Ethan leaned back on the couch and studied Sienna Freeman. A willowy redhead with a daisy in her hair. An inquiring click told him that she had performed at regional theatres throughout the country, portraying the ingénue in famous American musicals. She looked as if she could have easily been groomed to play the fiancée in Ethan’s little domestic drama. A sweet-faced young woman.
Trouble was, she wasn’t Holly.
Gabrielle Rivera was a temptress with dark hair and crimson lips. A substantial list of her appearances in television comedies and commercials proved she was capable of working in a wide range of situations. Gabrielle would probably handle herself beautifully at important occasions. A fine choice.
Her fatal flaw? She wasn’t Holly.
Glamazon Zara Reed was picture-perfect for a socialite wife. With her blond tresses swept into an up-do, Zara looked born to hang on a wealthy man’s arm. Add in her master’s degree in psychology and small roles in quirky films, and you had one convincing package. A jaw-dropper.
But—poor Zara. She simply wasn’t Holly.
Enough! Ethan put the tablet down, turned off the light and attempted his now customary bent position on the sofa. Every molecule in his body screamed Holly’s name.
He tossed until dawn, exhausted and annoyed.
* * *
Ethan came into the kitchen after he’d showered. Holly was picking at the apple crisp from the baking dish they had managed to stick in the refrigerator last night after Aunt Louise and Fernando had left.
Before they’d gone out looking at buildings. And at each other.
He joined her in scavenging through the mess of the kitchen for breakfast. “Is there coffee?”
She nodded. Once again, the cramped space was making her uneasy. Holly winced at every accidental slide against Ethan’s starched white shirt or suit pants as she prepared two cups of java.
There had been quite enough touching him last night. She needed a break.
With him carrying the coffee, she followed him to the table with the apple crisp. She licked bits off her fingers as she folded herself into a chair.
“We could use forks,” he suggested, “like evolved humans.”
“Sorry if I’m not civilized enough for you.”
“I did not say that.”
He imitated her by gnawing his own fingerful of the leftover desert. Trying to make her laugh. Unsuccessfully.
Not that he didn’t look cute doing it.
“I think it’s obvious,” she sneered.
Truth was, she was more than a little ticked off at what had happened last night at the Empire State Building. Even though she had asked for it. But how dare he kiss her like that if it didn’t mean anything to him? That went way beyond the call of duty in this assignment she’d consented to.
Of course she’d had her part in it. She certainly hadn’t pushed him away. The opposite, in fact. His kisses had fed a vital nutrient into her body that she had been starved of for so long she hadn’t even known she was ravenous for it.
Nonetheless, she was still furious at him for stoking that hunger.
“What I think is obvious...” he paused for a sip of coffee “...is that you are angry at me and I do not know why.”
“Welcome to marriage.”
“No surprise I have steered clear of it.”
She undid and redid her ponytail, buying a moment to regroup. Deciding to be honest.
“We went too far last night.”
“I agree completely,” he replied quickly.
“You do?”
His kisses hadn’t offered any apology. They had been the kisses of a man entitled to his desires, who confidently took them with no cause for second guesses.
“Clearly we need to define the parameters of our physical contact,” he stated, as if he was discussing an architectural floor plan. “It is important that we keep any sentiment out of the framework.”
Was he admitting that he had felt as much as she had in that transcendental swirl of urgent kisses and intimate embraces? Or was he scolding her for crossing boundaries?
“It’s my fault,” she said, strategizing. “I asked you for some practice kissing because I don’t want us to appear awkward in front of other people.”
He took a minute to measure her words, carefully contemplating them before he responded.
“We simply got carried away,” he concluded. “We will not do it again.”
Inexplicably, her heart crashed to the floor. Which made no sense—because not passionately kissing Ethan Benton again was exactly what did need to happen.
“Right...” she granted. Yet sadness ricocheted between her ears.
As a diffuser, she munched on another chunk of the apple dessert.
Clearly no longer interested in the leftovers, Ethan reached for his phone. He ignored her to swipe, read and type.
She looked at her painting of him on the wall. She had never painted Ricky, nor the other couple of men she had dated. None of them had gotten under her skin like Ethan had. Filling her not only with the inclination but with the outright necessity to bring her brush to his likeness.
Ethan was like the multi-faceted diamond she wore on her finger. Every way she turned she saw something new. Something more. Something unexpected. Something unfathomable. She could paint him a hundred times and still not be done.
Eventually he glanced up and observed her, as if maybe he had forgotten she was in the room.
“So. Shall we establish some ground rules?”
“O-okay,” she stumbled, unsure where he was going with this.
“I believe we will need to kiss on occasion. We will certainly want a convincing display of affection at the shareholders’ gala, when our engagement is announced.”
Holly braced herself, suddenly unsure if she was really going to be able to go through with this charade. She felt ill-suited to the task. It was too much.
