by Cassia Leo
Alice sneers at me as I reach into my pocket. “Don’t let me stop you from answering that,” she says, her tone almost mocking.
“It’s probably Tino,” I say before I look at the screen, establishing plausible deniability.
Of course, when I see Edward’s name, I have to resist the overwhelming urge to hurl the phone across the restaurant. This time, I reject the call and immediately shoot off a text message.
Me: Can’t talk. Ring you later.
His reply comes through within seconds.
Edward: I know you’re with her.
I stare at the message for a moment, my mind clambering for an excuse as to why I’ll have to ring him back, but my heart is hammering in my chest, making it difficult to think. “I have to take this…outside. I’ll be right back.”
Alice eyes me with suspicion as I slide out of the booth. “Take your time. We have all night, remember?”
I draw in a deep breath as I turn around and head toward the lobby. My mobile vibrates in my hand before I make it through the restaurant exit.
“What do you want?” I say, skipping any pretense of decorum.
“You’re sleeping with her,” Edward says.
It’s not a question. It’s a full-on accusation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, figuring I should at least attempt to feign ignorance.
“You know bloody well what I’m talking about. You’re sleeping with Alice.”
“I’ve done no such thing. I—”
“Bollocks! I tried your office phone—since you can’t be bothered to answer your mobile—and your front of house manager said you’re in Poughkeepsie with Alice. It’s almost 7:30! You’re spending the night with her? In Poughkeepsie!”
“I’m not sleeping with her. We’re simply…getting something to eat before we make the journey back,” I say, shaking my head as I silently hope this lie will not come back to bite me in the arse. “We came to Poughkeepsie to pick up some equipment from Henry’s Restaurant Supply. Do you know the place?”
“Yes, I know the place!” Edward barks at me, rejecting my attempt to change the subject. “That doesn’t explain why you’re still there. Hank closes the shop at six.”
“Because we got—” I stop myself before I accidentally admit we arrived here late. “Because we wanted to get something to eat. We’re starving and need to pass the time while we wait for rush-hour to pass. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll be on our merry way back to Manhattan.”
Edward lets out a derisive chuckle. “Rush-hour traffic on a Saturday? What a load of rubbish. And I’m supposed to feel better that you’ll be on your way as soon as you’ve finished your dinner date with my ex-girlfriend?”
“Dinner date? Are you mad? The woman can hardly stand being around—” I cut myself off, realizing the stupid admission I was about to make.
“Tell me the truth, Ethan? Are you shagging Alice?”
I clench my jaw to keep my mouth shut before I say anything else stupid. “No,” I reply flatly. “We are here strictly for business purposes. Nothing more. And may I remind you that it was I who saved your arse four months ago when your restaurant deal almost fell through.”
He laughs again. “And I’ll remind you that I’m the one who recommended you hire Alice and use her father’s VC firm. I do not, however, recall recommending you sleep with her. Though, I’m certain Cristian would be quite interested in hearing about your recent exploits with his daughter.”
I glance back at the restaurant entrance, half expecting to find Alice standing there, somehow listening to our conversation.
I want to ask Edward why he cares so blooming much about whether I sleep with Alice, especially when he was so determined on ruining her career. But I can’t give Edward the wrong impression. I wouldn’t put it past him to run straight to Cristian with his paranoid suspicions should I confirm them in any way.
“For the last time, I’m not sleeping with Alice,” I say, realizing I still have time to turn this statement into the truth, but knowing full well I will do no such thing.
I have no intention of letting Edward dictate my sex life anymore than I would trust him running one of my restaurants.
After a brief pause, he finally responds, his tone only mildly appeased. “Trust me, mate. I’m only saving you the grief,” he says. “Don’t let her do to you what she did to me.”
I grit my teeth to stop myself from telling him to sod off and save his phony warnings for someone who’s fooled by this innocent facade. “Goodbye,” I say, ending the call before I speak my mind and get myself into even more trouble.
I stare at the phone in my hand for a moment, wondering if that really happened. Did Edward actually threaten to tell Cristian I’m sleeping with Alice if I don’t play by his rules? Edward’s first demand is that I don’t spend the night with his ex-girlfriend, but what will his next demand be?
I’m beginning to see why Alice walked out on him.
As I enter the restaurant, I stop a few tables away from ours to admire Alice as she takes the glass of wine a server has brought to the table. She drains the entire thing in a few gulps, and hands the empty glass back to the server. Holding up one finger, she seems to ask for another as the server walks away looking somewhat shocked by her brazenness.
As Alice’s eyes follow the server, she spots me a few tables away, and the corners of her lips turn upward. Then, she seems to remember we were arguing before I left the table, and her smile disappears.
I don’t care what kind of promises I made to Edward. I’m going to figure out a way to put that gorgeous grin back on her face.
We have all night, remember?
Oh, Alice, how I wish I could forget.
Chapter 9
ALICE
I don’t bother asking Ethan about his phone call. Not because he obviously wasn’t speaking to Tino. Mostly, I don’t ask him about it because I’m afraid he’ll say, “That was my girlfriend.” Or whatever he may call her: my woman, my lady, my girl, my love.
