He held out his arms. “Let me hold her while you get everything together.”

She hesitated. He didn’t strike her as the paternal type.

“Fine, do it your way.” He held his hands up.

She looked down at Ivy and then back at him. “It’s nothing personal, but—”

“Say no more.” He gave her a friendly smile and hopped to sit on one side of her desk.” I completely understand.”

“You do?”

“Actually no, but I thought it was the best thing to say at the time,” he said with a small shrug. He placed five hundred dollars on her desk and began to whistle.

She wanted to laugh at him. At her entire situation. But she was afraid that her laughter would turn into hysterical crying and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Chapter Three

Rose turned on the radio and popped in a Mozart CD when they hit the outskirts of town. Ivy’s pediatrician, Dr. Reed, had told her it was good for babies to listen to classical music. It made special connections in their developing brains. Made them smarter. God knew Ivy needed an advantage due to her last name.

Abruptly, the strains of “Serenade in G Minor” stopped. She glanced over at Sasha. He stared at her with a grim look on his face. “More of a Bach fan?” she asked.

“Are we there, yet? We’ve been driving for days,” he complained, making her smile.

She turned left onto Strawberry Grove Lane, the long winding drive welcoming her home. “Only five more minutes.”

“Thank God,” he said as her home came into view. “I never thought we’d get here.”

The pre-Civil War house had been built in 1820 for the second Poppy Holland by her adoring lover. The two-story double-balcony structure faced the Pamlico Sound and was framed by oak trees with heavy boughs of Spanish moss in their branches. Off to the side stood a greenhouse surrounded by a carefully tended garden.

After parking, they got out of the Jeep and she moved to the back passenger side to get Ivy.

Rose unlatched the baby’s carrier from its base, stealing glances at her new tenant as she did. However, his profile revealed nothing, and as they walked to the entrance, she began to judge the exterior from an outsider’s point of view.

Peeling paint, a sagging front porch and missing rails greeted them. Shutters hanging on by their last nails threatened to decapitate an unlucky bystander. Cobwebs decorated every nook and cranny.

Her cheeks began to burn and she walked faster, the gravel crunching under her shoes. Maybe she should have sold the place when she had the chance—before she had told the real estate agent to stick it where the sun didn’t shine.

Damn stubborn pride.

But that’s what kept her from collapsing on the floor when she read the letter from the tax office. It really hadn’t been a surprise, but the grace period had been shortened from six months to three. She was thankful that it hadn’t been reduced to one. A move that she wouldn’t put past Lorelei Collins, Holland Springs’ tax administrator, not after this new development.

The sins of her mother were being visited on Rose and her sisters in triplicate. As usual.

Sasha knew Rose was embarrassed as hell, the tightness in her shoulders and rigid posture giving her away. He could make it easier on her. He could say something witty and charming, putting her at ease. Then again, she didn’t like it when he was charming. She smiled when he was snarky and biting. Or when he was real.

And if he didn’t watch it, he’d end up talking to her about long walks on the beach and his pet peeves.

“I see you’re ready for Halloween,” he said.

She paused and he grabbed the car seat from her, following as she made her way up the rickety front porch steps. He rather hoped they would hold his and Ivy’s combined weight. The steps creaked ominously, but held. Good God, this place needed a major face lift.

“At Strawberry Grove, we’re ready twenty-four-seven, three hundred-sixty five days a year,” she said.

“Favorite holiday, eh?”

As the door opened, she stepped inside and gave a low laugh. Darkness enveloped her and the hair on the back on his neck stood up. “Haven’t you heard, Mr. Romanov?” Her voice was low, seductive. Bewitching.

“Heard what?” Unease pricked at his spine, making him unable to step inside with a defenseless baby.

Lights in the foyer flickered to life, but Rose stood no where near the twin lamps sitting on a table under a large gilded mirror. Instead she stood at the base of a grand staircase, her ocean-blue eyes mysterious. A black cat rubbed against her ankles and meowed.