“I think it will be beneficial for us to define what type of kissing is necessary,” he continued.
“Absolutely,” she bluffed, shifting in her seat.
“For example, I see no need for our tongues to touch, as they did last night.”
Well, that was for sure. Her head and heart couldn’t afford any more kisses like last night’s. The kind that made a girl forget that she was only an employee of the most compelling and sexy man she had ever met. A man who had made it clear that he had hired her to help him protect his aunt, the only woman he’d ever love.
A fact she’d be wise to keep in the forefront of her mind.
Which his kisses completely clouded.
“Got it—no tongues.” She nodded once and reached her hand across the table to shake his in a gentlemen’s agreement.
Ethan’s mouth hooked up as he shook her hand. He was amused by her gesture of sportsmanship.
Except he didn’t let go of her hand after the shake. In fact he fought to keep it like a possession he’d battle to the ground for. He turned it over and caressed the tops of her fingers with the pad of his thumb.
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t press your body into mine.” Holly yanked her hand free and continued. She sparked at the memory of last night’s six feet and three inches of solid manpower searing into her.
“How far away shall I stand?” he asked, holding his thumb and forefinger apart as a measurement. “This far?”
“Further than that.”
Widening the gap between his fingers, he tilted his head. “This far?”
“At least.”
“And would that be all of my body? Or just certain parts?”
Oh, Lordy, he was mocking her.
“Probably all parts.” She kept going. “Of course we should have friendly hugs, but nothing prolonged.”
“Sha
ll I program a timer?” He smirked.
She lifted her palms in surrender. “Look, it was your idea to lay down some guidelines.”
“You are right. I did not realize how ludicrous it would sound stated aloud.” He abruptly stood and gathered his phone, tablet, keys and wallet. “For the moment we need not be concerned about our proximity to each other. My schedule today is filled with appointments.”
With that, he turned toward the front door. Holly shifted her eyes to spy him putting on his suit jacket followed by his overcoat. He picked up a roll of architectural blueprints that had been propped up beside the door, and out he went.
Holly wasn’t exactly sure why a sharp tear stung her cheek.
* * *
The left side needed more of the muddy purple she had mixed. Holly dipped thin bristles into the unusual color and applied them to her canvas. When they’d been at the art supply store Ethan had insisted on buying her a full range of brushes—a luxury she wasn’t used to. She flicked tiny lines with a brush that was ideal for the task of depicting the rain outside.
Music blared from her phone—a pop singer belting on about how it was time to move on from a man who had done her wrong.
A wild sprawl of buildings and weather... Holly couldn’t decide whether or not she liked this painting. It didn’t matter, though. The important thing was the doing.
Painting had always been Holly’s best friend. It had kept her alive during a tumultuous childhood with an unstable mother and a man she’d called her father whom she had seen so few times she could count them on her fingers. Painting had got her through a disaster of a marriage to a selfish man-child. And then through an ugly divorce.
Painting was her escape. Her entertainment. Her coping mechanism. Her voice. Her salvation.
Early on, her brother, Vince, had found sports. And she’d discovered canvas and color. It was unimaginable where they’d be without those outlets.
In the past few years she had been fortunate enough to have been able to make some money creating artwork for paying clients. But in times of trouble she still picked up her brush purely for emotional release. For safety. For comfort.
Which was what was required now. Because she was disturbed and confused. Art gave her a little bit of a sanctuary in an unpredictable world.
So she had re-created her little studio area after packing it up for Louise and Fernando’s visit last night. And she’d got back to work.
As often happened when she was painting, her problems became evident.
She had developed strong feelings for Ethan. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she sensed the same might be happening for him.
How he managed to be so volatile while remaining so formal she’d never understand. He was in control of himself, yet there was a barely masked vulnerability there. Manners and restraint mixed with something brutal and pounding.
Those kisses atop the Empire State Building had come from somewhere organic inside him. Beyond rational intent. That kind of intensity couldn’t have been plotted.
In spite of that he would never care for her as anything more than an employee. Plain and simple. Even if he did, he would clamp his emotions down and lock them away as soon as he acknowledged them. He was too strong and too true ever to be swayed once he’d made a decision.
A means to an end. That was all she was to him.
And he to her.
Her phone buzzed.
“Ethan, here.”
“Hi.”
“I wanted to apologize for making light of your concerns about what physical interaction between us would be appropriate.”
“I just don’t want to mess up at the gala. I’m worried I’m going to get flustered, like I did at dinner last night. I want everything to go right for you and your plan for Aunt Louise.”
“I agree that we could use more training sessions where we are surrounded by other people. I have a charity event to attend tonight. You and I will go together. As colleagues.”
That was a terrific idea. She wanted to fulfill her end of the contract and make this arrangement work with Ethan. He was offering her the door into a New York that she could never open on her own. How hard could it be? He’d contracted her for a job that she was capable of doing. She just needed to keep the right mindset, purpose and goals.
