Ruined: An Ethan Frost Novel; A Loveswept New Adult Romance

by Tracy Wolff

  He doesn’t say anything else until we’re out of the hospital and walking through the parking lot to the car. “Have you figured out why I brought you here yet?”

  “Frost Industries has done a lot of good at that hospital. It doesn’t take an expert to see that everything they have is state of the art.”

  He waves his hand dismissively. “I didn’t bring you there because I wanted to impress you with my philanthropy. That’s the least of my worries.”

  I’m not sure how to react to that. Does he mean he doesn’t care about impressing me? Or simply that he doesn’t think philanthropy is the way to do it? Either way, I’m pretty sure I should be insulted. Only he looks so annoyed, so frustrated, that it’s hard for me to be anything but interested.

  “So, tell me. What did you want me to see?”

  “Those patents you were so upset about from Trifecta. Do you know what they were for?”

  I don’t. Obviously something medical, but in the meeting people referred to them by their official numbers, never by what they were for. And my part of the research hadn’t dealt with them specifically in any way. I’d been looking at older cases, precedents set before these patents were even filed.

  When it becomes obvious that I’m clueless, Ethan thrusts a frustrated hand through his hair. Then walks right past his car to the edge of the parking lot. We’re on the edge of Balboa Park, the cultural mecca of San Diego. We’re surrounded by museums and theaters, botanical gardens, and even the world-famous San Diego Zoo. Ethan stands there looking out over the lush and verdant landscaping for long seconds before turning back to me.

  “They’re for artificial skin regeneration. Do you know what that means?”

  I shake my head, mutely fascinated by the passion, the determination, in his eyes.

  “It means that those patents hold the key to easing the suffering of every man you met today—only Trifecta’s too small and too inefficient to do anything with it. The technologies in those patents will make burn recovery faster and less risky, and when combined with some of the research my own scientists are doing, they’ll also lessen by at least half the scars these men will have to deal with for the rest of their lives. That means less painful scar tissue, less disfiguration, less chance of infection setting in early in the process.

  “You may think me a heartless bastard for pushing through the takeover, for demanding those patents. But all you see is that family and what they stand to lose. Which really isn’t all that much. I paid them very well for their products, gave them more money than their shares of the company are worth. Because I understand what it’s like to lose what matters most to you.

  “But I don’t have the luxury of only seeing them, of worrying about what a couple of guys in suits are going to do if they only make twenty million dollars on their invention instead of the fifty they might make if they ever manage to get their shit together. Not when I have hundreds of thousands, even millions of people depending on the products my company makes.

  “When you look at Trifecta, you see victims. I see selfishness and incompetence. People who are so concerned with lining their own pockets and protecting their own interests that they’ll let thousands upon thousands of people suffer needlessly. And that is something I am not okay with.”

  He holds my gaze for long seconds, then shoves his hands into his pockets and turns away.

  His words reverberate inside me, make me see things in a whole new light—exactly as he intended. They don’t change my mind about wanting to be an intellectual property attorney, about wanting to protect the little guy from corporate domination. But they make me think twice about what happened in that conference room, make me understand in a way I didn’t before that there really are two sides to every story, even when I can’t see the other side.

  Ethan might have been ruthless toward Trifecta, but he wasn’t heartless. Not by a long shot. Understanding that makes a world of difference. How can it not when I’ve just met all those men who are suffering? When I saw the way Alejandro winced with every move or the way Viktor faded in and out of the conversation because of the high from the pain medication? If I could find a way to ease their pain, I would. Of course I would.

  I want to apologize, but I don’t know how. Don’t know what to say that will make everything I told him yesterday okay. “I’m sorry” just doesn’t seem good enough.

  But it’s obvious he’s waiting for me to say something. Though he’s not looking at me, I can tell from the set of his shoulders. From the clench of his fists in his pockets. From the tightness of his jaw. I think about launching into a flowery apology, but in the end, I settle on the truth and hope it’s good enough.

  “My brother is a genius. I don’t mean that he’s a really smart guy. I mean, he’s brilliant, so brilliant they can’t even reliably measure his IQ. Or at least that’s what all the psychologists say.

  “Anyway, for as long as I can remember, he’s been inventing things. When we were little, it was stupid stuff that made me laugh. Or made one of the chores we had to do easier. Nothing big. But as we got older, he got really interested in global communications and energy efficiency. In how telecommunications was changing everything, and yet also doing a damn good job of destroying the entire planet one cell phone at a time.

  “So he decided to figure out how to fix the problem of telecom pollution. He isn’t the only guy in the world interested in that, obviously. All the major telecom companies are into it now. But still, his ideas are pretty awesome. He worked up some stuff, showed it to my father, who promised to show it to some people he knew. This was before he started his own business based on my brother’s ideas. You see, Miles never wanted to work for corporate America. He just wanted to do what he wanted to do and was happy making enough money to pay for a small garage lab where he could also tinker with cars.”

  “That’s where you got it from.” Ethan interrupts for the first time.

