To see how far he'd go to make her happy.

s.h.i.t.

He whirled around, narrowly missing running into a guy carrying three drinks. "Sorry," C.J. muttered.

He could insist on going somewhere else, he thought as he marched toward Kane, but that might give her the excuse she'd been looking for to cancel the whole night.

"Is there any way you can get us seated sooner?" he asked Kane when he reached the bar.

Kane, drawing a draft beer, didn't even glance at him. "An hour."

C.J. leaned forward, hating what he was about to do. He hated asking anyone for a favor, especially his brother. Especially this brother. "Come on, Kane. Help me out here."

Kane followed his gaze to where Ivy stood, now surrounded by three men, all vying for her attention. Kane smirked. "It'll cost you."

He hadn't expected anything else. C.J. pulled a couple hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. Laid them on the glossy bar.

Kane flicked them away with the tips of his fingers. "I've got plenty of those. No, Junior, you can't buy this. What it's going to cost you is a favor."

C.J. didn't like the sound of that. "What kind of favor?"

"The kind I decide. When I'm ready. Deal?"

"Deal," he ground out.

Kane stopped a middle-aged waitress, said something to her C.J. couldn't make out. After a moment, Kane turned back to him. "Looks like you're in luck. A table for two just opened up. Gloria will seat you."

C.J. raised his hand, caught Ivy's attention. When she joined him, they followed the waitress to a table in the back corner of what C.J. guessed was the dining room. He held out Ivy's chair, then sat across from her, and they gave the waitress their drink orders.

"Did I pa.s.s?" he asked when they were alone again.

She didn't even bother pretending not to know what he was talking about. "With flying colors." She winked at him before picking up her menu.

That wink and the accompanying smile almost made whatever h.e.l.l Kane would put him through worth it.

After they ordered their meals, they made small talk while they waited, discussing current events instead of anything personal. Ivy had a quick mind and strong opinions. He enjoyed debating a few points with her, and while they may not have entirely agreed about politics and certain social policies, he could see her point. And he thought she saw his.

When their salads were delivered, he switched topics to Shady Grove. The people of this town where she'd lived her entire life, where his brother had made his home, had found his future wife.

"Not much to tell," she said, sipping her water. "There are pros and cons of living here-like anywhere else, I a.s.sume. It's small enough that everyone knows each other-"

"Is that in the plus or minus column?" he asked, shaking pepper over his salad.

"Well, now, that depends on who you ask."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm asking you. I didn't think it was a difficult question," he said when she remained silent.

"Not difficult. More like...complicated." She stabbed a piece of lettuce, waved her fork. "It's...nice," she finally said, "knowing your neighbors. Especially, I would imagine, once I have the baby. I'll know his or her teachers, the parents of his or her friends. And they'll know me." Her mouth twisted. She shrugged as if trying to rid herself of an unwanted thought. "It's safe, too, for raising a kid. Pittsburgh's close enough that if you want city living, you can get to it easily."

"So you like living here."

She tipped her head. "I guess I've never really thought about it. I don't dislike it. It's just...it's what I'm used to. This town, these people...they're the only things I've ever known."

"You never went away to college?"

"Never wanted to. But I am looking into taking culinary courses at The Art Inst.i.tute of Pittsburgh." She glanced down at her stomach. "At least, I was. I guess that'll have to be put on hold for a while."

"Does that disappoint you?" he asked, setting his empty salad plate aside. "Having to wait?"

"I've waited this long. What's another year or two?"

She took things in stride, he'd give her that. This pregnancy, soon becoming a mother. They were life-changing events-more so for her than for him, and she was handling it as if it was no big deal.

It made him realize what an a.s.s he'd been. Made him want to do better. Be better. Because his gut was now telling him that he didn't need the proof they were waiting for-that this baby was, indeed, his.

And there was one very important question he had to know the answer to.

"Do you resent the baby?" he asked. "For messing up your plans?"

IVY WASN'T SURE, but there seemed to be more to Clinton's question than mere curiosity. Almost as if he was asking if she resented him.

