Chapter 19
IVY
By the time the wheels of my British Airways flight hit the tarmac at Heathrow Airport, I’d convinced myself I was Mother Teresa on a mission to save a lost soul. It had taken almost the entire ten-and-a-half-hour flight to get there, though. Even after my second glass of champagne in the first-class pod, courtesy of Penny Barrett, Ian’s assistant, I could still taste the betrayal on the back of my tongue.
I’d felt dirty working out the details of the arrangement with Jack, but when I’d asked Ian if he still wanted me and he told me to get on the next flight possible, I’d sloughed off all the filth and donned a halo.
I hadn’t just popped up out of the blue to call him. That might’ve seemed a little suspicious. Seeing info about “Muse,”
the first single from the album, which listed my name on the writing credits, had offered me a good excuse to call him.
When he didn’t answer my call, I’d died inside a little, but then I sent him a text asking him to phone me back. He called late afternoon, which translated into late night for him. Had he drunk-dialed me?
He seemed sober as we danced around with small talk, asking about each other’s work, and he’d assured me his was cracking along. I thanked him for the song-writing credit, and then one thing led to another. I cried, totally from the heart, no faking needed and told him I missed him. He responded in a rough voice that he missed me, too.
That’s when I asked him, and here I was.
I’d never flown first class before and thought I might be able to sleep with all the space and amenities, but that hadn’t happened. Now, I rubbed sandpaper eyes and tried to smooth out my wrinkled shirt. I’d be making a pit stop in the airport bathroom to brush my teeth and hair and change from the shirt to a sweater. The sky looked dreary flying into the airport, but my mood was anything but.
I took my phone off airplane mode and texted Ian that I’d landed. I stared at the phone’s display until the response bubbles popped up.
Waiting for you out front
Butterflies swarmed in my belly, and I squeezed my eyes closed. I could do this. The most important thing right now was being with him and supporting him. I could compartmentalize the other stuff just like these pods in first class separated me from the other passengers. I could do a TED Talk on compartmentalization.
Once off the plane, I hit the bathroom and fluffed myself up—teeth, hair, a little makeup, a spritz of perfume. I didn’t want Ian to take one look at me and regret his decision.
I sailed through customs, and a burly guy the size of a brick wall met me in the baggage claim area. He introduced himself as Jovan, Ian’s bodyguard and driver.
All I had to do was point out my bags on the carousel, and Jovan, with the serious black beard, grabbed them and hoisted them to safety, as if they were Barbie suitcases.
He reached for my carry-on, and I clamped it to my side. “I’ll keep it, thanks.”
“The car’s just out front.”
Ian probably hadn’t wanted to come inside to meet me and cause a stir. Of course, now that I didn’t have to hide from Matt anymore, I didn’t care if the paps caught us.
Matt hadn’t asked many questions about how I was finagling a monthly payment from Ian, and I wouldn’t have told him the truth, anyway. It was always best to play your cards close to the vest when it came to Matt.
The sliding doors parted, and we stepped outside into the cool air, me following the brick wall. He pointed up ahead to a black sedan with tinted windows. “Car’s right there.”
I swallowed and kept putting one foot in front of the other. The car door swung open, and Ian stepped outside with a bouquet of yellow roses in one hand. All sense and reason evaporated, and I ran full tilt toward him.
He braced himself for my assault and didn’t even stagger when I threw myself against his chest and wrapped my legs around his waist. He hugged me tightly and spun around with me in his arms, saying my name over and over. When he set me down, he cupped my jaw with one hand and rained kisses down on my wet face. What could I say? I was a sap for happy reunions.
When Jovan slammed the trunk of the car, Ian and I jumped, and then laughed. It felt good to laugh with him. We got into the sedan, which was much more reasonable than the one he’d hired in LA for the concert. No minibar.
He handed the roses to me, and I buried my face in their petals, inhaling the soft, powdery scent. But I’d rather smell him. I put the bouquet on the seat beside me, and leaned against him, my nose planted in his neck. Yep, still smelled the same—masculine, fresh, and a little spicy.
Running my hand through his short hair, I said, “You cut it.”
“Do you like it? I can grow it out again.”
I shook my head. “Suits you. Sets off your jaw line, even with the beard grown out.”
“You’re wearing your hair straight today.”
He wound a lock of my blown-out hair around his finger.
“Easier to keep neat on the plane. Do you want me to go wavy?”
