by Libby Rice
The banging tapered off, then stopped, and her fist tensed around the knife’s handle. Not trusting the lull, icy panic slid down her spine. She waited, her body shaking with strain as she fought to catch her breath. Do something. Get back to the phone.
When seconds dragged on in silence, hope sprouted. He might have gone.
Possibly.
Probably.
She strained to detect action in her suite over the blood roaring in her ears. In a sudden rush, Ethan’s door peeled away from her back. Her legs crumpled without the rear support, sending her reeling into his room.
Flailing, she hurtled backward through space. The blade tasted her skin when the floor jarred her body on impact. Stunned, she stared up into Ethan’s horrified face. The color drained from his features and he bent to lift her high against his chest. Then, cradling her close, Ethan carried her into her suite, laying her upon the familiar coverlet before switching on an antique lamp and bathing them both in soft, yellow light.
His forehead trembled when it met hers, and he gently pried the knife from her fingers, setting it aside. “Jesus, Scarlet, what’s going on?” With a stroke of her cheek, his expression darkened. “Don’t answer that.”
She struggled to slow her breathing while he fumbled for the telephone receiver she’d abandoned to the rug. After he managed to dial, she watched his features tense at the pre-recorded message from the front desk. Ethan slammed the receiver down and tried again. This time, his fingers tapped out a room number. The curt instructions that followed brooked no disobedience. “Ron, I need a first aid kit in Scarlet’s room. Yesterday.”
He hung up and lowered himself to the edge of the bed, pulling the softness of her robe away from her body. His eyes slid past the pale satin of her matching bra and panty set and settled on the cut along her side. Swallowing, he rose and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a warm, soapy towel.
She twisted her head to see the stinging gash. While the streak of blood looked menacing, the wound wasn’t deep. Had Ethan not arrived, the injury could have been much worse. “Someone was here. Trying to get into my suite. I—”
Ethan froze. In that moment, everything changed. Cupping his palm behind her head on the pillow, he turned her face to meet his gaze, his body leaning over hers like a protective cage. His mouth worked open and closed, twice, but no words came out. She realized he was surprised. He hadn’t fully understood why she would have hid between their doors with a weapon.
“What if he’s still—”
“Hush.”
“No, Ethan. Someone could—”
“Shh. I know, sweetheart. He’s gone. You’re safe. Let me tend to you, and then we’ll talk.” Pulling back, he brought the hot cloth to the neat slice that marred her torso.
His jaw clenched when he pressed the towel against her skin, leeching her pain away through the wet cotton. As the rampaging fight-or-flight reflex receded, she relaxed under hands that roved quickly over her body, soothing her side, stroking her jaw, touching her face.
“Ethan,” she murmured finally, reaching out to thread her fingers through the silken strands of his black hair. “It’s a scratch. I was more scared than hurt.” He’d been callous, yet she couldn’t stand to see the pain—guilt?—in the stark set of his features.
He glanced up, his face hard. “I don’t like scratches on you Scarlet. I don’t like tears either. Or tremors wracking your entire body.” He bent and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to her injured side, gliding his fingers absently along her ribs. “All that has to stop. You’re never to bleed again. Ever.”
She nodded, forcing a straight face despite his ludicrous demand.
“Promise,” he croaked, hell-bent on the impossible.
A brisk knock interrupted her bewildered refusal and sent Ethan to the door. After a few low words to Ron, he returned with a first aid kit and dropped to his knees beside the bed. With the practiced care of an athlete who was no stranger to flesh wounds, he efficiently cleaned, disinfected, and then bandaged the cut.
After patting the gauze into place, he glanced up and spoke quietly. “No sudden movements. You should probably take it easy for a couple days. And don’t get this bandage wet because—”
“I’ll be fine.” She stilled his hand over the medical tape, putting an end to all the fuss.
He blew out a breath, and she felt it puff across her chest and neck. “Scarlet,” he said, looking both hesitant and resigned. “Sweetheart, you’re not going to like this.”
