Until Dawn

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “You ignored my emails.”

  “I blocked them,” I corrected. “And only after you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “I’m not in the habit of taking no for an answer,” he replied.

  “No shit.”

  “I came all the way from Toronto. You owe me the courtesy of a discussion.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Ethan,” I said. “I don’t owe you anything. You should’ve taken the hint and stayed in Toronto. In fact, you don’t even need to wait until Tuesday to go back again. You can take whatever it is you’re offering and fly home today.”

  He spun to face me, his expression hard. His eyes raked over my half-bared body.

  “Could you…” He trailed off and waved an arm.

  “Could I what?” I asked.

  “Put on a damned shirt.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No. I’m not fucking kidding.”

  “You took off my shirt,” I reminded him.

  “That was…” He did the arm wave again.

  “Before you realized you were trying to steal my business out from under me?”

  “No. I figured that out this morning.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you knew who I was, but you came in and asked me my name anyway. Then you put me up on the desk, and—”

  “You asked me to put you on the desk,” he said, “In fact, ‘asked’ is a nice word.”

  I felt my face burn, and I pushed up from the desk in question, did up my pants, and shot him my darkest glare. “You need to leave.”

  He stepped toward me. “I won’t walk away that easily.”

  “I’d prefer not to call the authorities.”

  “That’d be an excessive reaction to a business negotiation.”

  “This is not a business negotiation. I have zero interest in discussing a single thing with you.”

  “Not what you said last—”

  “You need to go, Ethan,” I said stiffly. “Forget last night. Forget the desk. I don’t want to negotiate a deal. I won’t negotiate one.”

  “I’m going to leave, Mia,” he replied. “Not because I’m conceding, but because I think you need some time to cool off before we move forward.”

  I glared harder at him, irritated by the sureness of his tone. “You arrogant, self-righteous—”

  “Jerk? Asshole? I’ve heard it all before. There’s no name you can call me that’s going to make me less persistent.”

  “Get. Out.”

  “I’m going.”

  He turned to leave. But at the door, he paused and turned back. He looked me over. Head to toe. Slowly. And as much as I wished I didn’t…I felt his gaze as it moved over every inch of me. It was a slow, gasp-worthy perusal that made my pulse warm. My body clearly remembered the previous night’s passion with far too much eagerness. My brain couldn’t shut down the recollection, and I actually had to fight to keep from closing the gap between us.

  Pheromones. Damn them all to hell.

  Then he spun back toward the stairs, his dark head disappearing in an instant. And instead of being relieved—which I knew I should be—I was disappointed. I even took a step closer to the door, straining to hear him leave. Thinking I might feel better if I knew for sure that he’d exited the building completely, I waited for the telltale sound of the bell over the shop door. Instead, I heard his chuckle carry up the stairs. And his laugh was followed by a feminine giggle, and I realized he was talking to Magda. Charming her, probably. Maybe Chloe too.

  A flicker of envy made my heart squeeze. I wasn’t jealous. Magda was more than twice Ethan’s age, and Chloe was happily married. But I’d enjoyed the charming side of the dark-eyed man when he’d been in my arms. I’d been looking forward to another night with him. And hearing him laugh…I kind of wished he hadn’t told me who he was. It would almost have been preferable.

  Are you sure it’s just almost?

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I muttered.

  But it did give me pause. Because he could’ve done it. He could’ve just not told me about our connection and taken advantage of the situation. Why hadn’t he? I was sure it wasn’t because he hadn’t enjoyed the night with me. The look he’d given me on the way out the door was enough to be ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure. I was also pretty sure it wasn’t guilt. Or moral obligation. It wasn’t like he’d come in begging for understanding. He hadn’t even offered an apology.

  I tapped my fingers on my thigh, frowning as his chuckle carried up again. I could only think of one other reason for him to have confessed the truth—that work was more important to him than sex. The thought made me want to shake my head. What kind of man liked work better than sex? None that I’d ever met. And it was insulting, too, since the sex was with me.

  Well. I guess that’s what I get for taking Liv’s advice and unlocking the Fort Knox of vaginas.

  The thought startled me. Mainly because I’d managed to forget that was how the whole thing started. She certainly wouldn’t have forgotten about the dare as easily I had. And Liv being Liv, she’d probably find a way to pry it out of me. Then she’d find a way to twist Ethan and his swoon-worthy body into something more than it was. It was the last thing I needed. And it wasn’t even like I could avoid her because we still had five hundred wedding things to get through before—

  I blinked as surprise hit me again, this time with more force.

  The wedding.

  Somehow, in the midst of getting naked with Ethan, I’d also put that to the back of my mind. Which seemed a little impossible, since the planning had been all-consuming for the last few months. Flowers and tulle and misplaced dread that no one would understand. They’d haunted every waking moment. And more than a few sleeping ones too. But my dark-eyed stranger had made me forget.

  Not your dark-eyed stranger, I corrected silently. And not really a stranger anymore, either.

  With a sigh, I forced myself to stop pacing the room. I needed to get back to reality. And I could start with putting on my shirt, which was currently hanging from the curtain rod.