I shudder at the thought of him saying any of those phrases.
I can’t deny my physical attraction to him, but it’s strictly that: physical. The number of similarities between Ethan and Edward’s personalities are enough to make me wonder whether coming back to work at Forked this morning was a good idea.
First, there’s the need to have things done now.
Yes, I was the one who told Hank we could pick up the proofing cabinet today, but I did that to give Ethan some time to decide what he wanted to do, not because I was afraid someone else might snatch it up. The chances of that happening can’t be more than fifty-fifty. We probably could have waited until tomorrow morning to pick up the cabinet. If we’d done that, I may not have needed to come with Ethan.
But he insisted we had to pick up the cabinet today.
And now that Hank isn’t in the office, I have no way to contact him to ask if the cabinet is still there. Ethan and I may be staying the night in Poughkeepsie—in the same bed!—for no reason at all. Well, the only reason is to appease Ethan’s need to solve the proofing cabinet problem now.
Unless, of course, Ethan has another reason for insisting we stay the night. A reason he’s not sharing with me.
Nevertheless, his impatience reminds me way too much of the way Edward always needed me to help in the kitchen now. If I had to take a five-minute breather during a particularly hectic dinner rush, we would inevitably end up in a blowout argument after closing. In Edward’s opinion, if I wasn’t there for him precisely when he needed me, I might as well not be there at all.
Then, there’s the secretiveness.
For months, Edward kept the plans for his recent restaurant opening from me. And he never mentioned the brother he was basically estranged from was also his twin. But the most disturbing similarity between them has to be how they both seem reluctant to talk about each other.
I assumed, when I learned about Ethan’s achievements, that Edward’s reluctance stemm
ed from his egotistical nature. And it’s entirely possible Ethan’s hesitation to talk about Edward has everything to do with the fact that I’m his brother’s ex-girlfriend. But I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it than that; some secret I haven’t quite figured out yet.
Nevertheless, I keep my suspicions to myself as Ethan and I eat our food in relative silence. After dinner, I try not to read too much into the disappointed expression in his eyes when I insist I’d rather go to sleep than stay and have another drink or dessert. And as we walk like condemned prisoners toward the elevators, I can’t help but feel as if this entire day is an undeniable testament to why I need to set boundaries with Ethan.
The silent elevator ride to the fourth floor is nothing short of painful. But watching him struggle to scan the key card fast enough to disengage the lock on our room is excruciating. He’s nervous.
What the hell is going on here?
“Let me try,” I say, reaching for the card, but he snatches it away impatiently.
“There’s something wrong with the card,” he insists, once again sliding it too quickly.
“It’s not the card,” I say, leaving the accusation of user error hanging in the air.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve used a hotel card key,” he says, bristling at my implication.
I take a step back to put some distance between us. “I could murder someone right now, and you’re the only person here, so you’d better open that door right now.”
He chuckles despite his frustration, then he finally hands me the card. “Have at it, love.”
I snatch the key out of his hand. “Can you please stop with the love stuff?”
“The what?” he says, moving closer to observe my technique as I slide the card into the slot, wait half a second, and slide it out.
The tiny light turns from red to green, and I hastily shove the door open, tumbling into the room to put some space between us again.
“Impressive,” he mutters, following me inside. “Is there anything the great Alice Lopez can’t do?”
“If you think my card-sliding skills are good, wait until you see me tie my very own shoes.”
He smiles and shakes his head as he watches me from just inside the door. “Now this I have to see.”
I roll my eyes as I lay my phone on top of the nightstand. “Can we go to sleep now?”
He laughs as he walks to the foot of the bed. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t sleep on the right side of the bed.”
“Excuse me? Am I still on the clock? Because I’m pretty sure my shift ended about two hours ago, so you can’t boss me around anymore.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’m not bossing you around. I’m telling you I have to sleep closest to the door, you know, in case someone comes in while we’re sleeping…so I can protect you.”
I laugh out loud, maybe a bit too loud. “I’ve been living by myself since culinary school. Well, other than my current stint at my parents’ house. But the point is, I don’t need a big, strong man to protect me.”
He bites his lip as he considers this, as if he’s debating how he should respond, then he shakes his head as he seems to come to a conclusion. He strides toward me and, without any warning whatsoever, scoops me up in his arms as if he’s King Kong and I’m his captive.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, as he carries me to the left side of the bed, but he seems unable to speak from the exertion. “Put me down!” I demand.
And he does just that, dropping me not-so-gently onto the left side of the mattress.
He smiles down at me, looking very pleased with himself. “I sleep on the right side.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, popping up from the bed.
He sits on the right side of the bed and begins removing his shoes. “I don’t sleep on the left side of the bed.”
I snatch my phone off the nightstand, my heart thumping wildly from the adrenaline. “I Tarzan. I sleep right side. No sleep left side. Is that seriously the explanation you’re giving me?”
