, okay?” He gave her the smile that always got him what he wanted, and felt relieved when she nodded back and dug in. She had about ten sandwiches to get through.

Mike Paul grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed it, then grabbed another before crossing the room. He ran into Benton on his way over, and the man looked about as miserable as Mike Paul felt. Normally, he’d have a drink with the guy and commiserate on their shared misery, but he had no time. Ivy was less than forty feet away. The clock was ticking.

“We have to head backstage,” Benton said glumly. “This has got to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done in the name of charity.”

“Didn’t you wrestle a pig in the mud at the fair?”

“I was fifteen. Didn’t know better.”

Mike Paul cranked his head to the side.

“Who are you looking for?”

“What?” Mike Paul turned to Benton and frowned.

Benton placed an empty beer bottle on the bar and rubbed his chin. “She’s engaged.”

A flash of anger rifled through Mike Paul, but he kept his tone neutral. “Heard something about that.”

“This is a charity gala.”

“You don’t say.” That flash of anger sparked something fierce, the flame burning hot.

“There’s no room for the kind of crap you pulled last weekend at the Sundowner.”

“I promise not to throw a punch if you promise to stay out of my business.”

Benton’s face lit up with a slow grin. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Just…” Benton stepped away. “Don’t pull a dick move because she won’t like you for it. Besides, Mary Margaret just gave the bat signal. We need to head backstage.”

“I’ll be along in a minute.”

“I mean it,” Benton sighed. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Mike Paul didn’t answer. He moved through the crowd, his focus solely on Ivy, and when he finally reached her, he tipped back the second glass of champagne, emptied it, and set it on the bar beside her. She’d just grabbed hold of a glass of wine and glanced up. Damned if he didn’t feel like he’d just been punched in the stomach. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes electric, and she looked like he was the last person on the planet she wanted to see. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile.

Which made her eyes go dark and squinty. She was about to blow, which made Ivy, quite literally, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hey,” he managed to say without sounding like a complete idiot.

Her tongue darted out and swiped at the corner of her delectable mouth. She opened said mouth, but was interrupted before she could speak.

“Why if it isn’t the most eligible bachelor in the room.” Val Hutchins appeared from nowhere and all but purred like a kitten. Where in hell had she come from?

The woman looked like every school boy’s wet dream, a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. Tall, stacked, with long blonde hair and ripe red lips, she presented herself as a predator, which was a shame because the few times he’d been with her, she’d shown glimpses of something completely different. She wasn’t for him—his heart was already taken, but he figured if she stopped trying to be something she wasn’t, she might find someone decent to settle down with.

“Val,” he replied lightly, though his gaze was firmly planted on Ivy.

“What is it about a man in a black suit that makes us girls go crazy?” She moved close enough to touch Mike Paul’s arm. “Especially when they’re so darn tall and…” She winked. “Handsome.”

“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” Ivy said, voice cool and controlled, which was the direct opposite to the fire in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Val replied, her voice low and rough, like smoke over glass.

“No, you’re not.”

If Val was surprised at the aggressive tone Ivy had taken, she didn’t show it. Her smile widened, and she shrugged. “I was just wondering where your yummy fiancé is. I’m a huge fan and thought maybe I could get a photo and an autograph.”

“He’s not here.”

“That is a shame.” Val’s eyes moved from Ivy to Mike Paul. “Haven’t seen you at the Frisky Coyote for a while.”

Mike Paul cleared his throat, about as uncomfortable as he’d been in a long time. “Been busy.”

“Too busy for some sweet pie?” She made an exaggerated sad face. “You said it was the best slice of heaven you’d ever had.”

It was hard to keep his head straight, what with Ivy throwing darts from her eyes and Val making it seem they were more than what they’d ever been.

“Mike Paul never did have much of a sweet tooth.” Ivy piped in, then drained her wine glass in one long shot. “At least, not for the kind of sweets you find in these parts.”

Val didn’t take the bait. She gave a small shrug and smiled. “That’s not how I remember it.” She winked at Mike Paul. “In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Mike Paul’s sweet tooth rivals just about any of the fine gentlemen here tonight. Heck, I serve up so much sweet pie that Alonzo is making twice as much as he used to before I started working for him.”

“I heard you make home deliveries.” Ivy’s tone was biting.

“On occasion.” Val’s tone changed, and Ivy signaled for more wine. “I took Mike Paul some sweet pie just last month.”

Shit. This was headed south fast. It was the truth. Val had brought him some pie. But only because he’d ordered up a bunch for his sister, who’d been visiting and dealing with a major pregnancy craving. He was about to tell Ivy just that when Mary Margaret snuck up on him, grabbed his arm, and pushed him back to the stage.

He didn’t have a chance to explain.

Or diffuse the situation.

Or make sure Val made it out of this place alive. Because if he’d learned one thing about Ivy Wilkens, she gave as good as she got. And if Val thought she could tangle with a tiger like Ivy, she had another thing coming.

As much as she deserved what she got for poking the bear, it would be ugly.