Chapter 22
IVY
I’d been half hoping that Ian would join me in the Jacuzzi. Maybe all I needed to exorcise the bad juju of this place was a good fuck. This flat had done a number on me, plucking all my strings. Why wouldn’t Ian have a bachelor pad in London? The past month, he’d made the ninety-minute trip back and forth only because I was at the house. Of course, he wouldn’t do that all the time.
The news of his relapse earlier today had affected me more than I’d admitted to him...or myself.
I studied the skin on my hands, wrinkled like a prune. I couldn’t wait for Ian any longer. I shut off the jets and flicked the drain open with my big toe. I shivered as I stood up to grab my towel from the cold rack. I’d have to speak to management about installing towel warmers in this dump.
As I stepped from the tub, Ian entered the bathroom, naked, because of course. “Damn, I was just going to climb in with you.”
I wiggled my puckered fingers in his face. “I couldn’t stay in another minute.”
He moved toward me and took the edges of the towel. “Let me help you.”
He trailed the towel down my chest and rubbed my tits, cupping them from beneath and massaging them.
I arched my back in encouragement and whispered, “Twice in one day. You think you can handle it?”
He blew a puff of air from his lips. “That was hours ago.”
He swiped the towel between my legs and then dropped it, replacing the terrycloth with his fingers. He teased my clit, bringing me to the brink of my climax. My knees weakened, and I dug my fingers into his shoulders.
I took me by the waist and pulled me toward the vanity, facing the mirror. He bent me over the counter and growled, “Spread your legs.”
The command in his voice made me wetter than the water in the tub. I obeyed, and he moved behind me, stroking my ass with his hard cock. With his voice rough with desire, he said, “Look at me in the mirror.”
I raised my gaze to the glass, and his brown eyes smoldered as they sought mine. As we locked onto each other, he spread me open, easing his cock into my pussy. I lunged forward with his first thrust, and he reached around and shaped my breast with his hand. He pebbled my nipple with his thumb and forefinger, withdrawing and then plunging into me again, lifting me off my feet.
He slowed down. “Argh, I can’t last when you’re looking at me like that.”
He slid his hand from my boob to my pussy and found my clit still throbbing from his previous attentions.
Talk about not lasting. Two flicks later, I was coming all over his hand and grinding my ass against him. He exploded inside me, and squeezed his eyes closed for a few seconds, the only time we broke our visual contact.
When he finished, he stepped back, creating a separation between our bodies, and ran a finger down my spine to my tailbone. “I like watching us fuck. We need to get a mirror for our bedroom.”
“Bow-chicka-wow-wow. Maybe a round bed and red velvet hangings while we’re at it, Duke Hammer.”
I laugh-snorted at my own joke, and he laughed with me, picking me up from behind as I kicked my legs in the air.
For the first time since entering this bachelor pad hellhole, the stiff tension between us dissolved. Ian’s therapist obviously didn’t understand the therapeutic value of a solid shag.
***
I survived the night, safe in Ian’s arms, and the following morning, he got up early to work out in the gym downstairs. He returned to me still lounging in bed like a lady of leisure.
As he finished dressing, he said, “I’m going to pick up something to eat on the way to the studio. Do you want me to come back here first and drop off something for you.”
“I can figure it out. I’m not that hungry.”
“You can use the gym, if you like.”
“Pass.”
I plucked my phone from the charger and scrolled through my email. “I might just check out that exhibit at the British Museum you mentioned.”
He gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s a great idea. Explore on your own.”
“I see what you’re doing.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s a big museum. I’m sure there are many visits in our future.”
“Great.”
He grabbed his shoes. “Did you call Chloe?”
“Not yet. It’s about one in the morning for her. I’ll give it another nine or ten hours.”
He sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes and cranked his head over his shoulder. “You know, I selfishly never thought about it, but you must be a little homesick.”
Flicking back the covers, I crawled toward him and balanced my chin on his shoulder. “Wherever you are is home to me—even in this God-awful townhouse.”
“I mean, if you want to invite Chloe out here for a visit and your friend Diego, that’s cool. I’ll pay for their airfare, and they can even stay in this...”
He waved his arm around the luxuriously appointed bedroom with views of the Thames “...God-awful place.”
“That’s sweet.”
I kissed him on the side of his neck. “I’ll ask them.”
“No, you won’t. I’d have better luck calling Chloe myself and inviting her.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“You never take anything from me, not even a coat, which you definitely need for our weather, and you wouldn’t be in our weather if it weren’t for me.”
His words hit like darts to the chest, and I fell back against the pillows. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue taking money from him...or his record company. Maybe he wouldn’t care if I told him. He didn’t seem all that thrilled with his label, Vivant, anyway. I tickled his back with my toes. “My coat’s fine, and I’ll ask Chloe and Diego if they want to visit. Maybe they’ll come to the British Museum with me.”
“Brilliant idea.”
He kissed me goodbye, making a fuss over how I’d get to and from the museum and where, how, and when I’d get breakfast. He left me his credit card on the dresser with instructions to use it for everything. As if I needed to buy anything at the British Museum.
After he left in a flurry, I stood frozen in the middle of the cavernous sitting room, wearing his T-shirt, staring out the window at the gray expanse of sky. I had to tell him the truth. He deserved that.
The payments had shut Matt down. He wasn’t threatening me or Ian anymore, but if I admitted everything to Ian, Matt would have nothing to hold over me. Ian would tell me to hit the road, and Matt could do his worst.
How hard would it be to spend fifteen years in federal prison for bank fraud? I’d get a lot of writing done there. Pretty sure they had a gym, library, maybe even a frozen yogurt machine.
Any scandal Ian faced from his association with me would fade away after a month or two. Hell, it might even increase sales for him. And all it would cost me was...everything.
