“I don’t know why you don’t. It’s all deductible. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve made IRS agents cry a time or two. I’d be happy to teach you a few tricks.”
He didn’t doubt she could make the most hardened IRS agent want to run home to mommy, bawling all the way. Something else he didn’t doubt? That he wanted to strip the robe off of her and drag her back to bed. So what if he’d have to make it again?
Stephanie reached for her blouse.
“Don’t you charge your clients expenses? I do.”
It didn’t surprise him she soaked her wealthy clients for everything she could get. Why not? They could afford it. “I do charge expenses, but I don’t gouge my clients. Most of them desperately need every penny I win for them. It wouldn’t be fair of me to squander what’s basically their money.”
She snorted a short laugh. “Since when are you fair?”
He stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout. “Wow, now who’s being mean? Fairness is relative, depending on which side of the table you’re on. A single mother of four who can’t work because of a defective product thinks I’m more than fair. Opposing counsel, not so much. It’s a dance.”
She took two steps toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Do you dance?”
Another one who wanted to dance. And, like the others, he wouldn’t be allowed to take her out dancing, but he could whisk her around the bedroom a few times to make her happy. He pulled one hand from behind his neck, engulfing it in his while his other hand snaked around her waist. Her hand found his back, and they were off in a graceful waltz without music.
He closed his eyes, letting the tingle spread as she ran her hand up and down his spine. He knew the moment she discovered his shame. Her hand froze mid-caress as she pulled back. The horror in her eyes was almost too much to bear.
“Dear God, Ethan, what happened?”
His jaw tightened, cheeks burning as his mask slipped into place on its own. He backed away. This was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with, but he should have known something would be waiting in the wings to ruin this perfect morning. “I don’t want your pity.”
She reached out to caress him; he stepped away from her. “It’s not pity. What happened? Who did this to you? Why?”
His head rocked back. His eyes scanned the ceiling. Every ounce of him battled for control, but his chin quivered anyway. It was too terrible to think about right now, let alone share with her. Only his priest knew. And the man who had been too drunk to remember.
“Please, don’t.” He backed away farther.
She stepped into him, reaching out to touch his arm. “This is why you want Pete out of the system, isn’t it?”
He stepped out of her grasp; his hand instinctively stroked his nose. He squeezed his eyes shut to force the flashes of memory back into their secure compartments, back into the prisons where he’d banished them to find the strength to move on. And he had moved on. Most of him.
There was no way he would share this with her. He let out a ragged breath as he struggled into his shirt and started buttoning it. The words slipped out as he slipped in his last cufflink. “When I was six, the psychotic live-in boyfriend lost it because I kept him from molesting Megan. She wasn’t quite five. I hope to God she doesn’t remember that day. I wish to God I could forget it.”
It was the only memory that refused to stay locked away, the images as fresh as if they’d happened that morning. The belt the maniac had been planning to use on Megan slashed through the air and cracked across his back time after time, as Ethan had pinned his little sister to the floor struggling to keep her from wriggling away. His back throbbed with phantom pain.
Worse were the words his assailant had spat out with each stroke: bastard, worthless, piece of shit. Words that were ground into Ethan’s psyche, trapped inside him as the welts became scabs and yielded to scars.
It was more than he wanted to share because, God knew, oversharing had never accomplished anything. At least anything good. Hadn’t he learned early to keep the truth locked away, to cover up his past the way he’d covered his scars? But today, he’d let his guard down.
She hung his tie around his neck, letting her hands skim over his chest before pulling back. “And you’re afraid no one will be there to protect Pete if he cries too much.”
Hearing his worst fears spoken out loud was a gut punch. He knotted his tie the way he’d done hundreds of times. Today, it felt as if he was tying his own noose. “Pete cries all the time. Last night was the first decent night’s sleep I’ve had in a week. It’s enough to drive anyone to the brink.”
She straightened the knot. “But this is a high-profile case. The media is still all over it. Surely, the judge wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Pete.”
