by J. Haymore
“Oh, that’s rich,” Kyle spits out. “So you hurt Tara so your ex-girlfriend doesn’t throw a tantrum? Give me a fucking break.”
Ethan doesn’t acknowledge him this time. “I froze,” he says quietly. “Seeing all those cameras—all those people shouting at us. I froze, and then I saw her, and all I could think was oh shit, what’s she going to do? And then she nearly ran me over, and I knew she was up to something. But if I tossed her off, which was what every cell in my body was telling me to do, who knows what she would have done. I trusted you not to go crazy, but I didn’t trust her. She’s volatile and totally unpredictable. I was with her for a long time, Tara. There’s a reason we’re not together anymore.”
I get it. I actually do. I can’t forget Ethan’s aversion to paparazzi. How he managed to keep his relationship with Emily out of the public eye, even though she was so flamboyant and popular. How he told me he values privacy. How he paid off the photographer in Honolulu.
“The bodyguard said she was your fiancée,” I say in a small voice.
“He…what?” Ethan frowns.
“The guy said that chick was your fiancée,” Kyle snaps.
“She’s not…” Ethan shakes his head. “She’s been playing some sort of sick game.”
“This makes no sense,” I say.
“Justine makes no sense,” Ethan says. “The rest of us make perfect sense. She…defies understanding.”
I tilt my head at Ethan. My mind swarms with this new information. “So let me get this straight,” I tell him. “You dated this girl for a long time.”
He nods.
“Then you broke up with her, two, three years ago?”
“Five years ago.”
“And now she decides to show up? After five years?”
“Yes.”
“And she pretends to be your fiancée.”
“Yes.”
“And you go for it, because you want to save face in front of the paparazzi,” I finish.
For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, quietly, “I made a mistake, okay? Another one. I should have gone with you. I should have let her make her scene.” That telltale muscle in his jaw flexes again. “I didn’t expect to see Justine there. It was the last thing I expected. The last time I saw her was years ago… I didn’t know… I had no idea she’d be there. Seeing her, and all the cameras and the reporters…”
“You must be out of your fucking mind,” Kyle mutters. “Clearly you belong with this Justine chick. You’re both fucking nuts.”
I’m already leaning toward believing Ethan, though. The reporters threw him off. Justine’s appearance threw him off. He made a decision to save face. One that hurt the crap out of me.
“What did you do with her?” I ask softly.
He blinks. “Do with her?”
“I imagine you left the airport with her.”
Again his lips twitch in that little grimace. “I had my driver take her home. It seems she’s moved to LA.” There is a look of obvious distaste on Ethan’s face.
“So you were fine with her sucking out your tonsils?” I say bitterly.
“No! No, I wasn’t at all fine with it. Shit, what did you think?”
“I thought she was your fiancée,” I say drily. “That’s what it looked like. That’s what I was told.”
“I told her she needed to stay away from me. That what she did was totally unacceptable and that it couldn’t happen again. I told her I’ve moved on and that I didn’t know what her game was, but she needed to stop.”
“You are so full of shit.” Kyle shakes his head in disgust.
“No,” I say quietly. Both men’s gazes shoot to me. I look at Ethan. “No,” I say again. “He’s not full of shit.”
“Tara, are you kidd—”
I raise my hand to stop Kyle midword, but I speak to Ethan. “You’re not full of shit, but what you did to me was really shitty.”
His gaze falters. He looks down, then back up to me, his eyes brimming with regret. “I’m so sorry, Tara. Please. Let me make it up to you.” All is silent for a moment, then he grinds out the word one last time. “Please.”
“You can’t keep doing this to me, Ethan,” I say softly. “I can’t do this again.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I would never hurt you deliberately. I thought you knew that.”
“I do,” I whisper.
Kyle groans, the sound a potent combination of anger and disgust. “That’s it. I’m out,” he bites out. He takes a step toward the door. “Tara, I never thought of you as stupid. Until today. And you”—he turns a furious gaze on Ethan—“you’re a lying sack of shit. Don’t even think I don’t know what you’re up to.” His attention turns back to me. “Don’t come crying to me next time, okay? Because it’s going to happen again. Trust me.”
He strides out and slams the door behind him so hard the windows on the opposite wall rattle. Neither Ethan nor I has moved. But when all is quiet again, our gazes find each other.
And then I step forward, into his arms.
Chapter Thirty
He yanks me closer to him and presses his palms flat against my lower back, just above my butt. I wrap my arms around him and pull him tight against me.
Our lips meet in a clash of teeth and tongues. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve tasted Ethan, and I’m starving for him.
It’s only been a day, a little voice inside me says sarcastically, but it is immediately squelched by my need to take this man, to make him mine. To never let anything drag us apart ever again.
I feel the wall against my back before I even realize we’ve moved. One of Ethan’s hands cups my jaw, holding me in place as he devours me. His other hand reaches down, grabbing handfuls of my skirt and pulling it up. His erection presses against my belly, and I shudder.
