by Libby Rice
But he didn’t.
He leaned in close, his black eyes flashing with dangerous emotion. “How long will it take?”
She managed not to flinch. “I don’t know.”
“We finally get a chance, and you’re picking your job. For an unquantifiable amount of time, I’m to stand aside with a smile so Ms. Scarlet Leore can have it all.” His face darkened, impervious to the pain his accusations caused. “Why does this whole Scarlet-knows-best routine feel like déjà vu?”
His fury filled her with a nameless dread, like the feeling she got when something terrible was about to happen, but she couldn’t place the danger.
Only she could. She’d rediscovered Ethan at the wrong time. She’d lose him, and he’d choose to believe she wanted it that way.
Flopping onto her back, she stared at the patterned ceiling, shivering in the void of his emotional withdrawal. She took a deep breath. “I have to eat, Ethan.” And have a roof over my head, and security, and drivers…
His eyes went wide on a vile curse, and he busted up, laughing in her face. “Yeah, fuck you, counselor.” Then, with inexplicably tender movements, he rolled the covers around her to form a protective bunting, tucking them in until only her face peeked through.
“I’m not buying it,” he forced out. “The women in my life don’t generally suffer reduced circumstances.” His disdain was all the more hurtful for the certainty in his voice. So many people had needed him at one point or another. Now he couldn’t accept that she could only come to him whole, by choice rather than necessity.
Frustration swelled in the back of her throat. “Am I to become a kept woman? A few great nights”—and shared secrets and yearning and trust—“and I should throw caution to the wind because, wait for it, you’ve got money, so who needs mine?”
“Yes.” The finality of his decree smashed into her. No exceptions. No talking it out. Just let him take care of everything, a black and white vision of the world and their places in it.
She bolted upright. Money had once torn them apart. “I can’t, Ethan. Don’t you get it? I was wrong when I accused you of hurting me, and you were arrested on my word. For anyone else, one young woman’s accusation wouldn’t have been enough. For Tripp Leore’s daughter, it was plenty. And when I tried to pay you for all the ugliness, you hated me.”
Her heart pounded in the aftermath of her outburst. “I’m not your mother or your hard-luck assistant or the empty socialite on your arm.” Harsh breaths tumbled over each other as she fought to calm down. “I can’t need your money like they can. Like I did his.”
He leaned over the cocoon he’d fashioned, eyes bleak, empty. “And I’m not your father. What happened then wasn’t about Daddy’s money, and what’s happening now isn’t about mine. Our problem isn’t your job or my wealth. It’s that you won’t trust me. You’re afraid. There’s a word for people like you.”
She recoiled into the blankets. He spoke of the thing she’d spent the last ten years convincing herself she wasn’t. Despite the memories, the lying awake at night fearing—knowing—someone was in her apartment, the lingerie hanging in her bathroom even now, she’d told herself it was all to be expected. That she wasn’t a coward.
“Says the man who’d forfeit nothing more than the joy of hating me.”
His head snapped back. He slid from the bed to stand over her, and then backed toward the door. “I say it because I’m willing to weather the storm. You aren’t.” Each step widened a chasm between them until it was much more than physical space. “You don’t want us bad enough.”
The accusation sent ice sliding down her spine. “Don’t go like this. Talk to me, Ethan. You know I would…”
The begging shamed her, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t trail off until the door shut quietly behind him.
What had she done?
******
Ethan could think of many reasons to end a relationship with him. Money wasn’t one of them. He stood, rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists in the hall outside her door, drinking in deep, measured breaths, damning her willingness to cast out their chances.
A decade of longing had gone into their charged encounters. Yet she questioned his investment. Sure, sex with Scarlet had been exceedingly entertaining, he had to admit, but only because he’d wanted her with every fiber of his being.
She’d turned him away, unwilling to take even a calculated risk with her precious career. In a stroke of naiveté he hadn’t expected, she’d forgotten business economics 101. So long as the Atavos checks rolled in—and they would—her colleagues would turn a blind eye to what happened during Scarlet’s personal time. No grievances. No reprimands.