He wished he could believe that. And for now, he had to. What other choice did he have? Until he—they—could convince the judge to let Pete come home, he had to believe the baby was safe.
And keeping Pete safe meant making Stephanie happy.
CHAPTER 23
STEPHANIE WANDERED through the boarding area looking for the best place to park until their flight was called. The cacophony of slot machines gobbling money rang out like a caravan of demon-possessed ice cream trucks. Was that woman feeding a fistful of twenties into the Cleopatra slot? Unbelievable. What was the point? Slots were too random. Pure luck without skill or strategy. Where was the fun in that?
Now penny stocks? Those were fun. The stock market was a gamble, no doubt, but if you did your research and played the long game, the odds were decent you’d come out a winner. Not like that poor woman feeding yet another twenty into the greedy machine. With the right financial advisor, the cash that woman was throwing away could turn into a nest egg bigger than any jackpot the airport slots were likely to award. Stephanie shrugged. To each her own.
She snagged a spot in the corner, set her bag on the empty seat next to her, then pulled out the book she’d picked up at the newsstand. A historical romance this time. She preferred steamy, quirky rom-coms, but the guy on the cover reminded her of Ethan. Her Ethan. For now, at least. Then what? She’d worry about that when she had to. Today, she’d let herself believe she was staring in her own romance novel, and, that somehow, she would finally get the happily ever after she’d always dreamed of.
The thought of Ethan in a kilt, commando, of course, fueled an erotic fantasy. She opened her book and lost herself in the Scottish Highlands until a coffee cup danced in front of her face.
“Here’s your sugar-free, caramel macchiato, venti, skim, extra shot, extra-hot-but-not-too hot-extra-whip. Jeeze, woman, before the wedding it was plain black coffee, and now this? Are you going to be high maintenance?” Ethan teased.
Setting down the book, she licked her lips and took the cup. “I have no idea how much longer I’ll get to drink coffee, so I might as well enjoy it while I can. Wait, how do you know how I normally take my coffee?”
He moved her bag and claimed the seat next to her. “I notice everything about a new adversary, and I have an extensive mental file on you.”
“I’m flattered,” she said dryly.
He raised one dark eyebrow. “It’s a whole lot more interesting this morning than it was yesterday morning, I can tell you that. But I never know when the smallest detail will come in handy. Yesterday in my office, Tobin used four sugars and nearly all the cream. I almost asked him if wanted some coffee with his milk and sugar. Your coffee was black.”
He glanced at the book that had fallen from her bag. He picked it up with a sneer. “The Laird’s Love Child?” His face darkened. “Real men don’t wear skirts.”
Stephanie leered at the shirtless cover model. “I don’t know; the laird looks plenty manly to me. Besides, it’s a kilt, not a skirt.”
“Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe. It’s not manly.”
“Does that mean you won’t be modeling a kilt for me any time soon?” she asked.
He only glared at her. There it was again, that feeling th
at something had changed. She was on the verge of figuring it out when her phone buzzed. She looked at the caller ID with a frown. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” She hit the button to record before answering the call. “Walter, what do you need this time?”
“Why aren’t you at your desk yet again? And where the hell is Irene? Are you two plotting something?”
The adrenaline rushed through her as she braced herself for today’s installment of Screwing with Stephanie. Taking a sip of her coffee to calm herself, she answered in a slow, measured tone as if she was speaking to child. “I’m in the same place I was the last time we talked, which was exactly twenty-six hours ago: on bereavement leave. And Irene, in case you’ve forgotten, is one week into the three-week cruise we gave her for her birthday. You were at the party.”
He blundered on as if he hadn’t heard her, which he probably hadn’t. “If you’d had the decency to return any one of my numerous texts or voice mails, I wouldn’t have had waste my time tracking you down. Why are you avoiding me?”
“Walter, calm down. I’m not avoiding you. We talked yesterday. I followed up with an email. I’m beginning to think you’re exhibiting signs of early-onset Alzheimer’s.”
