by Kay Stockham
“Okay, fine. You’re not. But it doesn’t change the fact that Simon can’t relax here.”
Can’t relax? What did that have to do with cleaning? “I’m not following.”
She stroked his arm gently, distractedly. “At first I didn’t pay any attention because I thought it was just his personality and he was withdrawn and quiet, but then…”
“Then what? What have you noticed?”
“I’ve noticed your constant cleaning, and needing everything to be put away before he’s barely finished playing with it. It’s freaking him out. To be honest, it’s freaking me out, too,” she added, looking away, “but it’s really messing with Simon. I think he’s afraid. When I spilled the flour…”
She closed her eyes and a look of heartache flashed over her face. Pain. She scooted forward to set her bowl on a magazine atop the coffee table and flashed him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. The fire hissed behind the grate, the burning gas the only noise in the room other than the old-fashioned mantel clock ticking softly from its perch.
“After I made the mess, I was…upset. But then Simon got upset and I wanted to show him that it was okay, so we started playing in it and goofing off. Ethan, he laughed, really laughed. I’ve seen Simon smile, but the sound made me realize I haven’t heard him laugh the entire time I’ve been here.”
He hadn’t, either. And he regretted that he hadn’t been around to hear it.
“The two can’t be coincidence. The flour was all over the place and things were a mess and for the first time Simon didn’t look like he was ready to be punished for something. He relaxed and played and he had fun. But before, when we were in the kitchen and everything was all nice and tidy, I was trying to get him to help and he just sat there like always, like he was scared to touch anything and mess it up.” She shot him a long glance from beneath her lashes. “That’s why I think he’s afraid of making a mess, afraid you’ll be upset or disappointed, maybe even afraid he’ll be punished or that you’ll send him away.”
A fist to his gut couldn’t have been more surprising. The air left his lungs and he surged to his feet, crossing the room in three quick strides until he realized he had nowhere to go. “He thinks I’d send him back to Niger?”
Megan’s eyes glittered in the firelight, a little wary, definitely sad, but soft and determined and brave.
“He never said that or indicated that. This is just my opinion, but—Ethan, he’s five. What does a five-year-old really understand about adoption? And you clean so much, expect everything to be so freaking neat all the time, I think Simon equates him making a mess to being bad. He went to school in Niger, right? Ethan, Simon has manners and someone taught them very well. Think about it—when you’re a guest in someone’s house, aren’t you supposed to be a little more conscious of what you’re doing? Aren’t you on your best behavior? Do you not mind your manners and—” her voice lowered “—behave so that you’re asked back or allowed to stay?”
He stood there, stunned by her words and realizing they had merit. Was that really how Simon felt? What he believed? “I need some air.”
“Ethan, wait.”
“Good night, Megan.”
Ethan scrubbed a hand over his face and headed for the back door, beyond tired, his mind racing. Angry at her words, angry at himself. Because it was true. He knew it was true.
But if he was such a basket case, how would he ever be the father Simon needed?
THE NEXT FEW DAYS were spent attempting to avoid Ethan. Why had Megan opened her mouth and accused him of being obsessive-compulsive? What business of hers was it if he cleaned his own house? It meant she had less to do, so she ought to be happy and leave the man alone.
But you didn’t leave him alone, did you?
No, she’d kissed him. Responded to him and nearly screamed in frustration on his kitchen counter. Now she stood mere inches from where Ethan had made it to second base with her, alternately loading the dishwasher and glaring at the phone because it didn’t ring. Call me, Jenn. Just talk to me. You used to listen to my boy problems and try to give me advice. Well? I’m ready to listen now and you don’t even care.
Like Jenn would approve of her kissing Ethan? Megan sighed. She just knew Jenn would be able to take one look at her face and know she’d had her tongue in Ethan’s mouth, so she hadn’t even had the courage to take the cookies to Jenn’s for another attempt to talk. There was the whole diet regime thing, too. She didn’t want to sidetrack Jenn if she was trying to lose weight.
