by Tracy Wolff
Jace’s cheeks burn a little at the implied insult in Ethan’s tone. But when he opens his mouth to respond, a narrow-eyed look from Ethan sends him scurrying back toward the party without another sound. He’s moving so fast that the door slams shut behind him.
For long seconds we just stand there, looking at each other. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t so much as smile at me, and I grow more and more anxious as time ticks by.
“I should go in, too,” I finally say, moving to step around Ethan. A glance over his shoulder tells me most of the room’s occupants are watching us.
“Don’t go,” he tells me, reaching out to grab my elbow in his warm, strong fingers.
They’re the first words he’s said to me all day and I have to admit, they’re doozies, especially since he’s pulled out that dark, gravelly voice I love so much.
I take a deep breath, try to force air into my suddenly too-tight lungs. It isn’t easy, not with Ethan watching me like a jungle cat watches its prey. “The party,” I tell him. “You should be in there—”
“Fuck the party!” he snarls, and his grip tightens on my elbow. “What the fuck were you doing out here with Jace Mackenzie?”
“Excuse me?” I demand as shock ricochets through me. Ethan has never spoken to me like that. Never.
“You heard me.” He uses his grip on my elbow to propel me around the corner and into the shadows, away from prying eyes. “Why would you come out here with him? The guy’s a self-important asshole.”
“I didn’t come out here with him. I came out to get away from the party and he followed me—”
“The bastard.”
“It’s fine. He didn’t do anything. He just brought me a glass of champagne and—”
“Champagne? Did you drink it?”
“Seriously? Do I look like a total idiot to you?”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just worry about you. Guys like that—”
“Believe me, Ethan, I know all about guys like that. Opportunistic assholes with a sense of entitlement a mile wide. We’ve had our run-ins before.”
It was a low blow and he flinches, just like I knew he would. He doesn’t let go of my arm, though, and he doesn’t step back to let me pass.
I know I should push him away, but he’s so warm and his touch feels so good. It’s only been two weeks since we were together, but it feels like two years. Like two decades. And though I know I’m playing with fire, I can’t help wanting to melt into him, to feel his body pressed against my own one more time.
“I’m sorry about what Brandon did to you, Chloe. I’m so fucking sorry. I’d kill him if I could. I almost did that first night, after I found out. I wrapped my hands around his throat and didn’t let go until—” He breaks off at my gasp, shoves a frustrated hand through his hair.
“That isn’t what I wanted.” I hate Brandon, have spent years thinking about exacting revenge on him for what he did to me. But that doesn’t mean I want Ethan falling victim to that same hatred, that same self-destructive need, especially when Brandon is his little brother.
“Don’t you dare fucking apologize to me, Chloe. Don’t you fucking dare,” he tells me, and now he’s got my back pressed against the restaurant’s wall, his arms on either side of me. He’s caging me in, blanketing me, and if any other man tried it I’d be going for his eyes or his balls. But with Ethan it feels good, feels right, like we were meant to be like this.
I close my eyes for just a moment at the thought, rest the back of my head against the building. Because whether we were meant to be like this or not, we can’t be. Not now, not ever again.
“Chloe.” It’s a whisper, a plea, maybe even a command considering how my body responds to him. Heart racing, nipples peaking, thighs aching.
“Ethan.”
He leans forward and I know he’s going to kiss me. I can see it in his eyes, feel it in the sudden tension sweeping through him. And I want him to. I really want him to. Except … except there’s so much shit between us and if I kiss him now everything will just come rushing back. Come tumbling down.
I’m not sure where I get the strength from, but I bring my hand to his face. Press two fingers against his lips.
This time, Ethan’s the one who closes his eyes, and though he tries to hide it I can see the pain etched on his face as he turns his head away and rests his forehead on the wall next to me. He takes one deep, shuddering breath and then another and another, before straightening up. Stepping away.
“Tell me the truth,” he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. “Why were you ducking out of the party?”
I laugh then, and it’s more bitter than I intend it to be. At least until I realize he wasn’t joking. He really doesn’t know why I had to leave. “I couldn’t stay,” I tell him once I can get the words past the lump in my throat. “You may be used to this, but I’m not. I’m not any good at it.”
“Good at what?” he asks, looking totally confused.
I turn my face away, refuse to answer. I’ve already humiliated myself enough tonight, thank you very much, especially considering I just finished all but whimpering in his arms.
“Chloe? Answer me. What aren’t you good at?”
I shake my head, whisper, “Nothing.”
But my non-answer isn’t good enough for Ethan. He grabs my hands, squeezes them tightly. When that isn’t enough to get me talking, he slides his hands slowly, softly, up my forearms to my elbows, past my elbows to my biceps, past my biceps to my shoulders. His fingers brush against the sensitive skin that stretches across my collarbone and then his fingertips are skimming up my throat to my chin.
“Ethan.” His name is a strangled sigh ripped from deep inside me.
He smiles softly at the sound, brushes his thumb over my lips even as he slides his hands up to cup my jaw. And then he’s slipping his thumbs under my chin, pushing gently but insistently until I lift my face to his.
