I take a long, hot shower and collapse on the hotel bed. The room is cool and dark, the bed is comfortable, the covers are encompassing but, still, I can't sleep.
My brain refuses to slow. It's fixed on the feeling of Ethan's hand on my side, of his lips on my lips, of his hard chest against my palm.
I close my eyes and let my mind fill with beautiful mental images—Ethan stripping out of his jeans and pressing his hard, sweaty body against mine. Ethan undoing the buttons of my jeans, pushing them off my hips, and pressing his palm against me. Ethan sliding his tongue into my mouth, pulling my panties aside, and stroking me to an orgasm.
My body wakes up. Hell, it's on fire. Sleep, what sleep? This bed is no place for sleep. This bed is a place for Ethan to strip off his clothes. Then mine. Then his hands—those strong, nimble guitarist's hands—can be on every inch of my skin. And my hands can be wrapped around his cock, and I can be the one making his blue eyes fill with pleasure. And then he can be inside me, pinning me to the bed, sinking his teeth into my neck, and the two of us can come together again and again and again-
I push my boxers off my hips and slide my hand below my belly button. I think of Ethan and me together, here, our bodies erasing all the hurt between us.
It only takes a few minutes for pleasure to fill my body. Tension knots inside me, then it's unfurling. Every part of me feels good, but I'm not satisfied. I'm only hungrier for him.
Maybe I should go again.
Maybe…
I contemplate the matter for long enough to drift into that half-asleep, half-awake state.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my fantasies.
"Hey, Vi, you up?" Ethan's voice is soft.
Sleep isn't happening. But I can't invite him into my bed. Not yet. "Yeah. Give me two minutes." I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth.
I'm not wearing any makeup. My hair is a mess. It's not that I'm vain. Makeup is my shield. Without it, I feel naked and vulnerable. I'm not ready to feel like that with Ethan. Not yet.
He knocks again.
"One more minute." I grab my concealer and apply it. Then eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick. There. That's better. I go to the door and pull it open.
He's smiling that same I'm happy just to see you smile. He hands me a take-out coffee cup. "Your unsweetened matcha latte."
I take it. "Thank you."
"Don't worry. It's with almond milk."
"I wasn't worried." Okay, my brow is a little furrowed. It's unsettling how well Ethan remembers everything. It doesn't make sense—he remembers all these little details about me, about us, but he also goes around nailing strangers every night.
Maybe that's his way of coping. Fine. I can live with that.
But he threw me away. How can he be so happy to see me now? How can he remember my drink order?
Why is he looking at me like he's still in love with me?
I take a long sip to keep from touching him. It also spares me the trouble of forming a response. I appreciate the drink but I'd rather have you in my mouth is not what I want to say here.
"Thank you. It's perfect." I hold his gaze. Somehow, I manage to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground too.
"I'll let you get to work." He takes a step backwards. "Unless you want to head to lunch now?"
I look back into my room to check the time. Lunch is reasonable and my stomach is growling at the thought of food. Say eggs with avocado, or a sandwich with extra avocado, or a giant bowl of guacamole and a spoon.
Ethan laughs. "Let me guess—you want tacos with extra guacamole?"
I admit nothing. "We should try the tea place."
"They have an avocado sandwich."
"A wise menu addition."
"Meet me in the lobby in five? We can walk from here."
My knees go weak as his smile spreads across his cheeks. My body is still tuned to the Ethan is a sex god channel.
I want to feel good. And his smile fills me with warm, gooey affection.
It's only lunch.
I can do lunch.
"Make it ten," I say.
"Need more eyeliner?"
I laugh. "Yes."
"Me too."
Lord help me.
Chapter 12
Violet
In downtown San Francisco, Ethan's navy hoodie and designer jeans are not code for rock star hanging out on his day off but rather another young tech millionaire. Nobody stops him or looks at him sideways.
We have the day off today. Tomorrow, the band is playing a sold-out show at some big amphitheater. Then we head to Portland, then Seattle, then Chicago, then New York.
There are a few days off and another few in transit. That gives me nine more days in Ethan's company.
Nine days with my body screaming give me Ethan.
The back of his hand brushes against mine. Immediately, my body responds. My stomach flutters. Heat spreads to my cheeks and chest. I allow myself a moment to check him out—tight jeans, wide smile, navy eyeliner making his blue eyes look bluer.
He's hotter than he was when we were together. How is that possible?
"It's right this way." He nods to a packed corner.
It's the middle of a work day. Downtown is packed with a mix of business types in suits and tech types in hoodies, jeans, and canvas shoes. I try to cut through the crowd but people don't part the way they do in New York. They stare at their phones, bumping into me or shooting me dirty looks.
Then Ethan's arm is around my waist and he's leading me through the crowded street. I should object to his arm out of principle, but it makes me feel warm and safe.
I move closer, until I can smell his soap. It's the hotel soap, the same one I used. And under that, it's Ethan. I can't explain it but the smell of him is familiar.
I get lost in the proximity of his body until we arrive. We're in a small, clean park sandwiched between skyscrapers. It's an oasis in the middle of the city.
