“I just figured out your pen name,” he says, claiming a seat at the table next to me. “Ivy Miller is Ivan Casey, the bestselling author of the Vampire Agents of Nashville series. And Ivan doesn’t have a photo on his website or book covers. I love that series, by the way.”
“You are quite the detective yourself, now aren’t you?” I ask, “but I don’t really hide my identity. Not anymore. I do signings and events.”
“I can’t believe it’s really you.”
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been writing this series for seven years, my reaction is the same to this kind of attention. I still to this day feel a flutter in my belly when fans rave about the series, followed by a mix of excitement and shyness. There is a surreal feeling, too. As in—can this really be my life?
“It is me, but not many people know that and because I’m a little shy and awkward in these kinds of moment, I need to fill the space with something other than me.” I slide the plate toward him. “Cookie?”
“How about dinner?” he asks. “I promise not to ask you a million cliché questions about your writing. I’ll limit myself to a hundred.”
I laugh. He really is quite charming. I should say yes. I mean, he’s everything a girl could want, but the idea of dinner alone and a movie appeals to me. Maybe I am broken. I open my mouth to speak, not even sure what I’m going to say, when there is a distinct crackle in the air. My gaze lifts to the doorway to find Eli standing there and what a force of nature he is. Tall, striking, big—so very big, in every way, including his energy. He steals my breath. His piercing blue eyes meet mine and to my shock, there is a distinct possessiveness in his stare.
But there’s more.
There’s something primal and angry.
CHAPTER SIX
Ivy
The room is suddenly hotter or maybe that’s just my skin.
Jacob shifts and rotates to find Eli standing behind him and instinct, self-preservation perhaps, has him standing. “Hello,” he says, offering Eli his hand. “I’m Jacob Waller.”
Okay, scratch the instincts and self-preservation. He’s clueless. Eli glances at him, the look in his eyes steel. Awkward seconds tick by and still he just looks at him. He also ignores his hand. He’s not a big hand shaker, apparently. He’s obviously not a big Jacob fan, either. His gaze lifts to mine and he says, “Our reservations are in fifteen minutes. Would you like a glass of wine while we wait?”
Our reservations.
My mind and head spin. There is much about last night that is confusing and a bit cloudy. Did he invite me to dinner and I forgot? Did I fret all day over him blowing me off and he didn’t, in fact, blow me off at all?
He arches a challenging brow, almost as if he dares me to deny our date. I don’t want to deny a date with this man. I don’t want to deny this man anything, which is crazy, insane, unlike me in every way. I’m reserved. I’m a hard nut to crack and yet, I’m naked right now, naked without even undressing.
“Wine sounds lovely,” I say softly.
Satisfaction burns in his eyes and he shifts his attention back to Jacob. “Ask for her autograph while you still can.” With that remark that demotes Jacob to nothing but a fanboy, Eli turns and exits the doorway.
I almost call after him to tell him I prefer something sparkling, but Jacob’s staring at me with an appalled look on his face. “I’ve made myself a nuisance. I’m sorry. I’m embarrassed.”
His discomfort is palpable and I’m immediately sympathetic, eager in every way to ease his pain. “Oh please,” I say. “Don’t be. And you are not a nuisance. You are quite engaging, and I would love to hear more about your business. You might just inspire a character in a book.”
He motions toward the spot Eli just left. “I doubt he would appreciate that.”
“Nonsense,” I say. “He’s just hungry. You know how some people get when they’re hungry. And I’m around for a couple of weeks. When do you leave?”
“I’m here another three days.”
“Then we’ll see each other again,” I promise.
“Later then,” he says warmly, relief washing over him, or at least that’s the emotion I read. Though I’m not sure why relief is at play at all. “Have a nice dinner. The food downstairs is exceptional.” He exits the room.
There’s about a thirty-second gap before Eli reappears, holding two glasses in his hand. One is some sort of whiskey. The other is a sparkling glass of wine. I blink at it and look up at him, stunned that he’s chosen my favorite type drink. He sits down in the seat formerly occupied by Jacob. He sets his whiskey on the table and then offers me the glass.