Our eyes meet in the shadowy darkness and it’s my turn to flinch a little. Though I’m fully dressed, I feel naked. Defenseless. Like Ethan can see deep inside me to the parts of myself I’m trying so desperately to hold away from him. The parts I’m trying so desperately to keep just for me.
His lips tighten and for a moment I think he’s going to back off, to step away. But then he asks, “What. Aren’t. You. Good. At?” His voice is as implacable as ever, his face set in determined lines and I know—I know—that there’s no way I’m getting out of this without talking to him. Without telling him everything, even those things I don’t want him to know.
The knowledge makes me reckless. Or maybe it’s the pain throbbing inside of me that does that. Either way, I toss my head back and all but shout, “What do you care? Why does it matter to you if I stayed at that stupid party or not? What does it matter to you what I do?”
“It matters because you ended up out here with that asshole. If he’d done something to you—”
“We were in full view of the restaurant,” I say dismissively. “What was he going to do?”
“You were in full view. But it only took a couple of steps for me to get you into the shadows, Chloe. Who’s to say he couldn’t have done the same thing?”
“Damn it, Ethan. Are we really going to do this? Nothing happened. Nothing. Happened. So can we please just forget it and go back inside?”
This time I do shove against his chest, and I keep shoving, until he finally steps away. He lets me walk past him, lets me almost make it back into the light before he grabs my hand.
“What were you doing out here, Chloe?” he asks for a third time. But there’s no insistence in his voice now, no anger. Just a low, aching need that reaches deep inside of me.
“I told you, it doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?” I’m all but pleading with him now, and I can tell from the way he locks his jaw, the way he looks away, that he can hear the entreaty in my voice.
And still he doesn’t let go of my hand.
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“Because you ran away from a party I threw for people we both work with and I want to know why. Did someone do something to make you feel uncomfortable—”
“Are you kidding me with this?” I demand in a voice that sounds like I’ve been swallowing glass. “Did somebody make me feel uncomfortable? Did somebody do something to me—”
His jaw flexes. “That’s what I’m asking.”
“Jesus Christ, Ethan! I left because I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with you for one more minute!”
He rears back like I hit him. “I made you feel uncomfortable?” he demands incredulously. “I didn’t even look at you.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that,” I tell him harshly.
“Well aware of what? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Maybe this is normal for you. Maybe you sleep with a woman one day and then ignore her at work the next, but I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to do any of this—”
“Normal for me? You think any part of this situation is normal for me?” He grabs me by the upper arms then, his fingers gentle but insistent as he once again waits for me to look him in the eye.
“Isn’t it?”
“No, goddamnit, it isn’t! I don’t date women that I work with. You know that.”
“You dated me.”
“Because I couldn’t not date you. From the moment you walked up to me at that damn juice bar, I was completely bowled over by you. The way you stood up to me, the way you refused to cave to my demands, the way when—after you’d won—you took a sip of that stupid fucking blueberry smoothie, just to be fair. Just because I’d wanted you to. How could I not fall for you, Chloe?” He whispers the last, and now his hands are in my hair, his mouth inches from mine. “How could I not want you?”
“You ignored me. All day today. You looked through me like I wasn’t even there.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Why would I want that?”
“You broke up with me. You told me being with me made you think of Brandon, of what he did to you. How did you think I would react to that?”
“I don’t know, but I didn’t think you’d punish me.”
“Punish you?” He tugs on my hair, pulls me even closer to him. “I’m not trying to punish you, baby. I’m trying not to hurt you anymore. If you could have seen yourself that morning … If you could have seen what being near him did to you—”
“I’m sorry if I didn’t react the right way, Ethan. I wasn’t exactly expecting to open the door and see my rapist standing there!”
“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I beat myself up every day, every night, for letting that happen to you? For letting him anywhere near you? And then you stand in that fucking parking lot and tell me that I remind you of him? That you look at me and see him?
“What did you think I was going to do with that, baby? What did you think that was going to do to me? To us? You’ve already suffered so much in your life. If walking away from you means I could stop just a little bit of that pain, if it means I could keep you from being hurt any more, do you think I wouldn’t do it?
“I would do anything for you, Chloe, even sit in a room with you all day and pretend I’m not dying to touch you.”
Chapter Nine
Ethan’s words hang in the air between us, and for long seconds I can’t move, can’t think, can’t breathe. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to hear, everything I’ve needed to hear. That someone loves me. That they put me first. That they care about me. Just me.
The only boyfriend I ever had before Ethan tried to bet my virginity in a poker game.
My parents sold my silence after I was raped for the capital to start their business.
The people I thought were my friends turned on me the second Brandon told them to.
I’ve never been enough. Never been good enough, never been important enough for anyone to choose me first.
Except Ethan. Ethan chose me weeks ago and I was too hurt, too blind to see it. And he’s choosing me again, right here, right now, if only I’m strong enough to let him. If only I’m strong enough to choose him back.
I want to be strong enough.
For a moment, just a moment, Brandon’s face hovers in front of my vision. Eyes flashing, skin flushed, lips curled in a sneer as he calls me a slut, orders me to give it up. As he tells me I owe him for the ride home.