Wavy hair was nothing. I’d probably tattoo his name across my...chest, if he asked me to.
“I like it both ways.”
He glanced at Jovan in the front seat, tugged on my hair to pull me close, and whispered. “I like it wavy and wild when we’re in bed though.”
I didn’t need further invitation. I snuggled next to him, hooking my leg over his, and we snogged our way out of Heathrow Airport, our hands wandering here, there, and everywhere.
By the time I came up for air, Jovan had driven us to the outskirts of the city. Peering out the window, I peppered both Ian and Jovan with questions about the area for about an hour straight until Ian tapped on the glass and said, “And that’s an English cow.”
I punched him in the arm. “Very funny.”
A sign at the side of the road caught my attention, and I bounced in my seat. “Look, Milton’s cottage. You never told me you lived near Milton’s cottage.”
“Not sure I knew I did.”
He scratched his beard. “Who’s Milton? Jovan?”
Jovan adjusted the rearview mirror. “That’s John Milton, the writer, from I don’t know...two hundred years ago. His cottage is open to tourists.”
Ian sank is head in his hand. “Oh, God. Not John Milton of ‘Paradise Lost.’”
“Is there another?”
I put my hand to my chest and quoted, “This paradise I give thee, count it thine.”
“Jovan, help me. You’re going to make me take you there, aren’t you?”
“That would be nice, but I can go by myself. It’s close? Are we almost to your place?”
“About three kilometers.”
I tilted my head. “After a ten-hour plane ride, you’re gonna make me do math? What’s that in miles?”
“About two. We’re almost there. Are you tired? Hungry?”
Horny. “I’m a little tired. I could probably go to bed.”
I winked at Ian, and he gave me that crinkly-eyed smile, so I knew I’d really made him happy.
A short time later, Jovan drove up to a tall gate with trees on either side. He left the car idling and hopped out to enter a code set on a stone pillar on the outside of the gate. By the time he got back into the sedan, the gate had slid open to reveal a long driveway.
I sat forward in my seat and oohed and ahhed at the beautiful, Georgian-style, brick-fa?ade house that sat at the end of the driveway. Long windows lined up symmetrically on either side of the dark green, paneled front door with fanlights at the top. I breathed out, “It’s gorgeous.”
“The house is great, but I bought it for the grounds. It sits on about five acres. There’s a pond, stables, but I don’t have any horses, and a swimming pool.”
“A swimming pool in England? That’s...optimistic.”
Jovan parked the car and as he handled my suitcases, Ian ushered me into his home. I crept inside on my tiptoes. The modern interior was at odds with the exterior, but the furnishings were light, airy, and tasteful.
With my head tipped back, admiring the vaulted ceilings, I remarked, “You’re like a real adult, living in a real adult house, and it’s so sparkling clean.”
“Your house is an adult house...and I have a housekeeper, Sharon, who manages everything.”
He took my hand and pulled me down two steps into, what I’d call a family room. As he nuzzled my neck, he said, “I want to fuck you in every room in this house. Let’s start right here.”
I wriggled out of his grasp. “Ugh! I’m not having sex with you in my condition. I feel gross. I’ve just been on a plane forever in the same clothes, breathing stale air, wrapped up in a blanket. I’d like to take a shower first.”
“Then onto the master suite, m’lady.”
He swept me up in his arms and charged toward the stairs. He took them two at a time without breaking a sweat or breathing heavily.
He nudged open the door to a large room, masculine but not heavy or dark. The scent of the room mirrored Ian’s own—woodsy, spicy, and fresh. He set me down on the patterned rug that covered the gleaming hard wood floor.
“This is our room, baby. Bathroom’s that way—don’t be long.”
The look in his smoldering brown eyes almost had me abandoning the idea of a shower and getting down and dirty right there and then, but he gave me a little push and turned and walked out of the bedroom.
***
Twenty minutes later, I stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom on a rush of steam and lilac and tripped to a stop at the sight of a naked Ian splayed out on his bed, one arm behind his head, propping it up, his legs open, one leg bent, his hand stroking his massive erection, and a huge smile on his face.
My toes curled against the floor. “Is that smile for me, cowboy? Or is it for that hand between your legs?”
“Why shucks, lil’ lady. It’s for both.”
His Texas accent wasn’t half bad. “So, why don’t you mosey over here, saddle up, and ride ur cowboy.”
That was the best invitation I’d had in a long time. I let my towel drop to the floor with a swish, and sprinted toward the bed, jumping on the foot of it, landing at his feet.