Too late. She already didn’t like it. None of their dealings since reunification day had suited her. And he’d started calling her sweetheart again, which in her experience signified an increase in unpredictability, as though their mutual existence wasn’t, in and of itself, sufficiently volatile.
His fists clenched the lapel of her splayed-out robe. “I’m so damn sorry, for yet another thing now.” He lowered his head and blew soothing air over her bandage, then nuzzled into her side. “It was me at the door.”
She stilled in confusion. He’d scared her on top of everything? Frightened her in the worst possible way?
“Before you say anything,” he went on, his mouth slack between each attempt at forming the words, “I came to apologize. For jumping to conclusions. For… everything. There’s too much to even repeat. But I was wrong.”
Her world narrowed to his apologetic face. She’d been right. Guilt pinched between his eyes. Facing away, she could only utter, “Why?”
He rose and sat on the bed, tracing patterns over the smooth skin of her stomach. “I didn’t realize you’d think what you did.” Swallowing convulsively, he rushed on. “The last thing I’d want to do is scare you. There’s a lot I’m learning. All I’ve ever assumed or thought I understood about you, your life, or who you might have become… it’s jumbled. Mostly off the mark.” His eyes slid shut, his voice thickening with regret. “And now I’m paying for my mistakes by inadvertently making more of them.”
The low baritone wound through her conscious like a beloved song, entrancing her, begging her to believe its sincerity, and she fought to remain withdrawn. Hers was a losing battle. The recesses of her mind whispered that he knew little of her ridiculous fears. He didn’t know that when it came to personal security, she wasn’t like other people.
“Why couldn’t I see you? I looked out. You weren’t there.”
“I thought you would think I”—he paused and stood, walking to her picture window— “that I came to kick you out. Again.” Resting his shoulder against the glass, he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “But I didn’t. I came to tell you I know you’d never purposefully hurt me or my company. To ask you to stay. I didn’t think I’d get past the door if you knew it was me. And I couldn’t risk not talking to you, not apologizing, before you left.”
Her chest tightened when he opened his eyes. She’d seen him run the gamut of emotions. Tonight she saw regret and sorrow, but most of all, she recognized soul-shattering truth mirrored in his shuttered gaze.
“How did you figure it out?” At his questioning glance, she added, “That I wouldn’t sabotage you.”
“Brian.” He ambled back to the bed, sitting next to her hip. “Can I hold your hand?”
She slipped her chilled fingers into his strong ones. They enveloped her like a mitten, suffusing her whole arm with glowing warmth. Her breath caught at the innocent contact.
He squeezed. “I realized much on my own after thinking things through. Then Brian confirmed that he saw you get back to the hotel that night.”
“I see,” she whispered. He’d needed confirmation from someone else. But he’d made an effort to figure out the truth.
Shocking, but true.
On a wistful sigh, Scarlet slid her free hand down the bunched muscles of his arm. She kneaded until she felt the tendons relax under her caress, releasing some of the strain pent up in his big body.
At her subtle advance, his lost look stirred with relentless heat. “Help me
do something right, Scarlet. Please.”
Chapter 14
He couldn’t stop examining her. Tousled and shaky, she looked unsure whether to believe all the soul bearing. She was right. The cut wasn’t deep and would heal. He, on the other hand, faced a slow recovery. Seeing her on the floor, wide eyed and in pain, had stretched his skin over his bones like it was two sizes two small.
He’d made Scarlet bleed.
Her hand felt tiny and limp within his. Even her nails had gone pale, and he wondered if he should worry about shock.
With the tip of a finger, he traced a T shape across her forehead and down her nose. From there, he feathered light touches over her cheeks, ending with a soft caress along the fullness of her bottom lip. “You’re beautiful.” The words came without thought, but she didn’t flinch away.
Instead, when he let his hand drop from her face, she peered up with eyes full of liquid-gold hope.