He lies back and rests his hands on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling. “Tarzan wake early tomorrow. Tarzan sleep now,” he says in a caveman voice, which, quite frankly, sounds adorable in his British accent.
We stare at each other for a moment before we both burst into laughter.
Maybe it’s the stress of the day, but I find myself laughing for way longer than I should, crouching next to the bed with one hand on the floor to steady myself. When I finally gather my wits, I look up and find Ethan is sitting up now, staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.
I suddenly feel guilty I laughed so hard. Maybe he thinks I was laughing at him and not with him. But I resist the urge to apologize.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
He blinks a few times, as if waking from a dream. “Nothing. I was just… You look…”
“I look…what?”
He shakes his head and stands up, stepping over me in his haste to get to the restroom. “I’ll be in the shower.”
“What are you going to change into after your shower?”
He stops outside the bathroom door and considers this, then he turns around. Seizing the opportunity, I quickly lie down on the right side of the bed before he can get to it. He stares at me for a long while, likely contemplating whether he has enough strength left to manhandle me the way he did earlier. Finally, he begins peeling off his black T-shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He tosses the shirt on top of the cherry wood dresser and reaches for the button of his jeans.
With my phone still in one hand, I quickly use the other to cover my eyes. “Stop!”
He laughs. “Relax. I’m wearing trunks. You can pretend we’re at the beach.”
My mind conjures an image of swim trunks. But then I remember Edward used to refer to his boxer briefs as trunks, and this memory makes me uneasy.
I shake my head, refusing to remove my hand from my eyes as I hear the buzz of his zipper and the rustle of his jeans hitting the floor. A gust of warm, Ethan-scented air whooshes over me, presumably as his pants fly through the air toward the dresser. The clean, rainforest smell makes my stomach swoop.
The mattress tilts as he lies next to me, and I quickly have to use the hand covering my eyes to stop myself from tipping over onto him. And, of course, the first thing I notice with my now-uncovered eyes is the sizable bulge in his boxer briefs.
Good Lord!
Look away, Alice. Look away!
But I can’t.
The sound of his deep laughter breaks me from my trance, and I can’t stop my gaze from traveling up the entire length of his sculpted abs and chest until we’re eye to eye.
He’s lying back looking very casual with one hand tucked behind his head and a devious smile on his face. I have a strong urge to run my fingertips over the grooves in his muscles, to press my skin against his…
“Are you going to sleep in those jeans?” he asks, one eyebrow cocked as if he’s daring me to match his audacity.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Think about what?” he asks, putting on his best innocent expression. “Hey, I surrendered the right side of the bed to you. If you knew how unprecedented that is, you wouldn’t be so suspicious of me.”
“Puh-lease,” I say, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and sitting up so I’m facing away from him. “I trust you about as much as I trust your brother.”
“Ouch,” he replies, but I don’t bother turning around to see if I’ve truly offended him.
I kick off my sneakers and peel off my socks, then I get into bed without looking at Ethan. Making sure to face away from him, I pull the covers up to my chin as I awkwardly slink out of my jeans. There’s at least two feet of space between us. I doubt we’ll bump into each other tonight. If he’s not going to sacrifice his comfort by remaining clothed, neither am I.
“You know, I’
ve seen many women naked before. I don’t have to lift up this blanket to know what you look like under there.”
“Lift this blanket and I’ll lift your eyeballs out through your nostrils.”
“Reckon it might be worth it.”
I close my eyes and breathe deeply to steady my racing heart. I can do this. I can sleep next to this gorgeous man, smelling his amazing skin, without straddling him like a rodeo horse. I can resist.
Reaching over, I turn off the bedside lamp. Then, I tuck the blankets around me like a protective burrito covering. I try not to feel self-conscious about the soft rolls of back fat around my bra, or the fact that I’m not wearing sexy underwear today. Not that I’ve worn sexy underwear any time in the last six months.
But the longer I lie in the same position, thinking the same dangerous thoughts, the more restless I become. Until I can no longer take it, and I turn around onto my other side.
I breathe a sigh of relief and the tension in my back relaxes. Ethan is fast asleep. But my anxiety quickly returns when I notice he’s forgotten to turn off the lamp on his side of the bed.
At home, I never sleep with the lights on. I have blackout curtains and stickers covering any power indicator lights on my electronics. If I get tired enough tonight, I may be able to fall asleep with Ethan’s lamp on. But if I wake in the middle of the night, I won’t be able to fall back to sleep. I have to turn it off.
Very slowly and quietly, I slip out of bed and tiptoe toward Ethan’s bedside table. Without waking him, I press the brass button to turn off the lamp. But right as I do this, his phone buzzes with an incoming notification.
The phone is lying face-up on the nightstand, and I can’t help but peek at the brightly lit screen. It’s a text message from Tino that reads: Hey boss. You bringing my truck back tonight?
Didn’t Ethan say he spoke to Tino earlier, or did I misunderstand him?
Glancing at him to make sure he’s still sleeping, I tiptoe back to my side. But when I’m near the foot of the bed, the light from the notification on Ethan’s phone turns off automatically and I’m plunged into total darkness.