The restaurant isn't quite in the park. It's a level higher, outside a convention hall.
It's a small place with a quaint vibe. The walls, tables, and chairs are shades of bronze and copper.
We take seats at a corner table. Ethan glances at his menu then he sets it down. He has that look on his face—he already knows what he wants. Still, he waits patiently as I take my time poring over the menu.
"Are you happy you're in grad school?" he asks.
I stare back at him curiously. "You really want to know?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because… when I told you I was going, you…" I bite my lip. "You asked me to choose between you and grad school."
His eyes turn down. "That's not how it went."
What the hell is he talking about? Maybe, technically, I left Ethan, but he didn't give me a choice.
I spent our entire relationship supporting him. Hell, I was practically his sidekick. Then the second I wanted something that wasn't easy for him, he pushed me away.
Even through clenched teeth, my voice is irritated. "How did it go?"
He stares through me. "That doesn't matter anymore."
Of course it does.
I stare back at Ethan. His blue eyes give nothing away. I have no idea what he's thinking, but he looks sincere.
He really believes what he's saying.
My lips are dry. I wet them with my tongue, but that only makes my mouth feel drier.
Was our relationship that meaningless to him?
I don't know what to think here.
I hold his gaze. "It matters to me."
His expression gets intense. "It's not gonna be a quick conversation. Let's table it. I want to know your life, Vi. I'm glad you're doing well. Are you doing well?"
"Yeah." I slide my fingers over the menu. It's coated with slick plastic. How can he suggest we table the conversation? He must not think much of my feelings. "I love New York City."
"Even the weather?" He raises a brow.
"No. I hate rain. And snow. And w
ind. And humidity." I chew on my bottom lip. I want to have a nice lunch with Ethan. Maybe it is better to move on from the subject of our breakup. We're stuck together for nine days. "We have two weeks in the fall where the weather is perfect."
"I miss the sunshine when I'm away." He looks into my eyes. "I'm glad school is good."
"Really?" I raise a brow.
"Yeah. You're the smartest person I've ever met, Vi. You're gonna go on to great things. Hell, you're probably wasting your talent working on our books."
"It's a different skill set, but I don't mind. Accounting is mostly about regulations and being organized."
"What's the verdict?"
"There's something off about your books. I'm not sure about the details yet, but there's definitely something off. It could be that I'm doing something wrong-"
"I doubt that." His voice is confident. He really believes in me.
That doesn't make any sense.
I stare into Ethan's eyes, trying to find some sign he's full of shit. There's nothing. He's hanging on every word. He trusts me.
He cares about me.
I clear my throat. "I should probably talk to Mal about it."
"Going over my head? That's low." He shakes his head with mock incredulity.
"Well." I lean closer and shoot him a look of faux suspicion. "Did you embezzle money from your bandmates?"
"Not sure I should tell you."
"How can I convince you?"
"I'm sure you can think of something." He raises a brow, shifting into character.
"Hmmm." I miss playing this game with Ethan. It's always fun. I arch my back to push my chest towards him. "There must be something I can offer you. In exchange."
He leans back into his chair, spreads his legs wide. "Whatever do you mean, Ms. Valentine?"
I shrug, feigning innocence. "I'm not sure, Mr. Strong. I'm new to this whole bookkeeping thing. I'm sure a powerful, handsome man like you could point me in the right direction."
He laughs, breaking character. "Keep this up and I'm getting you off in the bathroom."
My cheeks flush. "Are you telling me to stop or telling me to keep going?"
"It's a data point. Do what you want with the information." His eyes go wide with desire.
God, I can practically feel his hands on my skin, his breath on my neck. I want his body pressed against mine. I want him getting me off in the bathroom.
But I'm not ready for that. Not yet.
I lean back on my seat and pull my legs onto my chair, so I'm sitting cross-legged. "I don't think it was you. You would have no idea how to embezzle."
He laughs. "Vi, that hurts. I can't believe you doubt my knowledge of criminal activities."
"Not all criminal activities. I know for a fact that you're quite experienced in matters of public indecency."
His voice drops to something low and seductive. "Do you?"
Damn, I'm not steering the conversation back to platonic territory very well. But then, I don't want the conversation in platonic territory. The look in his eyes is making me hot all over. "I could be reminded."
He's about to say something when the waiter interrupts to drop off waters and take our orders.
Ethan holds my gaze for a moment. Something passes between us. Something I can't explain.
Then it's gone. He orders the Russian tea service.
I order a sencha tea and an avocado sandwich and hand the waiter our menus. Then he's gone and it's me and Ethan alone.
"How about I remind you after lunch?" he asks.
I meet his gaze. "What do you have in mind?"
"That part is a surprise. Do you have a swimsuit?"
"Not with me, no."
"I'll buy you one."
"You're not buying me anything." Even if the thought of trying on swimsuits with Ethan just outside the door is making me hot all over.
"It's a trade. I buy you a swimsuit. In exchange, you trust me to lead you right for the rest of the day."
"Who's buying lunch?"
"Me."
"Dinner?"
"I have money now. You don't. I'll buy."
I chew on my lip.
"You can pay me back after Mal pays you for working on our books if it will make you feel better."