  “Yeah.” I decide to test the waters, to move a little closer to him. He doesn’t reach for me, but he doesn’t move away, either. For now, it’s enough. “Anyway, at the beginning, my dad didn’t think what Miles was doing was worth much. He’d sell his ideas for a few thousand dollars here or there. ‘Cash in the hand,’ he used to say. And then those companies who bought the ideas for nothing—who knew exactly what they were getting and took advantage just because they could—made a lot of money off my brother’s ideas. A lot of money.

  “And my dad got mad. He blamed Miles for not knowing his own worth. Blamed the companies for screwing him over. Basically, blamed anyone and everyone but himself for the fact that my brother got screwed. That’s when he decided they would start their own company once they got the necessary start-up cash.

  “Needless to say, it’s kind of a sore spot with me. It’s why I want to be an intellectual property attorney, and it’s why I jumped down your throat without really understanding yesterday. I shouldn’t have done that and I’m sorry.”

  I stop there, because saying any more gets dangerous. Gets me into areas I don’t really want to talk about with anyone, let alone with Ethan.

  “You still think I was wrong,” he says without looking at me.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I think there are two sides to every story, and I think your reasons for doing what you do are incredibly compelling. And no, I don’t think you’re wrong. I’m just not sure you’re a hundred-percent right, either.”

  He doesn’t speak for long moments, and then when he does, the words he says aren’t what I’m expecting at all. “I can live with that if you can.”

  I think of my brother, of my father, of the shit storm that’s been my life for as long as I can remember. And then I think of the tender way Ethan holds me. Touches me. Kisses me. And I know that there’s only ever been one answer. “Damn right I can.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  His arms come around me then, and he’s kissing me, his mouth skimming over my
forehead, my cheeks, my jaw, my lips, my neck. I tilt my head back to give him better access, then moan as he presses soft kisses over my collarbone.

  “Your heart’s beating fast,” he tells me, even as he delivers more kisses to the rapid pulse at the hollow of my throat.

  “I wonder why.”

  He grins at me. “I don’t know. Maybe we should investigate.”

  “I thought you already were.”

  He drops more kisses over the base of my neck, darts his tongue out and licks at my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive spot behind my ear. Then he presses two fingers to my jugular. “It’s beating even faster now.”

  I lift my hand to the center of his chest, feel the steady but rapid boom-boom-boom of his own heart. “Yours isn’t exactly slow, you know.”

  “You didn’t expect anything different, did you, when I’ve got you pressed up against me, all soft and sexy and sweet-smelling?”

  “Wow,” I say with mock gravity. “How very sibilant of you.”

  “Not to mention charming.”

  I look away, feign an interest in the landscape that I’m far from feeling. I even manage to fake a small yawn.

  “So that’s the way you want to play it, hmm?” He grabs my hands, gently turns me to face him.

  I look at him then, really look at him, and realize that the darkness—the remoteness—that has been in his eyes all day has vanished. In its place is the lightness I’m used to. And something else. Something more. I don’t know what it is, and I couldn’t describe it even if I wanted to. But whatever it is, it’s got me trembling all over again. Has my breath catching in my throat and my brain slowly moving into meltdown territory.

  And then he’s kissing me, really kissing me, and nothing in my life has ever felt better.

  I tilt my head, open for him. Relish the feel of his lips. Tantalizing. Taking all the broken shards of me I have to offer and giving me pieces of him in return.

  I wrap my arms around him, tugging at his simple white T-shirt until I manage to pull it free from his jeans. I want to feel him, want to put my hands on all that warm, golden skin. To slide my fingers over it and feel him tremble in response.

  Ethan gasps as I finally manage to press my hands against the hard, muscled planes of his back. There’s nothing in between us now, no fabric barricade to get in the way of my touching him.

  I skim my fingers up his spine, then back down again. I circle around to the front, to the six-pack that he’s rocking and the delicate little happy trail that stretches from his belly button down into the front of his low-rise jeans.

  I want to follow it, to delve deeper until I’m touching him. Until his long, hard cock is in my hand and I’m bringing him the same pleasure that he’s already given me.

  I close my eyes, lean into him. Press my mouth more firmly against his to deepen the kiss, even as my thumb brushes back and forth against the sensitive skin of his lower abs. Ethan groans deep in his throat, and I want to go farther. To drop to my knees in front of him, take him in my mouth and feel the ecstasy as it pulses through him.

  But even as I think it, even as I imagine what it would be like to have Ethan in my mouth, in my throat, other images crowd in. Images of Brandon forcing me to my knees, his hands tangled in my hair as his mouth spewed vile words and demands.

  I stiffen right away, and the desire I’m feeling vanishes in the space between one breath and the next. Ethan drops his arms, steps back, then smiles ruefully as he tucks his shirt back into his jeans. “You make me forget that we’re in a parking lot in broad daylight.”

  I feel my shoulders sag in relief. Yes, I tell myself. Let him think I stopped because of where we are, not because of who I am. Not because of a past I just can’t conquer, no matter how much I want to.

  “You okay?” he asks when I don’t say anything. His palm skims down my arm until he gets to my hand. Then he entwines his fingers with my own.

