Page 41 of Redeem Me

My blood pressure is higher than the Empire State Building, my stomach twisted tighter than a tornado, and a thick lump in my throat threatens to choke me.

What is it about Ivy fucking Winters that has me in knots?

She defies me at every turn.

Challenges me.

Now she’s going on a date with my fucking brother.

I should sack her with immediate effect. But that would mean not seeing her sexy little ass swaggering around my house, which is probably marginally worse than seeing it, wanting her, and hating myself for it.

I want her more than is good for either of us.

But I don’t date.

I fuck.

And I really shouldn’t fuck her, no matter how badly I want to. I’m no good for her. I certainly can’t give her what she wants – not in the long term, anyway. Orla and Owen traipse out into the garden, where I’m still reeling from Ivy’srevelation. Owen has that damn teddy under his arm again. ‘Dad, I have a ‘fession.’

‘It’s okay, buddy. I’ll go sort the sheets, don’t worry.’

‘Thanks, Daddy. I’m sorry.’ He hugs my legs.

‘Don’t be sorry, it’s an accident. Accidents happen.’ Like accidentally plotting to murder my kid brother and locking my nanny in her bedroom. She did say being tied up is her favourite fantasy.

Rian might be closer in age to Ivy, but that does not make him more suitable. He’s a blatant manwhore. If Ivy wants to settle down and find a husband, she’s wasting her time with him. ‘Come on, let’s get some breakfast.’

The house is always peaceful on Sundays. The only staff are the security at the front gate. I prefer it this way, but I can’t manage the kids on my own and hold down my business.

‘Where’s Ivy?’ Orla glances round the kitchen.

‘It’s her day off,’ I remind her.

‘Do you think she’ll want to come with us today?’ Orla asks hopefully.

On Sundays, we usually lay flowers on Isabella’s grave before going to my parents’ for dinner, although mine are out of the country, so I guess we’ll be eating out. My parents idolise Owen and Orla, as do Isabella’s. Every few weeks, the kids go to Isabella’s parents for the night.

‘No, sweetie, she has plans.’ Even if she wasn’t going on a date with my brother, I’m pretty sure she would rather do anything in the world than visit my wife’s grave.

I can’t stop her going out with Rian, or anyone else. I shouldn’t try. The other night was a one-off. I can’t keep getting her off to stop her from getting it elsewhere.

Can I?

‘Daddy, can we watch TV?’ Owen pleads. They’re only allowed TV in the mornings at weekends.

‘Okay, buddy. Just for half an hour.’ That should give me enough time to persuade Ivy not to go out with my brother.

I switch on the big TV in the lounge and get the kids a second bowl of cereal. ‘I’m just going upstairs to get dressed. Shout if you need me, okay?’

Neither Owen nor Orla reply, both already engrossed in a high-pitched cartoon.

I stalk up the stairs and head straight to Ivy’s room. Her exotic pomegranate scent lingers in the air, luring me in, as the sound of her tinkling laughter travels through the thick oak door.

‘Great, I’ll see you then,’ she says. It’s enough to send me charging in like a two-thousand-pound Charolais bull.

Ivy’s hair is wet from her shower. She’s wearing nothing but a tiny white towel tucked around her torso. Her eyes widen as I stride across the room. Without heels on, she’s tiny compared to my six feet four. I want to scoop her up into my arms and keep her there, but I can’t.

‘You can’t be serious.’ My voice is cold enough to send goosebumps scattering up her arms.

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