by Sandy James
“I want you to wear it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
“That’s not a reason.”
He shrugged, so she went ahead and put it on without asking anything more. The faster they ate, the faster they could get back to doing exactly what she wanted to do, which was get right back in bed.
He smiled. “Looks a lot better on you than it does on me.”
Taking his hand, she led him into the kitchen. “Let’s see what we’ve got to choose from.”
“Doesn’t matter to me. Let’s just make it quick.”
As Chelsea searched through the pantry, Ethan came up behind her and pulled her back against him. After nibbling her ear, sending chills racing over her skin, he whispered, “I’m still hungry.”
She leaned back against him, stroking his forearms and humming in pleasure. Suddenly, food didn’t seem all that important. “So am I.”
His teeth tugged her earlobe. “Want to cook?”
“Hmm?”
“I asked if you wanted to cook, or do you want me to?” Sounding a bit disgruntled, he backed away from her before giving her ass a playful swat. “Told you, I’m still hungry.”
The man was going to drive her crazy. “You’re nothing but a tease, aren’t you?”
“I’m not teasing. I’m starving.”
“Fine. I’ll cook.” Opening the refrigerator, she was pleased to see that Sharon had done a great job stocking it with food. While she could’ve put together just about anything, she grabbed the carton of eggs and the butter, wanting something she could whip up quickly. “Scrambled eggs sound okay?”
He moved to block the door when she tried to close it with her hip. “How about an omelet? A big omelet. We can share.”
“Fine.” As she set the eggs on the counter, he placed ham, cheddar cheese, onions, peppers, and some cherry tomatoes beside them. “Can you please hand me the milk?”
Ethan did as she asked, putting the milk carton next to the vegetables. “Want me to chop while you mix?”
With a nod, Chelsea searched through the island and was pleased to find a mixing bowl as well as a frying pan. She put the bowl on the granite counter and set the pan on one of the burners.
He popped a tomato in his mouth before grabbing a chopping block from where it rested next to the sink. “This is a great kitchen.”
“Yep.” She cracked open an egg, letting the yolk and white sluice into the bowl. She let her gaze wander the large kitchen. “I love this place. We’ll have to come back here sometime. I hate Nashville winters.”
“Works for me. I hate ’em too.”
Fragrant aromas filled the air as a gentle breeze blew through the open windows—melting butter, fresh onions, salt water. Chelsea breathed it all in, grateful to be doing something as normal as preparing a meal for the two of them. For the next few days, there would be no performances, no autographs, no recording, no press. Only the two of them in a place about as close to paradise as she could imagine.
It wasn’t easy to cook with him constantly touching her, but she soldiered through, knowing that as soon as they’d satisfied their hunger they would be satisfying other needs. By the time she slid the omelet from the pan onto the plate, she wanted nothing more than to wolf down a few bites and drag him right back to bed.
She fed him a forkful of omelet, and he returned the favor. And she didn’t feel silly, although to anyone watching them, they probably looked like a couple of goofy teenagers in love.
But that was exactly what she was—someone in love.
For a moment, she flirted with the idea of telling him how she felt. That impulse was discarded as rapidly as it formed. Ethan was still like a green colt—easily spooked. Should she utter those three infamous words, he’d probably bolt that same way a colt would when he got skittish.
As wonderful as it was to be alone with him in this beautiful place, and romantic as the atmosphere might be, this simply wasn’t the right time. Not now. Not yet.
How would he react when she told him? Would he brush her declaration aside? Would he admit he felt the same? Would he fall on his knees and ask her to marry him?
She snorted a laugh at the silly romantic image of him begging for her hand.
“What?” he asked.
Instead of telling him how absurd she was being, she just waved a flippant hand.
Setting aside her fork, Chelsea let him finish the last bites of the omelet as she polished off the orange juice left in her glass.
Ethan let his fork drop to the empty plate and turned to grin at her. “That was great. But I want dessert.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And what exactly would you like for dessert?”
“You,” he replied in a husky, low voice that sent electricity racing through her all the way to her toes.
In the blink of an eye, he pushed himself off the bar stool, scooped her into his arms, and headed back to the bedroom.
* * *
Ethan couldn’t wait to have her soft, warm skin pressed against him again. Although he’d loved seeing her in his T-shirt, feeling as though that marked her as his, he tugged it over her head and discarded it on the floor. His own boxers quickly joined it.
Slipping his hands down her hips, he looped the elastic waistband of her panties with his thumbs and dragged that bit of lace and satin down her thighs. The thatch of red hair beckoned him, so he tossed the panties aside, gently spread her thighs, and kissed her exactly where he’d dreamed of kissing her.
She tasted sweet, womanly, and he kept up his assault, forcing her to take the last steps to the bed. All he needed was a gentle push against her stomach to get her to fall back against the sheets. Spreading her thighs wider, he licked between her folds, finding the jewel he sought. He pulled it lightly between his teeth and then drove her crazy with his tongue.
Each moan, each arch of her back, drove him higher until his cock felt so hard he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. Easing back, he ripped another condom off the strip and quickly rolled it on. Positioning himself between her thighs, he lifted her knees, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him before he drove inside her.