“I’m a witch.”

Unable to help himself, his mouth dropped open. “A what!”

“I’m only teasing.” The expression on her face was anything but playful. She gestured for him to follow her up the stairs. “Your room’s up here. Bring Ivy and I’ll give you the grand tour before I fix supper.”

Like a man caught in a riptide, he had no choice but to be swept along. The door closed behind him. He risked a backwards glance. The cat now sat by the door, its tail twitching.

The antique stairs groaned with his every step as he made he followed her. The interior of Rose’s house was in better shape than the outside. Marginally. Faded wallpaper peeled at corners. Washed out carpets covered the second story landing. Ornate sconces flickered on and off as they ascended. He stopped to take a look out of a porthole-shaped window. A crescent moon reflected in the still black waters of the sound.

“Are you coming?” Rose asked and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Jesus. This house was making him mental. He gave Rose a wicked smile. “Not for months—at least with a partner.”

Her mouth dropped open, then she closed it with a distinctive snap. Turning away from him, she said, “Your room is at the end of the hall. There’s a bathroom two doors down.”

“Shall I wash your back first, dear?” he couldn’t help but ask now that he was in control of the situation.

She didn’t falter in her stride, nor did she glance back. “We eat supper at six thirty. There’s no cable or internet, but there’s a land line in the kitchen.”

“Don’t need it. My phone has all the apps I need.”

“There’s no signal out here,” she said, and he could have sworn there was a smile in her voice.

How the hell was he supposed to communicate with the outside world? Oh, right, he was in the middle of nowhere and shouldn’t expect modern conveniences like running water or fire. “I could buy one of those boosters, and—”

“They’re bad for us.”

“Yes, technology is the very devil,” he muttered under his breath.

She moved gracefully down the hall, her arm rising and falling every so often. More lights magically illuminated as she passed. He spied a switch plate on the wall. He touched it with the tip of one finger as he passed by. A sharp stab made him jerk it back. Faulty wiring at its finest.

Ivy let out a whimper and the black cat following Rose turned back to look at him. “What? You think I made her cry?” he asked, tilting his head down to stare into eyes that were remarkably like its owner.

“Blackbeard won’t answer you,” Rose said.

He snapped his head up, but he hadn’t been aware she’d stopped. She reached out to grab him. He managed to place the carrier on the floor as he stumbled, the weight of his body pushing her back against the wall. Night blooming jasmine filled his senses and he leaned closer, seeking the softness of her skin. The tips of her fingers pressed into his arm and he welcomed the dull bite of her nails.

Her eyes drew him in, calling to him as he pressed his body against hers. Full breasts flattened against his chest and the cradle of her rounded hips welcomed his.

Desire flared. He grew hard and instinctively rocked against her. She undulated against him. The smallest of movements but it felt as if she had caressed his entire body. His erection surged. He cupped the back of her neck, her loose curls like the finest of silks against his palm.

“Rose,” he whispered, inching closer to her mouth.

She sighed, her plump lips parting as she lifted her mouth in offering. Her luminous eyes closed, the thick lashes fanning her perfect cheeks. He was almost there. Almost could taste the sweetness of her lips.

He traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb.

Ivy cried out.

Jerking back, he said, “I think she wants—needs—you.”

As though in a daze, Rose slowly blinked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded. The baby let out an ear piercing wail and Rose started. “I-I have to feed her,” she stammered as a dull flush crept up her face. She slid past him, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing in the hallway.

Breathing heavily, he rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh, that was too easy. He hadn’t. Instead he’d gone full-out caveman on her. Again. Although in her store, he’d done it to shake her up a little. Okay, to be really honest he’d done it because of pure male ego. He’d had to know if she was still attracted to him.

He leaned his head to one side and then the other, trying to relieve the pent-up tension. His raging hard-on let him know that it wasn’t working. He’d been celibate by choice for months now.

