“I don’t know how to answer that without inflating your ego.”
“Are you referring to my impressive skills? Because if so, then I feel like that begs the question of whether or not you’re a slutty Casanova too.”
My face warmed. “Shut up.”
“What? It was a compliment. And also an answer to your accusation,” he said. “No, I’m neither slutty, nor a Casanova. I don’t have the time.”
Another question popped out before I could stop it. “Wouldn’t it be easier to have time for being slutty than it would to have relationships?”
“Maybe. But I don’t do those, either, so I’m not sure.”
I went quiet for a moment, bothered by the revelation. Not that his stance on relationships should be affecting me in any way, but I still felt a tickle of unease.
Relax, said a voice it my head. He also said he doesn’t sleep around.
That shouldn’t have mattered, either. But for some reason, it did.
I inhaled, trying to shake off the sudden light-headed sensation that threatened to take over. As I drew in some much-needed oxygen, I realized that Ethan had already picked up the thread of conversation again.
“…but I’m only going back six years,” he was saying. “Because everything before my twenty-fourth birthday is just plain embarrassing.”
I blinked. “Wait.”
“What?” he asked.
“You’re thirty?”
“Yes. Why?” He shifted on the bed, sliding up a little so he could look down at me. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven,” I told him, feeling a little embarrassed by the surprise on his face. “Do I look older?”
“Look? No. Seem? Yep, definitely.”
“How?”
He shook his head. “Suffice it to say that I suspect you’re an incredibly shrewd businesswoman. If I add anything else, it’ll be shop talk.”
I made a face. “Fine. Back to your ex-lovers then.”
He laughed, then settled his head back on the pillow. “Okay. On my twenty-fourth birthday, I went out for drinks alone.”
Curiosity hit me again. “Alone?”
“Yep. But that’s another shop talk story.”
“I feel like I’m getting the redacted version of your love life.”
“Workaholic,” he reminded me. “Bound to be a bit of redaction here and there. Want me to stop?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“So. Me. Three beers. Really shitty bar, even shittier mood. Then in walks a woman in a wedding dress, bawling her eyes out, and I think to myself, ‘Damn. At least someone has it worse than I do.’”
I swallowed, my palms abruptly sweaty. “You picked up a jilted bride?”
“She picked me up,” he corrected.
A vision of the scenario filled my mind. Dark lighting, the scent of stale beer, and grainy TV screens playing a sporting event overhead. Ethan, casually dressed, younger than he was now, shoveling bar peanuts into his mouth with zestful misery. And the woman in white, walking in. But in place of her face…was mine.
Nausea made me draw in a shallow breath and I managed to get out a response. “Oh.”
Ethan’s fingers found my face. “Hey. You all right?”
I swallowed again, and made sure my voice came out with as much lightness as possible. “I’m fine. I just don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed.”
“Little of both?” he suggested. “Anyway, that was Kelly. She was a train wreck.”
“So that’s what you’re attracted to?” I replied.
He let out a chuckle. “No. But Kelly came into my life at a low point. I’m not ashamed to say that she made me feel better about myself and my situation. Which worked well until I picked myself up out of my slump.”
“So then…you just left her?”
“Of course not. I’m not a bad person.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He said it almost absently—so softly too, that I wondered if he meant for me to hear it. But he also sounded so serious that I couldn’t help but lift my head in surprise. I stared up at him, studying his expression. His brows were scrunched up, his jaw a little stiff. Did he really care if I thought he was a bad person? Because all the sexy, flirty pillow talk aside, he was the man trying to take over my business. It seemed like a contradiction.
Kind of like how you let him into your house and your bed in the first place? That kind of contradiction?
I shoved the thought aside and said, “So if you didn’t leave, what happened?”
“We’d been together for about three months when I started to worry that her problems were more complicated. So I tried to get her some help. Offered to go to couples’ therapy,” he told me, shaking his head. “Three months in. I didn’t ever see things progressing, yet that’s where we were. Anyway. She refused. And a few weeks later, she up and left me. No explanation.”
I winced. “Ouch.”
“It stung,” he said with a nod. “But a few very solitary, work-heavy months later, a weird thing happened. I was at a lunch thing, and got to talking with this guy. I can’t even remember how we got on the subject, but the dude turned out to be Kelly’s ex-fiancé. Also turned out that she left him at the altar. He said he thought she couldn’t stand how happy he’d become.”
“That’s sad.” I really meant it. My heart went out to the unhappy woman I’d never met.
And when Ethan sighed heavily, I was sure his feelings on the subject were equally genuine. “No shit. I’ve wondered lots of times if she ever found someone that did make her feel like it was okay to be happy.”
“I hope so,” I said sincerely.
“Me too.”
We both went quiet then, his hands kneading over my shoulders, down my back, then up again. I started to drift off, lulled by the silence and the enjoyable feeling. But after a few minutes, Ethan spoke up again.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me, what?” I replied.