“Whoa, there, missy. I admire your enthusiasm, but you don’t wanna crush the...cojones.”
“Your Spanish is as impressive as your...”
I nudged his hand aside and trailed my fingers along his stiff, smooth cock “...Western accent. You’re quite multi-lingual.”
“I’d like to show you how multi-lingual I can be.”
He stuck out his tongue and wiggled it. “And your hand feels loads better than mine.”
I leaned forward to kiss his dirty mouth and gasped as I spotted the ink on his chest. He hid the tattoo quickly with his hand.
“You rat.”
I smacked his hand. “Remember that time I told you to keep this beautiful expanse of flesh ink-free?”
I ran my hands over his pecs, which were even more chiseled since the last time I’d felt him up. Hopefully, he’d been exorcising his sorrows with exercise instead of drowning them with drink.
“Do you wanna see it?”
A smile played across his pouty lips.
“I’m gonna see it, eventually, unless you plan to keep a T-shirt on in my presence.”
“Definitely not doing that.”
He slowly inched down his hand to reveal curling green vines of ivy.
I covered my mouth as tears pricked the back of my eyeballs. “That’s...beautiful and sweet. When did you get that done?”
“I designed and sketched it myself. I got it done before I knew you were coming back to me. Before that was even a glimmer of hope.”
As he traced the tattoo with his finger, he said, “You know how you always sleep next to me, with your head on my shoulder and your hand over my heart.”
He tapped the ivy tattoo. “Right here. I missed that so much, I had to put some ink on the spot.”
I slid off his body and cuddled next to him, covering the tattoo with my hand, his heart beating beneath it. He was right. That’s exactly where I’d placed it. “You know what I did to keep you with me?”
“Huh.”
I had no intention of telling him about the Ian Pope pillow. “I stole one of your dirty T-shirts before you left.”
“What?”
He drew back to look in my face. “I thought one was missing. You thief.”
“I wore it to bed most nights and never washed it.”
He crinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting, Tink, and you were worried about taking a shower after a plane ride. You didn’t pack that dirty thing and bring it along, did you?”
He spread his arms. “Because you’ve got the real thing, now.”
“Ooh, and I’m glad I do.”
I rolled on top of him again, straddling him. Enough talk. Time to get down to business.
Stroking my thighs, he asked, “Did you change anything about yourself since I saw you?”
His half-lidded eyes flicked over my body, causing a rash of tingles everywhere they lit.
“I may have done a little damage with those thirty pints of ice cream I downed when you were gone.”
Ugh. Too early in the relationship for those kinds of confessions. Not too early to get a stipend for deceiving him, but definitely too early for the ice cream revelation. I sucked in my gut.
His hands traced the outline of my body, and I sat still, afraid to breathe. “Mmm. Any extra calories from the ice cream must’ve wound up in all the right places.”
He squeezed my ass.
Had my ass gotten bigger? Then the squeeze turned into a caress, and thoughts of ice cream and calories and fat asses flew out of my brain. I rocked against him with encouragement.
“You gonna go cowgirl on me or should I do you like a proper missionary.”
“I don’t think a proper missionary would be doing the things your gonna do to me.”
He grabbed my waist and flipped me onto my back. My legs flew up in the air, and he took the opportunity to slide into my wet pussy. I didn’t need much physical foreplay with Ian, although we’d enjoyed plenty of that in the past. Our banter got me hot, and I could tell from his hard cock that it worked for him, too.
I sort of expected soft, sweet lovemaking from him after our time apart, but walking out of the bathroom to him fondling himself with that big...grin on his face firebombed that expectation. To show how much he missed me, he did me every which way and twice from behind.
I came—a lot. He came once—hard and wild.
All the activity after sitting for eleven hours wore me out. Spent, I released the hold my legs had around his hips, and my head lolled to the side. He kissed my neck. “I missed having you in bed.”
My eyelids fluttered. So tired, but I had something important to tell him.
Sitting up next to me, he said, “Get some sleep, Tink. I’ll make some dinner for later, or whenever you wake up.”
As he made a move, I reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Wait. Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Absolutely.”
He smoothed my hair back from my face. “I’m not going anywhere, Ivy.”
“Baby?”
I murmured.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He pressed his soft lips against my forehead.
Yeah, he loved me now, but he’d change his tune if he ever found out about my deal with the devil. I’d just have to make sure he never, ever found out.