Instead she’d had Simon bag up the cookies and they’d taken them to the kids at story hour and swim class. Simon loved the water and liked to swim, and the cookies had been a hit with the kids, earning Simon some automatic friends.
A shiver of unease worked its way down her spine when she remembered the way an older, balding man had looked at her at the Y. She’d sat in the waiting area with the other adults and glanced up to see a man being escorted through the building by one of the workers. The worker was apparently giving the man a tour of the facility, but Megan’s instincts had gone haywire until the two had moved on.
A thump startled her. Megan whirled to face the sound, realizing too late that it was merely Ethan’s palm pushing open the swinging kitchen door. He noticed her reaction, though. His eyes narrowed shrewdly, and she turned her back on him and went back to what she was doing.
“I think we need to change Simon’s bedtime. He’s looking more tired than usual.”
Megan leaned her head back on her neck and made a face, rolling her eyes. But when she straightened and lifted her lashes, she gasped when she saw Ethan watching her in the reflection of the window. Caught in the act, she didn’t know what to say, what do to. So she simply ducked her head and waited for his reaction, gripping the plate until her fingers hurt.
Remember, anything can be a weapon. Do they play fair when they hit you? No. Is it fair that men are bigger and stronger? No. Use anything at your disposal to even the odds.
The self-defense instructor’s voice appeared out of nowhere. A part of her said she could trust Ethan, a part of her wanted to trust him. But after the man at the Y had given her the creeps, a bigger part of her wanted to run, because what if she did trust Ethan and she was wrong again?
“What’s the matter now? I played with Simon instead of doing the dishes. I thought that would’ve earned points with you.”
Earned points? Apparently she and Simon weren’t the only ones in moods tonight. Simon had been grumpy and cranky all day, easily moved to tears as they drove from one place to another and attended story hour, swimming and orientation at karate. But add in food breaks, schooling and bath time and the child had kicked up a fuss because he wanted to watch television and it was time to go to bed so he could do it all over again tomorrow.
Ethan walked to the fridge to get something to drink and Megan glanced over her shoulder, noting the way tension creased the side of Ethan’s mouth. His shoulders were lined and tight, almost drawn up to his ears.
“Stop watching me like I’m a snake about to strike. Whatever it is, just spit it out.”
Her grip tightened on the plate and, even though she ordered herself to keep her mouth shut, she said, “Not when you’re using that kind of tone.”
The words hung in the thick air, and she could feel Ethan’s stare boring a hole into her back. Head down, she glanced at their reflection in the window, waiting, ready to make a run for it if she had to.
Seconds passed. Ethan lifted his hand and wiped it over his face, rubbing his mouth and chin. Breath by breath his shoulders lowered. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m in a lousy mood and I’m taking it out on you. I just can’t seem to do anything right with the kid.”
She didn’t move, not yet. “Ethan, Simon’s tired. Just cut him some slack. Maybe you’re trying too hard.”
A soft curse filled the air. “I’m trying too hard, I’m cleaning too much.”
Did she always have to stick her foot in her mouth? “You know what
I meant.”
“I do,” he said after a few seconds passed. “You rolled your eyes when I mentioned Simon’s bedtime. Why?”
Sensing he was on a more even keel, she put the plate and the last of the utensils in the dishwasher, tossed in a detergent square and shut the door. “No reason. I’m tired, too. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.”
He stepped in front of her and blocked the exit. “We’re going to talk about this.”
Megan stiffened, and after the day’s events, her thoughts slid back to another time, another place. Another man. “You think you’re going somewhere, bitch?”
She flinched at the memory and backed up a step, realizing too late that step placed her in a corner. “Not now. Get out of my way.”
“Megan, sweetheart, come on. I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. Things have been tense and it’s my fault. I didn’t like hearing you say I have a problem, but you’re entitled to your opinion. Let’s just drop it and move on, shall we?”
