by Unknown
Obviously shocked, his hand touching hers, stilled. “You could never disappoint anybody in bed.”
“Well, Jeff would disagree with you there.” He was about to vehemently object, she pressed two fingers over his mouth. As before, Ethan’s lips began to caress her fingers. Annalise plunged ahead with her explanation, despite the upheaval his lips were causing her rock-hard resolve. “It wasn’t actually a matter of performance, Ethan—it didn’t get that far. I wasn’t what he expected.”
He moved her hand from his lips. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You are exactly what a woman is supposed to be. You are gorgeous, you are perfect.”
Annalise wanted to cry. “You are so sweet. Please, let’s talk about something beside my one-day failed marriage.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“I didn’t even nap.” She tried to make him smile. “He assured me in no uncertain terms that he would have the marriage annulled before a week past. Don’t look so sad, I am so much better off without him. He had problems, a cruel streak I was extremely fortunate to get away from him with just a few bruises to show for it.”
“He hit you!’ Ethan was horrified.
Annalise realized she had said too much. “Never mind, it’s water under the bridge.”
Ethan insisted. “Tell me what he did to you?” Annalise was mortified. Realizing how awkward it was to talk about this, she cringed just imagining telling him about the rape.
“He was just rough and sadistic. He pinched me and hurt my…” She placed a hand over one breast, remembering.
Ethan cursed under his breath. “I started to say why didn’t you call me, but you were under the impression I didn’t care anything about you.”
“Let’s talk about something happy, please?” she begged him. He looked at her tear-filled eyes and said a few more blue words.
“I’m sorry, babe. It’s hard to talk about happy things, I don’t think either one of us has had much happiness since we’ve been apart.” About that time, the waiter came for their order and Ethan asked for more time. He hastily consulted the menu and looked to her to see what she wanted.
She pointed to a pasta dish with asparagus and truffle oil. He eyed her with a slightly reprimanding look and ordered her that, plus a dish with wood-grilled salmon and a balsamic reduction. For himself, he ordered grilled Tenderloin on a bed of greens. When the waiter left, he looked at her directly. “I can afford to feed you, love.”
“I don’t doubt your ability to do anything, Ethan. I just don’t feel much like eating, that’s all.”
With concern on his face, he asked her, “Were you able to sleep after I left you this morning?”
“Yes, I slept quite well.” She nibbled on a piece of the Italian bread, trying desperately to settle her nervous stomach.
“Where have you been living, Lise?” Ethan wanted to know everything,
“I have a house on Lake Toledo Bend just north of Jasper.”
He tensed slightly with the next question. “Do you live alone?”
A mischievous smile brightened her face. “Well, no.” At the sudden downcast expression troubling his incredible features, she lightened his heart. “I live with this short, German man, red hair, I believed you’ve met him—Mr. Tiny Evans.” He smiled at her teasing tone, then she turned serious. “Of course, I live alone.”
“I don’t like the thought of your being by yourself,” he honestly told her.
“It’s not that bad. My home is on the water and I have a beautiful dock and a houseboat. We, Tiny and I,” she clarified at his enquiring look, “spend a few nights a week on the boat. I still fish.” At the mention of that innocent past time, the temperature at the table rose ten degrees.
“Do you still have that scar?” His voice was strained.
“Oh, yes.” That scar is just one of many. He started to say something else, but their food arrived. At the sight of it, Annalise felt her appetite return. “This looks wonderful, Ethan.” She placed the pasta dish between them so they could share it.
The food tasted as good as it looked. “Thank you for bringing me here, this is a wonderful place. Do you come here often?”
“We came here for Bobby’s twentieth birthday,” he explained. “But in case that wasn’t what you were asking, I haven’t dated anyone since Francine left.”
“I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad it’s over. Francine is cut from the same cloth as your ex-husband.”
Annalise looked puzzled.
“Francine took great pleasure in inflicting as much pain as she could, but in my case it was mental.” It was all Annalise could do to stay in her chair; she wanted to comfort him, kiss the frown off his face, and take the pain from his eyes.
