The waitress magically appears, interrupting what I might’ve said next by setting our drinks in front of us and I release my grip on Ivy’s hand. We both thank her, our smiles polite and false. I see the way Ivy sneaks glances at me. Like she thinks I might’ve lost my mind.

I probably have.

The tension that has been brewing between us returns tenfold the moment the server makes her escape.

If I wasn’t so damn agitated I might find it amusing, how Ivy took such a big gulp of wine, nearly draining her glass before she leans across the table. “You just can’t come out of nowhere and demand I work for you, Archer,” she whispers. “I answer to someone else. I just can’t up and do what you want me to at the snap of your fingers.”

“I already have approval from your boss.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “What?”

I nod slowly. “I spoke with Sharon earlier. Explained my situation, how much I appreciate and am inspired by your talent, and knowing how busy she is, I would love to hire Paxton Design to work on this project for me. With the sole purpose of having you lead it.”

She sucks in a harsh breath. “So I’m working for you.”

“She cleared your schedule for the next two weeks. It’ll be an intense, rushed job, but I know you can do it.” I do. She’s smart. Her employer had nothing but wonderful things to say about her, not that I’m surprised. Ivy is amazing.

So amazing, I can’t stop thinking about her.

“What if I don’t want to be a part of this project? What if I don’t want to work directly with you?”

Damn, not the answer I expected from her. “Does it bother you?” Pausing, I study her, drinking in all that dark hair waving past her shoulders, her beautiful but shrewd gaze, her lips pressed together as if she’s afraid she’s going to say something she’ll probably regret. “We’ve already done this, Ivy, and we were pretty damn compatible. Would it be such a hardship, having to spend time with me?”

Her jaw drops open, and she glances around as if she wants to make sure no one’s listening before she leans across the table. “If you’re implying that I’m going to have sex with you, you couldn’t be further from the truth. Been there, done that, don’t want to go through with it again.”

“Ouch.” I rub my chest, surprised by her words. Why, I’m not sure. I asked for them for saying all that. “Harsh.”

“It’s the truth,” she retorts, draining the last of the wine in her glass. “God, I need a refill.”

“I’ve made some mistakes. A lot of mistakes,” I correct myself when she narrows her eyes, looking ready to blast me. “The biggest one is how I’ve treated you. I’m sorry I haven’t called or contacted you since we were last together. I’ve been—busy.” And too chickenshit to make the first move.

She rolls her eyes. “Like I was sitting beside the phone waiting for your call. Please, Archer. Don’t flatter yourself.”

She’s extra feisty tonight, which I assume means she’s extra mad at me. I need to tread lightly. “It’s not that I was purposely ignoring you, you know. I’ve been swamped trying to put this new resort together.” It’s the best excuse I have—and the truth, for the most part. Hopefully she believes me.

Thankfully she doesn’t acknowledge what I said. “Explain the new location. I’d love to hear more about your little secret,” she says, settling back into her chair as if she’s going to stay awhile.

Excitement rises within me. Her wanting to hear about it means she’s interested. And once I get her fully hooked, she’ll be on board to happily work with me. I know it. “It’s the ultimate in luxurious comfort. Every need will be taken care of at the Calistoga location. It’s a more intimate resort that caters exclusively to only a handful of couples at any given time. Couples that are looking to put intimacy back into their relationship. Even sexual intimacy.” I stress the last two words.

“A swingers club,” she states flatly.

I shake my head, chuckling. “Hell, no. What sort of pervert do you think I am?”

Ivy doesn’t say a word, just arches a delicate brow in challenge.

I sigh and shake my head. “Fine, I’m a pervert. But I don’t run a swingers resort, Ivy. There’s no swapping with others or wild orgies going on at either location. It’s all about a one-on-one level.” Ironic, considering I have no clue what that’s like.

“Then what exactly is this new place supposed to be?”

“It’s whatever your heart desires,” I say softly. “Whatever your lover wants. Hence the name Crave, considering it fits so perfectly. A discreet, comfortable safe place where you can discover your secret fantasies, indulge in your secret wants. The new location will provide whatever you might need, no questions asked.”

Her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide. She looks almost . . . aroused. “It sounds—interesting.”

I smile. Damn, she’s beautiful. “It is. Very interesting.”

She remains silent, tracing the stem of her wineglass with the tip of her index finger. I fixate on that finger, how delicately she touches the glass, the short, darkly painted nail. My skin suddenly feels too tight, I’m getting hard from watching her finger for the love of God. Taking a deep breath, I try to regain some control.

But hell, I’m dying to feel those fingers all over my body again . . .

Leaning across the table, I lower my voice, ready to cut to the chase. “I need you, Ivy. I want you to bring a sexy, sophisticated touch to my resort.”

A little sigh escapes her. “You’ve already arranged it with Sharon. Why feel the need to ask me?” She sips from her wine, her gaze steady on me over the rim of her glass.

“Because I want you to willingly work with me. I know I should’ve told you first before I spoke to Sharon, but I was getting desperate. I’m running out of time and I need to get this project finished. And I trust you.” It’s the truth. I hardly trust anyone. I definitely don’t trust any women. They’re all the same.

Except for Ivy.

Reaching for her hand again, I press my palm against hers and entwine our fingers. Hers are slender, delicate, and I swear they tremble in my grip. A jolt moves through me at the connection, as if my body missed being touched by hers. “Say yes, you want to work with me.”

“It’s not that easy . . .”

“Say yes,” I repeat, refusing to take no for an answer.

“I shouldn’t. I should be mad that you went above my head and made it happen anyway, with or without my approval.”

I smile, feeling cocky. “Come on, you’ve never been able to resist me.”