I spun around and stomped to the bedroom, pulling Ian’s T-shirt from my head. Maybe I could wait until the first single dropped. Everyone would be so hyped about Ian’s new music, they wouldn’t notice that his girlfriend...ex-girlfriend was a felon. Of course, it might leak that his record company was paying that girlfriend to...sleep with him. Oh, that would be bad.
I showered and changed into the clothes I brought with me. Ian had left his credit card next to my jewelry on the dresser. I ignored it as I put on a couple of rings, including my mom’s engagement ring she’d left behind when she bailed on us. When I reached for my gold hoop earring, I knocked it from the dresser, and it flew into the air.
After scouring the floor with no luck, I dropped to my hands and knees to get a closer look. I peeked under the dresser and then crawled to the bed. The duvet had slipped down on this side, and I flipped it up to peer beneath the bed.
The earring had landed next to a bit of clothing, and I snagged it with my finger. I dragged the item from under the bed and held it up in the air. Screaming, I dropped the pair of silky black women’s underwear.
***
Silk road, silk panties. I stared at the decorative sheath and dagger from ancient Korea inside the glass, and violent thoughts gamboled across my brain. I’d never asked him about the champagne in the fridge. He told me he drank whiskey. Who had drunk the champagne? The owner of the thong?
“No way.”
“Excuse me, luv?”
The old woman standing next to me eyed me up and down from behind her giant glasses.
I gestured at the dagger. “Just hard to believe somebody would use something as beautiful as this to slit someone’s throat. That would have to be a really special murder.”
The woman’s eyes widened, almost bug-like behind her glasses, as she sidled away from the crazy Yank.
Ian was not the cheatin’ kind. Despite his overall gorgeousness and the nearly naked underwear ad I discovered he’d done a few years back, I had never felt one ounce of jealousy or suspicion about him with other women. We had phenomenal sex. Nobody cheated on that.
I tried to brush aside the little voice that whispered in my ear that I hadn’t been around for about a month. I hadn’t been around when he fell off the wagon. Hadn’t I read that he’d had sex in the bathroom of a club with some random woman during his drinking days?
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out in front of the bronze Buddha. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the text from Ian asking if I was having a good time and telling me the session was running over, and he’d be later than expected. My finger hovered over the display and then I shoved the phone back into my jacket. Was he going to be late because he was fucking someone else in London?
I shook my head. I was just spiraling now. There had to be an innocent explanation for the panties. He had two sisters living in England; maybe one had borrowed the flat. I’d ask him when I came back. Just clear the air.
Unlike me, he didn’t lie.
My stomach growled as I wandered through the display of the spice route, which detailed all the different foods that were introduced around the world thanks to the Silk Road. So, when I reached the end of the display room, I headed downstairs to the café.
I’d been too numb this morning to stop for breakfast and too distracted to think about lunch. I entered the half-empty café and stood in a short line to order. I decided on some soup and a cup of tea, and smacked down Ian’s credit card to pay for the eight-pound tab. Let him pay for my lunch for putting me through this agony.
When I picked up my soup, I headed for a corner and settled on the plastic chair. I pulled my phone from my pocket and saw that Ian had texted me a question mark. I pressed my finger on his previous text and gave him a thumbs up.
I slurped a few spoonfuls of soup and checked the time on my phone. I counted backward on my fingers and figured it was late enough to call Chloe. I needed a sounding board.
Holding my breath, I tapped her number. Please answer.
Three rings later. “Ivy, what the fuck? It’s the middle of the night here. Wait, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
I almost sobbed at the sound of Chloe’s irritated voice. “And it should be about six AM there, not the middle of the night.”
“It feels like the middle of the night.”
I held the phone away from my ear as rustling, smacking noises came over the line. “Chloe?”
Chloe whispered, “Be right back, babe.”
I asked, “Where are you going?”
Chloe, her voice louder now, snapped back. “Not you. Someone’s in my bed.”
“Not Trent.”
“God, no. It’s Cryptobro.”
“I thought you...”
I closed my eyes and took a sip of my tea “...never mind.”
I couldn’t keep up with Chloe’s revolving door of men since she and Trent broke up.
“Are you calling me because I called you earlier? I didn’t want to text or leave a message, but you didn’t have to call me back so early in the morning.”
“Yes and no.”
I chewed the corner of my lip. “I mean, you go first. Why’d you call? And why didn’t you send me a text message?”
Chloe gasped. “You saw it, didn’t you?”
“Saw what?”
Chloe couldn’t possibly know about the black undies.
“That blind item on PopWiz.”
I poured more hot water over my teabag. “The who on what?”
“PopWiz. You know that account on Instagram that posts blind items about celebrities.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Chloe. That’s why you called?”
Chloe cleared her throat. “I have something to tell you, and I didn’t think it was appropriate for a text message—or a voicemail.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “You’re getting married.”
“No!”
“You’re pregnant.”
“No!”
Chloe clicked her tongue like a schoolmarm. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
My voice squeaked.
“Okay, I’m just gonna say it.”
Chloe took a deep breath, apparently marshaling her nerves. “Remember, I told you I was joining that exclusive dating site—BlueFin.”
“I remember. Better class of guys, yada, yada.”
I stirred my soup, wondering when Chloe was going to get to the point and what it all had to do with me and PopWiz. Had that site posted something about me?
Chloe continued. “I got accepted.”
“Congratulations. Did you match with Austin Butler? Why is this about me?”
“I’m getting to that. I created my profile, and there’s a chat you can join with other female members—and boy was there chatter.”
“About what?”
Chloe’s words began to permeate my brain and take shape. Celebrity gossip. Celebrity dating site. My palms got sweaty, and my hand shook when I picked up my teacup.
“About Ian Pope. He’s on BlueFin.”