She focused on Ethan’s chin, trying desperately to shove the memories away. Ethan had been tense, upset, angry and passionate—and not once had he ever raised his hand or voice to her or Simon. Ethan could’ve taken advantage of her and had sex that night instead of stopping. He wasn’t Sean. But as she’d discovered, old memories never truly died and tonight hers were out in full force. “I just want t-to go to bed.”
“Not yet.”
“Sean, please, I just want to go to bed.”
“Not yet, you’re not. You think you know everything, don’t you? You think I don’t see those faces you make behind my back? Eh?”
“I’m sorry—Ow! Ow!”
Megan turned and gripped the curved edge of the countertop, unable to breathe. What was wrong with her? The man today hadn’t been watching her, he hadn’t been any more interested in her than he’d been in any of the other women there. Sean might have been released from prison, but he wasn’t following her. He wasn’t—
Ethan’s hands settled on her shoulders and she jumped.
“Shh. Hey, take it easy. Take a breath. Come on, deep breath. That’s it.”
The soothing, crooning sound of Ethan’s voice broke through the terror of the memories engulfing her, dragging her down, under. Stiff, she let Ethan pull her back against his chest, let him hold her, his lips in her hair as he murmured nonsense. But unlike his words, everything wasn’t okay. She wasn’t okay. Would she ever feel normal again? Be comfortable with a man and not worry about the size of his fists? The anger in his tone?
“Come on. I’ve got the baby monitor. Let’s go outside and get some air.” Ethan kept one arm around her as he snagged their jackets from the hooks by the door. They paused on the deck to shrug them on, then Ethan took her hand in his, holding it loosely while they meandered off the deck into the yard, over to the picnic table under the big maple that held the tree house. The fallen leaves crunched under their feet as they neared the tree, and Ethan seated himself atop the table and pulled her between his legs, snuggling her close once again.
“You going to tell me what that was about?”
Megan knew she should protest the familiarity. Kissing Ethan had been a mistake. He was her boss and she needed this job and he was right. Every kiss, every touch. They couldn’t go back and pretend they hadn’t happened. But Ethan’s hands warmed her, made her burn with a different kind of need, and right now she needed something to ground her, something to keep her from flying off into the fear, the darkness of her memories.
“Megan?”
She needed a new memory, something to erase Sean’s touch, and in her heart of hearts she knew Ethan was the man to show her, teach her, what intimacy was all about. “Ethan?”
“What, sweetheart?”
“Kiss me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
HE DIDN’T HAVE to be told twice. With the press of his lips, the taste of his tongue, Ethan’s kiss rocked her to her core. How much of her life had been wasted on losers? Her loser boyfriend in high school who’d only wanted to get laid by the head cheerleader. The loser in college who dumped her for a girl willing to have a threesome. Sean.
With a whimper she wrapped her arms around Ethan’s neck and gave herself over to him. He deepened the kiss, but when he made no move to do more than kiss, she shifted out of his arms and headed for the tree house.
“Megan?”
The hoarse sound of her name on his lips set her body on fire. But what else could she expect? She was playing with fire. Her job, her future. But she was a doer and for once in her life she was going to do and have no regrets. Ethan wasn’t a loser. He was caring and kind, sexy and good.
Ethan followed her up the ladder into the tree house. Once inside, he framed her face in his hands and groaned when she rubbed her body against him. She could feel his arousal growing hard and thick against her stomach, knew exactly where this was going to lead and wanted more. So much more.
His hands slid beneath her jacket and shirt. The cool roughness of his fingers against her skin sent shivers up her spine but this time the trembling inside her wasn’t the result of fear but pure desire, especially when he slipped his hands up until he unfastened her bra and cupped her breasts in his hands.
“Mmm, you’re warm.”
He whispered the words against her neck, tried to kiss her again, but she dislodged his hands and pulled away again, grabbing the sleeping bag from the corner where she and Simon had left it, and spread it out on the tree house floor.
“Megan, are you sure?”