It will. But I'm not sure I believe that he'll accept my money.
He smiles as he extends his hand. "We can get tacos for dinner."
The man knows my weakness.
I shake. "You have a deal."
Chapter 13
Violet
Every wall of the swim shop is adorned with candy-colored bathing suits. I try to pour my attention into a rack of white bikini separates but it's difficult to think anything but I'm getting half-naked with Ethan.
He's sitting in the turquoise armchair placed across from the dressing room. He looks from his phone screen to me and he raises a brow. It's a dare. A challenge.
Okay. We're going swimming. Something like that. I love swimming and I certainly wouldn't mind a nice bikini—the one buried in my drawer in New York is many years old. I certainly wouldn't mind Ethan's jaw dropping as he takes me in. Or his cock hardening as he pins me to the wall and peels off my swimsuit.
I grab a few bikinis in solid shades and a few fun patterns and I step into a dressing stall. It's easier to think without Ethan in my eyeline.
I want him, I do. But I'm not sure how I want him—as a friend, as a fling, as a fuck buddy, as a boyfriend, as the one person who makes me feel whole? At the moment, the only correct answer is all of the above.
I try to clear my head as I try on the first swimsuit. At the moment, Ethan and I are friends who flirt. That works for me. In fact, I'm really enjoying it. And with the way he's smiling as he flirts back—that must work for him too.
I'll take this one step at a time.
There are benefits to a flirty friendship. Namely the way he's going to sigh with desire when he sees me in a bikini. I'm not exactly thin, but martial arts keeps me in good shape. I have a nice figure.
Even so, I do not look hot in this swimsuit. The bottom is cut too high and it's too tight on my round hips. The white is too plain. The black is too drab.
The turquoise suit is promising. The bra-style top is particularly flattering to my bust. The bottoms sit low on my hips and cover just enough of my butt. I spin a few times. It's skimpy, yes, but it's cute too. And I know turquoise is a good color on me. Before she accepted that her only daughter was never going to grow out of her goth style, Mom was always trying to get me to wear less black and more color.
Still, I need to make sure it looks good in the full-length mirrors. I cultivate all the I don't care what Ethan thinks of me in a bikini I can (almost none) and step into the main room.
My eyes catch his immediately. I try to play coy as I turn to the mirror and check out my reflection, but I can feel his gaze passing over me. His expression is hungry and determined.
"Fuck, Vi. Any way I can convince you to wear that everywhere?" He pushes himself to his feet.
I spin around so we're face to face. "I'm sure you can think of something."
He takes a step towards me. Then another. Another. Then he's close enough to touch me.
"Here." His fingers skim my shoulder. He adjusts my strap. Then the other. Then his eyes are on mine. "Better?"
"Yes, thank you." I look up at him. Right now, I want to kiss him. I don't care about anything that happens after I kiss him, only about how his lips will feel against mine.
He drags his fingertips up my shoulder and over my neck. "You getting that one?"
This is moving too fast. I take a step backwards. "Yeah. Don't you need a suit?"
"No, I have one."
"Where?"
"In my pocket."
"In the pocket of your incredibly tight skinny jeans?" Now, I have a perfectly valid explanation for staring at his crotch.
"Yeah, right here." He pats his front right pocket. "You know, my eyes are up here, Violet."
"I
'm not sure about that. I might have to investigate."
"You're going to make me think you're using me for my body."
I throw him an uh-huh look. "I should change." Before I do something that will get both of us arrested.
"Try not to spend the entire time thinking about me naked."
"That's a lost cause." I smile like I'm joking.
But from the way he smiles back, it's clear he knows I'm not.
Ethan tells me nothing about where we're going. If it was anyone else, I'd be a nervous wreck. But I don't feel a single hint of negative energy.
I really do trust him.
Fuck, this is dangerous.
His hand brushes mine as we walk. It's about twenty minutes of trekking through a residential neighborhood until we stop in front of a several-story apartment complex.
Ethan points to the pool on the roof of the building. It's as secluded as a pool gets.
"You have access to this how?" I ask.
He smiles. "I'm capable of criminal activities besides public indecency."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He pulls something from his front pocket—a key. "Plus, a friend of mine owns the building. It's empty. They're demolishing it in a few weeks to put up fancy condos."
"Oh."
"You want to back out?"
I shake my head. This might technically be trespassing, but it doesn't sound like there's much risk of getting in trouble.
Ethan opens the door to the lobby, slides his arm around my waist, and whisks me inside. He looks at his arm for a second. "Sorry, habit."
But he doesn't move his arm. And I don't ask him to move it.
I don't want him to move it.
He leads me up the stairs and through the roof door. It's a cool day and the wind is blowing. But that does nothing to convince me swimming at an abandoned pool is a bad idea.
The pool is huge for an apartment complex and its water is a bright aqua.
I want in that water.
Ethan drags his fingertips over my lower back. I'm not sure what it means, but I like the way it feels.
And I fucking love the way his smile lights me up inside.
I don't feel cold anymore. I don't feel heavy or achy or tired.
Dangerous Kiss (Dangerous Noise Book 1) Page 8