Free The Man Plan by Tracy Anne Warren

happen to also be attending this party, hmm?”
    Damn, does Madelyn have radar or something?
    Carefully modulating her tone, she worked on lying without actually lying. “No new man.”
Just the same old one I’ve always wanted,
she thought, fingers crossed. “And no one at the party besides me, some of my college buddies, and their neighbors.”
    “You sure?”
    “Totally sure. It’s just a party, Malynn. You remember parties, right?”
    “Yeah, I seem to recall a few despite the senility setting in, ha-ha. I also remember how easy it is to get into trouble at them.”
    Ivy stifled a sigh. “I’ll be fine. I’m very responsible.”
    “I know. It’s not you I worry about. Sometimes I think you were born an adult. It’s all the other people who’ll be there. And just for the record, if Mom asks, I know nothing about this subject, okay?”
    Ivy laughed. “Coward.”
    “Damned straight—Hannah, take that out of your mouth,” she broke off to tell one of her daughters. “Look, I’d better go. Zack’s about to send up an SOS flare. See you soon.”
    “Yeah, couple of days.”
    Smiling, Ivy pushed the end-call button and setdown the phone. She flopped back against the pillows, listened with half an ear to the drone of street traffic and the gentle tick-tock of her bedside alarm clock.
    Then she remembered James.
    Was he still out in the other room, sleeping on her couch?
    Heady warmth rushed through her at the notion.
    Rolling out of bed, she pulled on a lavender terry-cloth robe. Feeling unaccountably shy, she opened her bedroom door and moved on silent feet down the hall.
    But she needn’t have bothered with the stealth. The room was empty.
    Fighting the disappointment, she leaned over to switch off the lamp that was still burning. She noticed the scattered throw pillows, honing in on the one with the faint dent where he’d lain his head. She reached out, lifted the pillow to her nose, and inhaled.
    The scent of him filled her.
    James.
    Senses adrift, her eyelids drifted downward as she remembered their kiss.
    *   *   *
    James forked up a final bite of breakfast—soft-boiled eggs on toast with a side of Niman Ranch bacon—while he perused a sobering article on the nation’s economy in the Sunday
Times
. He snorted softly when he moved on to an op-ed piece about a recent political scandal and was rolling his eyes at another bit of nonsense when the doorbell rang.
    Who could that be?
he thought, frowning as heswallowed the last of his now-lukewarm coffee. Setting his cup back into its saucer, the china making a faint clink, he rose to find out.
    He discovered Ivy on the threshold, fresh and sporty looking in a powder blue T-shirt, hip-hugging black spandex shorts, and a pair of clean white tennis shoes. She’d gathered her long hair into a neat ponytail, darker and damp on the ends from a recent shower. Some sort of skates—he couldn’t tell what kind—hung looped by their strings over one shoulder.
    She looked delicious and adorable, like a dish of fresh peaches and cream just waiting to be enjoyed. He shifted uncomfortably at the thought, the dream he’d had last night slamming into his mind. The velvety softness of her lips, the delectable flavor of her tongue tangling passionately against his. Her scent. Even now he could smell the feminine heat of her as if she were wrapped in his arms instead of standing innocently on the other side of the doorway.
    He just wished the damn dream hadn’t been so intense, hadn’t felt so real.
    Incredibly real.
    He wondered again about the hair he’d found. That long length of gleaming gold he’d plucked off his chest after he’d awakened.
    How had it gotten there?
    Off the couch, of course. It was her couch, so it wasn’t all that extraordinary. And yet . . .
    And yet what?
    Stop being ridiculous,
he told himself.
    It was a dream. A disturbing, bewitching,thoroughly unwanted dream, and if he was smart, he’d forget all about it.
    Mentally, he gave