Janet Evanovich - Love Overboard aka Ivan Takes a Wife

He slid his hands inside her blanket, his fingers massaging lazy circles on either side of her spine. “No. I was thinking of us.”

She was growing deliciously warm deep inside. It was a drugging liquid heat, working its way along her spine, moving like hot molasses to her toes and fingertips. She set her glass on the table and let the blanket slip from her shoulders.

“This looks promising,” Ivan said. “Getting hot?”

“It’s the brandy.”

“Mmmm. I keep it for medical emergencies.”

Stephanie moved closer, fitting herself into all the hollows and crevices that naturally occurred between men and women. “Am I a medical emergency?”

“No. But I would have been one if you hadn’t warmed up.”

He kissed her, and the kiss lingered while his hands roamed over her body, rekindling a passion that had never been completely extinguished. And no matter how much loving they did, he thought, this passion would always smolder. He would never have enough of her. Never tire of her. Never stop loving her. He eased her onto his bunk and quickly stripped her of her clothes. He knew all her secrets now. He knew exactly where to touch, where to kiss, where to tease.

“I could get used to this,” Stephanie said. “Sunlight and fresh sea air spilling in through an open window, the lingering aroma of a wood fire from the night before, and a handsome man bringing me my morning coffee.”

Ivan sat on the edge of his bunk and watched her. She was warm and rumpled-looking in his T-shirt, and she smelled wonderful-an exotic blend of pine needles, flowery shampoo, and sex. “Is that all I am to you? A handsome man?” His tone was teasing, but his question was serious.

“Maybe a little more.”

He continued to watch.

“Maybe a lot more,” she amended.

He wondered if it was the right time, decided it wasn’t. And knew he was going to ask anyway. “Will you marry me?”

The question hung in the air while time seemed to stand still. She stared at him wide- eyed, never noticing that she’d slopped coffee over the rim of the mug onto her hand.

Ivan grabbed a towel and mopped up. “Took you by surprise, huh?”

“Are you serious?”

He recognized the panic on her face and silently cursed himself for being so blunt. He should have waited and taken her out to a nice restaurant, brought her flowers. He wasn’t good at this. He’d spent his whole life avoiding ties and entanglements. He’d asked her to marry him in the same tone of voice he would have used to offer her hockey tickets.

He kissed the hand she’d spilled coffee on and tried it again. “I love you, Steph, and I want to marry you.” You can’t get much more serious than this, he thought. It wasn’t a frivolous, spur-of-the-moment decision. He’d waited for her for a long time, and he knew it was right.

Stephanie couldn’t remember ever feeling so totally flustered. Marriage! She still hadn’t completely gotten used to the idea of having a lover. “It’s so sudden,” she stammered. “I wasn’t expecting this.” In her heart she might have been wanting it, but she definitely hadn’t been expecting it.

“I can give you some time, if that’s what you need. We have all winter to get to know each other.”

It wasn’t a matter of time, she thought. It was a matter of… she didn’t know.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” And she realized she felt secure in that love. What she felt for Ivan wasn’t infatuation. It was real. She couldn’t imagine ever loving anyone more.

“Then think about it.”

She nodded. “I’ll think about it as soon as I stop hyperventilating.”

He took the coffee cup from her and kicked the cabin door closed. “I know a good remedy for hyperventilation.”

The noxious odor still clung to the curtains and upholstery, but with the windows wide open and a table fan blowing full tilt, the upstairs bathroom was usable. Stephanie dashed from the shower, jumped into clothes purchased half an hour before, and ran from the house. Ivan snagged her on the front lawn and wrapped a dry towel around her wet hair. “Did you see the ghost from hell while you were in there?” he asked jokingly.

Stephanie patted her towel-wrapped head, and said, “The ghost from hell is probably in Kansas City right now with Melody.”

“I don’t think so.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I recognized the truck she was driving, and it wasn’t from Kansas City.”

“Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me last night?”

Ivan buttoned her into a new wool jacket. “We were busy last night.”

She felt a flush of heat at the memory. “Mmmm, so we were.”

“Since the inn is indefinitely closed, and we have some time on our hands, I think we should go for a drive in the country and look up Melody.”