"It's not the baby's fault," she said, pushing aside a cherry tomato with her fork to get to an errant garbanzo bean. "So no, I don't resent him. Or her."

She refused to treat her child the way her mother had treated her. Refused to blame an innocent baby for her mistakes. The choices she made.

The waitress came back. "So sorry things are a bit slow tonight," she said as she cleared their plates. "We're short-staffed."

"It's no problem," Ivy a.s.sured her. Lord knew she'd put up with her fair share of miserable customers blaming her for problems in the kitchen or front of house-she'd heard complaints about everything from the food to dirty dishes to bad lighting. "We're in no hurry."

The waitress sent her an appreciative smile. "Thanks. I'll check on your meals."

"I hadn't realized O'Riley's did this much business," Clinton said.

"Me, neither. Though I'd heard the food was really good."

His gaze narrowed slightly. "I thought you'd been here before."

Oops. Busted. She fought to hide a grin. "I never said that. I said I liked it here."

And she did. It wasn't as cla.s.sy as King's Crossing, but it had a welcoming feel. She imagined that it shifted into a neighborhood bar as the night went on, but for now it was packed with families and couples and groups at the tables, a few twenty-somethings and an older gentleman at the bar.

"So you did pick this place to make me miserable," he said, but he didn't look angry. More like impressed that she'd tricked him so neatly.

She stirred the ice in her gla.s.s with her straw. "Miserable is such a strong word. Let's just say I wanted to see how you and your brother interacted. I've always thought you could tell a lot about someone by how they behave around their family."

"And will I get a chance to put this theory into practice with you?"

"Afraid not. Only child, remember?"

"What about your mother?"

She took her time choosing a roll from the basket between them. Broke it in half and b.u.t.tered it. "She pa.s.sed away two years ago," she said, careful to keep any and all inflection from her tone.

He reached out. Covered her free hand with his. "I'm sorry, Ivy."

She always hated when people gave her their condolences over Melba's death. It wasn't that she was heartless. It was just that she didn't grieve her mother the way a daughter should.

Then again, Melba hadn't been the type of mother she should have been, either.

Ivy figured they were even.

She cleared her throat. Pulled away from his touch. "You and Kane look so much alike. I take it he's your full brother?"

Clinton studied her, and she wondered if he was going to let her get away with this blatant attempt at changing the subject. She'd witnessed firsthand how stubborn the man could be, but he merely took a roll for himself and leaned back in his chair. "Kane and I have the same mother and father, yes. But I consider all my brothers my full brothers."

She hid a smile. See? He was already revealing himself to her. She was glad he didn't differentiate between his brothers, that he accepted them without the tag of half. "Somehow I just can't imagine your mother raising someone like Kane."

"Our nanny did the bulk of the dirty work. Mom and Dad would show up for the occasional school recital or athletic event."

"Sounds lonely."

He shrugged. "Kane and I had each other. And when Dad married Rosalyn-my brother Oakes's mother-it was better. She was a real hands-on mom, always inviting us to stay at their house, baking cookies, playing games with us." He grinned. "The complete opposite of my mother. Which is probably part of the reason Mom hates her to this day. Then again, I suppose I'd hate the person my spouse cheated on me with and then left me for."

"That does seem like a good reason."

The waitress returned with their meals. Stuffed manicotti for Ivy and linguine with clam sauce for Clinton.

Ivy shook parmesan cheese over her pasta. "But things didn't work out between your father and Rosalyn, either?"

"They would have except Rosalyn wouldn't overlook Dad's infidelities. Especially when he got Oakes's barely legal-age nanny pregnant."

Ivy blinked. "I was right. Your life really is like the TV show Dallas."

He snorted. Twirled pasta onto his fork. "Not mine, but Dad lived the lifestyle for as long as he could. He told me once that Rosalyn was the only woman who kicked him to the curb. Every other time, the divorce was his decision. I think out of all his wives, she's the only one he regrets losing."

"Hard to feel sorry for a serial cheater."

