The Ivy House (A Queensbay Novel) (12 page)

It was the Queensbay annual flea market and the bargain hunters, dealers, and junk sellers were out in full force. The sun was shining, with just a few of those super-white, cotton-candy clouds darting across a perfectly blue sky. A band was playing, there was the smell of coffee and grills going, families with kids dashed around, and groups of girlfriends prowled the tables.

Chase had bided his time after leaving Ivy House the other day. The force of what he felt for Phoebe, what he wanted to do to her, had him holding back, seeing if it was just some sort of madness, some sort of weird reaction to kissing the granddaughter of the woman who had been his first crush.

Perhaps there was some sort of residual lust build-up in the house, because all Chase had wanted to do was pull Phoebe to him and kiss her, run his hands over her long, lithe body, feel what he could do, how far out of control he could push her. Because that would be it. He had wanted to throw her down on that old steamer trunk, break through her air of studied casualness, and find what had to be a red-blooded woman below it.

But he sensed that while it might have solved a momentary itch, Phoebe was a more complicated woman. She didn’t trust him yet, and until he could prove that he wanted her, just her, she wouldn’t be ready for what he had in mind.

So, he had done his research. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she would be here. It was one of the town’s biggest events, held on the stretch of grass and parking lots near the town dock and marina.

Chase saw Phoebe first, catching a glimpse of the red-gold hair, standing tall in the crowds. A smile creased over his face before he could stop it, and then he wondered what madness had him so happy to see her, a woman who’d not too long ago called him an arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Perhaps it was the way the sun caught the highlights in her hair or the way her cheekbones cut across her sculpted her face or the happiness that danced in her eyes.

He knew it well. “What are you after?” He slipped up behind her and put a hand on her elbow. She jumped in surprise, turned to him, and felt a tingle of anticipation at the changing expressions on her face. Surprise, delight and then the well-schooled look of indifference.

“What do you mean?” She tried to move back, but he was enjoying the feel of her, the way her body was pulled taut, full of tension, but not necessarily directed at him. No, her attention was elsewhere. He hazarded a look over his shoulder to see which table she was focused on.

“Don’t look,” she hissed, her blue eyes going dark, as she grabbed to spin him around in the opposite direction. He felt his skin go afire at her touch and an answering reaction between his legs.
If the woman had any idea how much she turned him on,
Chase thought,
she wouldn’t be grabbing him like that in public.

“Ahh, I knew it. So what are you after?” Chase looked over his shoulder again and watched sheer panic light up her eyes.

“Stop, you’ll give it away.” Her voice had dropped to an urgent whisper.

“I will, if you tell me what you’re after,” Chase said, pulling her closer to him, laying her arm on top of his.

“Owl salt-and-pepper shakers.”

“Owls?” Chase was confused, but was enjoying the sensation of having her close to him. She was so intent on her prize that she seemed not to have noticed how close they were, the way she was letting him lean into her so that he could see the clear blue of her eyes, count the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and take in those full, wide lips, lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again.

Her eyes widened and she stiffened. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Her breath had become slightly ragged and she was leaning away from him.

“Don’t what?” Chase feigned innocence.

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And just what am I trying to do?” Chase countered.

“You’re trying to mesmerize me with your big hulking presence.” Her eyes flitted around. “Damn,” she said.

“What is it?” Chase asked with amusement.

“That old biddy is looking at my salt-and-pepper shakers.”

“Your salt-and-pepper shakers? The owls?” Chase said.

“Yes, the owls. They’re ceramic and in prime condition.”

“And let me guess: they’re only a dollar each and you’re worried someone else is going to steal the deal of a century.”

“They’re five dollars apiece,” she answered loftily.

“Oh, my,” Chase said with mock horror.

Phoebe made a face. “You just don’t get it.”

“I’m willing to be enlightened.”

“Owls are going to be big next season. Those are perfect. The perfect inspiration pieces,” she said.

