Ivy and the Cop (Power Play) Read Online Free Page A

going to work. One night didn’t change that. It couldn’t possibly. “No.”
    “No?” The hurt on his face was unbearable. Ivy looked away, closing her eyes, but his words washed over her anyway. “I thought you’d changed your mind about… about… my being a cop…”
    “Fantasy, remember?” she reminded him softly. He made a sound, like she’d punched him. Well, she kind of had, hadn’t she? Still, his hand fell over hers, squeezing gently.
    “Don’t do this.” It was as close as Patrick ever came to begging her. She’d heard him use the tone one other time—when she’d broken it off with him two years ago. “Just… let’s see each other in the light of day tomorrow. Have coffee. Talk.”
    “I can’t,” she whispered, the words reflexive, in spite of her feelings. The truth was she wanted him, had always wanted him, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. She’d rather make the choice to let him go than get a call in the middle of the night telling her that her husband was dead.
    He reached for her, pulling her close, and she let him kiss her. One last time , she told herself. His mouth was soft, pleading, urgent, even desperate, and she clung to him, wanting what he did too, but the gap between reality and fantasy was, for her, an unbridgeable one.
    “Please,” he whispered into her hair, but he let her go when she shook her head, her throat too thick with tears to speak. Grabbing her purse from the floor, she opened the door, preparing to flee.
    “Ivy.” He touched her arm and she stopped, but didn’t look back at him. “Let me call you. Tomorrow.”
    “No,” she whispered, willing her tears not to fall, not yet. “No, please, don’t. I can’t. I can’t.”
    She stumbled up the driveway toward the house, feeling as if she had just ripped out her own heart and left it behind. Inside, her father was waiting, ready with a lecture—the tow truck driver had called to ask which mechanic they wanted him to drop it off to—but she was barely listening. Instead, she watched out the window, waiting, and when Patrick pulled out a few moments later, she wondered if he knew that he’d just driven away with her heart.
    * * * *
    “Don’t forget to feed the horses!” That was the last thing her father said before he left, like she hadn’t heard it a hundred times already. Her parents were going to some sort of college reunion thing down in Detroit and would spend the night in a hotel. She’d gotten the rundown a dozen times on fire escape routes, where the flashlights, batteries, candles and matches were in case the power went out—never mind the clear, cloudless skies—and even had to endure a lecture about how to call 911.
    “Dad, I think I know how to work a phone!” Ivy had protested with much eye-rolling and sighing, but he’d gone on to remind her about the escaped prisoner—his picture had been all over the local news—who had yet to be located. Long gone, Patrick had said, and he was probably right. Who in their right mind would hang around this tiny little town?
    A thousand reminders, and of course, she forgot to feed the horses.
    It wasn’t her fault, she reasoned as she glared, bleary-eyed, at the clock over the mantle. It was after midnight! The TV was still on, Letterman interviewing someone Ivy didn’t recognize with his unmistakable nod and gap-toothed grin. She blinked in disbelief at the remains of her comfort-food feast strewn on the coffee table in front of the sofa she was sprawled across. It was PMS. That’s what she’d told herself while she mixed up a batch of chocolate chip cookies to go with her mother’s macaroni and cheese. So it was comfort food—but what did she need comfort for?
    It wasn’t like she’d been moping around the house for days since Patrick dropped her off at home that night. It was just that she didn’t have a car. Patrick, of course, had been right. It was the alternator. Not that it mattered to her father, who lectured