"True. Maybe he got what he deserved, having the woman he wanted and maybe even loved be the one who refused to have anything to do with him."

"I take it the nanny gave birth to brother number four?" Ivy asked.

Clinton took a bite, wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Zach. He's a Marine, stationed in Iraq, the last I've heard. We're not...close."

"That must be hard on you."

He frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"It's obvious your family is very important to you." She sipped her water. "Just as it was obvious both at the engagement party and at your apartment that it's important for you to take care of them. I overheard your conversation with your current stepmother," she admitted.

"Only current until the divorce goes through. She decided it was smarter to take what she was promised in her prenup than to fight for more."

Guess the blonde was smarter than she looked. "Is it a burden?" Ivy asked, having no point of reference for needy family members. Unable to imagine what it would be like to have a large family, to have so many people wanting your time and attention, taking your focus so often. "People relying on you that much?"

"It's my job. After Dad left, my mom turned to me to vent, to be the go-between for her and my father, to be a shoulder to cry on. When Kane and I were teenagers, he rebelled in a big way. It was up to me to try to keep him under control. Then I started working for my father, and it was just a natural progression to be the one everyone turned to."

Ivy wondered who he turned to.

It was a question she was still pondering almost two hours later when he walked her up the steep steps to her apartment. She hadn't asked, of course, and she wouldn't. It was too personal. Too close to the kind of question people who were in a relationship would ask. She knew how it worked. If she asked, if she wondered about something that intimate, he'd feel the right to invade her privacy. He'd want her to open up to him.

Yes, they'd had an enjoyable evening. And, okay, he'd been charming and funny, was intelligent and confident-all traits she admired. All traits she found incredibly attractive. But none of them meant anything. It was good, great even, that she found the father of her baby appealing. That he had qualities she wouldn't mind her child having.

But it didn't mean she wanted to tell him every thought inside her head. Every feeling going through her. Every secret she'd ever kept.

Secrets like how much she'd enjoyed herself. How she liked the feel of his hand on the small of her back. How she wished she could invite him in. Have him spend the night.

And hadn't those kinds of secrets already gotten her into enough trouble?

She dug her key out of her bag, unlocked her door before facing him. "Thanks for dinner."

"It's still early- What?" he asked with a smile when she laughed.

"Cowboy, I can read you like a large-print book. You're not coming in. I have things to do, and you are nowhere on that list."

"What kind of things?"

"Wash my hair. Feed my cat," she said with an airy wave of her hand. "The usual."

"I didn't know you had a cat."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." And she was just fine with that. "But yes, I have a cat, and Jasper gets extremely cranky when he's not fed on time." A lie, since her cat was nothing if not patient and good-natured. "So...good night."

"You could always invite me inside. For a quick drink."

She rolled her eyes. "That's what got us into this mess in the first place. And I try really hard not to make the same mistake twice."

Clinton leaned one arm against the door above her head, inclined his body toward her. Cla.s.sic man-on-the-make move. "Now, I wouldn't say we're in a mess." He played with the ends of her hair, let his fingertips trail against her bare shoulder. She shivered and his gaze heated. "I like spending time with you, Ivy."

c.r.a.p. Did he have to say her name like that, all husky and entreating? It rubbed her resistance raw, like a blade sawing at a rope. "Most men like spending time with me, cowboy. All for the same reasons."

"You want me to think of you with those men," he murmured, edging closer, so close his thigh brushed hers, his hip pressed against the curve of her belly. "You want me to get p.i.s.sed off, maybe start a fight. Or say something idiotic and insulting, something brought on by jealousy, by the mere idea of another man touching you when all I want to do is put my hands on you myself. My mouth."

She brought her hands up to his chest. A mistake, she realized, as soon as she felt how warm, how solid he was. Any thought of pushing him away melted. "You are not coming in."

There. That had sounded firm. Commanding, even.

He slid his hand up her arm, from her wrist to shoulder, then settled it under her jaw, his palm warm and wide, his fingers curving along the back of her neck. "Are you sure?"