by Jill Blake
For the second time in twenty minutes, she opened the evening bag and checked her cell. Nope, no missed calls or new messages. Nothing but the original exchange of texts setting the meeting time and location, and a three-word update some forty minutes ago:
Sorry, running late.
She slid the phone back in place. She’d stocked the purse for every contingency. Driver’s license, room key, credit card, emergency cash. Tissues, mints, a mini packet of wet wipes, and two condoms—courtesy of the pharmacy she’d passed on the way back from her shopping trip.
She raised the drink to her lips, then frowned. Nothing left but ice cubes and a wedge of lime. Catching the bartender’s eye, she tapped the glass and nodded.
By the time Ethan arrived, windblown and apologetic, Anna’s vision had gone fuzzy around the edges. Maybe that second Caipirinha on an empty stomach hadn’t been such a good idea.
She tried to focus on what he was saying. Something about a photo opp with the newest batch of Talbot Fellows that turned into an impromptu Q & A session. The details blurred, and she kept getting distracted by his peek-a-boo dimple and the shimmering halo effect caused by some low-hanging pendant lights suspended over the bar.
When a waiter announced their table was ready, Anna slid off her stool and swayed on unsteady legs. Ethan’s hand settled around her waist, and she leaned against him.
“Sorry,” she murmured. “Still getting used to the heels.”
“No worries.” He guided her toward the table where the waiter had stopped, menus in hand. “Feel free to lean on me anytime.”
She felt as if she were on a speeding train, with brief glimpses of the surrounding countryside whizzing by too quickly for her to connect the images into a coherent tableau.
Between the dim lighting and the small print, she couldn’t make heads or tails of the menu. In the end, she chose at random.
The Cabernet Sauvignon turned out to be excellent. The food, less so. She picked at the arugula salad laced with Balsamic vinaigrette.
“Ethan.”
“Yes?”
She watched his large hands buttering a slice of crusty baguette and promptly forgot what she wanted to say. He put down the knife and glanced at her.
She grabbed onto the first random topic that came to mind. “Tell me about your parents.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Anything. Where do they live?”
“Upstate New York. My father’s on staff at Albany Med. Mom has a private practice in Clifton Park, just north of the city.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Until about ten. Then I went to boarding school in Massachusetts and only came home during summer and school breaks.”
“Your parents sent you away when you were ten?” She stared at him. “Why would they do that?”
“Family tradition. My father was a Milton grad, and his father too.”
“Nichevo sebe,” she muttered. What kind of stupid family tradition was it to send a child away at the tender age of ten? If she ever had kids, she was going to keep them close to home as long as possible. Who knew when fate might step in and cruelly tear a family apart? No need to deliberately hasten the process.
Ethan raised a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” She reached for her wine glass. “So are you close? With your parents?”
“I guess. Though I don’t see them that often.” He paused as the waiter removed their empty plates and refilled their glasses. “That’s the problem when we all lead busy lives.”
She shook her head. “Kokaya yerunda. You could always make time.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You’re right. I need to make more of an effort.”
What? Had Ethan Talbot just conceded a point? No one would ever believe it. Hell, she didn’t believe it.
He took a sip of water. “I was thinking of visiting them this week.”
That shook her out of her torpor. “That’s great. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you.”
His gaze caught hers, and for a moment she felt off-balance, as if she were teetering on the edge of a deep abyss. A loud clatter from a nearby table broke the spell. She took a deep breath. “What do your parents think of your crusade?”
“My father was somewhat skeptical at first, but Mom eventually talked him around.”
“How’d she do that?”
He shrugged. “Just because they took the traditional route and went into medicine doesn’t mean they think it’s right for everyone. Unlike some people—” he paused and offered her a half-smile “—they actually agree that success can be achieved through many different paths.”
Before she could think of a good comeback, their entrees arrived. She buried her nose in the wine while Ethan cut into his grilled steak. After a few minutes, he seemed to notice that she wasn’t eating. He set down his knife and reached across the table.
“Hey.” His fingers traced a light pattern across the back of her wrist. “You might want to go easy on that.”
“Why?” She blinked, bringing him back in focus. “It’s good. And it helps.”
“With what?”
She leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“I was nervous about tonight.”
“Really?”
She nodded, emboldened by the interest in his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been out on a date. This is a date, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a date. And you have no reason to be nervous. I’m harmless.”
A bubble of laughter escaped. “Oh, no. That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“That you’re a very busy, naughty boy.” She nodded for emphasis. “And you like to play. A playboy.”
His deep chuckle raised gooseflesh along her arms. “I hate to tell you this, Anna, but whatever you may have heard was undoubtedly a gross exaggeration.”
“Oh. That’s too bad,” she sighed. “I was really looking forward to playing. Dressed up for it and everything.”