Seeing that she was through, he asked. “Do you want something sweet?”
You. “No, thanks. I am very full.” Annalise looked at her nearly empty plates. “This was wonderful.”
“Let’s get out of here. I can’t wait to be alone with you.” Ethan paid the check and they quickly left. His words excited her, but she didn’t know how in the world she was going to deal with their explosive need for each other. She knew the burden lay on her shoulders; he had every intention of making love to her and at the first opportunity, if she was reading him right.
He held her close then helped her into the car. The ride home was nerve raking for Annalise. He held her hand most of the way home and when he wasn’t holding her hand, he was rubbing her leg—up and down—not letting it ride as high as she would like, but high enough to cause Annalise’s pulse to race and her pussy to cream with anticipation. She tried to tell her body it was getting worked up over nothing, but it wasn’t paying her any mind.
He carefully parked his car in the attached garage then more carefully relieved it of its precious cargo. “Come in for coffee.” He led her in, not giving her a chance to refuse.
Bobby had returned to Austin and he had given Alex strict instructions to make himself scarce for the evening. Once he had her in the comfortable den, he pulled off his sports coat, sat down in an oversized chair and pulled her onto his lap. “I’ll make the coffee in a moment, I can’t wait for this.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. His tongue traced the line of her throat, he nibbled at her neck and kissed the place where her heartbeat proclaimed its excitement through her skin. Unable to resist, she returned the favor, unbuttoning his shirt and smoothing her lips over the exposed skin. “God, I want you so much,” he breathed into her hair.
She had very little will left. In a matter of seconds they would be past the point of stopping. “Ethan, it’s been so long.” What was she saying? Annalise didn’t know if she was pleading or explaining. Panic seized her, the lights were too bright. He would be able to see. She pushed against his embrace. Nonsensically, she began to repeat herself. “Ethan, it has been—”
The temptation to know overwhelmed him. “How many men have you known since me?” His question was forceful.
What could she say? How long since the abuse? How long since the rape? How long since she had lain in his arms and screamed with joyous release? Why was he torturing her? Annalise wanted to run and never stop running. If she stayed this close to Ethan, she would surely die.
But she had to say something. None of this was his fault. So, she answered him very carefully. “Ethan, the memories of our lovemaking mean the world to me.” With that she got to her feet and despite his protests, she evaded his embrace and determinedly made her way into the coolness of the night air. Her breath came in torturous gasps of need. Her breasts were tingling from the pressure of his muscled chest pressed against them. She felt so empty and desperate for his loving there was actually physical pain in the pit of her stomach and everything in her screamed for his touch. She ran for the safety of her cabin.
Fumbling for her door key, Annalise was frantic to put distance between herself and Ethan. Her attempt failed. He must h
ave been right behind her. Gently but firmly he grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her back, hard, against him. He kissed her everywhere his lips could reach. With no strength or will left to fight, and safe in the cloak of darkness, she lifted her hands to twine in his hair. This movement gave him full and complete access to her breasts. He covered them with both hands, rubbing in a circular motion. She immediately felt the touch, not only on her hungry breasts, but deep within her trembling, needy center.
Obviously realizing there was no bra to slow him down, Ethan pulled on the tiny bows holding up the spaghetti straps and pushed down her sundress. Despite his passion, Ethan’s touch on her breasts was nothing like Jeff’s; his intent was not to hurt, but to worship. He shaped and reshaped the soft globes, as if reacquainting himself with a treasure that had for a while slipped out of his grasp. Turning her in his arms, he abandoned her neck and shoulders, only to fall to his knees and begin sucking her nipples. He was voracious, his tongue circling the hard center and then pulling back so his teeth could scrape a path that would instantly be laved with adoration. She groaned at the incredible sensation of the inner muscles of her sheath beginning to undulate with need. His kissed and rekissed the tiny scar that spoke of her willingness to shield him from harm. She marveled at his willingness to adore the tiny imperfection. Could he possibly be so forgiving to the other scars on her body? The precious, impossible thought began to take root in the back of her mind. Could there possibly be a way they could be together?
