The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,3

by several inches, even in her high-heeled boots, which put him at well over six feet, and she could see that his arms were muscular underneath his jacket. He wore a smile though and Phoebe didn’t feel threatened so much as aware, hyperaware of his presence.

He was every inch a male and was assessing her, conducting a slow survey, starting with her face, running down the length of her body, and back up to her face. He stopped there, his gaze lingered, narrowing, and then a slow grin spread over his face.

Phoebe could only guess that he liked what he saw because he rocked forward a bit on his feet and leaned in.

She found herself pinned to the wall by a set of the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen. They were set in a tan face, a face that obviously spent a good deal of time outside. His hair was black, an inky, undiluted black. Dark brows slashed across a wide forehead, which ran down to a straight nose and then tapered to full lips and a charming cleft chin.

“It needs some work,” Phoebe admitted, because it was true and the only thing she could think of saying. Witty responses had never been her thing, especially when faced with a grin like that—cocksure and confident—which had a strange, tingling warmth spreading over her. She’d never had such a physical reaction to the very presence of a man before.

He touched the wall with the palm of his fist, and she could hear the plaster gently falling down behind it.

“Please stop wrecking my house,” she said, feeling her heart pump a little faster.

“That was just a light touch.” He took a step closer and she almost wanted to rear back.

“You need to leave right now,” she said, trying to hold firm. She had felt an instantaneous shock of attraction and knew that she needed to get rid of him.

“Sorry, the door was open. I thought I heard someone crying for help, so I just let myself in. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen through the floor or something like that.” His tone was light, joking.

He laughed then, and the grin came quickly and he looked almost mischievous. “It was probably just the cry of a seagull. Were you down by the beach?” He took a step forward and Phoebe felt the need to step back, but she stopped herself, holding her ground.

She shifted the leather bag she was holding from one hand to the other and almost back again before she stopped herself. What had Savannah said? It is the small gestures that give you away. It was her way of saying never let them see you sweat.

Because this guy was making Phoebe sweat. Not nervously, as in he wasn’t a creep or causing her to wonder why she was alone in an empty house with him, but more along the lines of how she couldn’t stop herself from looking at his beautiful face, or the way, even in the jacket, she could see how his waist tapered in and then how his long, powerful legs were encased in his jeans. She hadn’t been this aware of a guy in a long time and the feeling was totally disconcerting.

He moved closer and she caught the scent of him. Something woodsy and spicy, just a hint of soap, nothing too overpowering. God, she was a twenty-eight-year-old woman, not some teenager, and already she could feel her heart start to flutter.

His eyes glinted down at her and Phoebe wished that she had closed the top button of her blouse, but to do anything now except meet him head on would betray the way he was making her feel.

“Can I help you with something?” She lifted her chin and met his eyes boldly, the way Savannah had told her to. Phoebe had never been much for channeling her inner femme fatale; still, the man had the grace to look a little ashamed that he had been caught staring.

“You just remind me of someone. Not sure who. Do you get that a lot?”

Phoebe smiled, but her back stiffened. It was a question she got so often that it annoyed her. Too bad, because before he had gone for the obvious line, she had felt that spark of interest on her part, her vivid imagination working overtime, wondering just how his wide, sensual lips might feel brushing against hers.

“Not really,” she demurred, while cursing the Ryan genes that showed so plainly in her face.

“Are