Chase did hazard a glance over his shoulder now, and saw the pair of owls, only a few inches tall, gaudily painted in tangerine, brown, and that peculiar avocado green from the seventies. There was an older woman, gray-haired, dressed in tan polyester pants, a white cotton blouse, and a visor, poking around the other items on the table, but he could tell it was just for show. Like Phoebe, she wanted the owls.

“I think I can take care of this.” He spun on his heel and sauntered over to the table, ignoring Phoebe’s cry of protest.

Chase smiled at the redheaded woman who was behind the table. He asked about an old beer sign, effectively blocking out the gray-haired woman who started to hover anxiously.

He examined the sign, made a big show of it, and then made his offer. The redheaded woman pretended not to be interested, so Chase took off his sunglasses, flashed a smile, and sealed the deal. He half-expected the lady in the visor to cry foul, but she just sniffed and wandered off.

Chase promised to come back for the sign and took his other package, walked over to Phoebe and handed her a bag with two objects wrapped up like miniature mummies in tissue paper.

“What’s this?” she said, suspiciously.

“You can thank me later,” Chase said, laying his arm across her shoulder.

Phoebe brought the bag up, poked around, and said, “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“How did you do it? I mean, what did you do? Pay full price for them?” Phoebe’s voice carried a tone of disapproval.

“I simply made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. The owls were part of the package deal.”

“What package deal?”

“I got a great new beer sign for my man cave—and you have a pair of tacky owl salt-and-pepper shakers.”

“They’re not tacky!” Phoebe started to protest. And then she laughed. “OK, so, they’re a little tacky. But you wait and see. Owls will be huge next season. How much do I owe you?”

He was seduced by the sound of her laughter. It was genuine, unaffected, and directed at him. He felt his heart soar and wondered how he could convince her to kiss him again.

“Like I said, these were part of the package deal. They’re on me. Anything else you got your eye on? I’m a master negotiator.”

“Yes, I’ve had some experience with that.” He expected her to go cold on him again and wished he hadn’t reminded her of how they met.

Instead, she smiled up at him, a flirtatious slant to her eyes. “There’s an interesting vase three rows over, with a couple of ladies circling.”

“Is it overpriced?” Chase asked.

“Absolutely,” Phoebe said, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. She’d let him keep his arm over her shoulder for a while and Chase wanted nothing more than to snuggle her in closer to him, feel the heat of her body connect with his, brush his lips along the side of her face. He needed to stop thinking like that, he told himself. Otherwise, he would embarrass both of them in a very public place.

Still, he had her here, carefree and relaxed, and he wasn’t going to lose that advantage. It was time to shake up Phoebe Ryan’s expectations of him.

“Lead the way.”

<<>>

Phoebe was painfully aware of the way the sun caught the lightened hairs on Chase’s forearm as he shifted the gears of the Porsche. His presence overtook the car and she cast a quick glance at his profile. It was just about perfect, with a straight nose and strong chin, and when he threw her a quick look, one eyebrow quirking up as he accelerated up the hill, she felt her breath catch.

They had spent the entire day at the Queensbay antique fair and flea market, and true to his promise, he had negotiated deals for everything Phoebe wanted. It had become a game between the two of them, with Phoebe picking something outrageous and obviously coveted by more than one shopper. Each time, Chase had managed to get what she wanted, usually for half the price. Sure, he often wound up with something else, like a barstool to go along with his vintage beer sign, but Phoebe had gotten everything she’d had her eye on.

She had insisted on treating him to hot dogs and root beer, and now, with the trunk stuffed full of stuff—at least with what could fit—they were heading back to Lynn’s house.

Phoebe knew that she shouldn’t have let him drive her home, but Lynn, with whom she’d gone to the fair, had been paged into work early, and Chase had promised to make sure Phoebe would get home safely. He’d let his hand linger on Phoebe’s back just a moment too long and her mind had gone blank, while her stomach tightened; she didn’t have it in her to argue.

Now, when he looked at her, his sunglasses dipping just low enough so she could feel his gaze sweep over her, she felt everything tighten and a rush of excitement. His hand shifted gears and brushed along the side of her leg. Lust shot through her and she shifted in her seat, but not before she caught his triumphant smile.