He momentarily forgot how to breathe. “You really thought it was me didn’t you?”
“I had no clue who was out there, Ethan. That was the problem.”
“No, the attack. You really thought I hurt you that night after the fight.” No subterfuge. No punishment. Those shameful explanations were figments of his own tortured, vengeful mind. Fear at the caliber he’d witnessed tonight couldn’t be faked. And it didn’t lie.
Especially not to the police in a fit of pique after a near-fatal attack.
She winced as she pulled herself up against the headboard. Rushing to ease the way, he plumped a pillow behind her lower back before she brushed his hands aside. “I knew you were the one. Until you proved me wrong.”
And you got side-swiped by a Mac truck of guilt. The answers he’d needed were so fucking simple. They’d both been victimized, and when Scarlet had reached out in comfort and consolation in the only way she’d ever known—offering him money—he’d pushed her way. Threatened her with retribution.
Christ, he’d told her he regretted saving her life.
And, after all of his selfish railing, she’d had the courage to follow him into this debacle, trusting him not to hurt her as he’d threatened to do. And her reward? No sleep. Public mockery. A dressing down undermining her professional integrity and threatening everything she’d worked to build. A gash in her side. A scare that had probably taken five years off her life. And now a brute with an erection straining not to pounce on all that ethereal beauty.
Ethan exhaled on a ragged sigh. Nice and easy, lover boy. Fuck this up, and it’s well and truly over.
“Can I stay?” His voice cracked, and he wondered if she’d revel in throwing him out. Would never blame her if she did.
With a solemn nod, she slid over and made room.
******
Scarlet buzzed with mild surprise when he removed his shirt and slid behind her in socks and jeans.
“Are you comfortable in all that?” she asked against the sheets with a twinge of hesitation. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to remove any more clothes. At the same time, she really, really did.
He pressed his mouth to her nape, and she felt his smile against her skin. “I’m as stripped as I’ll get.” He chuckled, pulling her close. “As comfortable as I deserve.”
“What if I want more? Don’t I deserve it? I mean, what if all that rough fabric and those pointy buttons chafe me in the night?” She was playing with fire, but it felt delicious. Like a normal woman flirting with a gorgeous, half-naked man. That happened to be in her bed.
“Oh, you deserve everything you want,” he replied, a bit of strain entering his lackadaisical tone, “but you can’t have it. Not tonight.”
“And if I can’t take the rejection?” She pushed her backside against his groin.
“I’ll have to make it up to you some other way.” As the words left his mouth, his knuckles found a sore spot between her neck and shoulder and rubbed, working their way down the length of her back.
“Oooh, you’re forgiven,” she breathed. This is better than sex.
“Not with me.” His voice stroked down her spine with the same force as his roaming fingers.
Shit, just say no to not-so-inner thoughts.
His thumb eased into a particularly tight muscle at the base of her spine. “I refuse to scare the crap out of a woman and then take advantage of her while she’s trying to process numerous life-altering revelations, all discovered within the last thirty minutes. I do have a few standards.”
“M’kay.” Whatever, as long as he kept touching her.
He did, and after working out all the major kinks, he fell into a rhythmic caress, beginning at the tips of her hair and ending at her hips. Again and again.
She sank into a blissful daze, neither awake nor asleep. Floating in that warm, relaxing void, she heard his voice from far away. “Brought you something. Fetched them when I got the towel.”
As his hands left her back, her nose detected a hint of sugar and cream. Opening her eyes, she spied two dark chocolate truffles on the pillow next to her head. They twirled in her vision like sugarplum fairies, calling her name.
Scrambling to her knees, she plucked the first piece from its paper half-wrapping and popped the whole thing into her mouth. The candy melted evenly, soaking her tongue in sweetness until she hit a chewy caramel center. Moaning, her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “You win, Ethan. I’m your slave.”
He propped himself up on an elbow, watching her devour his gifts with a slightly glazed expression. “I like the sound of that.”
