Page 18 of Taming Ivy
“I think you’ve rarely experienced rejection, my lord.” Ivy needlessly straightened the pages of music again.
“Ah, so you’ve heard some tales, have you?”
She shrugged. “Your reputation is no secret, I’m afraid, notwithstanding your absence from England.”
“One should not put much stock in gossip tattle.” A hint of ice lurked in his words.
“I agree.” A hard edge shimmered in Ivy’s response. “However, your turn at rejection is the subject.”
“Alright, it rarely occurs.” Sebastian conceded with a reluctant grin. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how to react upon being spurned. Am I to beg for mercy and pray you reconsider? It would be best if you just agreed. To spare my tender feelings, of course.”
“Other plans, my lord,” was her breezy reply. “I fear I shall be quite tied up.”
A rocketing, mental image of Ivy blindsided Sebastian. She lay sprawled on snowy white sheets. A silken length of black cloth lashed her in place, and she was unable to escape as he tasted her. Pleading, begging him to come inside, to enter her, to make love to her, she writhed against his mouth and holy hell, he wanted to slaughter, in the most violent manner possible, the fool brave enough to take her to the opera in his place.
With a slow deliberateness, he murmured, “I shall withdraw to lick my wounds, little butterfly.”
Ivy regarded him for a long moment, her eyes big and soft. Without realizing it, she leaned closer to him, her gaze traveling over his features. Sebastian held his breath when she bit her bottom lip in concern.
“Why do you call me that, my lord?” Reaching out, she touched gentle fingers to the small cut on his lip. “Little butterfly?”
“Bloody hell.”He froze in place as if struck by a sudden arctic freeze.
Ivy jerked away at his barely audible groan. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Sebastian captured her hand, feeling her quiver as his thumbs smoothed over the softness of her palm. Another improper gesture he dared, but she did not stop him nor did she pull away. Why did she have to touch him? What was she thinking? He knew whathewas thinking, and it was tying him into hot, twisted knots of lust. He needed to regain control of himself. “I think, just when a man believes he has captured you, you flit out of his reach. A butterfly no one has managed to cast a net over because they do not understand the damn rules for hunting butterflies. And there are rules, Countess.”
Her eyes were round as saucers, her breath barely existent as he wove a spell about her. “What might those be?”
“Butterflies must decide to come to you. And when one flutters close, you patiently wait for her to land. You remain perfectly still and gain her trust before gently placing the net over her.” Sebastian’s voice was a deep, entrancing force of nature and she hung on his every word.
Ivy smiled. “I'm not sure if I should be charmed or alarmed.”
“Tell me what concerns you.”
“Perhaps the fact you might throw a net over me when I least expect it.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I would take great care not to hurt you. You see, I’ve no interest in the destruction of beautiful creatures, and capturing a butterfly is an interesting prospect. A collection of delicate things gives a man pleasure.” His hand lifted to cup her cheek. “The trick is to keep the butterfly alive while taming her.”
Ivy’s breath grew shallow. It was quick and warm where it feathered his wrist. Then she stunned the hell out of him.
“Would you like to know what I think, Ravenswood?” When he nodded, Ivy continued. “A friendship will benefit us both.”
Did Ivy mean what he thought she meant? Damn it to hell. He was now unquestionably off balance. Her soft words scorched his body. Holding her hand, touching the silk of her cheek, and Sebastian knew he was in danger of going up in flames. Underestimating her allure was a grave mistake.
“If we are to be friends, I insist you call me by my given name,” Sebastian managed to say in a normal voice. His fingers itched to plow through her hair, to hold her still while he kissed her until she forgot her own damn name in a whirlwind of pleasure.
A genuine smile spread across Ivy’s face while he ground his teeth in frustration. How many men had she deployed this particular tactic against? It was a devastating weapon, used with tremendous skill. That smile of hers, men would kill for it.
Or die for it.
“We should not stand upon formality,” Ivy said softly. “So, you must call me by mine.”
“The more informal, the better.” God, Ivy Kinley was enchanting and magical. She could not be oblivious to the sexual connotations of his statements, nor of how he touched her. He could pull her to him, crush her beneath his body. Rip her clothes away with his teeth, plunge between her legs. He’d never felt such an overwhelming attraction to a woman before. Perhaps it was the thrill of battle, but he wanted her with a bewildering intensity. All the advantage had shifted into her small, wicked hands and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.
“Is your invitation to the opera still open? This is probably quite shocking, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Very little shocks me,” Sebastian murmured with husky promise. “You will be glad you reconsidered. I’ll make sure of it.”
