Now he smelled like wet dog.
He'd taken off the worn chambray over-shirt that had borne the brunt of most of the soaking and now wore a T-shirt and jeans that were only mostly damp.
Half of the deck was bathed in late afternoon sunlight, and Peanut lay stretched out on her side, soaking up its warmth. He stood nearby, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed.
Should he go inside? There would be no sneaking past his stepbrothers or the princess. The place was too small for them not to notice when he opened the back door. But at least he could clean up a little in his bedroom, get a clean, dry shirt.
Before he'd had time to think a decision all the way through, the back door opened and Robbie's head poked out. "Hank's here. Sam and me're going to hang with the guys for a while."
"Wait!" Their friends were here? This tutoring session had been planned for three days! Ethan squared off toward the door. "What about your tutoring? Mia came out here to help you two. You can't just run off."
"It's been like a half hour, Ethan. We're bored, and we're going."
Before Ethan could take more than a half-step toward the house, Robbie had slammed the door closed, leaving Ethan outside, alone.
Frustrated. And embarrassed by his stepbrothers' actions.
He ran one hand through his hair, bracing himself to go inside and apologize.
He was reaching out for the door when it opened again, this time Mia danced outside and almost right into his arms.
He jerked back up a step. Didn't know if she saw his fumble as she turned to make sure the door latched.
"I guess they're already gone?" He didn't really have much hope that they'd stayed, not since she'd come outside.
"Yes."
He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm sorry if they were rude to you."
"They weren't really," she said, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether she was stretching the truth. "They weren't all that attentive."
He exhaled, frustration with his brothers and embarrassment warring in him. "I'm sorry," he said again.
She shrugged, and smiled. "It's all right. I really came to see you, anyway." She rendered him speechless and open-mouthed as she turned to look at Peanut. With her back turned, he could admire her knee-length skirt, the tights, and the slate-colored sweater that hugged her curves.
"Is this the guy—"
"Gal," he managed in a strangled voice.
She gave him a sassy look over her shoulder. "The lady that got attacked by a mean old skunk?"
Peanut raised her head, tail thumping the wood deck beneath her. When she realized Mia was approaching, the dog got to her feet.
He cleared his throat, tried to find some shred of dignity. "She probably hunted it down. That one has a nose for getting into trouble."
"Aw, she seems sweet."
Peanut sat obligingly to be petted, almost as regal as Mia was as the princess scratched behind her ears and beneath her chin.
"She is," he agreed. "Mostly."
"Hmm." This time when she glanced over her shoulder, an ornery smile lit her eyes. "Like her owner."
#
Mia knew she shouldn't take such pleasure in seeing that blush climb in Ethan's cheeks, but she couldn't help herself.
The dog's fur was soft and damp beneath her hands, and she gave the animal one last pat before she turned to Ethan. She'd already asked her security detail to wait in the car.
"I believe I promised you some of my secrets," she said.
She didn't really want to divulge her family's drama to Ethan, but fair was fair, and she wasn't ready to head back to the Triple H yet. Something had happened between Gideon and Alessandra two days ago. They were still engaged, still apparently happy, but there was some tension between them, and Alessandra wasn't talking.
It made for long, quiet evenings on her own.
"You don't owe me anything," Ethan said. He settled against the railing in a loose-limbed, relaxed pose.
And that was just another thing to like about the dairy farmer. He didn't keep count of favors owed. There was no scale to balance, like her former boyfriend, the duke of Regis, who'd always expected something from her.
Ethan was like no one she'd ever met before. Last Friday night, when the wind had turned cold, he'd tucked her into the fleece blanket he'd brought along.
It had taken her ten minutes to talk him into sharing the blanket, when his hands had been white with cold as he'd tried to tuck them into his jacket pockets. And when the blanket had been wrapped around both of their shoulders, enclosing them in warmth, she'd waited.
He hadn't tried anything. Hadn't put his arm around her. Hadn't held her hand. Hadn't tried to sneak a kiss.
None of the men she knew would've missed a chance like that.
His hesitation had made her lean into him on Friday, blaming the blanket for the need to be close, when really, it had been all her.
She knew he was attracted to her. At least, she thought so. Even if she discounted the blushes as something else—embarrassment or humility—every once in a while, she caught him looking at her with an intensity that could only be attraction.
Was he really that honorable? Or did something else hold him back?
She settled next to him at the railing, close enough that their shoulders brushed, but she faced outward.
"This is really pretty," she said, getting her first long look at his property. A long, low white barn was nestled into the landscape across the way. A white rail fence spread back onto the property, and black and white cows dotted green fields beyond.
"Thank you." He turned to match her stance, though he stood straight while she leaned against the railing. "But it's nothing like it used to be when my dad was alive."
His words were even, but she heard the underlying emotion.
"My stepmother was forced to sell off quite a bit of our land. Which means we don't have enough grazing pasture for full capacity. Which means it's hard to make a profit. You can see there are repairs that need to be made but..." We can't afford it. She heard the words he didn't say.