“I noticed.” His slow survey felt like a caress. By the time his eyes met hers again, the heat was unmistakable.
She licked her lips. “I went shopping.”
“Did you?”
“The salesperson was very helpful.” She pivoted on the seat and extended her leg from beneath the table, toes pointed, nearly tripping a waiter who was hurrying by. “She convinced me I needed five-inch heels.”
Ethan swallowed and reached for his ice water. “They do make you look taller.”
She smiled and tucked her feet out of sight. “I bought condoms, too. In case you forgot to bring them.”
His glass hit the table, spilling water everywhere. He sprang up, blotting the mess with his napkin. Anna stared at the wet spot on the front of his slacks. Oh, my.
He noticed her gaze and promptly sat back down, leaving the rest of the cleanup to their waiter.
How they managed to get through the remainder of the meal, she didn’t know. By the time she scrawled her signature on the receipt and accepted Ethan’s hand, the room was spinning.
“My hotel’s across the street,” she said.
He muttered something she didn’t catch. His arm wrapped around her back, hand settling on her hip. Despite the abrupt drop in temperature when they exited the restaurant, Anna felt warm. Ethan’s body was like a furnace beside her, radiating heat through every point of contact.
She snuggled against him, sighing when his lips brushed her temple.
“Which way?”
She blinked. The lobby looked vaguely familiar. What was the question?
“Come on, Anna.” His breath tickled her ear. “Don’t fall asleep on me yet.”
They stopped at the front desk. A brief exchange of words and money, and they were moving again.
“Ethan…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t feel too well.”
His hand tightened on her hip. “Hang on just a few more minutes, okay? We’re almost there.”
She swallowed against the rising tide of nausea.
Not now. Please God, not now.
Another pause. Then: “Anna?”
If she opened her mouth, she was going to vomit.
“Sweetheart, I need the key.”
Her arm felt like it belonged to someone else. She watched it rise, the satin purse still miraculously clutched in her hand.
“Got it,” he said.
And then he was propelling her across the threshold. She stumbled, would have done a face-plant straight into the plush pile carpeting if he hadn’t caught her beneath the knees and swung her up in his arms. Seconds later, she felt the comforter against her bare shoulders. Heard the click of the bedside lamp.
This wasn’t how she imagined they’d end up in bed.
The mattress sagged, and her eyes flew open. Ethan sat near the edge, her foot in his lap, his fingers working the strap off her ankle.
He swore beneath his breath.
Oh, God. This was really happening. She was going to be sick.
What was she thinking? She should have stopped at the second drink. All she’d wanted was something to calm her nerves. Make her feel more confident. Sexy. As if she could compete with all the supermodels and actresses who’d come before her.
He was working on the other shoe now. His hand brushed her calf, lifting, repositioning.
“Can I get you anything?” he said. “Water? Aspirin?”
“No.” Her tongue felt too thick for her mouth. Each word was an effort. “Thank you.”
He sat for a moment without moving. What was he waiting for? Get on with it, she wanted to say. But the words stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t even muster a sound of protest when he rose from the bed.
Now what? The seconds ticked by. She focused on the banked flames in his eyes. Everything else receded into the background.
He bent slowly, bracing one hand on the headboard, using the other to lightly trace her brow, cheek, jaw. “Anna.”
She parted her lips. “Yes.”
And then they were kissing, and somehow she found the strength to reach up and thread her fingers through his hair, as if that alone would keep him here, because she could sense the tension in his muscles, could feel the battle raging between the desire to push forward and the need to pull back.
He groaned.
The mattress dipped again and she felt something—his knee?—nudge her side. His fingers tangled with hers, coaxing her hands into complete surrender, palms up, on the pillow on either side of her head.
His mouth gentled, eased back. “Goodnight, Anna.”
What? He was leaving? No! He couldn’t leave. They were just getting started.
The light clicked off. Cool air bathed her flushed skin. There was a rustling sound. A muffled curse. The soft snick of the door opening and closing.
And then silence.
She could hear the pounding of her heart, the whoosh of each breath.
He’d be back. Any minute now. The hard-on she saw when he’d spilled his drink had surged back to life when he stripped off her fuck-me heels. She pictured herself reaching for the zipper, sliding it down, freeing him from the confines of his dress pants. His hand would wrap around hers, guiding her up and down his turgid length, showing her how he liked to be stroked. And then his other hand would find her thigh and slide ever so slowly higher, pushing the hem of her dress up, inch by agonizing inch…
She fell asleep, still waiting for his return.
CHAPTER FIVE
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Anna groaned and rolled over, fumbling for the receiver.
“’lo.”
“Anna?”
She winced and shut her eyes against the shards of sun coming through the open blinds. Her temples throbbed, and her mouth felt as parched as a dried-out river bed.