  Determined to get a hold of myself, I stalked toward it. But as luck would have it, the move was ill-timed. Just as I reached the window, Ethan stepped into view below. He took three, purposeful strides to the sidewalk, then shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head up. I knew for a fact that he couldn’t see in. I’d stared up enough times myself to know that the tint on the glass didn’t allow any prying eyes. But it still gave me a jolt to see his eyes fixed in my direction. And I couldn’t even lie and say my breath didn’t catch.

  His expression was…pained. Or maybe torn. Either way, there was no hint of professional dispassion. What was he thinking about? Me? Our night together? I had an overwhelming need to know. I reached up to touch the window without even realizing I was doing it until the tips of my fingers met the cool glass. I jerked back, embarrassed at the reaction.

  He’s probably just plotting the best way to rip you off, I thought.

  But it didn’t stop another stab of regret from digging at my gut as Ethan cast a final look up, then turned and walked away.

  Chapter 6

  Ethan

  Twenty-four hours had passed since my exit from Trinkets and Treasures, and each moment had been a teeth-grinding one. The shittiest of all shitty Mondays hadn’t passed quickly. Full of unexpected second guesses, when second guesses were something I didn’t indulge in. Ever.

  Normally, if I was meeting resistance in a purchase, I wined, dined, and reasoned. It usually worked.

  But there’s nothing normal about this, is there?

  Even before the complete breakdown of natural order—i.e., accidentally sleeping with the target of my takeover—things hadn’t been going as planned. No one had fought me quite so hard as Mia did. Some
people just handed over the keys. Others quibbled about price. A few argued, but even those who did usually felt obligated to meet with me if I asked.

  Not Mia.

  She hadn’t even considered it. Not for a second, from what I’d seen. Not even factoring in that the passion of two nights ago might be a sign that we had a connection of some kind already. She was angry. Not in the mood to be wined, dined, or reasoned with.

  Though I couldn’t blame her for being pissed off. Hell. I was pissed off too. More than pissed off. Thrown for a fucking loop. As was proved by my lack of sleep, the serious razor burn on my neck from my botched attempt to clean up, and the way my body railed against the constraints of my new clothes.

  I gave my reflection in the mirror a glare and loosened my tie marginally. It fit just fine. So did the suit that it accompanied. I knew it for a fact because I’d paid a hell of a lot extra to have the tailor place my alterations above his other orders. Except knowing it didn’t seem to be helping me with the feeling that every damned thing was out of place.

  “One night of mind-blowing sex does not make you a different man,” I said to my reflection.

  Then I rolled my eyes as I realized I was giving myself a pep talk. Something I hadn’t needed to do since the moment I first started my company, which made my statement more than a little ironic.

  I turned to slide my shoes out from their spot at the edge of the bed, and I wondered for the twentieth time if moving from the Memory Motel to the Regent Inn might’ve helped my mood. I don’t even know why the hell I hadn’t done it. The tattooed, pierced kid with the gift for nonchalance had been replaced by his kindly grandmother, who I’m sure would gladly have released me from the extra night. Not that I gave a shit about the lost money, but the room at the Regent was prepaid and written off as a business expense, so it was just plain wasteful to hold on to both. The Regent also had the added bonus of not being laced with Mia Diaz’s residual perfume.

  But maybe that’s why you did stay?

  “Shut up,” I muttered as I slipped out the door and headed down the stairs.

  Tossing and turning all night had given me more than enough time to argue with myself about everything Mia-related. Ultimately, I needed to let it go. I had to grab my business sense, forget the past few days, and do what I’d come to do. That meant realigning my brain—and my overactive cock—to think of her the same way I thought of every other potential buyout owner, so that I could figure out what she wanted, then find a way to get it to her.

  Which is precisely why I was going to intercept her. An early call to her shop had given me the idea. Though Mia hadn’t been available, the very friendly clerk from the day before had let it slip that my favorite redhead had the better part of the day off to attend a family lunch. A few quick questions had pointed me in the direction of the right restaurant. A charm-fueled chat with the daytime hostess had confirmed that Diaz, party of five, would be in attendance at Ella’s Ristorante at noon. Just five short blocks from where I was now.

  And just the right amount of fresh air to clear your head between here and there, I told myself firmly.

  Resolving not to think about Mia for the next few minutes, I gave the elderly woman at the front desk a wave, pushed out the door, and turned my attention to following the directions I’d memorized. I took my time making my way through the streets, glad that the rain—which had pounded against the roof and windows all night—had once again tapered off. It was an eclectic area. Older homes with evidence of families living inside, but houses converted into shops or businesses too, much like the motel. A tattoo shop shared a yard with a daycare. A few entrepreneurial spirits with sales carts set up on the corners. I even spotted a sign advertising an outlet mall somewhere close by.

  Without the rain, the whole thing was actually pleasant.

  I had to give Vancouver some credit for its greenery too. The constant downpour brought a long growing season. Trees and grass lined the streets, and spring flowers hung from pretty much every stoop. Back home in Toronto, we were just barely turning the corner of winter, and there’d even been a prediction of some late snow coming in.