More sure of this than of anything she’d done in the past. This time she wasn’t a hormonal teenager out to prove her sexual power, she wasn’t a college freshman trying to stay popular. She wasn’t her sister’s protector or Sean’s punching bag. She was a woman, stronger, wiser, determined to leave the past behind by sharing her body with a man she cared for way too much.
How could she resist him? Ethan’s gaze was glittering and hot, humble. He wanted her, she could tell, but he was willing to go back to the house as though he wasn’t turned on and aching. That awareness, that knowledge, made her want him all the more; he was so tender she knew she was safe.
His eyes locked on hers, Ethan knelt and pulled off her boots, one at a time, leaving her socks on for comfort on the cold wood floor. Her jeans were next and he fussed over the goose bumps that came when he tugged the denim down her legs, kissing the skin he revealed to the cold.
Ethan went to work on his clothes next, toeing off his shoes and shucking his pants and underwear before joining her in the single-person bag. It was a tight fit but that just brought them closer. The cold disappeared with the heat of his body, and the rasp of his hairy legs against hers made her smile as she curled her arms around his neck and pulled his head low.
One kiss turned into three before Ethan broke contact and explored her body with a passion unlike any she’d ever experienced. He seemed intent and entirely focused on bringing her pleasure, driving her insane with little nips and kisses and bites that sent her pulse roaring through her ears. Tender-rough hands slid under her shirt once more, lifting it up so he could kiss and caress her breasts.
“Beautiful.”
“I’m too small.”
“More than a handful is wasted.”
She almost laughed at the old line, but she didn’t, couldn’t. Not when by simply saying the words, Ethan accepted her just as she was. He made her feel beautiful, not something to be possessed or owned, not a trophy to show off to the world. Ethan appreciated her body, and she loved how he looked at her, as if he held nothing back. His eyes burned hot, only for her, and the way he touched her, made love to her—
No, sex, not love. Don’t confuse the two.
A small whimper filled the air as she forced the thoughts away. His fingers tangled in her hair, his palm cradling her head tenderly as he claimed her mouth and held her in place while he made her forget everything but the feel of his arms.
Her hands curled over the steely strength of
his biceps, up his back. Hard muscle, velvet skin. How was it possible to feel so different? To be so strong yet gentle?
Ethan’s hand trailed low, and he lifted her leg, teasing her inner thigh with a stroke of his fingers that left her gasping, wanting. Closer and closer but never quite there. The tantalizing strokes made her arch and squirm, holding her breath because she wanted him to fill the ache inside her.
Ethan was so in tune to what made her body hum. Her responses visibly turned him on, and she liked knowing he cared enough to want her with him.
The urgency built. Kisses became longer, breathing rougher. Murmured words of beauty and praise and all the things they were going to do before the night was over. Her hands smoothed over his ribs, lower, until she made him groan and drop his forehead to her collarbone, his breath hot and moist on her skin. The moment seared itself in her mind, the smell and taste of him, the cool night air, the quietness of the tree house and the way she felt so safe.
“My pants. Wait a second.”
She felt bereft when Ethan pulled away and rustled through his pants pocket for protection. She couldn’t stop touching him, stroking his back while he fumbled to don the condom, stroking his stomach and smiling when he growled at her because his body jumped in response.
“You’ll pay for that.”
The words gave her pause for a moment, until her mind kicked in and she realized her body wasn’t scared. If anything, the tenderly voiced threat turned her on with all the potential ways he could see it through. “Promises, promises.”
Protection in place, Ethan dropped his head for a heady, soul-deep kiss, and she savored the feel of his tongue in her mouth, the rough scrub of his cheeks against her chin. So good. Why had she waited this long?
With a teasing smile he sucked at the sensitive skin of her shoulder and neck, and slipped his hand low to tease and test her readiness. Sensation swept through her when he found just the right spot and stroked. She shut her eyes with a moan.
Finally Ethan settled himself over her. “You with me, sweetheart?”