“What’s your list of exes look like?” he asked teasingly. “Bikers? Playboys? Nerdy tech types?”
“No!” The word came out more forcefully than I meant it to, and I tried to cover it. “Your list can’t end with Kelly.”
“I did tell you that I wasn’t some kind of Casanova.”
“Yes. But that was six years ago. And you promised a complete rundown.”
He laughed. “All right. I’m a man of my word. A year after Kelly, there was Portia. She was a forty-something divorcee with a couple of grown kids. She used me as a willing booty call for two years.”
“Seriously?” I said.
“Seriously,” he confirmed. “It was ideal, really. Zero commitment, zero complications.”
“Zero complications?” I echoed. “It sounds like the very definition of complicated.”
Ethan shrugged. “Portia got pregnant at seventeen. Married at eighteen. Second kid before her twentieth birthday. After she left her husband, she had no desire to go back to anything that resembled that life.”
“But…ew.”
“What’s gross?”
“You were the same age as her kids!”
“Younger than one of them, actually. And accidentally meeting them is what made me cut things off. Because while there’s nothing wrong with a mutually enjoyable age gap, I couldn’t stop picturing my mother after the accidental meeting.”
I laughed. “Yeah, that would be a turn-off.”
“You have no idea,” he said. “And that’s pretty much it, by the way. Kelly, then Portia.”
“You want me to believe that you’ve been celibate for…what? Two years?”
“Believe what you like. The truth is, you’re the first woman I’ve been with in that long.”
“I guess that explains your enthusiasm,” I blu
rted, then immediately felt my entire body break out in a blush.
But Ethan didn’t laugh at my expense. Instead, he gave my shoulder a tight squeeze and said, “Nah, honey. My enthusiasm isn’t about my sadly lacking sex life.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. It’s definitely about you.”
His words made the blush change. It morphed from embarrassment to pleasure. The feeling only intensified when he adjusted his position so he could give me a long, firm kiss. And I had to admit a few things to myself.
I did like that he wasn’t a big, giant man-slut.
I did care that relationships weren’t an option for him.
And I was completely mad at myself for all of it.
Chapter 11
Ethan
I stood at the end of Mia’s bed wondering just how the hell I was going to leave. If I should leave. If I should wake her before I went.
Twelve hours, I said to myself. That’s all you promised her.
My watch told me it hadn’t been quite that long. Ten and a quarter, if I was getting technical. But an urgent call had come through from Julie, informing me that my flight had been moved up by two hours, and if I didn’t want to miss it a second time, I needed to be out the door quickly.
I was loath to wake Mia up. She’d slept through Julie’s call. Barely stirred when I extricated myself from her sweet curves. Hadn’t even noticed when I got dressed and put on a pot of coffee. It might’ve been insulting if I wasn’t so sure that her exhaustion extended from me keeping her up all night.
Plus, she was downright stunning at that moment. Thick, gorgeous thighs poking out from under her blanket. The curve of one breast and the barest hint of pink nipple visible along the curve of the pillow she held in her arms.
Staring at her like that made desire leap to life again, and I knew if I didn’t leave some time very soon, I’d give in to the need to wake her up. Probably with my mouth between her thighs. I took a step closer. I couldn’t help it.
Seriously, Burke, the plane.
I forced myself to spin on my heel and walk out without looking back. I barely made it to the front door before pausing again. It didn’t feel right to go without saying a word. It felt…dishonest. Like leaving to buy a jug of milk and never coming back. Only worse. Because I was coming back. Only it wouldn’t be with the milk. It would be with mental armor and an arsenal of business tactics.
Melodramatic much?
“Shut up,” I muttered to myself.
But my feet wouldn’t move. My hand was extended to the doorknob. Poised. Ready to go. Except I completely couldn’t do it.
Would it be so bad, to turn back? To crawl into the bed beside her and murmur that I’d missed my flight again, and that I wanted another few hours? Maybe even a few days. It’d raise eyebrows back at the office. Possibly give my assistant a heart attack.
And be worth it.
I dropped the handle and almost turned to follow through on the urge, but before I could take a step, a horn sounded from outside. A glance through the window told me my cab was already there.
“Shit.”
I looked from the hall that led to Mia, then back to the waiting car. The honk sounded again, bringing me to my senses. A few more hours…a few more days. It would just hamper my ability to be objective. Already, I could sense the doubt. But I sure as shit wasn’t going to give up going after Trinkets and Treasures. I knew too well how being soft on a deal turned out. How things went when I lost.
Burned to the ground.
Hadn’t I said that exact thing to Mia? I shook my head, wondering why I’d shown her that bit of weakness. My failings weren’t something I talked about. Ever. I’d said it before I even stepped through her door too, so it wasn’t like I could blame the slip on a sex-addled mind. Not that I could imagine Mia trying to use it against me. In fact, she hadn’t even pressed me for more information. Just stepped aside and let me in.
I frowned. Why didn’t she press for information?
