Dreaming Ivy. Rhonda Lee Carver

      “Why do you have to go, Max? I’m only in town for a few days before I leave for California. I can’t believe you’re leaving me.”

      Max Shepard eyed Renee. She was his comfortable, pleasing-to-the-eye diversion. He couldn’t call what they had a “relationship.” Maybe a friendship with benefits. “I’m not leaving you,” he finally said. He turned to her, giving her tousled blond hair and slender body, outlined under the thin white sheet, a long, slow perusal. He slid her his most meaningful wink of appreciation before going back to packing his tattered leather bag.

      “But why to Morgan Sites? Where the hell is that anyway?” Her words bordered on a wail. He clenched his jaw in reaction.

      He swiped a hand through his hair and sighed. He didn’t have a relationship, with her or any other woman, because of this very reason. He couldn’t even understand why they were having this discussion. “Renee, you travel all over the country. You’re gone most of the time on modeling shoots. When you do roll into town, every few months or so, we reunite, have a drink, share dessert–usually in bed. You haven’t cared that I wasn’t around before to keep you entertained.”

      “I thought you’d be happy that I visited. It’s been months since I’ve been here last.”

      “Sure, I was happy. I was just surprised to see you.” The words came out automatically. He instantly wished he could’ve snatched them back. Sugar-coating the truth wasn’t his style–and for some reason he hadn’t been pleased that she’d dropped by unannounced. Coming home late from a book signing, he had found her waiting, naked, in his bed. Only an ungrateful ass would have complained about a sexy, available woman. But, exhausted and spent, all he’d wanted to do was fall into bed alone and sleep. Her luscious body in his king-size bed hadn’t even tempted him into adult playtime. Angry that he’d denied her, she’d gotten out of bed, stomped around the room and thrown a temper tantrum. He couldn’t give a damn anymore at that point. If she’d called first he’d have told her he wasn’t up for company. Sometime in the middle of the night she’d come back to bed.

      “Can’t you postpone your trip for one day?” She moved languorously toward the edge of the bed, causing the sheet to slide off her shoulder, in the process revealing her firm, expensive D cups.

      Her body was definitely a weapon against a man’s libido. Normally the sight of her nudity would result in a tent behind his zipper, but it just wasn’t working for him. Was he ill? After all, she was good. Not just good, but skilled at seduction. That’s what made her great at her job–seducing the camera lens.

      He glanced over her pert, pink nipples. Not one twitch.

      There was something wrong with him.

      He didn’t have time for this. He certainly couldn’t let Renee’s passive-aggressive behavior deter him from his focus. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not a pleasure trip. I’m going to be holed up in some old, dilapidated house for two weeks. And to top it off, I have a rookie journalist shadowing me.” He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to the tagalong, but in the scheme of things he really didn’t give a shit.

      An elegant groan escaped her throat. “I thought you were supposed to be alone?” She looked up at him through a perfect veil of false eyelashes.

      “I did, too. That was the plan, but damn these people in these small towns. They find a way to bust a man’s balls every time. They think their towns are separate from the rest of the world.” He sighed. “I guess if I really cared I’d say ‘screw it.’ But hell, let the woman do her job. Everyone’s got to get ahead somehow.”

      Renee’s mouth opened into a faultless O. “A woman?” Lifting a thinly manicured brow, she made an expression that he was certain had taken her years to perfect.

      It didn’t do a thing for him. He continued packing. “Yeah. So what?”

      “Should I be jealous?” She reached up and ran her red fingernail down his abs, stopping at the waist of his jeans.

      “Not unless you want to push me away.” He shot her a quick glance.

      In a soft, sexy voice she said, “If you stay, I’ll cook you a meal. Afterward, I’ll cook you.” The tip of her tongue came out, licking her plump bottom lip, as if to drive the hidden meaning home.

      He chuckled. “You cook? You don’t even know how to boil water, Renee.” His words weren’t mean to offend her, but she drew back and hammered him with a cold blue stare.

      “Oh yes, I do.” She huffed and covered her body with the sheet. He guessed it was a way of punishing him.

      “Okay, maybe you do know how to boil water.” He shrugged.

      “Three minutes on high in the microwave,” she snapped.

      Closing the suitcase and clicking the lock, he sat next to her on the bed, kissing her gingerly on the lips. “I’m sorry.” He meant it. He usually wasn’t in such a foul mood. He didn’t know what it was, but instead of exciting the hell out of him, Renee was beginning to repulse him.

      Before he could move away, she shimmied closer and burrowed her bare breasts into his chest, whispering into his ear, “Stay.”

      “I’m going.” Enough. His patience grew thin. He got up and grabbed his suitcase. “Don’t forget to lock up on your way out.”

      * * * *

      A prickle slithered up Ivy’s spine as she approached Thornton House. The place gave her the creeps. Were the rumors getting to her? She laughed. Her trepidation had nothing to do with gossip and had everything to do with the idea of sleeping with creepy crawlies and whatever else lurked in the shadows.

      The property was overgrown with weeds and sat back on a dead end road. If a person didn’t know the country roads of Morgan Sites, they wouldn’t know the three-hundred-year-old house existed. Seldom did anyone drive on the gravel road, by mistake or otherwise.

      She drove through the broken, rusted gate and took in the view of the house. The red brick two-story was only a figment of the beautiful house it had once been. The windows were overrun with foliage and years of filth. There was no life, only darkness. Weatherworn shutters hung haphazardly. A place forgotten in time.

      She frowned. Marshall said the owner had the house checked every so often for problems. There was a big problem. The house was missing underneath layers of grime and neglect.

      Ivy climbed out of her car, fighting the urge to climb back in. She inhaled and exhaled through her mouth, gaining the strength she knew she had. Two weeks would fly by. She could tolerate it. At least the place had electricity, water and a roof. It could be worse.

      She grabbed her bags out of the back seat and moved toward the house. “I must enter with an open mind.” Ivy chanted the words over and over.

      She came upon the weathered porch and stopped in her tracks. A few warped planks thrown together didn’t classify as a porch. Many of the boards were missing and she didn’t trust the ones that remained. With the toe of her shoe, she tested the first step. The board seemed sturdy. With slow, deliberate movements, she walked up the stairs and across the dry rotted timber as it creaked in protest.

      Reaching into her front pocket, she pulled out the skeleton key. When Marshall had handed it to her that morning, she’d laughed, thinking it was a joke.

      It took her three tries until the metal slid into the lock, but it still wouldn’t turn. She struggled as irritation swirled in her stomach. She had a second’s worth of patience left when the bolt finally clicked. The heavy door screeched with age as she pushed it open. It stopped halfway. She pushed, but it wouldn’t budge. There was only enough opening for her to slip through.

      Apprehensive,