Taking a deep breath, Ivy turned around. And immediately felt as though a thousand-pound hippo stomped all that air right back out of her. The one man she’d spent weeks trying to banish from her thoughts currently leaned, ankles crossed, on the entrance wall to the Oceanarium, devilishly debonair in a tux. And why did her first reaction have to be noticing how damn handsome he looked? Because Ben Westcott—whether clothed or stark naked—was nothing if not drop-dead good looking.
“Uh oh,” whispered Daphne. “Isn’t that—”