Phoebe looked out the window at the green trees and houses flashing by. Suddenly, the air in the car had become too hot, too still, so she cranked the window open a little, breathing in a deep breath of fresh air, trying to clear her head.

Too soon, or not soon enough, he had pulled into the crushed shell drive of Lynn’s house. The sun was starting to set, and she could see it cast its sparkling trail along the harbor in the distance. Before she could do it herself, Chase was out of the car and opening her door.

He held out a hand and pulled her up. She sprung up with such force that she wound up close to him. Deftly reaching behind her, he shut the door. Still, his arms were around her and his face was very close to hers.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper. She could see the stubble on his face and the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her. “I had a nice time,” she managed to stammer.

“A nice time?” he said with mock hurt. “Two of those whatchamacallem—topiary urns—for fifty bucks and you call that a nice time?”

She smiled and he caught her chin with his hand. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, and when she opened them, she saw that he was looking at her intensely, his eyes searching, pinning her down.

Phoebe couldn’t—wouldn’t—let this happen. Chase was dangerous for her. She wanted him too much. And lust was never as simple as it was made out to be. Today, though, had been fun. It had only shown that he considered business, even if it was bargain hunting at a flea market, a blood sport. And that was all she was to him. Something to acquire.

He moved in and Phoebe felt the warm, smooth metal of the car beneath the small of her back. His chest was so close to her, she could feel the heat of it, sense the solid wall of muscle that was beneath his shirt.

Chase moved in closer, his lips hovering above hers. Before she could say anything, his lips trailed along her jaw and she felt her knees weaken. How could he make her feel this helpless, this wanted with just the lightest touch?

His leg nudged in between hers and she felt the strong, smooth strength of them, felt his arousal, and his lips found hers and she opened herself up to his kiss. Her hands came up to his neck and pulled him into her.

She didn’t know if they stayed that way for a minute or five or fifty. She only knew that their mouths and tongues explored each other, each nibble and kiss and reaction matched the other’s, until Phoebe felt as if she were melting, that if she did not have his warm, strong hands all over her, she would combust. Then, she felt something else.

Something that purred and then vibrated, then rang and pierced their consciousness. Swearing, Chase pushed back from her, dug in his jacket until he found his phone. Not taking his eyes off her, he answered it with a terse “Yes.”

Phoebe waited for her heartbeat to slow, for her heart to find its way back into her chest, for her knees to stiffen up. She looked down at the ground to find time to recover, let her hands smooth her ponytail back into place, all the while feeling her breathing grow more regular.

Chase put the phone back in her pocket.

“I have to go. Something’s come up.” He was looking at her intently, his eyes roaming over her like he wanted to possess her.

Quickly, he walked to the trunk, popped it, and took out the bags with her purchases. He placed them carefully on the side of the drive, and then he strode over to her, pulled her to him, and kissed her again, a hard, passionate, bruising kiss.

“Interrupted again, Phoebe. But I will be back. And don’t try to tell me you don’t want this any less than I do.”

And with that he flashed his playboy grin, slung himself into the car and was off, the tires sending up a small trail of dust that settled slowly back to the ground.

Phoebe managed to make it to the first step of the porch before she collapsed on it, her mind spinning. What was she thinking, letting him kiss her like that? Again. Once she could understand, but she couldn’t make a habit of kissing Chase Sanders. Of course, it was just lust, had to be.

Phoebe took a deep breath and heard the cry of a hawk, saw it circling overhead, looking for its dinner. Savannah had told her, warned her that men would use her, try to use Phoebe to get to Savannah. But Savannah was gone. And here was Chase Sanders, using all of his playboy charm on her, getting her to relax and like him, winning her over with five-dollar salt-and-pepper shakers, charming her pants off or trying to at least.

She leaned her head against the column of the porch railing, sighing. Because just a few minutes ago, she would have given a damn about history and been perfectly ready to have her pants—and just about everything else—charmed right off her.