by J. Haymore
He grows serious after I say that, and throughout the night, a darkness shadows his eyes. We spend the rest of the evening wrapped up on the most comfortable couch I have ever sat on in his bedroom, him working on his laptop and me reading on my new Kindle.
Finally, at eleven he snaps the lid on his computer shut and looks over to me. His computer is resting on my legs, and I curl my toes as I look at him over the edge of the e-reader. “Tired?” he asks softly.
“Not yet. But soon.”
“Let’s go to bed. There’s something I want to tell you about. But I want to hold you while I’m doing it.”
“Okay.” My heart jerks in my chest. He doesn’t look excited about whatever it is he wants to talk about. I’m silent as I wash my face and brush my teeth and get into the simple cotton pj’s I brought—pieces of clothing that seem way too simple for this place. Silk and satin would mesh way better with this chic, stylish ambience. Oh well. If I had silk and satin in my overnight bag, I’d be wearing my striped cotton pajama pants and T-shirt anyway. They’re comfortable.
Ethan lies on his back on the bed, and I tuck myself against his body with my head on his pecs and my leg draped over his thigh. He sighs. “You fit against me so perfectly.”
“I know.” It’s uncanny how well, like my body has been formed to fit against his for absolute comfort for us both.
He strokes my back, his fingers gliding up and down my spine. “I know you think I overdo it with the safety stuff. That I obsessed too much about it after Emily’s death.”
I ponder this for a second. “I get that you were trying to protect me because you wanted to honor Emily somehow. I still think it was excessive, but I realize it’s your thing. I have panic attacks and other issues; you have an obsessive desire to protect people.”
“There are a lot of reasons I was that way with you,” he says slowly. “Emily had just died, and I was…” He hesitates. “I was furious with myself because I failed to protect her. It was my fault.”
“No!” I burrow tighter against him. “It was an accident. It wasn’t your fault.”
“We don’t know if it was an accident,” he reminds me.
He’s right. We’ll probably never know if Mick was responsible for the crash.
“Even then. You had nothing to do with that. There’s no way you could have known—”
“But I should have. I have resources, Tara. I was stupid not to use them to keep you and Emily safe. So when she died, I started doing what I should have been doing from the moment I met her.”
“Ethan…” My voice trails off. I don’t know how to convince him that he shouldn’t feel this way, that Emily’s death had nothing to do with his lack of vigilance. But he’s convinced—he has been convinced of this for the year and a half since my sister died, and I’m not going to change his conviction overnight.
“There have been other times,” he says quietly. The words emerge broken, and they cut right into my heart. “When I couldn’t protect someone I should have.”
He stops speaking, and I’m almost afraid to ask him, but I do anyway. “When?”
He’s quiet for a long moment before he answers. “Remember I told you about how my dad left my mom and me penniless when he died?”
“Yes.”
“And that we lived in a shelter for a while before she could get a job and figure things out?”
“Yes.”
“After that…after we left the shelter, she found an apartment—the only shithole she could afford.”
Oh no. I don’t like the sound of his voice. I don’t like where this is going.
“She was attacked,” he says quietly. “And I couldn’t stop it.” He wraps his arms so tight around me, I can barely breathe. But I don’t care much about breathing right now.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“We were coming home from the grocery store, and they must have been lurking in the hallway or something. When my mom unlocked the door, they pushed us both in, then slammed the door and locked it. There were two of them. Ugly guys.” He shudders. “You know how I know it’s absolute bullshit when your boss said your drug test came back positive for meth? I’ve seen people on meth, Tara. All the time back then.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as he continues. “They went after my mom. I tried to fight them off, but one of them picked me up and threw me in the closet. I tried to get out, but I think they blocked the door with a chair.”
I press my whole body against him. “I’m so, so sorry that happened to you.”
“I had to listen…” he chokes out. “I had to hear her screaming, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but yell at them to stop. And cry.”
“How old were you?” I ask.
“Seven.”
I think of a little Ethan having to listen to someone abuse his own mother, and I hold him tighter.
“Did they rape her?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says gruffly.
A great sob wells up in my chest, but I swallow it down. I press a hard kiss to his chest and hold there, breathing him in.
“I told myself I’d never have that happen to anyone again. That I’d always be in control, that I’d always stop the bad guys. But…” I feel him shaking his head. “I’ve failed. More that once.” He shudders beneath me, as if his body is racked with silent sobs. “Shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I tell him, my voice muffled against his skin. I climb over him and stretch my body along the length of his. “Nothing.” I kiss his chest. “There are some things in life that nobody can control.” I kiss his jaw. “You were seven years old, Ethan. There’s no way you could have fought off two drugged-out grown men.” I press a hard kiss to his lips. “There’s no way you could have controlled that car when it went off that cliff and killed Emily and hurt me. Even if it was Mick’s doing, there was no way you could have known.”
“But there was more, Tara. There’s more…”
“Shhh…” I kiss his lips again, then pull back. “Don’t say any more. You’re a good man. The best. Seeing you blame yourself breaks my heart.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I dive for his lips again.
I’m confident enough now that I know I can make Ethan forget, if even for a short time. I kiss my way down his body until I’m gripping his cock, licking up and down his length, and his hands thread in my hair, guiding my movements.
It doesn’t take him long. I’m not sure why—I hope it’s because he’s released some of his guilt—but soon he grows even harder and pulses under my hands and lips. “Tara,” he groans, and his hips thrust in uneven jerks. I relax my throat and take him as deep as I can, pumping him with my fist while the tight O of my lips strokes him up and down.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and his body turns to granite beneath me. He comes with a groan, locking me onto him, and I swallow him down greedily. As the pulses fade, I suck him and pump him, coaxing every last drop from him until he is quiet, lying spent on his back with one arm slung over his eyes.
