by Robyn Thomas
Trapped? Had that been his exact word?
Making an effort not to inflict further damage with her nails, she curled her hands into fists. She hadn’t trapped Gabe. He’d burst into her life and taken over, studying her future wedding plans as if they were a blueprint for happiness, then announcing that he’d play the male lead. She hadn’t questioned him. In the four years she’d spent with him, she hadn’t entertained a single doubt that they’d grow old together. She could have sworn he shared her certainty. So why was she suddenly single? And why was she torturing herself by watching strangers exchange vows?
“Leaving already?”
Ethan’s question startled her, but only until she realized she’d left the chapel and made a beeline for the street exit. She paused with her hand on the door, sucked in a calming breath, and turned to face him.
“Yeah, I’m ready to go. Coming here was a bad idea, and I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She gestured at the phone he was no longer talking into. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
His gaze swept over her, hot and hasty. “You shouldn’t have worn that dress.”
She pulled his jacket closed, hiding the deep cleavage he was probably alluding to. “There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done today. Wearing a glamorous dress isn’t one of them.” She stepped to one side, drawing Ethan out of the doorway. A wildly intoxicated couple burst into the foyer. They looked unbelievably happy. For a moment she wished she could be carefree like them.
Will drinking help me feel that way? It’s worth a try.
“Ethan?” She hesitated, wondering what he might read into a late night invitation.
Offer the man a nightcap already. How hard can it be?
“I need a drink. Is there any chance your hotel has a bar?”
Chapter Four
Ethan’s instincts demanded he cut and run. He ignored them. Sara’s eyes were guarded, her body language defensive, as if she was bracing herself for a rejection. All she wanted was a drink, and to escape this wedding factory. He wanted those things, too.
They weren’t all he wanted, but Sara wasn’t offering anything beyond a nightcap. Hell, when had a late night drink with a beautiful woman in Vegas gotten so complicated?
Sara’s lips thinned. She nodded as if he’d just confirmed something. “You don’t need the drama, I get it.” Her anxious laughter tugged at him. “It was really nice to meet you, Ethan. I hope you enjoy the rest of your mini break.” When she slipped his jacket off and held it out, he refused to take it. She draped it over his arm and turned away.
That was it? Not a chance. He waited until she took a step away from him before grasping her shoulders and spinning her around, pressing her back against the door. He crowded her, taking the kiss he’d resisted back at The PepperMill. Her hesitation, that delicious knife-edge moment of reluctance, was thrilling. He gentled his lips, coaxing her to join him, sensing passion beneath her panic. He eased his body back from hers, maintaining contact, yet reducing the intensity. It was the magic combination. Her mouth softened, opening for him as her arms wrapped around his waist. He groaned, wondering how much it was going to cost him to walk away from Sara tonight without asking for more.
He kissed her as long as he dared, watching as she touched a trembling hand to her lips afterward.
“If I leave you alone, you’ll be married to some loser before the week is out. Don’t argue,” he said. “Looking like you do—like a troubled goddess—your plan is to hit a hotel bar alone and allow alcohol to dull your senses? You’ll have vultures circling before you finish your first drink.” He dragged his thumb across her lower lip. “You’re so easy to read. They’ll recognize your need for commitment, and if they’re good, it will only be a few days before you wake up in an empty bed with a wedding ring on your finger.”
Her delicate brows pulled together. “I’d have to be the only woman in the bar for anyone to even notice me. I wouldn’t know what to do if someone did approach me, but I doubt I’d accept a sudden marriage proposal.” She pushed against his chest, smiling wryly even as her fingertips tested the muscle beneath them. “I might avoid bars and get a room instead. I’ll raid the mini bar in private.”
He pulled her in for a hug, laughing softly against her neck. “And leave me to drink alone in a bar?” he asked. “Unsupervised? Vultures circling?”
Her tension didn’t ease the way he’d hoped.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“One drink, Sara.”
She hesitated and he could actually feel a blush firing up her skin. What was she thinking to warrant that level of embarrassment? “I’d like to, but I can’t.”
“You don’t trust me?”
A barely audible whimper slipped through her lips. “I’m not sure I trust myself.”
It’d be so easy to press for the drink. Hell, alcohol would be overkill. She was already in his arms. He could loop her hair around his wrist, kiss her senseless, and guide her to the nearest available hotel room before she had a moment to think. Temptation clawed at him. He rose above it. Again. “Let’s get a soda at the Aria Café, and then you can book a room.” He read both doubt and disappointment on her face when she eased away from him.
“A room?”
“A single room,” he said. “I’m already a guest there.” He stroked his knuckles from her temple to her jaw, torturing himself with her smooth perfection. “Tonight won’t be the last time we see each other. You’re meeting me for breakfast.” He smiled. “And you’re going to wear this dress.”
Her eyes flashed a warning. “Like a walk of shame outfit?” She took a moment to think it over, seeming to warm to the idea. “I’ve already booked a hotel room,” she said, lying. “It’s at the Masquerade Hotel. I’ll only do breakfast if you’ll agree to show up without a jacket or tie, with your hair uncombed, your shirt untucked, and no socks. If I’m going to look put-together at the wrong end of the day, you can look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed.”