  And that, I can do without.

  As I rounded the final corner to the street that led to the restaurant, a pleasant aroma filled my nose, and I paused to inhale it. Compelled to find the source, I slowed even more. It only took a few seconds for the smell to lead me to an alley. I frowned, thinking maybe I’d been mistaken. But then I spotted a small, wooden sign—Joyful Jo’s—and I knew I’d stopped in the right spot.

  Not sure what to expect, I pushed through the door, and both a cloud of scented dust and a woman’s voice greeted me, stopping me in my tracks. “I sell soap!” she said.

  “I…uh. What?” I replied, squinting through the scented haze.

  “I can tell when someone comes in without knowing what they’re here for.”

  “Where are you?” I asked.

  “Behind the counter, cleaning up some gunk. Had a bit of an explosion with some supplies.”

  “Ah. I can leave.”

  “No, don’t do that. Hang tight. I’ll be right up.”

  Sure enough, a moment later, a tall, thirty-something blond woman popped up from behind the counter in question. She wiped her hands on her pants, shot a rueful look at the powdery mess, then shrugged.

  “I’m Joanna,” she said. “Welcome to Joyful Jo’s, where it’s usually much cleaner.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Don’t get too close or you’ll ruin your pretty suit,” she warned.

  “So. You want me to stay, but not to come close?”

  “Exactly.” She smiled. “You’re lucky, actually. I don’t normally let people buy gifts for others without a consultation.”

  “You don’t allow them to?” I asked.

  “That’s right. But I’ll still get the soap you came in for.”

  “I thought you said I didn’t know what I was here for.”

  “Uh huh. But I didn’t say that I didn’t know.”

  “You know what I want?”

  She nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course.”

  I wanted to scratch my head, but nodded back instead and repeated her words. “Of course.”

  “You’re skeptical. I can tell. But here’s a fun tidbit for you. I was about to close up shop ’cause there’s no way I can do business with this mess around, and most of my cash and carry stuff’ll need a cleanup too. Something stopped me. And it was you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re still skeptical. But hang on.” Joanna ducked behind the counter, bent down again, then popped up, holding out a wrapped bag in her hands. “Here.”

  I took it automatically. “What is it?”

  “Smell it,” she ordered.

  I lifted the bag, expecting that the aroma in the store to overwhelm whatever was inside. Instead, a light, honey scent wafted up. It made my mouth water.

  “I think she’ll like it,” Joanna stated.

  I started to ask who she meant, but the words didn’t quite make it out. Whether she meant it as a general question, or if she was being deliberately enigmatic again was irrelevant. A name had already jumped into my head.

  Mia Diaz.

  I could far too easily picture her lathering up with the fragranced soap. I had no trouble imagining myself bending over her, running my nose over her skin to inhale the honey. My pants immediately tightened.

  Christ.

  “I’ll take it,” I told the shop owner.

  “Of course you will,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes at her smugness, but dragged my wallet out and slapped down my credit card.

  Less than two minutes later, I was back on the street, with the bag in my hand and Mia on my mind. I was fully aware that the turn of my thoughts went again
st the resolve to think of her as just another target. That didn’t mean I could stop them from sticking in my mind. I decided quickly that I didn’t care. It didn’t even matter if I ever got to give the bag of soap to her. Just the thought that I’d picked it up was enough to make me smile as I strode toward Ella’s Ristorante.

  * * * *

  Mia

  I smiled and let out a fully fake laugh at something my brother said, then immediately braced for him to call me out on it. For all present to follow suit. But instead of brotherly concern turned my way, Marcelo brought his eyes to his bride-to-be. Clearly, she was more interesting than my obviously falsified humor. Which was a good thing. Normally, my too-astute family would’ve noticed if I was slightly off. They would’ve spent the last twenty minutes poking at me with nosy inquiries as they tried to discern an explanation. But right that second, they were immersed in the fact that Aysia’s dress had arrived missing a pearl from the bodice. And for once, I was thankful for the way Marc and Aysia’s wedding preoccupied everyone’s minds. It provided a welcome diversion from the way my inner self couldn’t stop pacing and ringing her hands over Ethan B. Burke.

  Why hasn’t he called? I wondered for the millionth time.

  The question plagued me as much for the fact that I wanted an answer as it did for its very existence. I didn’t want to care that I hadn’t heard from him. And if I had to care, then I wanted it to be because I needed to know what I was up against. Honestly, worrying about that was enough. He’d made a threat-slash-promise to not give up, and I assumed he was going to follow up on it.

  But when?

  Really, I’d expected to find him and his self-assured glower sitting outside my store after work the day before. I’d even half prepared an angry speech. Then felt a touch deflated when I found the street devoid of Ethan. And ever since then, I’d been battling the on-edge feeling that kept me from being able to settle. I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to eat the lunch I’d planned to order. I already felt full. Stuffed and uncomfortable.

  “Lu?”

  At the sound of my brother’s voice, I looked up and forced yet another smile. “What?”