She tries to extract her fingers from mine but I squeeze tight, not about to let her go. “You’re such an ass.”

“You think I wouldn’t use that to my advantage?” I lower my voice. She’s going to kill me for saying this, but I’m overcome. Having her hand in mine, our fingers laced together. I’m gripping her so tight, I feel like a desperate man. I haven’t forgotten her no matter how hard I try. “I absolutely cannot get the last time we were together out of my mind.”

“Please. We haven’t spoken since. Until today.” She glares at me with narrowed eyes, tugging against my hold, but I refuse to release her. “You know, I really can’t stand you. Seeing you tonight only reiterates my feelings.”

I don’t doubt it for a minute. Most women hate me once they get to know me.

Not Ivy. She knows all my faults yet she still wants to be with me. Or at least she used to. I want that again. The closeness, that connection I share with no one else. She somehow understands me, she always has.

I know for a fact that not many people do.

“Fine, hate me all you want. Just say you’ll do this.”

“It’s not that easy for me to walk away from my life, you know. I have responsibilities. And what if Sharon’s mad that you did this?” I smooth my thumb across the top of her hand, and she releases a shuddering breath. “I’m asking for trouble, working with you.”

“Ivy, please.”

Her eyes widen at my choice of words. I rarely say please. I just take what I want. But please is not working with Ivy at this very moment. She looks ready to run.

“Archer . . .”

“Please, Ivy,” I say again. “I need you.”

Chapter Ten

Ivy

“IT’S HARD FOR me to believe you’re serious.” He’s driving me crazy with how he’s touching me. I can’t think. And the way he’s looking at me isn’t much better.

At this very moment his sole focus is on me. That penetrating dark gaze of his locked on my face. As if nothing and no one else matters. All that intensity is tough to deal with.

Of course, he wants something from me. Not like he can be a complete ass and expect me to be agreeable.

Despite my instinct to scream No! and flee the restaurant, I take this moment to study him, my gaze roving over him greedily. He’s wearing a black sweater that stretches across his chest, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His dark hair gleams beneath the soft glow of the lights shining from above.

More than one woman has glanced in his direction since I sat down. Power, wealth, authority, it radiates from Archer in palpable waves. Funny how I can forget that when I’m not around him. How potent he is to my well-being.

Couple all that potency with a devastatingly handsome face and outrageously sexy body, no woman is immune.

Including myself, as much as I’m loath to admit it.

“What’s so difficult for you to believe? I’ve already gotten your boss’s approval. We’re ready to move forward.” He smiles, drags his thumb across my knuckles yet again. A bolt of heat rushes through me at the seemingly innocent touch. He knows what he’s doing to me, how he affects me. This is an act to make me agreeable.

Stupid idiot that I am, I’m falling for it despite the warning bells screaming inside my head. “For how long again?”

“Two weeks tops.”

How simple he makes it sound. He snaps his fingers and makes it all happen, just like that. Could I really stand to be around him for any extended length of time? I have no willpower when it comes to Archer. He’s a weakness of mine. Like indulging in too much chocolate and bad movies on a Sunday afternoon.

Only a million times worse.

“And Sharon readily agreed to this without protest?” I found it hard to believe. She needs me around, she’s so busy. I don’t know how she can afford to let me go, even if it’s only for two weeks.

“The prestige of her design company working with Hush and Bancroft is more than enough incentive for her to have you come work for me.” He pauses, the confident expression on his face downright breathtaking. “You really think she’d refuse me?”

Could anyone refuse him? He’s a Bancroft, after all. And so arrogant with it, I wish I could tell him no. Just once. Right now would be the perfect time—but the opportunity he’s offering me is just too tempting and Sharon would kill me if she’s already agreed. He knows it too. “What you’re suggesting . . . it’s crazy. You really think we can get this project off the ground and ready in two weeks?”

“We can do whatever we set our minds to. Just say yes, Ivy.” His gaze drops, landing on my mouth, where it lingers a fraction too long. My lips literally tingle, as if he physically touched them.

Extracting my hand from his grasp, relief floods me as I finally break the physical connection between us. When he touches me, I can’t think. I have a problem thinking when he’s looking at me too, so I drop my gaze. Study the tablecloth in front of me, which is a stark, pure white, made of fine, thick linen.

That I’d rather contemplate a tablecloth shows how powerful Archer’s influence is on me. God, I’m weak when it comes to this man.

His sinfully deep voice breaks through my thoughts. “Stop playing this game, Ivy. It’s going to happen.”

Sighing, I reluctantly lift my gaze. “Fine. When do we leave?”

“Tonight?” He flashes that dazzling smile, the one that dissolves my panties. Sexy, no-good jerk.

Grabbing my wineglass, I drain it, my skin instantly warming from the alcohol. I’ll definitely need more wine to get through the rest of this evening. “No way. Tomorrow.”

“All right. Tomorrow works,” he drawls. “But it’ll have to be first thing. I have a few stipulations too.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’ll need you to consult with me on everything. Every choice, every decision you need to make. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but there’s a certain aesthetic I want at both locations and I need to ensure your choices meet that aesthetic.”

I nod once. Nothing unusual there. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

“And if I don’t like what you suggest, you won’t try to convince me otherwise. I have final word.” He wraps his fingers around his beer bottle and brings it to his mouth, taking a drink, gorgeously sexy when he swallows, which is insane.

He makes me insane. His scent, the way he watches me with that calculated, hot gaze. His mere presence warms my skin, sets fire to my blood. Floods me with memories of our one amazing night together. I both cherish and hate those memories.

And he’s drawing out the suspense on purpose. I’m literally sitting on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear what he might say next. “I also want you to move in with me,” he finishes once he sets the bottle down.