Page 35 of Head Over Heels

Stress.

A perilous lack of control.

And, I thought with absolute disdain, they managed it in a way that was inherently dangerous to the state of my La Perla lace thongs.

Those were staying right where they needed to as well.

I blew out a slow breath, my heart returning to a semblance of a normal rhythm.

When I was quite sure my legs weren’t Jell-O, I pushed the door open and straightened. Both men watched me approach.

One looked neutral. Polite, but just toeing the line of friendly.

The other?

He watched me with anticipation screaming from his eyes, and that simply would not do.

There wasn’t a single thing Cameron had a right to anticipate.

In that damn elevator, he met a version of me that was very much like an electrical wire with the casing scraped off—who spilled stories to strangers and admitted things she’d never otherwise say out loud. Who let him kiss her and touch her and beg for more.

I wouldn’t say she was weak because I knew damn well I’d made the right decision by running. She was vulnerable, though.

And vulnerability was a curse in my upbringing. It was a flaw to be removed, something to be cut out with the neat clip of a blade.

I kept my stride steady and tried desperately to detach my brain, sever the stream of racing thoughts from my body as his eyes tracked from my head to the pointed toe of my black patent shoes. The thoughts slowed somewhere around my lips, and with an unsteady thud of my heart, I kept my mouth unsmiling.

Out of necessity, I had to keep my smile buried so very, very deep.

A warning siren rattled underneath my ribs, that wild animal again, because the look in his eyes was dangerous. Something that could cause great harm, and I doubted he realized it.

Because paired with that look was the ghost of a smile on his firm, beautiful lips.

My heels crunched on some loose rocks on the driveway as I reached the two men. I stuck my hand out to the dark-haired one first.

“Ivy Lynch,” I told him.

“Ian Wilder,” he said, his handshake firm. “This is my brother?—”

“She knows my name,” Cameron said. He kept his gaze steady and unblinking on mine even though he couldn’t see a damn thing through my sunglasses except his own stupidly handsome reflection.

My stomach froze. My hands tingled.

All I could think in my head was that I’d straddled his lap, sucked on his tongue, and tried to shove his big, big hand between my legs.

Lynches are above reproach.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I know you,” I said. I said it before I even realized the implications, a misstep I didn’t normally make.

His eyes narrowed.

Fuck.

It was too late to take back the words now, and they hung between us like a hatchet about to sever an important body part.

Cameron tilted his head, studying me with a sharp look in his eye that I absolutely detested.

“Strange. I met an Ivy in Portland last week, and she looked just like you,” he drawled.

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