Page 49 of Volatile

“Sorry, I have to go.”

His body tensed, and he threw on his pants, stopping her right before she got to the door. He clamped a fist around her arm, and she unsuccessfully tried shaking it off.

“Let me go.”

“What the hell, Ivy? Tell me right now that you didn’t enjoy what happened between us because I’m pretty sure you did. Three fucking times.”

“It’s not about that. I just have to go. What part of go don’t you understand?”

His jaw ticked as he gnashed his teeth. At least she hadn’t denied it, but what the hell?

“This was a mistake,” she said.

“No, it wasn’t. We both had a good time, and we’re both unattached. Now I’m asking you to stay with me, Ivy.”

She sighed loudly, and her shoulders dropped. As long as his hand circled around her, he still had hope that she’d change her mind. He didn’t want to let her go.

“About the good time... Was that the reason you invited me over?”

“Yes.” Her arm stiffened, and he expected her to try once more to bolt out the door. “But it wasn’t the only reason.”

“And why else would you want me here?” she spat out. “Because you miss her?”

What the fuck?“Miss who?”

“That woman in the painting you refuse to talk about. Am I your substitute right now?”

She’d come right out of fucking nowhere and knocked him flat on his ass. Why the hell was she bringing up Julia now, of all times?

“I am not talking about this, Ivy. I already told you—”

“I know, she is nothing like me. Yet somehow I’m good enough to fuck.”

He dragged his hand through his hair, ready to pull some out. “Damn it, woman. Where’s this shit coming from?”

“I am not your woman.”

He yanked her closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. “I asked you here because I wanted you. No one else. You are not a fucking substitute. I did not ask you because everyone else was already taken, like some fucking high school dance. And I want you to stay because I want you, Ivy Swanson. So whatever you think—”

“Let me go.” She looked up, staring him straight on. If the blaze in her eyes were any indication, she was done with her game of hide the true emotions. “Stop.”

He opened his hand and freed her arm, allowing her to back up instantly. And before he could blink twice, she was out the door. He didn’t go after her. What would be the point? Whatever the fuck was going on in her goddamned head, he seemed incapable of changing it.

What to do? He could go for a run or grab a bottle and head out to the deck and drink the night away. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize, or else he’d stop by and see what Jacque and Cherise were up to. The club? Not interested.

The one thing he wanted wasn’t there, and he was one stupid son of a bitch if he thought he could ever figure that woman out. And just the fact that he wanted to proved he was fucking insane.

He crashed down on the chair and leaned back. Why was she even asking about Julia at all? She shouldn’t even be a blip on her radar. So there’s a painting of her—so what? The irony almost made him laugh, while at the same time wanting to beat the shit out of it. All these months of pretending that Julia was still with him, picturing her little body kneeling at his feet so eager to please, only choosing Lizbeth because she could pass for her in the right positions.

Then Hurricane Ivy blew down his door, landing him a woman he wanted exactly as is. Ivy was the first woman he didn’t want to be Julia, and she accused him of that very thing.

What a fucking mess.

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