His fingers touch the skin of my thigh, and the contact is so hot, I feel like I’m going to self-combust. As if of their own volition, my hands move to the waistband of his slacks. I slide open the button as his fingers curl around my scarred thigh. I groan, and my fingers fumble on his zipper as his hand—the one that was cupping my jaw—moves down and digs in his pocket.
I’m no longer self-conscious of my scars around Ethan. He has proved, over and over again, that they don’t bother him. He’s worshiped my body in so many different ways, and he’s treated the scarred areas with the same reverence as the rest of me. Not as something to be ignored, but not something to be fawned over either.
I love him for that. I love him for so many reasons. If only I didn’t constantly have to wonder if I can trust him…
We are kissing and kissing and kissing. He tastes so good. So erotically sweet. I slide my tongue inside his mouth, licking up his delicious flavor.
When I push his slacks and his boxers down his hips, his erection springs free. He pulls back for a second and rips the condom package open with his teeth. I take the condom from him and roll it over his sex. I’ve made this a sexy game over the past couple of weeks, but there’s no slow tease today. Only raw need and impatience. I need him inside me.
He yanks up my skirt on the other side and grabs the backs of my thighs, lifting me.
“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he rasps out.
I do. I wrap my legs around his thighs and my arms around his neck, kissing his neck, his jaw, wherever I can reach. Using his fingertips, he tugs my panties out of the way, then the hot flesh of his cock presses into me.
We both exhale harshly as he lowers me onto him. He seats himself deep and then holds still. For a moment, the only sounds in my living room are the rasping sounds of our breaths.
And then he moves. Long, deep strokes into me that press me back, hard, against the wall. He’s relentless, and the feel of him, so deep inside me, slamming up into me, makes me gasp with every thrust.
My head falls back against the wall. Ethan kisses my neck as he continues to push inside me, using his teeth to graze my skin, then his tongue to lick the sting away.
>
I press my fingers against the base of his skull, feeling the softness of his hair on my fingertips, such a contrast to the bristles of hair that are grazing my neck, the teeth that nip me, and his never-ending thrusts inside me.
The impending orgasm curls within me. It’s going to be huge. It’s going to tear me apart. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep hanging on, so I tighten my arms and legs around him. He strokes, hard and fast, inside me, stoking the fire, bringing me ever closer to that peak.
I dig my fingers into the back of his neck and cry out his name. “Ethan. Ethan.”
And then I come. I feel nothing but the blinding pulse of heat inside me. It ripples through me, starting deep in my belly and spreading, first down through my thighs, passing through the area where Ethan’s fingers clutch me, then lower and lower until my toes curl with pleasure. My mouth falls open in a silent scream as I lose all ability to think, function, do anything but succumb to feeling.
A moment later, my body still pulsing and trembling, I pull Ethan back toward me. My lips find his roughened jaw, and I bite down.
That’s all it takes. He comes, pressing up as deep and tight within me as he can, then holding there as his body shudders with release.
We stay there, him locked inside me, for endless moments. Finally, he loosens his grip on my thighs, and they slide free, my feet going to the floor. He fixes his pants, then slips his arms around me and kisses me deeply.
“Thank you,” he whispers when he pulls away.
I don’t know if he’s thanking me for forgiving him or for the sex or for something else. But I don’t ask. I look down at the floor, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“Hey,” he says softly. He grasps my chin gently and raises my face until our eyes meet. “What is it?”
“Are you sure about Justine? There’s nothing going on there?”
“I’m sure. Nothing has gone on there for years. I don’t know what that shit was at the airport, except for the fact that she’s always been an attention whore.”
“Really?” I shake my head. “It just doesn’t seem like normal behavior. I mean, who does that? Who runs up and kisses someone they’ve been broken up with for five years?”
He sighs, then looks directly at me. “She’s unstable… She always was. I hope she’s not off her meds. I’m not being facetious—I wish I were. But she is bipolar, and she…” His voice trails off.
“Okay,” I say slowly. I’m not familiar with much in the way of mental illness—besides depression. But I know enough to understand that’s a scary diagnosis.
“And if she’s off her meds, and she was crazy enough to pounce like that, she’d be more than willing to do something even more insane if I ignored her.”
I nod.
“If I could live that moment over again,” he says, “I would have pushed her away and gone with you. But I was so shocked, and with all those cameras pointing at me, I just froze. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I reach up and touch his cheek with my fingertips. “I just hope… Well, do you think she’ll go away now?”
“Yes,” he says firmly. He takes both my hands in his, tangling our fingers together. “I told her she needed to stay away from us and she needed to let me live my own life. She agreed. She was rational about it and apologized for the disruption she’d caused. I’m counting on her being reasonable.” He gives me a wry look. “She does have her reasonable moments. I couldn’t have been with her for six years without those.”
“I hope she decides to be reasonable.” Though what I saw in the airport wasn’t reasonable at all.
“I’m not letting her come between us,” Ethan vows. “Ever. Believe me when I say it’s been over for us. For a long time.”