Chapter Five
“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Stewart!” A high, elderly, little voice broke through the darkness of the night. Ethan realized that they were out in the open, the bright, southern moon exposing her beauty to anyone’s curious eyes. He got to his feet and tenderly pulled her bodice back into place. Standing in front of her, he gave her cover to straighten her disheveled clothes, retying the tiny straps. He hoped the darkness disguised the huge bulge in his pants.
Little Mrs. Osborn, a B&B regular, scurried up to him. “Mr. Stewart, Madge and I were wondering, would it be all right if we cut a few of your beautiful roses? We are going to visit a friend of ours at a nursing home tomorrow and she adores flowers. Florist roses just don’t have the scent garden roses do and yours are magnificent.” Annalise was thinking his roses weren’t the only thing magnificent about Ethan Stewart.
“Cut as many roses as you need, Mrs. Osborn. I would love for them to be used to brighten someone’s day.” His sweet words and soft tone melted Annalise’s heart. Oh, God, how she wished things were different. She knew she ought to be grateful for this little woman’s interruption because a crack was forming in her protective armor. The tiniest warm ray of hope was beginning to thaw the conviction Ethan would reject her. When this happened she knew she would never be able to walk away from him and what haunted her most was the possibility he would stay with her—in spite of the scars—simply because he felt obligated to do so. She hung her head, willing her breathing to return to normal.
Then the little woman noticed the female standing behind Ethan. She scooted past Ethan like a squirrel after a nut. “Well, hello, my dear. I don’t believe we’ve met. Are you this gorgeous man’s lady friend?”
“I’m an old friend.” Annalise accepted the woman’s outstretched hand and submitted to her scrutiny.
“I’m Lauralee Osborn, and your name is?”
“Annalise Ramsey.”
“It seems I ought to know you from somewhere, are you from the Dallas area by chance?”
“No, ma’am. I’m from East Texas.”
“You are so familiar to me—oh, well it will come to me.” The woman thanked Ethan for the flowers and made her way back to her own room.
Ethan turned back to her and before she could protest, she was back in his arms once more. But this time was different. He bent over and tenderly laid his head on her shoulder and held on to her like a drowning man would to his only hope of staying afloat. Her hands lifted, she dropped them then lifted them again letting out a long sigh as she wrapped them around him. When she did this, he nestled even closer to her and reverently touched his lips to her neck. “I am so glad you’re here. You will never know how much I’ve needed you.”
She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to hurt him; he was just too precious to her. She was having thoughts she probably shouldn’t be having. Plans were beginning to formulate in her mind. Could she have more surgery? How would he react to the scars? Mrs. Osborn saved her from doing anything when she came tripping across the lawn with something in her hand.
“Yoo-hoo, Miss Ramsey—I know now where I’ve seen you before.” She was totally out of breath by the time she joined them once more on the front porch of Antoinette’s Leap.
“And where would that be, Mrs. Osborn?” Ethan was trying hard not to lose his patience with the little woman.
“You, Miss Ramsey are a writer. This isn’t the book you wrote, but seeing it on my dresser, jarred my memory. I can’t remember your name, but I’ve looked at your picture a thousand times.” She smiled up at Ethan, “Your lady friend is very beautiful.”
Ethan’s expression tightened imperceptibly. Mrs. Osborn paused to take a breath and then pushed on. “I just finished one of your books. I blushed and I blushed.”
Ethan turned slowly to look at her. “What type of books do you write, Lise?” Suddenly, she wished she’d been up front with him about her career. She didn’t understand what the problem was, but clearly Ethan had issues with romance novelists. Surely it wasn’t the explicit content. As lusty as Ethan was, sensual writing wouldn’t offend him. But she had hidden it from him and now she realized no good ever came from deception. That thought put a huge damper on everything that had happened so far. But how important could this be? Romance novels were a good thing, they made people happy. Didn’t they?
