me.”
“What does that say about me?” Grant asked, slapping his
chest where his heart should be. After the previous night, giving her hope only
to snatch it away, she was pretty sure he had no heart. “Don’t worry. You’re
equally gorgeous in a much more rugged way. I almost made an exception because
you tip well and wear boxer briefs.” Ivy climbed into the golf cart. “I feel like
I dodged a bullet where you’re concerned. Can I drop you somewhere?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I think the walk will
do me good.”
Chase me if you want me . “Suit yourself.”
“Who are you seeing tonight, if I may be so bold?” he asked.
“I’ve decided to take Adam Griswold up on his putt-putt
offer.” No one would ever mistake Adam for a beautiful or gorgeous man. She
lurched forward in the cart, leaving Grant behind her, but not his scent in her
mind or his image in her heart.
Chapter Eight
Watching Ivy’s cottage from his front porch the night before
had become a sick obsession. She’d traipsed in well before nine—alone. He’d
watched her lights switch on one at a time and then subsequently off. He went
for a run after that to clear his mind. Logic told him to distance himself from
her, from the situation, especially now that Dirk Fallon was off the table.
Give her room to breathe and to meet an available guy. He’d adopt the out of
sight, out of mind philosophy.
How’s that working for you, pal?
Grant took a deep breath and knocked on her open office
door. He admired her open-door policy. She could keep an eye on who passed by,
hear the activity and she’d be approachable to staff and guests. When he’d
offered Ivy the job, he hadn’t expected her to be a great manager, but she was.
Ivy looked up from the work spread out on her desk and
stopped chewing on the end of her pen. “Mr. Mayor,” she drawled. Her eyes were
bright and alert from her early evening. Her tone conveyed indifference. “What
brings you here?”
Logic should have told him to have an excuse at hand for
stopping by instead of telling him to distance himself, because that advice
hadn’t stuck. “I thought you wanted to knock around some ideas.” He pretended
to swing at a baseball with his imaginary bat. Very smooth .
“Have a seat. Please.” She gathered up her papers and
arranged them in a file while he sat across from her desk. “I think there are
some simple, inexpensive things we can do as far as promotion.” Ivy absently
flipped her silky hair, and then leafed through a spiral notebook as he nodded.
“Social networking sites, for starters. Totally free. Easily maintained.”
“Interesting.” The citizens of Mystic would have a
collective seizure, starting with his own wolf pack. The last thing they wanted
were “norms”, as they called them, loose in town. Sure, there were a few
scattered in the rural areas. That couldn’t be helped. A few day-trippers now
and then came to see the hot spring and the falls. Mystic couldn’t keep
themselves off a map. If only. The world was getting smaller and Mystic was
becoming more accessible, like it or not.
“We need amenities,” she continued. “Cable TV by satellite
or something. And more planned activities. How about a social mixer on Friday
nights, or a happy hour for singles? Ladies’ night, maybe. Some kid-friendly
activities too.”
He nodded. “Uh huh.”
She folded her hands—tightly, judging by her white
knuckles—in front of her. Knuckles she’d probably like to rap against his
skull. “Suggestions? Comments? Objections?” she asked.
He simply liked watching her lips move. Is that so wrong? The sound of her voice soothed him, almost like her words petted him as her
fingers once had. He folded his hands on his lap to hide the erection her scent
caused. “No. Go on.”
“Is there someone else I should be talking to about this?”
Her annoyance bled through her words. “Someone higher up? Your boss? Mr.
Atwood, perhaps?”
He
“What does that say about me?” Grant asked, slapping his
chest where his heart should be. After the previous night, giving her hope only
to snatch it away, she was pretty sure he had no heart. “Don’t worry. You’re
equally gorgeous in a much more rugged way. I almost made an exception because
you tip well and wear boxer briefs.” Ivy climbed into the golf cart. “I feel like
I dodged a bullet where you’re concerned. Can I drop you somewhere?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I think the walk will
do me good.”
Chase me if you want me . “Suit yourself.”
“Who are you seeing tonight, if I may be so bold?” he asked.
“I’ve decided to take Adam Griswold up on his putt-putt
offer.” No one would ever mistake Adam for a beautiful or gorgeous man. She
lurched forward in the cart, leaving Grant behind her, but not his scent in her
mind or his image in her heart.
Chapter Eight
Watching Ivy’s cottage from his front porch the night before
had become a sick obsession. She’d traipsed in well before nine—alone. He’d
watched her lights switch on one at a time and then subsequently off. He went
for a run after that to clear his mind. Logic told him to distance himself from
her, from the situation, especially now that Dirk Fallon was off the table.
Give her room to breathe and to meet an available guy. He’d adopt the out of
sight, out of mind philosophy.
How’s that working for you, pal?
Grant took a deep breath and knocked on her open office
door. He admired her open-door policy. She could keep an eye on who passed by,
hear the activity and she’d be approachable to staff and guests. When he’d
offered Ivy the job, he hadn’t expected her to be a great manager, but she was.
Ivy looked up from the work spread out on her desk and
stopped chewing on the end of her pen. “Mr. Mayor,” she drawled. Her eyes were
bright and alert from her early evening. Her tone conveyed indifference. “What
brings you here?”
Logic should have told him to have an excuse at hand for
stopping by instead of telling him to distance himself, because that advice
hadn’t stuck. “I thought you wanted to knock around some ideas.” He pretended
to swing at a baseball with his imaginary bat. Very smooth .
“Have a seat. Please.” She gathered up her papers and
arranged them in a file while he sat across from her desk. “I think there are
some simple, inexpensive things we can do as far as promotion.” Ivy absently
flipped her silky hair, and then leafed through a spiral notebook as he nodded.
“Social networking sites, for starters. Totally free. Easily maintained.”
“Interesting.” The citizens of Mystic would have a
collective seizure, starting with his own wolf pack. The last thing they wanted
were “norms”, as they called them, loose in town. Sure, there were a few
scattered in the rural areas. That couldn’t be helped. A few day-trippers now
and then came to see the hot spring and the falls. Mystic couldn’t keep
themselves off a map. If only. The world was getting smaller and Mystic was
becoming more accessible, like it or not.
“We need amenities,” she continued. “Cable TV by satellite
or something. And more planned activities. How about a social mixer on Friday
nights, or a happy hour for singles? Ladies’ night, maybe. Some kid-friendly
activities too.”
He nodded. “Uh huh.”
She folded her hands—tightly, judging by her white
knuckles—in front of her. Knuckles she’d probably like to rap against his
skull. “Suggestions? Comments? Objections?” she asked.
He simply liked watching her lips move. Is that so wrong? The sound of her voice soothed him, almost like her words petted him as her
fingers once had. He folded his hands on his lap to hide the erection her scent
caused. “No. Go on.”
“Is there someone else I should be talking to about this?”
Her annoyance bled through her words. “Someone higher up? Your boss? Mr.
Atwood, perhaps?”
He
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