Best Man's Conquest by Michelle Celmer Page B

her counterpart’s distaste.
    Those two really needed to lighten up.
    Ivy looked down at the growing puddle of water around her feet. “Oops. Guess I should go change into some dry clothes.”
    Gathering her wet skirt, she bolted for the stairs, but not before he saw the mildly shocked, what-the-hell-have-I-done look on her face.
    â€œGuess I should change, too,” Dillon said, heading after her, leaving the others looking thoroughly confused.
    â€œWho’s going to clean up this mess?” one of the Tweedles called after him, but he was more concerned with the pound of Ivy’s footsteps up the stairs. She was moving awfully fast.
    By the time he reached the foot of the stairs she was already at the top.
    â€œIvy, wait,” he called to her, but either she didn’t hear him or she was ignoring him.
    He was guessing the latter.
    She disappeared down the hall and a second later he heard her bedroom door slam. From where he stood he couldn’t actually hear her turn the lock but knew that she had.
    It didn’t take a genius to realize she was running away again.
    Â 
    Dillon was worse than lint, Ivy decided as she stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom and dried off with a soft, fluffy orange towel. She’d scrubbed and scrubbed, run the water as hot as she could stand, and she could still feel the ghost of his touch. She could still smell his scent on her skin.
    She’d brushed her teeth twice and rinsed with mouth-wash, but she could still taste him.
    He wasn’t just clinging to her sleeve or the leg of her slacks. He was under her skin, coursing through her bloodstream. She could feel him inside her head, making things she used to believe, things she counted on, hazy and unclear.
    She rubbed the steam from a section of the mirror and looked at herself. Really looked. Same hair, same eyes, same nothing special body.
    Then why did she feel so… different?
    Confused and frustrated and scared…and more alive than she had in years.
    She slipped her robe on and opened the bathroom door, letting out a startled squeak when she realized she wasn’t alone.
    No, Dillon wasn’t lint.
    He was a virus. A full-blown flu that made her feel weak and feverish and blew her judgment all to hell. A highly contagious bug who had broken into her room while she showered and made himself comfortable on her bed.
    â€œHowdy.” He lay on his back, propped up on both elbows, one leg crossed over the other. Like he had every right to be there. He’d showered and changed into casual slacks and a slightly transparent, white linen pullover that all but screamed, look at my tan! The scent of freshly scrubbed man reached across the room and wrapped itself around her like a tentacle, tempting her closer.
    Did viruses have tentacles?
    She tugged the belt on her robe a little tighter. Just in case.
    She didn’t trust Dillon, and even worse, she didn’t trust herself. That kiss downstairs would have knocked her out of her shoes had she been wearing any. She never thought the day would come when she would say she was happy to see the Tweedles, but thank goodness they had walked in, jaws flapping. They were the only thing that had stopped her from making another huge mistake.
    â€œGood shower?” Dillon asked, looking her up and down with warm, blue bedroom eyes.
    Every one of her billion or so nerve endings went on full alert. Her brain kicked into overdrive to compensate and threatened a complete shutdown.
    Why in the hell had she kissed him again? Hadn’t she learned her lesson the first time? Hadn’t she learned it ten stinking years ago?
    The lack of oxygen from staying under the water so long had clearly damaged her brain.
    Or May be he really was a virus, and she just didn’t have the antibodies to fight him off.
    â€œI know I locked the door before I got in the shower,” she said, doing her best to sound stern. So he wouldn’t know that