Case closed.
With a disgusted look at his bulging jeans, he acknowledged he’d had this coming after a lifetime of not giving a shit. How many women had he wished well after a few good nights? He’d sent them packing, knowing all they sought resided in his pants—his wallet, primarily. Ironic that Scarlet ran from his affluence like a gold digger from a prenup.
Poor, he’d had no chance with her. Rich, same story.
He slammed into his room, flinging his shirt onto a high-backed chair. Then, unzipping the fly of his jeans as he moved, he practically hopped into the bathroom, yanking the denim from his heels and kicking the constraining cloth away.
Arousal threatened to overwhelm him. Despite the harsh words, he throbbed with the need to slide inside her warmth, to remind them both that their desire for each other couldn’t be shelved for the sake of convenience.
Hard and aching, he stared at his erection, contemplating the separation she demanded. He needed her with a desperation he couldn’t have predicted, wanted to hate her for the ease with which she pulled away. She’d tantalized him with a glimpse of happiness, only to snatch it back.
No matter what she’d claimed, she didn’t love him. Not when a hiatus would obviously bring her little more than relief. Yet she was right. He’d be a fool to cast her aside over a delay, no matter how long or how indefinite.
The knowledge that she’d been less affected pounded between his ears, ridiculing the depth of his feelings. While she’d been plotting her escape, he’d been planning ways to give her the child she wanted but couldn’t have.
While she used the word love, he welcomed the reality of it.
Scarlet hadn’t been another fling, a pleasurable lay. He would wait for her. But he’d be damned if she’d know it.
Groaning, he stepped under a frigid fall of water. The instant he realized the cold hadn’t withered him in the least, he gripped his erection without mercy. Stroking his hand up and down in brutal swipes that had him sucking air, he pictured the perfection of Scarlet’s porcelain skin, imagined that each thrust coaxed another moan from her lips.
He dragged his thumb over the seething head, then froze at the music of an indrawn breath. Jerking his gaze toward the door, he saw Scarlet’s blurred features through the shower curtain. Her lips parted in a silent “O” as her wide eyes traveled the length of his body, settling on his straining erection and the hand that eased it. Before he could move, she licked her lips and drifted forward.
“Here to help?” he asked, regretting his decision to leave his internal door unlocked. He’d hoped for a hell of a lot more from her ability to move freely between their rooms.
At his clipped question, she backed away, never tearing her attention from the show. “I—we can’t leave it like this.”
Further aroused by her hot, unrelenting stare, even though she uttered all the wrong words, he barked, “Scarlet, either join me or get out. Now.” He refused to perform for a woman who’d put him on the shelf. If he recalled correctly, he wasn’t to provoke intimacy between them until further instruction.
Fuck. That.
She turned and fled, and with a groan, he pumped his fist ruthlessly until an empty, meaningless release boiled over. The whole thing left him feeling tight and twitchy, completely devoid of the relief and relaxation he’
d sought.
Exiting the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stalked into his suite, only to come up short at the sight of her. There she sat on his settee, an accidental professor fantasy in a slim tweed skirt and a fitted button-down with a crisp collar. If she would just chew daintily on the end of a No. 2 pencil and murmur, “You’ve been a very naughty pupil, Mr. Blake.”
He’d lied to himself at their airport reunion weeks ago. It turned out the schoolmarm look was, without a doubt, his thing.
“I said get out.”
She shrugged, her golden gaze locking on his chest like a heat-seeking missile. “I thought you meant the bathroom.”
“A creative interpretation.”
If possible, she sat up straighter. The unconscious shift thrust her breasts forward, magnifying the reel of images playing in his mind. Somebody get this woman a scarred writing desk and a ruler.