He almost told her that would add to the illusion, but the morning-after image in his head was too appealing to risk.
…
Sara rubbed her gritty eyes and groaned. She hadn’t booked a wakeup call, but clearly Ethan intended to hold her to their breakfast arrangement. She didn’t know why. Every time she tried to distance herself from him, give him the freedom to enjoy the mini break he’d planned, he started acting territorial.
She pushed her misgivings aside. If a hot, yet shallow, arrogant, successful divorce attorney wanted her company during his morning meal, then he could have it. She had nothing better to do. With no wedding to dominate her schedule, and no work commitments because of said wedding, her calendar was wide open.
Replicating last night’s look proved difficult with limited cosmetics, and doubts began to creep in. She’d never broken a rule in her life. Why was she even contemplating walking around a strange hotel in a cocktail dress and heels, first thing in the morning?
The future you’ve always worked toward has vanished. You need to branch out and try new things. Reinvent yourself.
A sharp rap on her door dispelled her thoughts. She opened it for Ethan, and then froze. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, as requested, but she hadn’t expected the intimacy of it. Her gaze swept from him to her rumpled bed, her eager mind tripping all over itself to pair the two. She forced herself to ignore the bed. Ethan, unshaven and deliciously rumpled, was enough of a problem on his own. In the four years she’d spent with Gabe, she’d never once seen him look like that.
Ethan swam in and out of focus, and she reached for the doorframe. His hand cupped her chin, helping to steady her.
“Ah,” he said, “the effect I’ve always wanted to have.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “What’s up? Do you just need food or is it something else?”
“Gabe, my ex—” She bit her lip, fighting to stem the admission. “He never rolled his shirt sleeves up. Or left any buttons undone.”
Ethan
didn’t move yet she felt him recoil. “He rose before you, showered, shaved, and dressed impeccably?”
She nodded, wondering how he knew the personal details of her former relationship.
“I’m familiar with the type.” His words were bitter, and a thread of menace lurked within them. “I bet he folded his clothes over a valet stand before going to bed.”
She nodded again, beginning to feel like a dashboard doll.
His focus shifted, his attention returning from wherever it had been to land heavily on her. “And you always felt like you were playing catch up, waking up stressed and rushing to pull yourself together? Feeling as if you didn’t quite measure up?” When all she did was stare up at him, Ethan’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “My father pulls that kind of shit, elevating himself by exploiting every tiny weakness in those around him.”
Gabe exploited me? “I don’t—”
She broke off when Ethan dropped his hand from her chin and gestured between them. “Today the tables have turned.” He gestured for her to spin around, his soft growl of approval catching her by surprise. “You’re the one who’s flawless.” He tilted his head toward the hall. “Shall we?”
Taking his arm and walking with him was easy, but her steps faltered when they passed a crowd of hotel guests all wearing plush toy hearts on their arms. She groaned. Hearts on their sleeves, really? The women were giggling, discussing the romance convention they were here for as if everyone in the world was aching to be part of it. They were wrong. This place was a nightmare for a jilted bride. They could keep their decorations and cheesy music. She’d get a room at Ethan’s hotel instead.
“Chin up, keep walking,” Ethan said quietly. “Vegas doesn’t have a dress code, you don’t know anybody, and just this once you don’t care what anyone thinks.”
Vegas doesn’t have a dress code. I don’t know anybody. I don’t care what anyone thinks.
Ethan slanted an amused glance at her in the elevator. “You’re chanting something in your head, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Are you having fun?”
Yeah. “Maybe.”
“Rebel.”
She laughed, forgetting her new mantra as she relaxed and began to look around her. Several people shared their elevator. No one seemed to care how she or Ethan was dressed, where they were going, or what they’d been up to. How long had it been since she’d felt so free? Back home every face she saw was familiar, everyone knew her business, and everything she did was relayed to Gabe.
For his approval?
The day she’d had a trial run of her wedding makeup, Gabe called to instruct the makeup artist to stick to neutral colors. The one time she’d thought about getting temporary streaks in her hair, the stylist called Gabe to check his opinion. He said no, and she accepted his veto! No wonder she always felt unsure—she couldn’t even apply a new lipstick without Gabe’s say so. He decided when she looked okay, and she could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever complimented her.
Ethan’s fingers stroked her upper arm. “You okay?”
No. “I need a new lipstick,” she said. “A bright one.”
“Before we eat?”
“Yeah, before we eat.”
…
Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets and groaned. Casual distraction was what he needed this week, and Sara didn’t qualify. Her reaction when she’d opened the door to him this morning plunged him back more years than he cared to remember. Had he forgotten the parade of women his father had brought through their house or had he just blocked it? How long had his parents actually lived apart? Was it just the one time, and why had his mother come back?
Heavy questions, and totally inappropriate at the present moment. He’d thought he was prepared to contest his parents’ divorce, but maybe he was too close to be objective? His mother’s answers to some of his questions had seemed a little off, but he hadn’t expected her to lie to him. She’d said that she and his father had never lived apart. Now, with the clarity of his memories sharpening, he was sure they had.