It was the kind of thing that should have prompted some curiosity. Or maybe scared her the hell off.
The horn honked a third time, and I jerked my attention back to the window just in time to see the driver’s-side door open.
“Shit,” I said again.
The last thing I needed was to be caught in the act of sneaking off.
And if nothing else, that worry should tell you just how wrong it is to do this.
I forced the thought aside, then turned the handle. I stepped outside and signaled to the driver that he didn’t need to come up. But as I made my way down the little walkway, I heard a light creak, and I knew without turning around that Mia stood in the door. I was also sure that so long as I kept moving, she would just watch me go. I almost let it happen. Maybe I would have, if my gaze hadn’t landed on the driver right then.
I could see that his eyes were fixed behind me, and there was no mistaking the appreciation on his face. The little smile. The way both eyebrows kind of lifted. It immediately pissed me off.
I shot him my dirtiest look—wasted, because he didn’t look my way—then turned back up the walk. Admittedly, I could see why his expression held so much admiration.
Mia wore nothing but the blanket I’d left her in a minute earlier. She gripped it tightly, but it still slipped off one freckled shoulder. Her exposed feet added coy sex appeal, and her hair was a wild, just-fucked mess.
So, yeah. I understood why the other man was staring at her. That didn’t mean I liked it. In fact, I hated it.
“I’ll give you something to look at, asshole,” I muttered.
I stalked toward Mia, knowing I was being unreasonable. I had no claim on her. No excuse for not wanting the cab driver to check her out. Less than no excuse, really.
I didn’t care.
In a few quick steps I had her in my arms, one hand on her hip, the other on her cheek. I drew her in and pulled her lips to mine. I kissed her hard. Possessive. Like she was mine to keep, and I didn’t let her go until I was sure that the cab driver had got a good eyeful.
“Got something to prove?” Mia breathed when I finally pulled away.
“Maybe I do,” I replied.
“And is that ‘something’ that you’re not a total asshole for running out on me without saying goodbye, or is it to show off to that cab driver down there?”
Unexpectedly, the heat of embarrassment made me warm under my collar, and I answered gruffly, “Could be the second thing.”
She laughed, clearly entertained by my discomfort. “Then what’re you going to do about the first ‘something,’ hmm?”
“This.”
I dragged her in for another long kiss, exploring the corners of her mouth with my tongue while my hands hugged her curves and dips. I would’ve kept going, but her blanket slipped, and suddenly we were both scrambling to keep it from completely dropping to the ground. When Mia had the fabric back in place, she took a shaky breath and stepped back. I felt the space between us acutely.
Her next question had an undeniable undercurrent of hurt. “Let me guess. You think that makes up for the two hours that you robbed from me too?”
I shook my head. “No. For that, I’ll give you an apology. I’m sorry, Mia. My flight got changed, and I didn’t want to wake you and offer an imperfect goodbye after such a perfect night.”
As soon as the words were out, I realized they were true. There wasn’t a good way to follow a night like that. Not while knowing that it was done.
Done. Christ.
The usual, Mia-induced warmth in my chest turned cold. Icy. The next time I saw her, it would be all business.
I met her eyes, and saw that she knew it too.
“I accept your apology.” She said it like it was meant to be a joke, but her tone was too flat for the punch line.
My response was equally lack
ing in humor. “Then I guess that’s my cue to go.”
She shifted from foot to foot. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” I heard the lameness in our exchange, and I sighed. “And this is why I didn’t wake you.”
Her mouth tipped up. “We should probably end this in a fight.”
My lips twitched. “You think?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay,” I said. “Hurl an insult at me.”
“Like…yellow-bellied landlubber?”
“Maybe go with something less pirate-y?” I suggested.
Her face scrunched up like she was really thinking about it, and I braced myself for the mother of all insults. When she spoke, though, it was to say something unexpected.
“It was an accident,” she told me.
“What was?” I asked.
“Inviting you here.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you said, ‘Your place or mine,’ and I said, ‘Mine’…I didn’t mean to.”
“So…the verbal version of a typo?”
Her blush came out in full force. “Something like that.”
I frowned. “Something like that. But not quite like that.”
“Maybe I should rephrase. Not I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean it.”
“You didn’t want me to come over?”
Mia shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Saying ‘mine’ was a reflex. Like when the doctor taps your knee with the little hammer.”
In spite of the way I tried to keep it down, irritation bubbled up. “What did you mean to say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to figure that out. Which brings me to the second thing I should probably tell you.”
“I’m all ears,” I said sarcastically.
She didn’t flinch at my caustic tone. “I didn’t hang up on you. My phone died. So there was no invitation, and no big, mysterious lead-up.”
“Good to know.”
“And if I’d been able to, I would’ve called back and retracted it.”
“Right.” My heart was twisting bitterly in my chest. “I guess that’s really my cue to go. Or maybe the hint that I shouldn’t have come at all.”
Until Dawn Page 13