There was a definite change coming over Ethan’s face. It quickly went from a face full of desire to one darkened by suspicion. Mrs. Osborn didn’t wait for Annalise to answer. “Why don’t you know, Mr. Stewart? I can’t remember her pen name, but Miss Ramsey is one of the foremost authors of erotic romantic fiction.”
“Oh, really?” His voice had taken on a slightly hard edge. “So you write erotic romance novels, Lise?”
Again, Mrs. Osborn jumped in and saved Annalise the trouble of answering for herself
“She writes beautiful novels. The hero is always so strong and good. If I can find one of your books down at the bookstore, would you autograph it for me?”
Ethan stepped back and stood quietly, too quietly. The look in his eyes was unmistakable. Suddenly, he was looking at her with distaste. The look so much like the one Jeff Ramsey had given her that it caused her blood to run cold. What had she done wrong? She answered the little lady, hoping she would soon leave. “Yes, ma’am. I will be glad to autograph a book for you.”
With that assurance, finally, the little woman went on her way—chattering excitedly over meeting a real, live author. She turned to Ethan, dreading to face his obvious disapproval. “Ethan, are you upset with me?”
“You write erotic romance novels?” He looked so disappointed in her. Before she had been worried about him wanting her too much; now the problem may be he didn’t want her at all. Suddenly, Annalise felt lost. She shut her eyes. Maybe she deserved his disdain. She had built a career using his image, his words, and the detail of every time he had ever touched her. She hung her head. The last thing she ever wanted to do was let him down. Now, it seemed as if she had.
“Yes, I’ve written dozens. That’s how I’ve supported myself.”
“Do you know what those books do, Annalise?” She swallowed hard; he had never called her Annalise before.
“They give women a form of companionship. They brighten their day, they fill countless lonely hours. As for me, they gave me a way of preserving memories. I don’t understand what you’re so upset about, Ethan?” Her voice broke. “Please don’t be angry at me.”
His face did not soften a
t her words. He was no longer reaching out for her, in fact; she could feel him pushing her away. He never raised his voice, he whispered, which seemed to make it so much worse. “Let me tell you what people like you do. You don’t write fantasy, you create false expectations, you write pipe-dreams, you make women unhappy with what they have. Women who could be happily married—they read your drivel, compare their lives with your fairy-tale shit and then they are no longer satisfied. Tell me, Annalise, what is your pen-name?”
“Ann Pace.” Her voice was very small.
“You’re Ann Pace? Well, isn’t this ironic. Ann Pace! Lise Evans! Annalise Ramsey! I don’t know who you are. Where did you get the name Ann Pace, anyway?”
“Ann from Annalise, Pace from Pace Bend where I spent time with you,” she answered softly. Her calm tone and revealing information did nothing to pacify him, however.
“Lise, Francine tormented me with your words. She followed me around and crucified me with your writing. You stripped me of my manhood. Nothing I did ever pleased Francine, and she compared me over and over again to those damn men in your books. You, Annalise Ramsey—Ann Pace—you made my life a living hell!” And then he was gone.
Annalise was ice cold, her heart cleaved in half. The rape hadn’t hurt this much. Jeff’s revulsion hadn’t hurt this much. If Tiny hadn’t been crying at the door, Annalise would just have walked off. Instead, she fumbled for the key. After several tries, she got the key to turn in the lock. Without turning on the light, she went inside and shut the door.
* * * *
Alex was at the laptop paying bills when Ethan slammed the side door entering the kitchen. He jerked back a dining room chair and sat down heavily on it. Alex looked at him with a puzzled expression. He had been certain things were looking up. Now he realized something was terribly wrong.
“What happened, Ethan?”
Ethan sat with his head in his hands, eyes staring blankly at the table. “Alex, everything I thought I knew has turned out to be false. God! I just spent the last ten minutes telling Lise how she ruined my life.” Alex looked at him like he had two heads.