An evening as colleagues. Perfect.
A couple of hours later the building’s doorman knocked and handed Holly a delivery. She thanked him and carried the large white box to the table. Untying the gold ribbon that gave the box the appearance of a gift, she lifted the lid. A notecard was tucked on top of the gold tissue paper concealing the contents.
Tiny dress. Warm coat.
See you at the dock.
Ethan.
She unfolded the tissue to discover a black sequined party dress. It was sinfully short, with thin straps and a scooped back. Holly sucked in an audible whoosh of air. She couldn’t believe that Ethan had sent her this sexy slip of a dress. Was this what his colleagues wore?
Tingles exploded all over her body.
For all the clothes he had already purchased for her, he must have thought none of them were just right for the charity event he was taking her to tonight.
Anticipation rocketed through her.
The warm coat—cream-colored, in a heavy wool—he had already bought her. The reference to a dock must mean they were going to be on or near a boat. The mystery of it felt hopelessly romantic, even though with Ethan she knew it wasn’t. Nonetheless, she could hardly wait until nightfall.
Leonard picked her up at the scheduled time and transported her to the Battery Park dock where Ethan was waiting to open the car door. He extended his hand to help her out of the car. It was chilly, but there was no rain, and she wore her coat open over the new dress. Admittedly to show it off.
“Thank you, Leonard,” Ethan called to his driver and closed the passenger door. To Holly he said, after a leisurely once-over, “I knew you would look stunning in that.”
Their eyes met. She smiled. The left side of his mouth curved up.
“Shall we?” He offered his bent arm and she slipped hers through. But then he glanced down and stopped with caution. “Oh. Right.” He lightly touched her engagement ring. “I generally do not bring a date to events like this. Because our arrangement—rather, our engagement—will not be announced until the gala, would you mind terribly...?” His voice trailed out.
“No, of course not,” she responded, hoping he didn’t see the rush of disappointment sweep across her.
She slithered the diamond off her finger. She also hoped that, in the moonlight, he hadn’t noticed that she’d been unable to remove every fleck of paint from her cuticles. She’d scrubbed her hands raw, but this was the best she could do. With any luck the stylists he’d hired to spruce her up for the gala would have some magic tricks up their sleeves.
“Shall I keep it?” he asked, and he took the ring from her and secured it in his pocket before she’d had a chance to answer. “I will introduce you as a coworker. We can have the evening to practice being comfortable with each other’s company in public and nothing more.”
“Exactly.”
He presented his bent arm to her again. “All aboard.”
As they ascended the gangway, Ethan waved politely to a few people, this way and that.
“Who was that?” Holly asked. “Where are we going?”
“Tonight is a fund-raiser for a private organization I belong to that supports maintenance of the Statue of Liberty as state funding is not sufficient. We will cruise to Liberty Island. The vantage point is spectacular. I think you will enjoy it.”
The yacht set off into the New York Harbor, away from lower Manhattan. Champagne was passed on trays. Ethan and Holly mingled with a few guests onboard, sharing mainly superficial banter.
He introduced her as part of his interior design team and she shook a few hands. When they were out of anyone’s earshot he instructed, “You can discuss the Chelsea Plaza project. Tell people you are currently analyzing the requirements. That you are handling the art, and much will depend on what materials the furnishings are made of.”
During their next chat, around a standing cocktail table, the project came up. Holly interjected with, “We are assessing how people will move through the public spaces.”
Ethan subtly nodded his approval. Holly was grateful for the positive reinforcement. She had never interacted with these mega-rich type of people before. Many of them were older than her—men in dark suits and women in their finest jewels. Wall Street leaders, heads of corporations, prominent doctors and lawyers. All of whom, apparently, with their charity dollars, were helping to keep the Statue of Liberty standing proud.
There would probably be many more people like this at the shareholders’ gala on Saturday. Ethan had been smart to bring Holly here, so she could get a taste of this world she knew nothing about.
As they ferried closer to Liberty, Ethan led Holly to the yacht’s railing to gain the best view.
“She is amazing.”
Holly could only gawk up at the massive copper statue, famously green with its patina of age. From the spikes of Liberty’s crown—which Ethan had told her represented rays of light—to the broken chain at her feet symbolizing freedom, she was a towering monument to emancipation. And her torch was a beacon of enlightenment.
Lady Liberty seemed to speak directly to Holly tonight. Holly looked into her eyes and pleaded for her wisdom and guidance.
“‘Give me your tired, your poor...’ Isn’t that poem about this statue?” she asked Ethan.
“The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus.”
“‘Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.’” Holly had been suffocating in Florida. All her ghosts were there. “Maybe in New York I can breathe.”
“What has constricted you?”
Making up for her mother’s failings, with no father in the picture. Protecting her brother. Appeasing her explosive ex-husband.
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