Chelsea matched him so perfectly, matched his passion, his rhythm. Moving inside her again and again, Ethan felt himself tighten and knew his release would be soon. A moment later, she cried out his name, the sound of wonder in her voice pushing him over the edge. One last thrust, and the world around him swirled as his orgasm raced through him.
After a hasty cleanup, he crawled back into bed as she lifted the sheet and patted the mattress beside her.
Exhausted and satisfied, he hauled her up against him, loving how she draped her leg over his thighs.
He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
* * *
Waking up in Ethan’s arms was something Chelsea wanted to get used to.
Her body felt sated and her mind content. This vacation had been exactly what she needed—what they needed.
Morning was here, and she was ready to greet it with a cup of coffee. After breakfast, she wanted to explore their island.
A yawning Ethan came into the kitchen when the coffee was just about done. They ate their breakfasts in quiet companionship that she could also get used to.
After cleaning up the kitchen, she decided it was time to start their exploration. They wandered around the island under the canopy of tropical trees, watching the birds and wildlife and then marveling at the variety of flowering plants. As the heat began to build close to lunchtime, she suggested that they should spend some time on the beach.
Back at the house, Ethan slathered her with sunscreen again and she returned the favor. Just to be sure she didn’t burn in the strong midday sun, she also took one of the floppy straw hats that hung in the mudroom and put it on. She grabbed a blanket and the picnic lunch she’d taken a few moments to pack for them.
“Ready?” he asked, flicking the brim of her hat.
“Ready. Here…” She ha
nded him the basket. “Take this for me, please.”
It was only a short walk to the beach, practically right outside the big French doors.
She spread the blanket out over the hot sand and turned to catch the sun.
“Careful, ginger,” Ethan said with a smile as he put the basket on the blanket. “You’ve already been out, and you’ll burn in the blink of an eye.”
“I know, I know. We won’t stay out too much longer. Shouldn’t you be wearing a baseball cap or something?”
“Nah. I never burn. Just get tan.”
“Famous last words.” She stared at him as he jerked his shirt over his head and dropped it on the picnic hamper. Damn if her thoughts weren’t already turning to making love to him again. He’d reached a part of her that she’d never known existed, a part that seemed to be a bit of a sex maniac—probably because she loved him so damned much.
And things were sure to get better and better.
“God, I love the sounds of waves,” she said. Then she tossed him a grin. “Race ya!”
Running toward the water, she squealed when he caught her from behind and swept her off her feet.
Ethan hit the waves, holding her just above the surface. “Want to cool off?”
Struggling to hold on to her hat, Chelsea replied, “Don’t drop me!”
“What was that you said?” he teased. “You want to go swimming?” He feigned dropping her only to pull her close and press a quick kiss on her lips. “Later, perhaps.” Setting her on her feet, he held her hand as they both let the waves lap against their legs.
“This place is so beautiful,” she said in a reverent whisper. When she glanced at him, he was staring at her. “What?
“You’re beautiful.”
She thanked him with a kiss before she took his hand. “C’mon. I’ve got a surprise for you in that basket.”
She sat down cross-legged on the blanket. Flipping open the lid of the picnic hamper, she pulled out the bottle of champagne she’d packed. It had seemed the perfect choice since she felt like celebrating. For the first time in just about forever, she was truly happy—as if she were able to be herself and not have to wear some kind of mask.
He plopped down beside her and took the bottle. “Let me.” In no time, the loud echo of the popping cork echoed through the air.
Holding the glasses while he poured, she tried to catch as much of the bubbly overflow as she could. After he propped the bottle in the sand, he offered up his glass. “A toast.”
With a smile, she held hers aloft as well. “To what?”
His gaze wandered the beach. “To this island. To this amazing island.” He turned his eyes to her as a slow smile bowed his lips. “To the best woman I’ve ever known.” With a quick lift of his glass, he drank down the champagne.
Not sure whether to drink to herself, she held her glass a little higher. “And to the best lover I’ve ever had.” Savoring his wide-eyed response, she downed the contents of her glass and immediately started choking. After coughing and coughing, she finally expelled the champagne that had gone down the wrong pipe.
“Not a drinker?” he asked with a sexy wink as he refilled her glass.
“Not used to the bubbles,” she replied.
They shared the lunch she’d thrown together. Nothing but sandwiches and chips, but it tasted wonderful.
Everything was perfect. Until she looked out over the water and saw the boat.
And the photographer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shit.” Chelsea scrambled to her feet and started gathering up the things they’d taken out of the picnic hamper.
“What?” Jumping up, he grabbed her by the upper arms. “What’s wrong?”
She tossed her head at the intruder. “There’s a guy on a boat out there, taking pictures.”
His head whipped toward the horizon, then his eyes narrowed. “Son of a bitch.” He released her and started to toss things back into the basket as well.
When everything was stored, she bundled up the blanket, not caring if she also scooped up half the sand on the beach with it. “How…?”
“Sharon,” Ethan hissed. “It had to be her. I thought she recognized you.”