“Anna, are you there?”
“Hi, Bec,” she rasped. “Could you dial it down a bit?”
There was a beat of silence, and then Becca’s cautious voice, “Are you alone?”
She risked another glance around the room before closing her eyes again. “Yes.”
“You weren’t answering your cell,” Becca said. “The front desk put me through to your room. Are you all right?”
That was debatable. On a humiliation scale of one to ten, where would she rank getting drunk and throwing herself at a man who looked like the “after” shot in a workout ad?
At least she still had her clothes on. She popped one eye open to double-check. Yep. The dress was a little wrinkled, but definitely intact.
She wondered what Ethan was doing this morning. Probably thanking his lucky stars for his narrow escape. Vague memories of the night before made her cringe. Good thing she was heading back to L.A. today. She didn’t think she could face him in the sober light of day.
Which reminded her of what she’d nearly forgotten: there was a reason she didn’t date. As her sister would say, she sucked at it. Big-time.
“Listen, Bec, can I call you back?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure?”
That was the trouble with best friends: they could tell when you were lying. And they weren’t shy about sticking their noses into your business.
“Fifteen minutes,” Anna promised.
~
A hot shower, two cups of coffee, and three ibuprofen later, she felt slightly more human and in control.
“You did what?” Becca shrieked, after hearing an abbreviated version of yesterday’s debacle.
“Just a little louder, Bec. I don’t think the citizens of Kansas heard you.”
“Wow. Ethan Talbot. I can’t believe I had to drag it out of you.”
Anna switched to speaker phone and lifted her suitcase atop the bed. “It’s not like I planned it,” she said, gathering discarded items of clothing and tucking them into a laundry bag. “It just happened.”
“Period cramps just happen. Weight gain just happens. Ending a three-year-old dry spell with Ethan Talbot doesn’t just happen.”
“I didn’t exactly end the dry spell.” She shoved the shoes into a different bag. “He dropped me back at the hotel and left. End of story.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. When are you seeing him again?”
“I’m not.” She debated dumping the unused box of condoms. It wasn’t as if she’d need them any time soon.
Then again….She glanced at the expiration date. Two years. A lot could happen in two years.
“Why not?” Becca prodded.
“Because I’m heading home.” What the hell. She tossed the condoms in her suitcase. “Besides, we have nothing in common. And he refused to release Klara from the Fellowship.”
“Anna, sweetie, sorry for pointing out the obvious, but most people view the Talbot Fellowship as something prestigious.”
“It’s not a degree, Bec. It’s not even a certificate.”
“Maybe not, but it’ll still look good on Klara’s CV.”
Anna ducked into the bathroom for her toiletry bag.
Becca’s voice followed her. “You know Klara will do what she wants, regardless of what you say. Which means you’ve got two choices: prolong the battle and risk alienating her completely, or accept what she’s doing and move on.”
Anna returned to the bedroom. “What’s option C?”
“It wouldn’t kill you to be a little more flexible. Klara’s the only family you have. Shame to lose her over something that’s going to be over in two years.”
Anna sighed. “Bec, the problem is, we’re not just talking two years. We’re talking her entire future.”
“Does the word hyperbole mean anything to you?”
Anna ignored her attempt at humor. “If Klara doesn’t finish her education, she’ll end up regretting it. Maybe not now, but someday.” She glanced around to see if th
ere was anything left to pack.
“She can always go back to school,” Becca said. “There are plenty of returning students of all ages.”
“I guess.”
“And look on the bright side. Now that Klara’s moved out, you have the whole place to yourself. You can finally have a social life.”
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?” Anna said, zipping the suitcase.
“It’s all in the attitude. Now tell me more about Ethan Talbot.”
“Nothing more to tell.”
“Come on, you have to do better than that.”
“Seriously, Bec. I’m lucky if the guy doesn’t turn around and walk the other way the moment he sees me.”
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay, so what did you do?”
“I threw myself at him.”
“You what?”
Anna winced and lowered the cell phone volume. “I may have had a little too much to drink.” She waited for Becca’s laughter to taper off. “It’s not that funny.”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to picture it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”
“Yeah, well don’t hold your breath.” Anna lifted the suitcase off the bed. “I have to go check out.”
“Wait—that’s it?”
Anna sighed. “It’s a long drive, Bec. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”
Two hours later, her phone buzzed. She ignored it. Another hour passed before she pulled into a rest stop to use the facilities and check messages.
She read Ethan’s text while standing in line for coffee.
How are you feeling?
Oh, boy. Mortified would just about cover it. Hung over would work too. And determined to put the entire unfortunate interlude with Ethan behind her.
“Next.”
She dropped the phone back in her bag and stepped up to the counter.
Two and a half hours later, as she unlocked the front door of her Santa Monica apartment, another text came through: