Author: J. Saman
Category: Contemporary
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/j-saman/page,52,558335-start_again_series_a_billionaire_romance_box_set.html
My mouth pops open, and I feel bile rise up my throat. He’s on a date with another woman not even twenty-four hours after professing his love for me?
That, and he’s clearly told this woman who I am, or at the very least my name.
“Ivy, did you hear me?” Roberto asks, tearing my attention away from the staring game I have going with this woman and I spin around to face my date.
“No,” I say, not bothering to lie.
I need to get out of here. Now. I can’t sit and pretend to enjoy a meal with a man I already cannot stand when Luke and his date are directly behind me.
“I need to leave. I’m not feeling well.” I don’t even apologize to him as I hastily grab for my purse that is slung over the back of my seat.
“Are you okay? Should I take you home? I mean, I ordered that sake and I’d hate to waste it.”
I laugh out humorlessly. “No, you stay and enjoy your meal.” I stand up carelessly, nearly tipping my chair back onto Luke’s date. I realize how this must look to the two of them, but right now, I can’t find it in me to care.
What a bastard.
And to think I was considering hearing him out.
God, I’m so stupid.
I rush past Roberto, heading for the front of the restaurant, so thankful that both Luke and his date were further back than us and I don’t have to pass them as I flee.
Bursting through the glass door and nearly knocking over a woman as I do, I realize I need to get a grip. I’m being so overly dramatic, and that’s just not me. So what if he’s on a date? So what if he’s a lying piece of shit wanker arsehole?
So what?
He’s allowed to date anyone he’s keen on, and so am I. That’s all there is to it.
It was an exceptionally warm day today, but with the sun having gone down, any residual heat seems to have gone with it. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I scan the street, desperately searching for a taxi, but come up empty.
Of course, never when you need one.
I pull out my phone to order an Uber when I hear my name being called. Luke followed me out. Why would he do that?
I shake my head, running down the street toward the busier intersection, my heels clicking against the cement sidewalk as I go.
“Dammit, Ivy, wait!” he yells after me. “It’s not what you think.”
I throw my hand up in the air. “I don’t care, Luke, it doesn’t matter,” I call out, increasing my speed. Feeling so absolutely foolish, I just want to get home and soak in the tub with a bottle of wine and pretend tonight never happened.
By the time I reach the intersection, Luke is hot on my heels, but in this moment, I realize God is indeed a woman, because someone is hopping out of a taxi two feet from me.
“Ivy! Fucking wait!” Luke tries again, reaching for my arm, but I manage to yank it away from his grasp, and he just stands there, staring at me in disbelief with grief-filled eyes. “It’s not what you think,” he repeats, but I hold up my hand again, to stop him from continuing.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He shakes his head furiously, fisting his hands into his hair like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.
He’s too late.
I slide onto the nasty plastic back seat and slam the door shut with authority, telling the driver to go. As we drive away, I can’t help but crouch down so I can turn and watch Luke without being overly obvious about it.
He’s running his hands through his hair still, and it looks like he’s cursing up a storm. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and that’s when the cab takes a turn and I lose sight of him.
My phone rings in my hand and I realize I’m still holding it.
Of course, it’s him. Should I pick up? Hit ignore?
Dammit!
I hit ignore because I have nothing to say to him.
I’m so worked up right now. So perfectly enraged that my vision is practically hazy with it.
Sure, I’m livid with him, but that’s not what really has me squirming uncontrollably in my seat. I’m so exasperated with myself it’s not even funny.
When did I become this woman?
When did I allow a man to unhinge me like this? Allow myself to become unglued at the sight of my ex-boyfriend on a date?
Never again, Luke Walker. Never again.
29
Ivy
* * *
My phone rang a total of six more times and I ignored every single one of them. I realized last night that I don’t have a lot to say to him that hasn’t already been said. Our situation is what it is and that’s over. But in the back of my mind, in the darkest recesses of that vulnerable place we all like to pretend doesn’t exist, I was hoping he’d come to me.
He didn’t, of course, and I continuously flipped back and forth between being relieved and disappointed.
So I slept, albeit restlessly, but now I’m awake, antsy, and unsettled.
I debate getting up and heading to the gym in my building, but in the end, decide it would make me feel better to run some of this off in the fresh air. Grabbing my water bottle, keys, phone, and headphones, I open my front door only to have something large and heavy tumble into my apartment.
It takes me a second longer than it should to realize that Luke is the mass that just rolled onto my floor. It seems he slept in the hall outside my apartment last night, because he’s still wearing the same clothes I saw him in on his date.
“Jesus Christ, Luke, get up.” I nudge him with my foot, and he stiffly pulls himself off the hardwoods, stretching out like a cat. “Did you sleep out there all night?”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Yup. All damn night. And let me tell you, your door is really uncomfortable. The hall floor isn’t much better either.”
“And it never occurred to you to knock on the door, say what you needed to say, and go home?”