Brilliant forethought.

A door shut. Rose’s? He wondered if it was locked. Of course it would be locked, especially to him. He’d already hurt her once before, and it didn’t matter he’d apologized, because he had lied to her about coming back and he was lying to her still. She was right not to trust him.

That would have to change.

Sasha scrubbed his face with his hand. Dinner, or supper as she called it, would be him at his best. At his non-groping or -ogling best. He would eat, make small talk, help with the washing up, get his luggage from her Jeep and go straight to his room. Alone.

He wasn’t here to seduce her. Hell, he wasn’t here to get laid by anyone. He had a job to do. One that turned his stomach when he’d been given all the details. One that had kept him up at night when he’d made his own suggestions to help further things along. Never before had he loathed his talent for manipulation—at least not at this magnitude.

From now on, it would be pure business for everyone involved. It would require a little finesse and a whole lot of double-talking, but there were some things a man needed to do. Some things a man needed to stand up for.

God, he needed a lie down.

He turned the glass doorknob and went into his room.

***

Rose took a deep breath and then another, trying to steady her nerves as she fixed a bottle for Ivy. Sasha living here wasn’t going to work. It couldn’t. He was too damn male, too damn attractive, and she was too much of a damn fool when it came to him.

She’d almost let him kiss her.

Agreeing to let him live here had so not been because of jealousy (or so she tried to convince herself.). It was because she needed the money and because she couldn’t let Jemma Leigh get hurt for the hundredth time. Plus, Rose knew without a doubt that Jemma Leigh and Jeremy belonged together.

As a Holland, it was Rose’s duty to give love advice. To nudge it along. Even if she’d rather bash them over the head and yell, “Wake up, you idiots!”.

Ivy wailed.

Rose shook the bottle, mixing the warm water and powder together. “It’s coming, honey.” Scooping her up from the crib, Rose pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead and teased the silicon nipple into Ivy’s mouth. Love and a deep commitment to giving this child the stability she never had swelled inside of her.

“Sweet baby,” she crooned, sitting down in the chair that had rocked the first Poppy Holland born in the New World. Rose hummed, the familiarity of their routine giving her a sense of peace.

Ivy grunted and sucked harder, making Rose laugh. “Greedy little thing.”

Blackbeard meowed and Rose focused on him. The cat’s gaze seemed to be disapproving. “Don’t look at me like that. We need the money.” He let out a growl. “Leave if you don’t like it, but who else is going to put up with you?”

The feline rose and stretched, sauntering from the room in a way that only a spoiled cat secure in his position could.

As Ivy ate, Rose kept one eye on the clock. She still had supper to fix. Sasha’d given her a funny look when she’d said that. Maybe she should have said four course dinner. That was language he understood—the snob.

She let out a little giggle. Wonder what he’d think of cheese grits and sliced ham with biscuits? He’d probably look at her with those sexy green eyes and say something scathing. Or outrageous.

Secretly, she liked those sides of his personality. “Idiot,” she chided herself. It was his charming side that made her distrust him.

As Rose patted her on the back, Ivy let out a lusty burp. Rose held her close, snuggling with her until the baby had fallen fast asleep. She knew this was spoiling her, but Rose couldn’t help it.

Ivy made her happy. Every little new gurgle and sound. Every little wiggle and grunt. Not that Ivy wasn’t work; she was. At first Rose had been terrified. Terrified of holding her wrong, feeding her wrong, accidentally drowning her in the bath or not waking up at night when she cried. Most of all she was afraid that she wasn’t mother material. That there was something in her DNA that made her unfit to parent.

What was worse, she knew that time was running out. Her sister, Summer, would return and then Rose would be alone again. It was her destiny.

Actually, it was more like a curse.

***

“Supper’s ready,” Rose called out as Sasha strode into the kitchen. She sat down at the kitchen table and helped herself to the meal she’d prepared. He sat down with her, loading up his plate and placing a napkin in his lap.