“Don’t you deflect on me, young lady. You’re the one losing her grip on reality, not that I blame you considering what you’ve gone through this past year, but I can’t let your problems run this company into the ground. Where are the first-quarter numbers that you were supposed to send last week?”
Stephanie spoke through gritted teeth. “The same place they were yesterday: your inbox. The subject line is ‘Final First Quarter Numbers’ like it was yesterday.”
“It’s not here! You’re lying to me! You will pay for this! It isn’t over between us.”
Stephanie turned to Ethan. “He hung up on me again. I don’t know if he’s going insane or trying to drive me insane, but he wants me out in the worst way. We can never let anyone know about this marriage, or I’ll be in a world of hurt.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve promised you discretion, and that’s what you’ll get. Why would he want you out of your own company?”
“He wants the company for himself. The entire board of directors has been making my life miserable since I took over, but they don’t have the votes to oust me. I’ve been documenting their actions for the past three months. Which reminds me, I have to make a phone call to cover my ass.”
“And it’s a mighty fine ass, Mrs. Webb.”
“Hush, someone might hear you!” She punched a button and put her phone up to her ear. After six rings, a groggy voice barely mumbled hello. “Shane, it’s the middle of the afternoon and you’re still asleep? What are you working on this time that has you slamming down energy drinks until dawn?”
She could practically see him push the rebellious platinum locks out of his face. The man-bun thing worked for him—not to mention it drove his father crazy. That was icing on the cake for Shane.
“Good morning, I love you too, Steppie. Anyone else, I would have let go to voice mail. If you must know, I’m still working on my game. It seems like every time I fix one problem, ten more crop up. But whatever your problem is, turn the computer off and turn it back on. That will solve most of your issues.”
“If I reboot Walter Bengtsen, do you think he’ll get off my back? He’s playing head games with me again. This time, he claims he can’t find the email I sent him last week—the same one he found yesterday. I think he’s deleting them on purpose.”
Shane swore. “Deleting them doesn’t mean they’re gone. Let me grab a shower and get some food, and I’ll hack into your system again. Do you want me to hijack his account and send a BCC of everything he does to your cloud?” Shane asked.
“You can do that? Hell yes, I want you to. And while you’re at it, hijack the accounts of the other board members.”
“You got it, big sis.”
“You’re the bestest littlest brother in the whole family!”
“You do realize I’m six-foot-eight, right?”
“Funny how that little bit of information seems to find its way into every conversation. You could be eight-foot-six, and you’d still be my littlest brother.”
“I wonder if Mom is too old to get pregnant again.”
“The way she loves babies, I’m sure she would if she could. You should get busy on making a grandkid for her.”
“Je ne parle pas Anglais.”
“Sister Mary Margaret would be proud of your accent, but we both know you speak perfect English. Now go take that shower and get to work. I need you, baby brother.”
“Oui, oui, ma soeur. Je t’aime.”
“I love you too.” Stephanie disconnected the call and slipped her phone into her purse.
“Should I be jealous?” Ethan asked.
Stephanie snorted. “Even if this whole thing was real,” she flicked her index finger between them, “you wouldn’t have to worry about Shane or any of the Tobins. They’re like brothers to me.”
Ethan’s phone rang. He pulled his phone from his pocket, glanced at the display, and groaned. “This joker needs to take a pill. I should never have given him my private number. I’ll only be a minute; I’m going to try to tie this up before we board.”
He accepted the call. “Ethan Webb here. What do you want this time?”
Ethan’s face hardened. The transformation was like watching the guy’s face melt in Raiders of the Lost Ark: fascinating yet horrifying. His eyes frosted over, but it was the edge in his voice that chilled her.
“Didn’t you get the message I’m dealing with a family emergency?” He stood. “Hard to believe, but I do have a family. Did you think I was the result of some dried residue scraped off the bottom of a test tube in a Brazilian lab?”