  “Yeah.” My voice is still husky—with desire or fear, I’m not sure which. I decide not to dwell on it. Why bother when doing so won’t give me any more answers than I already have?

  “You want to get out of here?”

  I think about his question, turn it over in my head. Then reach a very unexpected conclusion. “You know what I really want to do?”

  “What?”

  I point across the landscaping, deep into the heart of Balboa Park. “Go to the zoo.”

  * * *

  Hours later, I turn to Ethan and ask, “So, what do you think?”

  He eyes the penguin hat on top of my head, then says, “I think I like the flamingo one better.”

  “The flamingo? Really?” I reach for it, then change out the penguin. “You don’t think it’s too pink?”

  “It’s a flamingo. It’s supposed to be pink.”

  “But does it clash with my hair? I don’t think red and pink are supposed to go together. At least not this close.”

  For a second, Ethan doesn’t react at all. Then he throws back his head and laughs and laughs, in a way I’ve never heard from him before. At first I’m a little insulted, but it doesn’t take very long before I’m laughing along with him. Ethan’s amusement is like that—totally infectious.

  It’s been a good day at the zoo. We’ve seen the giraffes and the zebras, the hippos and the polar bears. We even got a glimpse of the new baby panda. It was absolutely adorable, so precious and tiny.

  Now we’re in the gift shop, where Ethan has insisted on buying me a souvenir of our day together. At first I resisted, but the fact of the matter is I want something to remember today with at least as much as he wants to buy it for me. So I decided what the hell and have spent the last half hour looking for the most absurd memento I can find.

  “What about the frog?” I ask, reaching for a giant green top hat that has an equally giant tree frog attached to it.

  Ethan contemplates. “I still vote for the flamingo.”

  I sigh gustily. “The flamingo it is, then.” I hand it to him with a flourish, then watch as he makes a beeline toward the nearest cashier to pay for it.

  I wander through the store while I wait for him, and find myself standing in front of one of those old-fashioned coin machines. The kind where you stick in fifty cents and a penny and it stretches out the penny and imprints a design of your choice. I’m not sure what possesses me, but I rummage at the bottom of my purse for some change and put it in the machine. I pick the panda design, because Ethan was as enthralled by the little guy as I was, and then crank the handle until my shiny, stretched penny comes out.

  It’s no flamingo hat, but it’ll have to do. At least for now.

  I slip it into my pocket just as Ethan comes up behind me, shopping bag in hand. “You ready to go?”

  “You bet.” I reach for the bag. “But I absolutely insist on wearing the hat home.”

  “I’d be upset if you didn’t. And remember, just ignore anyone who says it clashes with your hair.”

  I stick my tongue out at him, try to glare. But he just leans forward and kisses me, sucking my tongue deep into his mouth as he does. It feels so good that I start to melt, to open myself to him, but Ethan pulls away before I can do anything more than press my body against his. Which is a good thing—we are in the middle of a crowded store, more than half of whose occupants are under the age of twelve.

  I settle for holding his hand on the way to the car, and I’m so happy—so at peace—after our day together that it’s a miracle I don’t take off under my own power. I know it was just a simple trip to the zoo, but there’s something about seeing Ethan relaxed and having a good time that gets to me. Makes me relax as well. All the crap I have to deal with at work, with my parents, with my own psyche, takes a backseat to this sunny, perfect afternoon.

  Not even the paparazzi standing near the zoo exit as we leave can put a dent in my mood. Ethan growls a little at the intrusion, pulls me close, but I can tell he doesn’t really mind, either. Hell, with his life he’s probably used to it. Besides, it’s no
t like I’m interesting or famous enough to make the pictures worth much. If they even get picked up, I’ll probably be described as Ethan’s new lady friend or some such ridiculous moniker. Which is more than fine with me—I don’t need or want to add fame to my already fucked-up life. My ebullient mood lasts most of the way home, but the closer we get to La Jolla, the more my thoughts turn to all the things I can’t change. I think of the VA hospital and all the men I met there today. Some of them—like Alejandro and Viktor—are in really good spirits, but others are completely destroyed by what has happened to them. It was devastating to see, even more devastating to understand that there is nothing I can do to help them.

  “How do you handle it?” I ask Ethan as we turn onto La Jolla Shores Drive.

  “Handle what?”

  “The pressure. The weight of all those expectations. Everyone knows that Frost Industries works miracles, but there’s always more suffering to cure, more pain to try to stop. How do you handle knowing that no matter how hard you work, no matter how many people you help, there will always be others you can’t do anything for?”

  “By not believing that I’ll never be able to help them. By always looking for the next miracle, the next breakthrough that will somehow manage to save someone who couldn’t be saved a year ago. Or ten years ago. Fifteen, twenty.”

  My mind goes to his father, and I figure Ethan’s must be doing the same thing. Is there a product in Frost Industries’s arsenal that would have kept his father alive? I want to ask, but it’s too soon. Too personal. So not my business.

  “Does it work?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Visualizing the future you want to have? Believing it so much that it becomes a kind of truth to you?”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way,” he says after a moment. “But that’s a perfect description of what I’m talking about.”