I can still remember the weight of his hand on my mouth, the feel of his fingers fumbling beneath my skirt, ripping my underwear, shoving inside of me.
I can still remember what song was on the radio and how heavy he was on top of me and the way his breath smelled like butterscotch and beer as he slammed his mouth down on mine.
I can still remember everything. Every moment. Every detail. I can still remember how he looked at me when he was done, like I was nothing. Less than nothing.
And when I tried to speak, my parents told me the same thing. That I was nothing compared to him, that his lawyers would annihilate me in court. That I didn’t stand a chance of making him pay unless I signed the non-disclosure agreement. Unless I let them take the cash his family threw at us like confetti.
I’ve spent the last five years feeling like the trash he made me. Feeling like the nothing my parents told me I was. Feeling like the slut Brandon accused me of being.
Ethan is the first one to tell me that it isn’t true. That I’m worth more than what his brother did to me, worth more than what his parents paid to make it all go away.
I believed him once and then that belief shattered under the weight of what I didn’t know. Of what he didn’t tell me. I walked away, not because I didn’t love him, but because I loved him too much. Because I knew that if he treated me like his brother had, if he treated me like his parents or my parents had, that I would break forever.
And here we are, weeks later. Both miserable, both in pain, both broken. And still he’s choosing me, not just over his brother, but over himself. Over his own well-being, over what he wants and needs.
If I love him, how can I do any less?
The answer is, I can’t.
My resolve breaks and with it goes the last ounce of restraint I’ve got. I reach for him, for Ethan, my arms wrapping around his neck as I twine my hands in his hair and pull his mouth down to mine.
The moment our lips meet it’s like all those jagged pieces inside of me suddenly slip back into place. Like all the tears and pain and trauma of the last two weeks just disappear.
“Chloe,” he murmurs against my lips. His hands are around my waist, his fingers stroking under my suit jacket and blouse, finding the sensitive skin of my lower back. “What are you doing?”
“It’s only been two weeks,” I tease him softly, reveling in the feel of his warm breath mingling with mine. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to do this already?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything.” He steps closer, walks me backward across the sand until I’m once again trapped between the cold, hard restaurant wall and his hot, unyielding body. But he lifts his mouth from mine, looks straight into my eyes as he says, “Including the fact that you said you couldn’t be with me. That it hurt you too much.”
I stand on my tiptoes, then wind my arms around his neck and try to pull him in for the kiss I so desperately crave. But Ethan’s got a will of iron and despite the very impressive erection I can feel pressing against my stomach, he’s not budging until I say what he needs to hear.
Most days, I would appreciate his restraint—and his obvious concern for me. But right now, all I want is for him to kiss me, to touch me, to make love to me the way he used to, like I’m the most important thing in his world.
“Yeah, well, it turns out that it hurts way more to be without you than it does to be with you.”
He closes his eyes at that, rests his forehead against mine. We’re pressed together now from head to hip and I can’t help but feel the tremor that runs through him at
my words, can’t help but feel the way his big, strong body is shaking against my own.
“Are you sure?” he asks hoarsely, his breath hot and cinnamon scented against my cheek. “You have to be sure, Chloe, because I can’t—”
“I’m sure, baby. I love you. I need you. Please—”
Before I can finish the plea, his mouth crashes down on mine, hot and hard and desperate. So desperate. He bites at my lips, thrusts his tongue into my mouth, licks at my own tongue, my teeth, the roof of my mouth.
He’s claiming me, taking me, using his lips and tongue and teeth to brand me in a way I won’t soon forget. In a way I’ll never forget.
And I let him. More, I beg him for it.
For the pleasure he gives me with each stroke of his tongue and press of his hands.
And for the peace he brings me with the strength of his body and the beauty of his soul. All around us, the wind picks up, whipping the ocean into a frenzy and sending grains of sand skittering on the breeze. It works me up, too, the cool brush of it against my skin only adding to the pleasure and the pain of being touched by Ethan again after what feels like forever.
“We should go home,” he says, without lifting his mouth from mine. “The things I want to do to you can’t be done against a dirty wall on the beach.”
“They’re going to have to be, because I can’t wait that long,” I whisper back. I shove his suit jacket off his shoulders, then tug and yank at his dress shirt until I can run my fingers along his narrow waist and flat stomach.
“Damn it, Chloe,” he growls even as he does the same to my suit, his fingers making quick work of the buttons on my blouse. “We’re in public. Anyone could walk by.”
“Then you’d better be quick,” I tell him, reaching for his belt.
“More like, you’d better be quiet,” he teases, slipping my shirt down my arms. “Because if we do this here, I’m not leaving until you come at least twice.”
“Hey, I can be quiet!” I complain, even as a heady wave of arousal skitters down my spine.
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Then he’s pushing my bra out of the way and drawing my nipple into his mouth with a suction so strong that I feel it in my knees. With a sob, I reach for him, my fingers tangling in his dress shirt in a futile effort to keep myself from crumbling into a heap at his feet.