Third Time's a Charm (Holland Springs #3)(8)

The sound of a baby crying interrupted the ensuing silence.

“I’ll get her,” Skye called, walking to the back of the store.

About a million things passed through his mind at once, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Who’s ‘her’?”

Skye held the baby in her arms and walked to Rose.

Rose lifted her chin and took the infant. “This is Ivy and she’s mine.”

If there had ever been a time he’d have liked to reconsider his current occupation as executive assistant to the destroyer of lives, this was it. Sasha resisted the urge to bang his head on the counter. Not only was Rose responsible for this store’s success and her sister’s college tuition, but she had a baby to support. A baby. With black curls and skin the color of cinnamon.

“Your daughter?” Probably the most ridiculous question he could come up with, but it would have to serve.





Rose nodded, their eyes meeting. Unable to withstand the questions lingering in his gaze, she looked away and pressed a kiss to the top of Ivy’s head. The baby blinked up at her with sleepy brown eyes.

Skye jiggled some keys. “As entertaining as you two are, I’ve got to get back to Greenville. My shift starts at seven.” She quickly gave Rose and Ivy a kiss and hug before slipping out the back.

“Alone at last,” Sasha drawled, a self-satisfied smile on his handsome face.

“Why are you really here?” Shifting Ivy in her arms, she reached for the open sign, flipped it around and locked the door.

“Because you’ve locked me in.” He took a step closer and she took one back. “Planning to keep me as your love slave, Rosebud?”

“Stop calling me that, Alexander.” Her birthmark throbbed as if in anticipation. She could still feel his wicked tongue tracing the outline of it.

He smiled and took another confident step, the motion of his lean body reminding her of a panther. By the time he quit walking, she was against the door, holding Ivy between them.

Slowly, he lowered his head. She sucked in a quick breath and turned her face away. His breath was hot on her neck, the tiny hairs on her skin standing at attention. The heat of his skin caressed hers and she half-expected—and to her mortification, half-hoped—to feel his lips.

Holding Ivy tighter, she closed her eyes.

“Sweet Rose, I’ll need a contract and a spare key.”

Suddenly, the delicious heat her body had been absorbing was gone. She opened her eyes to find Sasha standing a couple of feet away, rifling through his wallet. He pulled out some money and held it out to her. “Skye said rent’s five hundred a month. Here’s the deposit and I’ll get the rest out tomorrow.”

She pressed her nose to Ivy’s head, steadying her nerves before she spoke. There was no way she would ever let him know how much he still affected her. “Give me about fifteen minutes to print out a contract and pack everything up. Then you can follow me home.”

“I can’t.” He began striding to the back of the store.

She followed him to her office. “Why not?”

“Like I told Jemma Leigh, I need a car.” His was expression unreadable as he turned to wait for her to catch up. That was the worst thing about Sasha. She could never trust her instincts when it came to him. But she needed the money.

“Fine, you can ride with me when we’re done,” she said grudgingly.

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.