“Maybe,” she conceded, crossing smooth, bare legs at the ankles. “I won’t stay away. Not when you’re furious with me.” She paused, seeming to look at anything but him as her voice fell to a strained whisper. “I can’t, Ethan. This wasn’t… You weren’t supposed to—”
“Your whole point has been to ‘stay away.’” He kneaded the back of his neck. Fresh off his decision to concede to her wishes, he doubted his ability to withstand the seduction routine.
Finally, her eyes shifted—round and panicked—over his damp body, which responded whole-heartedly to her visual caress. Hating his uncontrolled reaction to such a vulnerable perusal, he lashed out. “Here to finish what we started? Because if so, I’m all ears, among other things.”
“Yes,” she answered, never looking away. “But after… Please at least try to understand.”
Yes? He blinked, sure he hadn’t heard right. She’d pushed him away in her suite. Now she sat in his, thwarting her own career-saving plan within minutes of putting it in place.
Alarm rose up, winding its way to his conscious in a sharp realization that killed the anger. Scarlet remained convinced she needed distance before she could be with him, that without it she’d be ruined. Yet here she was, blatantly initiating sex, unable to heed her own demands for space.
“Ten minutes ago you put us on hold. What are you offering, Scarlet?”
Her face flooded with rich color, an answer that spoke louder than words.
Equal parts aggression and uncertainty spiked in his veins. He didn’t fault her, not really. But that blush, her very presence, meant that despite her demand for distance, she would come to him over and over again if he agreed to her fake separation. Scarlet had subtly kept them on the down low from the beginning. That much was now clear. Yet, despite her efforts, everyone knew. As smart as she was, she lied to herself in imagining a clandestine affair could slip by.
His mouth watered to take. Decency would only let him if it helped her fight her own demons.
If he let her sabotage the steps she viewed as crucial to their being together, she’d be right the next time she came to view him as her downfall. God, they did have to part, not only for her, but for a long-term them.
And it had to be believable.
He breathed harder. To be believable, it had to be real.
Act I of the next hour would be easy. He’d have her nice and deep. Act II might kill him.
He hit the floor between her knees. “Glad you came to your senses.”
This time, he didn’t have the patience to slowly unbutton her blouse. Gripping its edges, he jerked the fabric apart, scattering silver buttons across the plush carpet. Ten seconds later, her bra went the way of the buttons when he flicked the clasp between her shoulder blades and pulled the supportive lace from her outrageous breasts.
“Look at your sweet little nipples,” he breathed, reverent. Circling each one, he pushed her back against into the couch. “Do you want me to suck them?” He pinched one wicked peak, harder than usual. “Maybe this one?”
She nodded, eyes drooping, body going lax. Yes, this is what you need.
Sliding his hands to below her bent knees, he toyed with the soft flesh of her legs, watching her writhe beneath his hands. When he skimmed calloused palms over her smooth calves, a whimper tore from her throat, and she began to slowly saw her legs back-and-forth against each other.
Enthralled with the way her impatience swayed the plump swells of her breasts, he focused a light caress over her moving feet, withholding the tonguing he knew she craved. A flush stole over her face and her undulating chest. He felt her tense as she moved beneath his hands, under his burning scrutiny.
“Relax, Scarlet.” Enjoy it while it lasts.
Her smooth muscles gathered, and she uncrossed her ankles, wiggling her toes into the sides of his towel in silent command.
He released her delicate arches. “You want me bare?”
She nodded adamantly, and he obliged. With a swift tug, he released the towel and crawled up her splayed body, biting back a low moan as his cock met the soft skin above her skirt. Bending his head, he flicked his tongue over the fragile pulse that fluttered at her jugular. When she whimpered for more, he licked from the base of her throat to the smooth globe of her breast. Latching onto a nipple with quick tugs and releases, he blew soothing breaths over the straining peak.
While he sucked, he rubbed his shaft over her skirt, then snaked his hand between their bodies to press against the tender spot that always welcomed him. Fisting the material, he rasped, “Do you want this gone, to be open for me?”