“No, because I knew you would just slam the door in my face and that wouldn’t do. I figured a sneak attack was the best approach.”
His eyes rake over me, a wolfish smile slowly creeping up his face as he notes my sports bra and yoga pants.
“Holy hell, you look hot. Are you going for a run?”
“Please go home; I’m late.” I head out my door, but he snakes his arm around my waist, pulling me into him, my back to his front. His nose sweeps up my exposed neck as he inhales deeply, making me shiver, and I know he feels my response.
“Cinnamon and vanilla,” he hums. “Did you know that’s my absolute favorite scent? Probably because it’s yours, but it really is something else.”
Rolling my neck to brush him off, I yank on his firm grip, trying to get him to release me.
“It’s not what you think,” Luke whispers into the shell of my ear. “The woman last night, she wasn’t a date. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the fact that you were jealous.”
Jutting my elbow back, I connect squarely with his flank and he lets out a very satisfying oomph.
“I wasn’t jealous, you tosser. What you do and who you do it with is your business, not mine.”
He chuckles that husky chuckle of his, and I erupt in chills.
Damn him.
“You’re a terrible liar, darlin’. Always have been, but I like that about you.”
“Leave, Luke, I mean it.”
He moves toward my front door, but at the last second, grabs me, pinning me against the wall the same way he did the other day at my parents’ house.
“It wasn’t a date, Ivy. That woman was my sister, Elizabeth.”
Oh. No wonder she looked slightly familiar. I realize now that they have the same eyes.
Oddly, knowing he wasn’t on a date doesn’t make me feel any better.
Luke’s forearms are pressed against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in once again. His face is so close to mine, his eyes dark glowing with desire and desperation.
Tilting my chin up to look him squarely in the eye, I say ever so calmly, “Did you know that I n
ever knew you had a sister?” My eyes narrow. “Are you aware that I know absolutely nothing about you? Nothing.”
He sighs like this deflates him completely. “I know. I’d like to change that. I have so much to tell you, baby, and I wish you’d give me that chance. I want to tell you. I want to tell you things I’ve never told anyone. I thought a lot about this all week—all year—and though it won’t be easy, I think maybe, possibly, I’d like to try. I would have told you sooner, but I was afraid you’d leave me if I did.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay, I’m lying. I didn’t want to tell you, and I still don’t, but I’m willing to if that’s what you need. I’m willing to put almost everything out there for you.”
“Almost everything?”
“This isn’t the place for this, and in all honesty, I hadn’t planned to have this conversation with you yet. I just wanted to see you. That was all. But I realize the only way you’ll ever consider trying again with me is if I tell you. If you decide to leave me for good after that, then I’ll understand, and I’ll let you go. For real. I want you happy, Ivy, and if you feel that you can’t have that with me, then I guess I have to come to terms with that.” He’s practically rambling now, and I’m having trouble keeping up. “But I can’t tell you everything. There are things I may never be able to tell you. That’s why I let you leave. I was trying to protect you. I was trying to do the right thing for once. But I’m not noble and I’m not good for you. I’m a danger to be near, and you’re so pure and sweet and innocent and I’m . . . not.”
“You’re not making any sense right now.”
“I know.” He grins, though this doesn’t feel like the moment for levity. “Let me cook you dinner tonight, and we can talk.”
“I need to think about it. And I need you to leave because now I’m really running late and I’ll hardly have enough time to exercise before my shift.”
“I’ll walk you down,” he says, removing his arms from my wall and taking my hand.
I know I should pull away.
I know I should push him out the door and lock it and never look back.
That’s what the smart, responsible Ivy is telling me to do anyway, because his little speech back there? Yeah, that’s setting off all sorts of warning bells. He had mentioned some of that to me before when we took that nightmare of a ride on the Big Wheel.
He’s afraid I’ll leave him if I know the truth.
He’s a danger to be near.
He’s not good.
All of those should have me running from him, yet I’m oddly intrigued.
It’s like solving a mystery or finishing a ridiculously complex puzzle. Certain things are impossible to walk away from until you know how they finish, and Luke Walker may just be one of those things for me.
We step into the empty elevator and I press the button for the second floor where the gym is located, because now I don’t have enough time to go out for a run. The second the doors close, I feel that indescribable electric current. That palpable tension that sends your heart into overdrive and the best sort of tingles to hum all over your body.
He feels it too. I know he does, because his breathing has become erratic and his fingers twitch against my hand with restraint. He wants to grab me. He wants to push me into this wall and have at me. He wants to—
“Screw holding back,” he mutters before he does every one of those things all at once.
Luke grasps my shoulders, pushing me into the unforgiving elevator wall before he presses his long muscular body against mine. His hands cup my cheeks, drawing my face to his before he slams his lips to mine.
I gasp in a flash of surprise, but that sensation is instantly replaced with passion and desire, and fucking longing. He’s kissing me like he’s reclaiming me. Like he’s branding me to him, removing every single one of my arguments with each pass of his lips.