Forty-five minutes later they left Route 1 for a secondary road. Stephanie studied the smooth leather upholstery of Ivan’s black SUV, thinking the car suited him-but then so would a Viper. He was a complicated person. Full of surprises and contradictions.

He’d been silent since they’d left Camden, and she knew he was giving her time to reorganize her thoughts about their relationship. About marriage. Marriage. Lord, she could hardly run the word through her mind without feeling hysteria bubble up in her throat. Ivan Rasmussen wanted to marry her. It was beyond her wildest dreams. It was flattering. It was frightening. It was hard to believe. Stephanie Rasmussen. Preposterous. And wonderful.

They passed a small town, nothing more than a gas station, an all-purpose store, and a small white church. A few unimaginative ranch-style houses had been built close to the road, a two-story farmhouse sat farther back, surrounded by bleak fields. The term hardscrabble farm came to mind. She wondered if the owner of the truck lived on one of these no-frills farms.

“You’ve been very quiet,” she said. “You haven’t told me who owns the truck Melody was driving.”

“Ted Grisham, the man who taught me how to make stink bombs.”

Stephanie rubbed her hands together. “The plot thickens. Who’s Ted Grisham?”

“A friend,” he said tersely.

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. That’s what I think, too.” Ivan slowed as they approached another little town of neat yards and small, well-tended houses. At the northern edge of town he pulled into the parking lot of a large brick structure that reminded her of the Knox Woolen Mill in Camden. “What is this?”

Ivan sighed and slumped in his seat. “This is”-he took a deep breath-“Rasmussen Leather Products. When I inherited Haben, I also inherited this.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a shoe factory.”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

“I hate it. I’ve hated it all my life. I don’t even like to wear shoes.”

Stephanie grinned because the image of Ivan Rasmussen as a shoe baron was ludicrous, and because while he was trying to sound disgusted, it was obvious from the way his voice cracked that he saw the humor in it, too.

“It’s not funny,” he said, smiling. “Well, yeah, I guess it is sort of funny. Can you imagine me running a shoe factory?”

“No.”

“My great-great-grandfather started this leather business when there was an abundance of hides in the area. Over the years it evolved into a shoe factory. Unfortunately, as you saw during the ride here, this shoe factory is the only industry for miles. People in this town have lived and worked here for generations. Without Rasmussen Leather Products the town would die.”

He got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Stephanie. “We’ll walk to Ted’s house. It’s just down the street. Ted is the factory foreman. When I was a kid my dad used to bring me here to see the shoes. I hated the factory, but I loved Ted. He knew how to skip stones across the river behind the factory, and he could spit farther than anyone on the face of the earth…”

“And he knew how to make stink bombs.”

“Yup. He knew how to make stink bombs.”

He picked a stone up and sailed it through the air, into the back end of the parking lot. “When my dad died, I took a look at the books of this sad old factory and discovered it had been running in the red. I loved my dad. He was a good man, and he wasn’t stupid, but he had no talent for running a business. No one had made any improvements in this place in fifty years. It was in such bad shape, I couldn’t get anyone to loan me money to modernize it.”

Stephanie stopped walking and looked at him. “My Lord, you sold Haben to save this factory, didn’t you?”

“All these people would have been out of jobs. I couldn’t do that to them.” He threw his arm around her and started her walking again.

“Anyway, once I made some initial changes, I was able to persuade a bank to finance the rest. And I changed the direction of the product. Went back to making quality, hand-sewn shoes. Just a few styles. Docksiders and classic Wellingtons. It’ll take a while before it’s on its feet, but I think if the operation stays simple, it can eventually turn a nice profit. Hopefully I can get my nose out of it soon and let the factory go back to running itself.”

Stephanie felt a lump-in-the-throat surge of love and respect for the man next to her. She was proud of him. Proud to be his lover and his friend. And his wife? How about his wife? She shivered and took a deep breath. Stephanie Rasmussen. Yikes!

Ivan stopped in front of a freshly painted white house that looked like all the other white houses, and he pointed to a maroon pickup in the driveway. “Look familiar?”

The kitchen door to the little Cape Cod slammed shut. A dog barked, raced into the driveway, stopped short, and ran back into the yard. The sound of voices carried over the noise of the excited dog. Stephanie and Ivan exchanged glances.