Page 13 of Born To Be Bad

CHAPTER 9

Dirty

ALISTAIR

Neither of us feels like going to a formal restaurant, so we grab some comfort food and a pint at a nearby pub. We find a cozy booth and settle in. We sit close together, with Ivy’s leg over mine—it’s as close as we can get without drawing undue attention. Everything about the dinner is comforting: having Ivy so close, the flaky steak and Guinness pie, the dark porter I order from the bar. Ivy chooses gin over beer, and a vegetable lasagna, but she does eventually succumb to trying a forkful of my buttery pastry.

She groans and flutters her lashes. “God, that’s good.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I reply, arching my brows suggestively. I can’t wait to get her into bed.

Ivy gives me a wry smile. “I can’t believe you’re thinking about sex after the day you’ve had.”

“Ivy,” I say. “I can think about little else when you are in the room.”

In fact, even when she’s not in the room—or in the country—my desire for her burns through everything else. I take a deep breath, releasing it slowly as I stroke her thigh.

I kiss her on the cheek, slow and soft, and then murmur into her ear. “You are so delicious.”

She chuckles, a slight blush coloring her face. It could be the gin, or the warmth of the pub, but I hope it’s more than that. I hope she’s imagining what I’d like to do to her later.

“I’m sure you’re still reeling,” Ivy says, holding my hand. “It’ll take a while to process this whole … thing.”

“Yes,” I agree, rubbing my stubble. I need a hot shower and a shave. The last time I’d even looked in a mirror was in Moscow. As if reading my mind, Ivy drags her fingertips across my prickly chin.

“I can shave you when we get home if you like.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I reply, “but I like to be in control of any razors near my throat. No offense.”

She smacks me on the shoulder. “You don’t trust me!”

“I do. Mostly.”

Ivy giggles, then acts aloof, crossing her arms. “Your loss. I’m an excellent barber.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do I find that difficult to believe?”

Her jaw drops open in mock outrage. “I’ve had years of experience shaving chins.”

“You’re not old enough to have had years of experience in anything. Unless you have a facial hair problem you’ve kept under wraps. Or … you used to shave your yoga students after sweaty yoga.”

Ivy guffaws. “Gross. If you must know, I used to help Jamie shave.”

My smile fades. “Okay, that makes sense. My apologies for doubting one of your many talents.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Still,” I say, “I think I’ll stick to doing it myself. But thank you for the kind offer.”

“Such control issues,” Ivy muses.

“It’s not an issue. It’s a preference.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” She locks eyes with me. “I love it when you’re in control.”

That’s all the encouragement I need to whisk Ivy straight home. My phone keeps buzzing with new messages from my family, but I ignore them for now. We’ll all feel better and have more perspective in the morning. My eyes are scratchy from stress and lack of sleep, but my priorities remain the same.

“Can I shower with you?” asks Ivy, yawning.

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