It’s so unbelievably easy to push sensible, sane judgment aside when you want something. It’s so unbelievably easy to rationalize why something that feels so right is not a mistake.
So that’s what I do, because that’s how he feels, like the best sort of mistake.
Moving on from someone or something that feels unfinished is impossible.
And that’s what Luke is.
Unfinished.
How do I turn away from that?
“Ivy,” he moans against my mouth as he delves deeper, gliding his tongue against mine. Holding me firmly in place, his body and hands shake with need. “Oh baby, I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” he groans against my lips before his mouth consumes mine again, his hard body pressing into me in a way that should be illegal. In a way that’s so unbelievably satisfying, I can hardly stay upright.
A moan slips out from the back of my throat, which he greedily swallows down before the bell on the elevator dings, announcing our arrival on the second floor.
I push him back, that bell the slap of realization I needed.
Luke licks his lips as if he’s savoring my flavor before taking my hand and pulling me off the elevator like a small child in need of assistance. Maybe I am, because my legs feel like jelly and walking is a chore.
Wordlessly, he leads me down the hall, past the indoor pool and over to the gym before he presses me up against the wall adjacent to the glass door. He’s smiling at me like the cat who ate the canary, and though I don’t want to, I mean really don’t want to, I’m smiling back.
“I’ll see you tonight. Eight-thirty?”
“No.”
“No?” he chuckles, hovering over me.
“No,” I repeat.
“Why not?” He’s still smiling, but his expression is incredulous.
“Because eight-thirty is too late. I need to eat before that.”
“Okay,” he laughs, leaning into my neck and blowing his warm breath against my already heated skin. “What time does my girl want to eat then?”
“I’m not your girl, and I’d like to eat at seven-thirty.”
“Seven-thirty it is not-my-girl. Anything in particular you’d like?”
“It’s your house, Luke, you decide the food.”
“But not sushi,” he grins. “Who was the asshole last night?”
I’m shocked it’s taken him this long to ask.
“My date,” I say simply.
“Elizabeth told me he hit on her after we ran out, so I don’t think he’s the guy for you.”
“Probably not,” I muse, thinking back on Roberto. “Will Elizabeth be there tonight? Do I get to meet her?”
Luke shakes his head. “No, she only stopped here because Seattle was her layover. She’s on business in Juno, Alaska of all places this week. You can meet her when she stops in on her way back.”
I rest my head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling as I let out a sad sigh. Where did my vigor go? Where is my perfectly crafted and calculated resolve to hate this man forever?
“Is she your only sibling?”
“Yes, she is.” The hard note to his words has me dropping my chin to read his expression.
“And your parents?” His eyes turn to granite, and I can only watch as he shuts down.
“Not here, Ivy. I can’t—” He breathes out harshly. “Fuck, I have to work myself up to that and even then I don’t know if . . .” He steps back, lowering his head to look at the tan carpet, his clenched fists perched on his hips. “I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Do what?” I take a step toward him.
“Tell you about my family. Tell you about me.” He spins around and slams his fist into the opposite wall–his injured hand at that–but he just shakes it out like it was nothing. Thankfully, the wall is no worse for wear. “Dammit.”
“Luke?” He doesn’t move, but his shoulders are rising and falling like he just sprinted a marathon. “Look at me, please,” I say evenly.
It takes him a moment, but he does.
He twists back around and looks me dead in the eyes. His jaw
is locked tight, and his hands are balled into such tight fists that his knuckles are white, except for one that is oozing a little blood again.
“Go home and shower. You’re a mess from sleeping outside in the hall all night and your hand could use a new bandage. Then you need to go to work. Then you need to cook me something really fantastic—like lasagna.” I get a hint of his lopsided grin, dimple and all. “We’ll chat, and you’ll tell me some stuff, and I’ll tell you some stuff, but there are no promises or guarantees here. This last year was rough, and I don’t know if I can look past that.”
He nods, but doesn’t say anything else before he stalks off down the long corridor and into the elevator that never left.
And once I’m clear of his spell, once I can no longer smell him or feel him against me or see those brown eyes that seem to look into me instead of at me, I regret agreeing to dinner.
He says he wants to talk to me, to tell me things, but he doesn’t.
He says he’s changed, but he hasn’t.
And maybe he does love me. Maybe he’s serious when he says that, but I’m not sure it really matters.
The first time he walked out my door, I didn’t exactly put too much thought into it, even though I was hurt. I mean, it was a one-night stand after all, and I was foolish for expecting more.
But the second time nearly destroyed me and I can’t do that to myself again. I just can’t.
I had a professor at university who once told me that love and fear are the only things that make the world work. Of course, being young and impetuous, I challenged that notion instantly, but he explained that oftentimes it’s the love of something—like money, material possessions, or power—and the fear of losing them, that command people to act. That love and fear are really the only two things that can forever alter a person, whether for the better or worse.
That theory has always stuck with me, and every now and then, I find myself trying to refute it.
But right now, those are the only two emotions warring inside of me.