A part of me wants to know all about Justine. If they were together for six years, they must have been very close. They must have believed they could have had forever together. Was it her mental illness—those “unreasonable” moments—that drove them apart? Did Ethan break it off or did she? I’m guessing, from the look of adoration on her face last night compared to the annoyance on Ethan’s face today, that it was Ethan. But I’d like to know more about it. What causes a person to break up with someone he’s been seeing for six years?
I take a deep inhalation because I know Ethan’s right. I might be hungry for information about Justine, but to what end? It’ll only end up making me feel bad. Jealous. Insecure.
It’s just another clear sign that I’m a masochist. And a fool.
“Okay,” I tell him, pushing all my curiosity into a corner of my mind. I’ll deal with it later.
“Good.” He presses a little kiss to the tip of my nose. “I have to get back to work in an hour or so…but lunch first?”
I nod. I am really hungry, come to think of it. It seems like days have passed since the spinach-and-feta omelet this morning.
“Tito’s Tacos?” Ethan asks hopefully.
“I thought you hated that place.”
“I’m revising my opinion,” he says. “I’m starting to think that I’ll love anything that brings a smile to your face.”
And that… Well, it makes me smile.
* * * * *
That night, I don’t go to Ethan’s condo as we’d planned on the airplane. He calls me at six and tells me he’s going to need to work late, then catch a couple of hours’ sleep before heading back to the office in the morning. He says there’s a lot of catch-up and a lot of fires to put out in the office after his absence, and that makes sense to me.
I tell him that’s perfectly fine. I have a lot to do anyway: cleaning up, replacing my laptop and Kindle and all the other items I lost on the Temptation, and getting ready for my new job. Then I realize I forgot to tell him about it.
“Hey, guess what?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I grab a water bottle from the fridge.
“What?”
“I’m not supposed to start my job for another three weeks, but I called my boss, Javier, this morning, and he says I can start Thursday.” I sit on the couch and prop my feet up on the coffee table.
“Really?” Ethan sounds excited but also hesitant. “That’s soon. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Things have changed now that Ethan and I are back together, but he’s going to need to be in the office for long hours for the next couple of weeks, and I still don’t want to sit around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for my life to start.
“Positive,” I tell him. “It’s exactly what I want.” What I need.
“Congratulations, then,” he says. “I’m clearing my calendar so I can take you out Thursday night, and you can tell me all about it.”
“What if I have something else planned for Thursday night?” I tease.
“Cancel it,” he says in that growly voice I love.
“Fine, then it’s a date.” I smile because we have four “dates” planned for the next few days.
“Good. Now, what time are you going to bed?” he asks me.
“I don’t know…around ten thirty, maybe?”
“I’ll call you then.”
I sigh when we hang up. I already miss him, but we have plans for tomorrow evening, and I’ll live until then.
* * * * *
When he calls me at ten thirty, he tells me he’s still in the office, but he’s closing his door. I hear the click of it as it shuts.
“Where are you?” he asks. His voice is a velvet caress over my nerves.
“Just about to get into bed.”
“Good. Brush your teeth already?”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Lie down.” He waits as I do this, then says, “I want my voice to be the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.”
“Mmm.”
“Is the bed warm?” he asks.
“No. Not yet. The sheets are cool…cold, almost.”
“We’re going to need to warm them up,” he says, and there’s the slightest edge of roughness in his voice, and it make
s me shudder.
“I wish you were here,” I say wistfully.
“I need to touch you.”
“I wish you could.”
“You’re going to have to do it for me,” he says.
I suck in a breath. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going to touch yourself, Tara. I’m going to tell you exactly what I’d do, exactly what I need. I’m going to make you come with your fingers, and I want to hear every second of it on this phone line. Got it?”
I’m quiet for a long moment as I take this in, my heart suddenly pounding, my internal temperature seeming to shoot up about ten degrees. The sheets don’t feel too cold now. Finally, I murmur, “Got it.”
“Good.” He sounds pleased. “Are you wearing pajamas?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I need them off.”
“Okay.” I tug the pajama shorts down, then kick them all the way off. “Hold on a minute.” After setting down my new cell phone, I pull the top over my head and toss it onto the floor, then pick the phone back up and say, “Done.”
“Naked?”
“Yes.”
My blood buzzes through my veins. I’m breathless with anticipation as I wait for his next command.
“I’m picturing you under the covers. In your bed. I’ve never been in your bed, Tara. We need to fix that.”
“Yes. We do,” I breathe.
“The sheets are cool but your skin—it’s warm, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I want to touch you. My hands are twitching with the need to feel your skin under mine.”
“Are you hard?” I blurt out. Then heat prickles my cheeks as I blush.
“So hard,” he assures me. “So hard it hurts. I want to be there with you so bad right now…”
I sigh longingly.
“Touch your breast for me.”
“Okay.” I smooth my fingertip over my nipple. I close my eyes and imagine it’s Ethan’s fingers that are touching me.
It feels so good.
“What does it feel like?” he asks gruffly.
