The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит

to use it against her. To make her uncomfortable. To knock her off balance and lower her defenses so he could go in for the kill.

      She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

      “I’ll bet you do all those things subconsciously,” he mused. “Because deep down you still love me and you want me back.”

      The mercury on her temper began a steady climb, and she clamped her teeth over the sarcastic reply that was trying like hell to jump out of her mouth.

      You will not show this man how angry he’s making you, she chanted to herself. You will not let him get the best of you.

      “Isn’t there a technical term for that?” he asked.

      Yeah, there was a term for it.

      Nuts.

      Which he was if he honestly believed she had any feelings left for him. Favorable ones, that is.

      “Don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves,” she said.

      He grinned. “May be, but you can’t say that I’m not consistent.”

      No, she definitely couldn’t say that. He’d never once failed to let her down.

      And this conversation was going nowhere.

      “Look, I appreciate the way you defended Deidre against the Tweedles at dinner, but let’s not pretend that I don’t know exactly what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”

      Amusement quirked up the corner of his mouth. “Tweedles?”

      Ivy slapped a hand over her mouth. Oh, jeez. Had she really said that out loud?

      “Like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?” A deep rumble of infectious laughter rolled from his chest and had a grin tugging at the corners of her own mouth.

      And just as quickly it fizzled away.

      Ugh!

      He was doing it again. Softening her up. Lowering the ick factor of just being near him.

      “You need to leave,” she said. “I have work to finish.”

      He didn’t move. “I guess you got that e-mail from your editor, huh?”

      “That’s right,” she fibbed. “I’m incredibly busy right now.”

      “Why don’t I believe you?” He eased away from the ledge, and she resisted the urge to step back. “You know, I could always tell when you were lying.”

      “I guess it takes one to know one,” she snapped.

      The humor slipped from his face, and she could see that she’d hit a nerve. Well, good. He had it coming.

      Then why did she feel like such a louse?

      He took another step closer. “Did I ever lie to you, Ivy?”

      “I am not doing this.” She turned and walked to the closet. She flung the door open and snatched her robe from the hanger. “I refuse to get sucked into a conversation about a relationship that has been over for ten years.”

      She thrust her arms through the sleeves and bound the belt securely at her waist. She swung around and nearly plowed into him. He was right behind her.

      “The truth, Ivy.” Every trace of playful cockiness had disappeared from his voice. “Did I ever once lie to you?”

      Her heart rattled around in her chest. She remembered this man. The quiet, serious, alter ego. His appearances had been rare, but they had always intimidated the hell out of her. And Dillon knew it.

      Had he been hiding in the background all this time, waiting for just the right moment to pounce?

      “I don’t owe you a thing.”

      He stepped closer, his eyes locked on her face, and every cell in her body went on full alert, every neuron in her brain lit off like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

      “Did I ever lie to you?”

      Don’t do it, she warned her traitorous subconscious. Don’t you dare say what you’re thinking. It doesn’t matter anymore. It will only make things worse.

      Don’t say a word.

      He stepped closer, until he was only inches away. His hair was a little windblown from his walk along the beach, and she could smell the scent of the ocean on his skin and clothes. Steel-blue eyes bore through her, stripping her bare, and her feet felt cemented to the floor.

      She couldn’t move.

      “Ivy?”

      “No!” she shrieked, no longer able to contain the anger and frustration and hurt that had been festering for far too long. “You never lied to me, Dillon. In fact, you made it distinctly clear just how little our marriage meant to you.”

      She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, but it was too late to take them back. She was still bitter and hurt by the divorce and now he knew it. And she didn’t doubt he would use it against her.

      For several long seconds he just stared at her, his expression impossible to decipher. Finally, his voice neither warm nor cold, he said, “I wasn’t the one who walked out the door.”

      His words felt like a slap across the face and literally knocked her back a step. He wasn’t suggesting the demise of their marriage was her fault, was he? There was only one person to blame, and he was standing right in front of her.

      Who had repeatedly stayed out every night and come home drunk while she had done her best to get an education? Who had blown his money gambling week after week?

      And who had sicced his father on the grant committee and had her scholarship revoked?

      May be he hadn’t lied, but what he’d done was worse.

      He’d let her down.

      For a second they just stood there looking at each other, then he shook his head, so subtly she had to wonder if she’d really seen it or if it had been a trick of the light.

      “Good night, Ivy.” He turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

      And for some stupid reason she felt like crying.

      She didn’t care what he believed. What had happened to their marriage was not her fault. She may have been the one to physically walk out the door, but emotionally, Dillon had already been long gone.

      Ivy dove into the pool, limbs slicing across the still water like a hot knife through cool butter. Thanks to Mr. I-never-lied-to-you, she’d slept like hell and woke at dawn. But with each stroke she could feel the stress from the previous night begin to evaporate, burned away by the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through her bloodstream.

      She’d always had something of a love/hate relationship with exercise. She’d been blessed with a naturally slim figure, so her sporadic visits to the gym never caused her concern. In the last few years, however, she’d noticed things gradually beginning to expand and spread.

      Hence her daily morning swim. It was the one thing that felt the least like real exercise. And while it wouldn’t bring back the figure of her youth, she was able to comfortably maintain her present weight.

      She only wished some of that extra weight had been redistributed to her less than impressive bustline.

      She completed her laps and surfaced, and there, not three feet away, lay Dillon in a lounge chair beside the pool, a mug of coffee in one hand. Watching her, of course.

      Here we go again.

      She couldn’t see what he had on from the waist down, other than the fact that his feet and calves were bare, but from the waist up he wore a deep tan and a sleepy smile. One that said, hmm, how can I mess with Ivy today?

      She ignored the sudden lightness in her chest, the jittery, nervous feeling in her stomach. She repressed the why me