He fished his earpiece out of his pocket and jammed it into his ear. “Do not try that with me. Are you new in town? Then Google me. The last time I checked, there were more than three million hits. Pick one, they’ll all tell you the same thing... That’s Mister Asshole to you.”
In a flash, the man who had loved her so tenderly and completely mere hours ago morphed into the vicious shark most people believed him to be. She could almost smell the blood in the water.
If Ethan hadn’t needed a wife to rescue his nephew, this was the man she would be dealing with right now. Instead of relishing the blazing memories of what his tongue could to her most sensitive flesh, she would be reeling from the sting as the razor-sharp edges of that same tongue slashed through her.
She watched him as he made his way toward the concourse, his head peeking over the sea of fellow travelers. He paced and circled, gesturing as he berated the poor man on the other end of the line. The image of him as a shark intensified in her mind. Ethan Webb was, above all else, a dangerous man; she would do well to remember that.
For now, he was being nice because he needed her. What would happen when he didn’t need her anymore? Would he walk out of her life, or would he turn on her, grinding her into chum? She calculated the odds at fifty-fifty. The image of Ethan as a shark dissolved into a different scene in her head. One of her juggling lit torches as she rode a unicycle with a flat tire while trying to outrun a bear. Yes, Ethan Webb was a dangerous man. Something she was going to have to remind herself of every day they were together. All twenty-four that were left.
STEPHANIE CHECKED HER watch again. They’d been sitting on the tarmac nearly three hours now waiting for their turn to take-off. Finally, the pilot announced they were next. Thank God first-class seats came with power ports or her batteries would be on fumes. She had answered her last email, polished her report for Monday’s board meeting, and drafted a proposal she would pitch to a new client later next week. She was caught up. For now.
Ethan was still working. The delay hadn’t bothered him, or if it had, he didn’t let it show. He didn’t seem to let much show.
“With any luck, we’ll have enough time to shower and change before our meeting,” she said.
; He looked up from his laptop and rubbed his eyes. “I’m trying not to think about that.” He checked his watch. “By my calculations, we have about fourteen minutes before the pilot is required to return to the terminal. Sometimes lawyers can be real assholes.” He shot her a soft smile.
His smile was devastating. It was hard to believe he didn’t have a harem of beautiful lovers falling all over him. She’d seen the scars on his back, but what about the scars she couldn’t see? “Only sometimes?”
He smacked his forehead in mock distress. “I knew I should have dropped out of law school and taken that job cooking meth.” He opened his briefcase, and almost without looking, pulled out a small bottle. “Ah, come to papa.” He tilted his head back and squeezed a few drops of artificial tears into each eye. “Damn desert. I don’t know how people can live here.”
“Contacts bothering you?” she wanted to know.
He blinked hard. “I’m not wearing contacts. I had Lasik about ten years ago, but I’m going to need the enhancement procedure soon. Getting old sucks.”
“Trust me, I know. That’s why I’m in such a hurry to have a baby. I’m stuck mourning Smitty for at least a ye —” She stopped mid-word. His eyes. They were different. That’s what had been bothering her all morning.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?”
He looked away. “Nothing is wrong with my eyes, perfect twenty-twenty. Surgically enhanced, but still...”
“You know what I mean. Yesterday, they were black, but today, they’re—”
He all but deflated before her eyes. “Crazy. Yeah, I know. I have crazy eyes. It was my nickname all through fifth grade, ever since my science teacher compared them to the plasma ball we were playing with. Megan has the same eyes. I guess there’s a good chance your baby will have crazy eyes too.”
Stephanie reached out to stroke his cheek. “They’re not crazy. They’re gorgeous. Our baby would be lucky to have such beautiful eyes. They’re a couple of shades of blue and green with flecks of gold and brown, and, yeah, those hypnotic tendrils radiating out. Beautiful. Why would you hide them?”
For Pete's Sake: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage of Convenience Standalone Romance Novel (Tobin Tribe Book 1) Page 12