She saw that the barn needed to be painted. And some of the fence drooped, as if it needed to be replaced.
Ethan sounded defeated. It was slight, but there. The inside of his family's trailer was older, out of date. Tiny. The entire thing was smaller than many hotel rooms she'd stayed in before.
But everything was neat and tidy. She remembered herself as a teen—all right, and sometimes now—how her clothes ended up all over the place. Of course the palace had staff that cooked and cleaned up after the royal family. Ethan managed it all himself. Without, it seemed, much help from his stepbrothers.
"I think it's amazing what you've done for your family, all on your own."
He shook his head slightly, but she persisted. "It is."
He didn't make another denial, but she saw the twist of his lips that said he didn't think he was amazing at all.
They stood in comfortable silence for a few moments. She sighed. "My family can also be...difficult."
She didn't like to talk about it. Had barely broached the subject with the men she'd dated before. But somehow, Ethan's patience as he waited for her to elaborate made it easier to keep going.
She told him all of it. Father's MS diagnosis when she'd been ten and feeling that she didn't really know the man, only the crown. Eloise's near-fatal car accident years ago and how it had turned her sister into a beastly person. That she and Alessandra didn't have the close relationship that she wanted.
The only thing she didn't tell him was her dating past. She was a little ashamed of how easily she'd let herself fall in love with those other men.
Though in the face of her deepening feelings for Ethan, she wasn't sure she could call those old flings love. Not really. Now, her previous feelings seemed more like infatuation.
Somehow, while she'd been talking, Ethan's hand had closed over hers on the railing. She'd been the one to link their fingers together,
wanting the closeness of that more intimate clasp.
He didn't offer her platitudes, just held on.
Alessandra's engagement ball was ten days away. At Eloise's prodding, Mia had promised she would come home soon after.
But how could she just walk away from someone as special as Ethan? She wanted to see him again.
Now she leaned toward him, pressing into his shoulder and looking up at him. Their hands remained linked.
"Are you planning to come to the engagement ball?" she asked softly.
He exhaled what might've been a bit of a laugh, his lips twisting until he looked down on her and must've realized she was serious.
"Me?" He seemed incredulous.
"Yes, you." She bumped him with her hip. "Everyone's invited."
"Everyone like the governor of Texas and Brad Pitt and..." He raised his eyebrows as if daring her to contradict him. Or to go on with the list, she wasn't sure.
And she realized she desperately wanted him there. He would be the only real friend in a sea of people who wanted things from her. There'd be press, who'd already started sniffing around town, looking for more news about the kissing princess.
"I think Brad declined the invitation. Which is really too bad." Her lips quirked. She turned toward him, still clinging to his hand, which forced him to face her as well.
"Please, will you come? For me?"
He stared down at her, and she couldn't decipher his expression. Uncertainty? Confusion?
"There'll be dancing, right? The fancy kind, like...waltzing?" He asked it as if he didn't even know if waltz was the right term. He shrugged slightly, almost helplessly. "I don't know how to dance like that."
"Well, then. I'll show you."
#
Ethan had only meant to find an excuse—any excuse—for Mia to rescind her invitation to her sister's engagement ball, but instead he found himself with his arms full of slender woman.
This was...uncomfortable. She was too close, and he was afraid he still smelled like wet dog.
It was also heaven.
The sun had set while she'd talked about her family, sharing with him in a way that no one had since his dad had died. Now only a sliver of light showed on the western horizon, and the flood light halfway between the barn and house was the only other illumination. Every once in a while a car passed on the two-lane road out front.
It made things feel more intimate than they probably should have. He breathed shallowly, wondering if he should call this off completely.
She stepped back slightly and touched his shoulders, then ran her small hands along his upper arms, positioning them the way she wanted. Then she pushed down.
He lowered his arms, thinking that's what she wanted, but she tsked at him. "No, no. You've got to have strong arms to lead your partner. Not noodle arms. Try again."
He raised his arms back to where she'd had them, and this time when she pushed down against him, he resisted her and kept his arms in place.
"Good." When she smiled up at him like that, he felt about ten feet tall.
And then she stepped forward, into the circle of his arms, and his brain and ability to speak floated right out of the top of his head.
She tucked his right hand around the curve of her waist before resting her left hand on his shoulder. Her other hand came up to clasp his.
His mouth was so dry he couldn't tell her that this was a recipe for disaster and that they'd better stop now.
They were so close that her temple brushed his chin as she settled fully into his arms. He swallowed hard.
"The waltz is a simple pattern," she said softly, as if she sensed the intimacy of the moment as well. "One, two, three. One, two, three. Pretend we're standing in a box. You're the man, you'll lead. That means you'll move forward, and I'll follow you."
"And you're just going to trust me not to let you run into anything?" It seemed dangerous to let a man guide her backwards.
"I said 'pretend we're in a box.' We won't be moving that much. Let's try it. Your left foot first. One, two, three. One, two—" Oof. She stifled the sound.
He froze.
