Facing the Music (Rosewood 1)
“Ivy,” he whispered against her lips before tasting her again. The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver through her body. Goose bumps shot up across her skin, her breath coming short and rapid from her lungs. His every move, every touch, combined to build an aching arousal she couldn’t fight.
The cart jerked into motion again and they started their descent to the ground. Before prying eyes could see, they reluctantly pulled apart. Ivy straightened up in her seat, tugging her blouse down and smoothing her hair.
“Is my lipstick . . . ?” she started to ask, but stopped when she looked at Blake. Plum Passion was smeared all over his lips. It wasn’t exactly hi
s color, either. “Oh dear, you’ve got my lipstick all over you.”
The cart stopped again, giving Blake time to reach into his pocket and fish out an extra napkin from earlier. He wiped away every trace of the lipstick, leaving his skin a little pink from the rubbing. “Better?”
“Yes. What about me?”
“Beautiful as always,” he said, shoving the napkin back into his pocket.
The cart continued down, and a moment later they arrived at the bottom to unload. Climbing off the ride, Ivy couldn’t shake the sudden realization that they were on a date. This wasn’t their first date at the fair. They’d gone together for several years in high school and college. It was tradition.
But this time, she felt conflicted about it. Of course she thought Blake was handsome; she always had. And they had forgiven each other for the wrongs they’d done. But what was the point? In a little over a week, she was headed back to California. Her life was there. His life was here.
And yet her lips, and several other places, still tingled from that kiss. It made her realize that in the past few years, she hadn’t been well kissed. Most of the men she’d dated recently were high profile enough that women flung themselves at them. They didn’t have to be good. They didn’t have to try.
Kissing was a skill highly underrated by men. Most didn’t seem to realize there was a perfect balance of mouth openness, saliva, tongue, suction . . . it wasn’t very romantic when you thought about it that way, but it made a difference. Having her head swallowed or nearly gagging on a guy’s tongue was not sexy.
Blake’s kiss . . . that was sexy.
“Are you okay?”
Ivy looked up to see Blake at her elbow, his brow knit with concern. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “You just looked a little . . . unsteady.”
Yes, his kiss had made her quite literally weak in the knees. “You know me and heights,” she said dismissively. “I get a little shaky.”
Blake nodded, but she could tell by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” she said, looking around for her camera-toting shadows. “I think I’d better go while I can.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Blake said, cupping her elbow to lead them through the crowds to the exit. “I don’t want one of those creeps following you out there in the dark.”
“Thank you.” They made their way out of the fairgrounds and into the big, grassy lot where all the cars were parked.
“It’s not entirely altruistic,” Blake admitted as they neared her rental.
Ivy fished her keys out of her purse and unlocked her door. She pulled it open and tossed her bag inside before she turned back to him. “What’s in it for you?” she asked. “Another kiss?”
Blake shook his head. “We can’t have that with all those reporters roaming around. I made the most of my time on the Ferris wheel for a reason. But I did want to ask you a question.”
Ivy smiled coyly, feeling the strange rush of youthful romance coming back to her. “And what’s that?”
Blake planted his hand on her car and leaned in. “I wanted to know if you would go to the prom with me. Again.”
Chapter 11
“What about this one?” Pepper held up a hot pink taffeta bridesmaid’s gown. “It’s got a big bow on the butt.”
Ivy wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t care if it is a retro prom, there will be no bows on my ass. I don’t need it to look any bigger than it already is.”
Earlier Friday afternoon, Ivy had picked Pepper up and they drove to Birmingham to scope out a few thrift stores. There wasn’t much of a market for vintage fashion in Rosewood, so this was their only hope. They had to find dresses and fast, because Ivy had to be back in Rosewood by five to judge the beauty pageant.
She hadn’t given much thought to what she would wear before, but now that she had a real date for the prom, things had gotten a little more serious. She plucked a turquoise dress off the rack. It was floor-length with big, puffy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.