Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

18. Caelon

Chapter Eighteen

CAELON

My blood pressure is higher than the Empire State Building, my stomach twisted tighter than a tornado, and a thick lump in my throat threatens to choke me.

What is it about Ivy fucking Winters that has me in knots?

She defies me at every turn.

Challenges me.

Now she’s going on a date with my fucking brother.

I should sack her with immediate effect. But that would mean not seeing her sexy little ass swaggering around my house, which is probably marginally worse than seeing it, wanting her, and hating myself for it.

I want her more than is good for either of us.

But I don’t date.

I fuck.

And I really shouldn’t fuck her, no matter how badly I want to. I’m no good for her. I certainly can’t give her what she wants – not in the long term, anyway. Orla and Owen traipse out into the garden, where I’m still reeling from Ivy’s revelation. Owen has that damn teddy under his arm again. ‘Dad, I have a ‘fession.’

‘It’s okay, buddy. I’ll go sort the sheets, don’t worry.’

‘Thanks, Daddy. I’m sorry.’ He hugs my legs.

‘Don’t be sorry, it’s an accident. Accidents happen.’ Like accidentally plotting to murder my kid brother and locking my nanny in her bedroom. She did say being tied up is her favourite fantasy.

Rian might be closer in age to Ivy, but that does not make him more suitable. He’s a blatant manwhore. If Ivy wants to settle down and find a husband, she’s wasting her time with him. ‘Come on, let’s get some breakfast.’

The house is always peaceful on Sundays. The only staff are the security at the front gate. I prefer it this way, but I can’t manage the kids on my own and hold down my business.

‘Where’s Ivy?’ Orla glances round the kitchen.

‘It’s her day off,’ I remind her.

‘Do you think she’ll want to come with us today?’ Orla asks hopefully.

On Sundays, we usually lay flowers on Isabella’s grave before going to my parents’ for dinner, although mine are out of the country, so I guess we’ll be eating out. My parents idolise Owen and Orla, as do Isabella’s. Every few weeks, the kids go to Isabella’s parents for the night.

‘No, sweetie, she has plans.’ Even if she wasn’t going on a date with my brother, I’m pretty sure she would rather do anything in the world than visit my wife’s grave.

I can’t stop her going out with Rian, or anyone else. I shouldn’t try. The other night was a one-off. I can’t keep getting her off to stop her from getting it elsewhere.

Can I?

‘Daddy, can we watch TV?’ Owen pleads. They’re only allowed TV in the mornings at weekends .

‘Okay, buddy. Just for half an hour.’ That should give me enough time to persuade Ivy not to go out with my brother.

I switch on the big TV in the lounge and get the kids a second bowl of cereal. ‘I’m just going upstairs to get dressed. Shout if you need me, okay?’

Neither Owen nor Orla reply, both already engrossed in a high-pitched cartoon.

I stalk up the stairs and head straight to Ivy’s room. Her exotic pomegranate scent lingers in the air, luring me in, as the sound of her tinkling laughter travels through the thick oak door.

‘Great, I’ll see you then,’ she says. It’s enough to send me charging in like a two-thousand-pound Charolais bull.

Ivy’s hair is wet from her shower. She’s wearing nothing but a tiny white towel tucked around her torso. Her eyes widen as I stride across the room. Without heels on, she’s tiny compared to my six feet four. I want to scoop her up into my arms and keep her there, but I can’t.

‘You can’t be serious.’ My voice is cold enough to send goosebumps scattering up her arms.

‘I’ve never been more serious.’ Her wide lips part and all I can think about is slamming my mouth over them. But I won’t. Because while I’ve kissed between her legs, kissing another woman’s mouth feels too intimate. Too meaningful. Less like a transaction of pleasure and more like a sign of genuine affection. Because the last mouth I kissed was Isabella’s. And because, while I’m a wealthy man, when it comes to intimacy and affection, I have nothing. I give nothing and I expect nothing. I don’t deserve it, and I don’t want it.