“So did I, but…I’d hoped…”
“Yeah, I’d hoped too.” He nodded at the house. “Let’s get inside. I’m sure he’s got plenty of pictures by now.” Turning, he flipped the bird in that general direction.
“Oh, come on, Ethan. Don’t do that. It’ll be all over the place within the hour,” she scolded, angry and hurt. The situation was bad enough. The last thing they needed was for him to make obscene gestures for posterity. Those images would be worth even more than the pictures of them together at an isolated beach retreat.
“Like I give a shit,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
That’s because you don’t have a career to worry about…
Ethan had to be livid at the intrusion. She was fighting her own fury, having a hard time not ranting and raving at the invasion of their privacy. His absolute revulsion to publicity probably made his rage burn hotter than her own. But didn’t he realize he was only making things worse by letting the guy know how much he’d pissed them off?
Once inside, she slammed the door behind them. The idiot in the boat was probably already firing up his motor and heading back to someplace he could get Wi-Fi access and sell his bounty to the highest bidder. There’d be plenty of buyers, with Nashville Chat most likely at the front of the line. No doubt their lead would be a picture of a fuming Ethan with his middle finger extended while she stood right behind him, scowling.
Will would be apoplectic. So would Addie. They had both agreed with Chelsea that she and Ethan should’ve tackled the engagement rumor while that was all it had been. A stupid rumor. Once those pictures of her with Ethan hit the Internet, her credibility with her fans would be in the sewers.
She should’ve trusted her gut, but she’d capitulated to placate him. Never again. He might’ve been born to parents who understood Nashville and the publicity that came with being stars, but he clearly didn’t have a clue how to make that publicity become an asset rather than a liability. Chelsea understood and was a master at that game. She’d never second-guess herself again, nor would she bend to Ethan’s will as a way to please him. She’d be damned if she’d turn into some simpering female who let the male call all the shots.
Her anger became self-directed, so she took a deep breath and tried to get a hold on her tumultuous emotions. She wasn’t going to be of any good to anyone if she kept up this train of thought. The pictures were taken; now she needed to deal with them.
A few calming moments later, Chelsea got her act together. “I should call Addie.” It dawned on her that she had no idea where she’d left her phone. The moment they’d gotten there, she’d been so focused on Ethan that she hadn’t even thought about checking her messages. Hunting through the house, she finally found the phone resting on the kitchen island.
I’m pathetic. A fool in love.
“Yeah, she might be able to put a lid on those pictures,” Ethan said.
“Are you serious?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “There’s nothing that can stop that bozo from selling those pictures. He’ll make a pretty penny for them too.”
“Then why do you need to call Addie? What good can she do if she can’t squash this guy?”
“I need to tell her what happened. Then she can talk to Will and get a quick press release out. We need to get ahead of this.”
“That again?” he said, his volume rising. “So there are some pictures of us together? Who gives a damn?”
“You really don’t get it do you?”
“Get what?”
“This is what Will warned us about,” Chelsea said, having a hard time keeping the scolding I-told-you-so tone from her voice. “I should’ve listened to him in the first place. And I should’ve trusted my own judgment. All we had to do was release a statement that we were in a relationship
and these pictures wouldn’t mean diddly shit. They’d just show the world that we’d told the truth. Now, they’re going to be a hot topic, because it looks like we were hiding something.”
“Then we just ignore them,” Ethan insisted.
“For God’s sake…don’t you see that we’re past that? We were past that before we left on this trip.”
“What do you mean ‘past that’?” he asked.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she bowed her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed to gather her thoughts and tamp down her anger. Neither was an easy task. “In this day and age, when a rumor starts churning, you can’t bury your head in the sand. The best thing to do is go on the offensive and tell the truth behind the rumor. Once someone started saying we were getting married, we should’ve been honest and put out a quote or two about us being a couple. If we’d done that yesterday, the pictures that asshat took wouldn’t be anything juicy—they’d just be confirmation of what people already knew. Shit, they’d probably think they were sweet. But because we ran away and never said a word about the rumor, it’s going to blow up in our faces.”
He merely shrugged. “So what? Let it blow up. I don’t care.”
“Of course you don’t care. You don’t have to care!” Chelsea realized she’d clenched her hands into fists and had adopted a stance as though she was ready to face an opponent—feet apart and shoulders back. She forced herself to relax again, but the tension inside her was churning.
Judging from the tense frown on Ethan’s face, he was every bit as mad at her as she was at him. This situation was crappy enough without them fighting over who’d been right to begin with—even if it had been her.
“Look,” she said, proud that her tone had eased as much as her body language, “I don’t wanna fight. The pictures are going to get out there. We need to nip it in the bud.”
“Whatever,” he said, pulling out a bar stool and plopping his butt on it. “For the record, I think you’re wrong.”
“For the record, I’m not,” she said. “Oh, I was wrong. I was wrong yesterday when I let you make the call. Today, I’m right. So let me call Addie. I’ll have her get with Will and release a statement. We should get some pictures of us together here and send those as well. They’ll help.”