On an expelled breath, she reared beneath him. “More than that. Impaled.” Her face went hard, and he saw a flash of resentment break through her desire. “Fucked,” she grated.
He did love that word. Loved saying it. Imagining everything it entailed. But hearing her put her need in basic terms—even when she didn’t want to, especially when she didn’t want to—snapped his control.
“Count on it,” he growled, unzipping the side closure to her skirt before tugging the garment from her body. He stood to toss the skirt away, glancing down—
He stopped cold.
No panties. She’d come to him, exposed and ready. His gaze slammed into hers. “Guess you took me for a sure thing.”
She conceded the point with a jerk of her head.
He could smell her excitement. Dropping to his knees on a low groan, he delivered a slow, wide lick up the center of her wetness.
So ready. “Always like this.” He nibbled and licked before stiffening his tongue and pushing into her with a leisurely thrust. One, two, three times. Then again because he couldn’t stop.
Above, her moans spurred him on. Draping her thighs over his shoulders, he settled in, massaging her lower abdomen as he had her with lips and tongue. It wasn’t enough. Her taste buzzed in his skull like a full-on addiction. How could he give this up? Even for a little while.
He pushed all second thoughts aside. He could do without anything in the short term. Yet a smaller voice echoed in his head. Not Scarlet.
As he curled his tongue around her swollen, sensitive clitoris, she rose to meet his mouth. Gasping, she pleaded for what they both knew he could give her. “It feels so good. I can’t… Ethan.”
When his name left her lips, her sex begin a wet clenching, and he drove two fingers into her demanding channel, answering her body’s call to be filled. With each pull, she whimpered, “Coming. Ethan. Can’t stop.”
He pushed roughly, keeping time with the heaving pulses of her body. “Never stop. I feel you clutching me. Perfect.”
After her orgasm ebbed, she looked at him with still-frantic desire glinting in her gaze. “Need you,” she said, pulling him upward. She squirmed to the edge of the settee, meeting his cock halfway. And when she used her own hand to open herself and rock her wetness against his engorged shaft, his mind whited out. No force on earth could have stopped him from pulling back and thrusting to the hilt.
“Oh, Jesus, don’t move, Scarlet.” If she stirred even a fraction, it was game over. With a perf
ormance like that, she might be glad to see him go. Probably would be anyway.
He held her still, bracketing her in place while he licked her neck, then traced the flawless diamond at her ear with his tongue.
Finally gaining control, he began a slow, shallow thrusting. Before he could delve deeper, she pressed down on his shoulders, pulling herself up and off his erection with a command that he “sit.” With a grimace, she weighted her body to the side in a futile attempt to clamor her way to the top.
Understanding the gist of her instructions and sensing now wasn’t the time to ignore her commands, he stood and sat on the couch with her cradled in his lap. Immediately, he lifted her over his straining erection.
She pulled back. “I once read in a magazine that men like to alternate.” Her voice sounded low and scratchy, like she hadn’t used it for a while.
Alternate? This time he had no idea what she wanted. Her drenched folds hovered a mere inch above his dick, and she wanted to talk about a Cosmo article.
“You know, alternate?” she prompted, low and harsh.
No fucking clue. “I know if you sink down, you find something we’ve discovered you like.”
She leaned in and purred in his ear. “I’ll help you.” She shifted and slid down his erection, inch by inch. When completely seated, she pulled up and did it again.
Yeah, baby, help me. Just like this.
Torturously slow, but over and over, she rose and then fell, gliding over his shaft. She moved as though fucking him was a top priority and a job she took very seriously. Tables turned, she hijacked his lesson with one of her own.
After long moments of drawn-out pleasure, he leaned back, observing through slit eyes as she rode him. Gritting his teeth, he clenched his abs so hard each ridge shadowed the next.
With her flushed features and swollen nipples and wild blond curls, she personified sex. “Look at you, Scarlet. See your hot little body taking me in.”