Bloody Sara. Something about her made him want to put himself in her place. Nothing wrong with that, except she kept tilting the View-Master and giving him glimpses of the world from her perspective. He didn’t like it. Her sense of right and wrong was so simplistic it was childlike. Where were the degrees of blame, the levels of wrongness, the tradeoffs between one offence and another?
A hand waved in front of his eyes, and then her smiling mouth came into view. Her lips were plump, glossy, and outrageously purple. He wanted to kiss the lipstick off. Immediately.
“Now we can eat,” she said.
He noticed her watching him closely, and bit back a grin. Apparently she’d expected the color to be an issue. “Statement lips,” he murmured. “Nice.”
Her confusion gave him the chance to sweep her toward the French patisserie he’d often glimpsed but never visited. Being with Sara gave him the freedom to indulge. She’d ordered an ice cream sundae the night before, so she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d balk at a few extra calories. Her mind only ever seemed to narrow when she considered what other people might think about her.
He really needed to get back to LA to fine-tune his mother’s defense, especially if she’d lied to him, but Sara’s lure was stronger than the loose ends this morning’s memory had unraveled. His parents’ divorce was the highest profile case of his career, yet he wanted to let it slide for another day or two. For Sara. She was rocking five-inch heels and purple lips at nine in the morning because he’d told her she could pull the look off. No courtroom in the world could compete with that kind of power.
Chapter Five
Sara struggled to close her mouth and conceal her shock. “Your parents are getting divorced and you chose a side?” She lowered her voice, wondering if the waiting line at Jean Philippe Patisserie was the best place for this discussion. “How does that work? I don’t even—”
Thankfully Ethan stopped her before she said something truly hideous about his lack of character and judgment.
“Our family dynamic is already screwed. My mother only turned to me for help with her divorce after my father chose to represent himself.”
“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” she said. “I guess you didn’t sit down to Thanksgiving dinner together.”
He attempted nonchalance, and failed. “I don’t think I’ve ever shared a meal with my parents. When I was young I ate in the kitchen with the housekeeper. When I was older I had my meals sent up to my room. Now I live alone and order in.” He flashed a fake smile. “Holidays are for loving families. We’ve never been big on the whole turkey and presents thing.”
“You’d probably hate the way I do it. I’m guessing handmade bonbons and homemade plum pudding aren’t your idea of necessities?” The momentary longing on his face made her wish she’d said something softer. Short of offering to spend the holidays with him, there wasn’t a lot she could do.
Ethan’s expression blanked into what she assumed was his “lawyer face.” He seemed to regret opening up, and she was surprised to find herself feeling disappointed rather than slighted. It was liberating for someone to share their emotions without her feeling weighed down by them. Gabe had always held her accountable for the things he wasn’t happy about, even if they’d occurred in the past.
She shook her thoughts aside and smiled at Ethan. “I kind of want an éclair, but if I order crepes I’ll get to try the ice cream as well.”
He rubbed his stubble with his open palm, his lips curving with amusement. “I was right,” he said, as if to himself. “Meet me here for pastries at this same time tomorrow.”
Slow, heavy warmth moved through her, making her toes curl. She had plans that extended a full twenty-four hours. It was a far cry from the rest of her life, which had been sewn up as recently as last week, but scheduling anything was a step in the right direction. “Tomorrow,” she murmured.
“Stay for three
days. You haven’t gambled yet, and we need to go dancing.”
She opened her mouth to point out the flaws in his plan, and found herself agreeing instead. “You’re on—if you let me buy you breakfast.”
They’d reached the front of the line, so he couldn’t reply. He scowled though, and gave his order through gritted teeth. She almost laughed when he flipped his credit card out of his wallet at such speed that he dropped it.
“Smooth.” Teasing him had seemed harmless while he was crouched near her feet, but she had to stifle a squeal when his hand encircled her ankle. Apparently, despite the outrageous line of customers, he’d found time to retaliate.
His hand remained in place long enough for his thumb to sweep back and forth in an arc, and then he stood. Without even looking he slid his credit card to the server, then he leaned down to speak in Sara’s ear. “Deliciously smooth.”
My leg? Holy crap, there had to be at least fifty people in the café yet Ethan had just…
He chuckled. “Breathe. Relax. You look a little stunned, but I assure you no one knows why.”
Sara swallowed then gulped in some air. Ethan was right. She was practically having an out-of-body experience, feeling flushed and conspicuous, teetering on skyscraper heels, but the people around them were oblivious.
“How long has it been?”
Since I overreacted to a man’s hand on my ankle? Oh, sex. “Ah, two months, almost three. The weekend before Halloween.”
“He’s seeing someone else.”
“Gabe? No, he’s just been busy.”
“Too busy to sleep with his beautiful, lingerie-designing fiancée?” He gave her a hard look. “Did you live together?”
All the air left her lungs. She couldn’t have this discussion here. Or anywhere with him. She shouldn’t have to. His jaw tightened, giving her some idea of how intimidating he must be in the courtroom.