“You can have anything”—she snatched the second truffle and held it to her chest— “except this.”
Suddenly serious, he said, “I’d hoped to get your forgiveness.”
When she didn’t answer right away, mostly because her mouth pooled with gooey chocolate and caramel, he upped the ante. “There’s more where those came from. As I said, whatever you want, except…” His back arched in a long sensual roll.
She groaned. “As if I would succumb to bribery.”
He reached out and swiped a bit of chocolate that had escaped her greed to end up on the edge of her bottom lip. Bringing the sweet treat to his mouth, he winked. “You just did.”
******
Morning came swift on the heels of his tender words and simple gifts. Surprised to see light flooding the room, Scarlet stretched back on her knees into child’s pose, rocking sideways to stretch muscles sore from both her fall and his thorough massage.
She’d slept. A full, uninterrupted night.
Crawling to where Ethan dozed, she studied his face and chest above the faded jeans he’d refused to remove. Sleep hadn’t softened him. Despite the steady rise and fall of his chest, his features retained their hard angles. While the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders remained still, they were clenched, ready for action.
She looked on in fascination, and soon detected his subtle awareness of an external presence. He might not know exactly who watched, but he subconsciously sensed an observer. From the way his breathing sped into a sharp staccato, the intrusion wasn’t welcome.
Easing forward, she sought to soothe the tiny grooves that fanned outward from his eyes. Laying her pinky against his temple, she skimmed the side of his face, starting near his dark brows and lashes, past his ear and along his clenched jaw, and finally down the tendons bulging in his neck. When she lifted her hand to start again, the world exploded into motion.
His body bucked upward on a violent growl, and she scrambled back. Then came a savage demand. “Get the fuck away from me,” he heaved. “No cage.”
Stunned, she crept back. When his head rebounded on the pillow, his eyes remained tightly closed. Hands fisted at his sides, he strained away from an imagined threat. Without warning, he lashed out with a violent swing at whatever or whoever invaded his dream, and she barely dodged a blow that would have swiped her across the chest and sent her flying over the edge of the mattress.
“Ethan!” she shouted from beyond arm’s reach, afraid to get close en
ough to jostle him awake. “You’re dreaming, Ethan.”
He responded with a thrash of his head against the pillow. “You’ll pay,” he snarled. “I’ll see you in hell—”
Climbing from the opposite side of the bed, she grabbed a decorative cushion and fired it at his head. The knots of numerous blue tassels whipped at his face.
He struggled on, still spewing venom. “Goddamn you for locking me in here.”
Locking me in here. He was reliving Rikers. She had put him there.
This time she threw a shoe. Not at his face and not hard, just a ballet flat lobbed at his six-pack. It hit with a thud, and he jerked upright on a roar, searching the room frantically.
“Ethan?” She stood to the side, shrinking away from the wildness in his eyes. “Ethan, look at me.”
His gaze flew to hers, but his dark stare remained blank, unrecognizing. Gradually, she shuffled back toward his side of the bed. His breathing slowed and she saw recognition creep inward.
He knew her again.
In a tentative voice, almost sounding afraid, he asked the question she should have. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t hurt you?”
She shook her head, not knowing whether the news would make him mad or glad.
Bringing a shaking hand to his forehead, he exhaled through his mouth, punctuating the overblown sigh with an audible swallow. “Thank God.”
Looking up, he said, “I’m sorry you saw that.” Then slipping from the bed, he reached for his shirt. “I’ll leave you in peace. We can—”
“Stay.” She came forward and placed her hand against his chest, and his heartbeat slowed to a normal tempo beneath her palm. After days of speeding him up, she relished the ability to slow him down. Gripping his shoulders, she pulled him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. From her stance between his legs, she pleaded, “Tell me about it. Was it prison?”
He encircled her waist with his arms. “Yes.” His voice was lifeless.
“Were you fighting against”—she smoothed a lock of hair from his eye and took a breath—“me?”