Yet with Ivy, somehow, a part of me does. I want to kiss her. I want to wrap my arms around her. I want to drag her into my bed and keep her there.

‘Get on the bed,’ I growl .

‘No,’ she shakes her head vehemently. ‘You can’t just make me come and tell me not to go out.’

‘But I’m so good at it.’ I trace a finger over her exposed collar bone, dipping it beneath her towel and tearing it from her body. It falls to the floor along with my jaw.

Ivy’s body is pure perfection. Silky soft skin. Curves carved in all the right places. Rosy peaked nipples. The way it reacts to mine is magnetic.

‘You’re beautiful,’ I tell her honestly.

She stares at me with unashamed longing. This attraction between us is feral. It sucks the oxygen from the room until I can hardly breathe. She wants me as much as I want her. I feel it with every fibre of my being.

‘Call Rian and tell him you’ve changed your mind, and I’ll lick your pretty little pussy until you come all over my face.’

‘No.’ She stares at me with a defiance. I’d love to fuck it out of her and then kiss every inch of her better.

‘I bet you’re wet for me already.’ I skim my palms over her nipples and she hisses. ‘Let me take care of that ache for you.’

‘No.’ Her protest is weaker this time.

‘All you have to do is pick up the phone,’ I coax, running my hand lower over her stomach.

Even if she doesn’t call Rian, I’m going to devour her, anyway. The memory of her sweetness is all too fresh from Friday. The sound of my name on her lips as she cries out is more addictive than heroin.

‘I won’t do it,’ she says.

‘Let me see if I can persuade you.’ I slide my fingers lower and slip them through the slickness between her legs. She is saturated.

‘Is it the prospect of your date with my brother that has you wet enough to hydrate an army?’ I brush my lips over her ear.

‘You’re not playing fair,’ she hisses .

‘I never claimed I would.’ My fingers skim her clit, and she moans.

‘Call him,’ I insist, pressing my erection into her hip.

‘No.’ Her eyes fall shut. ‘I need more.’

‘Oh, baby, why didn’t you say so?’ I nudge her backwards until the back of her legs hit the bed. I give her a gentle nudge, and she falls backwards.

‘I didn’t mean…’

I’m on my knees with my head buried between her legs before she can finish her sentence.

‘Fuck, what are you doing to me?’ she pants.

‘I’m making you come so hard that even if you do go on a date with my brother, all you’ll be able to think about is this.’

I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing it for myself. Because it’s all I can think about every fucking time she’s near me.

Last night, it took all my willpower to stay in my office, knowing she was sitting there in my sitting room, probably waiting for me. Probably hoping for this. I don’t want to give into this thing between us. Don’t want to develop an obsession with Ivy Winters, yet here we are. I can’t stay away from her.

I need more time to get my head around the idea of fucking another woman in this house. Of fucking my nanny. Of fucking my best friend’s little sister. Of fucking up everything.

This is all I can give her right now, so I’m going to give it to her regardless of whether she goes out with Rian or not.

‘As much as I loved eating you out from behind, I’m going to enjoy watching your face as you lose it on my tongue.’ Our eyes lock as I sink my lips over her hot centre.

‘I’m still going on a date with your brother,’ she pants.

‘You little witch.’ I suck her clit and sink two fingers inside her. ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘I know what I’d like to do to you.’ Her fingers thread through my hair, halting me. ‘But for some reason, you seem determined to keep me away from your cock. Do you think Dermot will mind you licking my pussy less than if you fucked me?’

‘I never want to find out,’ I mutter, shaking my head free of her grasp and catching her clit with my lips again.

Her hips buck, her back arches, and her thighs tremble. I watch her the entire time as she breaks and shatters on my tongue. Ivy’s mews and moans are my favourite Sunday morning soundtrack. She stares straight back at me with a wondrous look in her eyes.

She thinks there’s hope for me yet.

The only hope I have is that I don’t embarrass myself by coming in my pants. Because Ivy Winters is fire and I am ice. And I can’t afford to melt in a puddle.