He'd stepped on her foot.
He winced. "Sorry." He glanced down to see what kind of shoes she was wearing, what kind of damage he might've done to her toes.
"I'm fine." Her hand came off his shoulder, and he thought she might step away, but she chucked him beneath his jaw. "Chin up. Eyes up. Again. One, two, three."
He didn't step on her foot this time, moving slowly to prevent it from happening.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest. "You're a half step behind the count, now. You have to follow the music—"
"What music?"
She thumped him on the chest, a silent reprimand. "Don't worry that you're going to step on me. Trust that I'll follow your lead."
She looked up at him fiercely, and the stubborn tilt of her chin made his stomach flip and his heart pound. I'll follow your lead. Surely, she'd meant the words literally. He was the only one reading into this. He had to be.
This time when she counted the beats off, he squinted his eyes almost closed, not wanting to see her face if he did step on her again. He did as she asked, trusted her count, and this time, they completed the square with no mishaps.
She made him do it again, smiling up at him like he'd accomplished something fantastic, instead of a simple dance step. He'd started to relax infinitesimally when she said, "Good. Now let's add a turn."
He didn't fumble it too badly. She made him do it again.
The moon started to come up, lending a silver glimmer to her skin and a luminescence to her eyes as she gazed up at him.
"At the ball I'll be wearing a gown with a huge skirt," she said. "So it will make it slightly more difficult to maneuver. But you'll also have less chance of stepping on my feet."
She spoke as if he'd already agreed to go. As if she'd actually want to dance with him if he did go. He hadn't been joking about the caliber of the other guests. No way would he fit in there. But if she wanted him there...
She let go of his shoulder and spun out in a turn beneath his upraised arm, laughing. The spirited, free sound went straight to his heart. When she twirled back to him, he went still.
She met him there, resting her free hand on his chest. He still had her other hand clasped in his. He drew it to his chest, just above his heart.
She was bright, like a diamond shining up at him from his arms.
He couldn't breathe.
Her eyes were large, and he thought maybe he should let her go, except then her gaze flicked down to his mouth and held there for a protracted moment.
Did she want him to kiss her?
The outrageous thought twirled through his mind in the same way she'd spun in his arms. It made him just as wobbly.
Then she leaned toward him slightly. Maybe raised up on her tiptoes.
He only had instinct to go on and lowered his head. His pulse pounded in his temples and he was really going to kiss—
Suddenly, she pushed away from his embrace, and he released her instantly.
Cool autumn air rushed into the space between their bodies, and as she turned from him, the flood light illuminated the stricken expression on her face.
Heat and humiliation pounded through him with every beat of his heart. "I'm sorry," he said.
"No, it wasn't—" You.
Wasn't that something people said when it was you? His inexperience hampered him, but it stood to reason he'd misread all of her cues. He'd only imagined her leaning toward him, imagined her glance at his lips.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I need to go."
He cleared his throat. "Yes, all right."
He trailed her around the trailer and through the chain-link gate, mind grasping for what to say. Should he apologize again?
Then she got in the car with her security goon, offering only a subdued goodbye before the door clunked closed.
He was afraid of what she'd think if he stood
there watching her drive away, so he gave a lame wave and turned to climb the trailer steps.
Inside, he leaned his shoulder against the closed door, breaths harsh and loud in the stillness.
Had he just ruined the first real friendship he'd had since his dad?
Chapter Five
"Do you like how this looks?"
Alessandra's question drew Mia's head up from her phone. She'd been trying to decide whether she should text Ethan or not.
She gazed at her sister in the triplicate mirrors of the trendy, upscale Dallas boutique. Alessandra wore a floor-length, pale pink gown with a ruched skirt and an off-the-shoulders design.
They were the only ones in the dressing room this afternoon. At Gideon's insistence, they'd paid well for privacy, and the shop had closed to other customers for a few hours. Several smaller doors led off the mirrored main area, where multiple women could dress at the same time and then come out to admire themselves. Mia sat on one of the two small sofas that bracketed the wood floor and made it more welcoming.
"It's beautiful," Mia told her sister.
"That's a cop-out answer." Alessandra twirled to stare at her hips in the mirror. "It makes me look huge here." She motioned with both hands to her derrière.
"It's the way the skirt fits, it's not you. Anyone can see that." This was the sixth gown Alessandra had rejected.
And maybe Mia was a little distracted. It had been two days since she'd practically run out of Ethan's arms, and she was still spooked.
She'd almost kissed the man. Completely forgotten about her promise until the very last second.
She'd wanted his kiss. Desperately. Ardently.
"What is with you?" Alessandra complained as she slipped out of the dress. The stylist quickly and quietly took it from her, leaving Mia's sister in her slip and underwear as she waited for the next in line.
Mia blinked back the hot feeling in her eyes. "Nothing."
Alessandra crossed her arms. "Now you're lying to me. If you don't want to talk about your farmer-boy, fine, but you don't have to lie."
Mia's chin went up. "I don't want to talk about Ethan."
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