I give him one last kiss, then crawl up over his body, settling in that place where we fit together so perfectly. I press his face toward mine and kiss him gently on the lips. “I love you,” I whisper before settling back against him. He pulls me close, and we fall asleep together just like that, locked against each other as if that was the way we were created to be.
* * * * *
We spend the next day, Sunday, strolling the beach and hanging out by his beautiful pool. It’s an infinity edge rectangular pool with one complete side made of Plexiglas open to the ocean. It has to be one of the most relaxing days I’ve ever had.
We have lunch on the balcony. In the daylight, it’s even more impressive than at night. The balcony extends out over a pristine beach. The ocean is beautiful today, a deep blue in color, and the waves are small and gentle. We share a bottle of wine and eat a pear-and-arugula salad and talk about the upcoming week. I’m glad to hear Ethan doesn�
��t have a big deal to close this week, so hopefully I’ll be seeing more of him.
I look down at my plate and carefully spear a walnut on my fork. “Thank you. For giving me space and time to think about what I want to do about the job situation.”
I bring the walnut to my mouth, chew, and swallow as he watches me, anticipation—and worry—bright in his eyes. I gaze back at him, at this gorgeous man I’ve fallen so madly in love with. I know, deep down in the depths of my soul, that Ethan Williams is the love of my life. Being with him, being near him…those are more important to me than anything else. I’ve made my decision. I’m not going to jeopardize what I’ve fought so hard for—and I’ve fought for Ethan far harder than I’ve ever fought for any job.
“I don’t want to leave LA,” I say quietly. “I want to stay with you. I want to give us a chance.”
He breathes out a harsh breath. “You’ll take the job I offered?”
“I’ll take the job you offered,” I say with a smile, pushing away that tiny little spark inside me that protests my lost independence.
He jumps up, rounds the table, and pulls me into his arms. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”
He’s told me this before. And ultimately, he was right. I didn’t regret it. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face into his chest, knowing, with at least 99 percent certainty, that I won’t regret this decision.
That evening, we pack up and head back to LA. He’s going to take me home, because tomorrow afternoon I’m meeting with Aunt Jo for our Hollywood Bowl date. As we’re driving, I ask casually, “Have you heard anything from Justine in the last few days?”
He glances quickly at me before his eyes settle back on the road. “No. Why?”
I shrug, wondering how to bring this up with him. Well, it seems the easiest way is the truth. “I saw her at Trader Joe’s the other day.”
“What?” He’s yelling, and I jump in my seat.
“Yeah, I was shopping at Trader Joe’s and she came right up next to me.”
“Fuck,” Ethan spits out. “What did she say? Tell me exactly what she said, Tara.”
I repeat our conversation, Ethan’s expression growing stormier with every word I say.
When I’m done, I ask, “Did you tell her about me? Have you been in touch with her at all? Have you been talking to her?” Because I’ve been wondering about this ever since that horribly awkward conversation with Justine.
He grinds his teeth audibly. “No. We haven’t spoken since I told her to back off. And I’ve never said one word to her about you.”
“So she was lying, then?”
He nods tightly. “Listen to me,” he says through his teeth. “You need to stay away from her. I’m not kidding. You are not having lunch with her, or coffee. Jesus Christ. If she comes up to you again, you need to turn away. Don’t talk to her, don’t acknowledge her. Understand?”
“She said she’s my neighbor,” I say. His eyes narrow, and I rush on. “I can’t exactly ignore her for the rest of my life if I’m going to be seeing her around all the time.”
“Yes,” he says tightly, “you can. I’m serious. Justine Lindberg is not someone you want to mess with.”
I nod. “Okay, I get it. Not like I want to become her BFF anyway, you know.”
“Good.”
“But…I know you said she was unstable, but she seemed very normal.”
“She does that. She’s good that way. She’ll butter you up, then strike when you least expect it.”
“Okay,” I say. His words convince me, even if her behavior didn’t. I trust Ethan way more than I trust Justine, so I’m totally going to give her the cold shoulder if I see her again.
When I see her again.
During the rest of the drive home, Ethan is quiet, his mood dark. He’s clearly upset that Justine approached me like that. I wonder if he’s going to call her and tell her to leave me the hell alone.
I hope so.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ethan and I decide that I’ll start work a week from Monday. That’ll give me time to get all the paperwork and everything else set up.
Which means I have another week of mostly twiddling my thumbs and waiting for my life to start. The week drones by at a snail’s pace. Not only is Kyle still AWOL, but Ethan is distant and distracted, his mind is full of problems and concerns that only seem to settle late at night when he comes into my apartment and joins me in my bed.
Friday afternoon, Ethan calls me from his office and tells me he’s heading up north to San Jose on a pressing matter.
“When will you be back?” I ask him.
“Probably tomorrow night, but maybe as late as Sunday morning.”
“Having your people working on a Saturday again?” I ask him in a teasing voice. “Tsk tsk.”
He sighs. There’s no smile in his voice when he says, “Yeah. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“Okay. Be safe.”
“You be safe,” he commands.
“I will. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, baby,” he says softly. And then he’s gone.
I check my e-mail and then Facebook. I’m catching up with some of my old high school acquaintances when Kyle calls me about an hour later.
I’m so happy and relieved he’s called, I rush through the small talk. It feels like I haven’t talked to him in years. He heard about my job fiasco from his parents, and I’m glad I don’t have to give him that news. “Why, again?” he asks. “Something about you not passing the drug test?”
“Right,” I say dryly. “They’re saying I tested positive for methamphetamines.”
“Fuck. That’s bullshit,” he says, using almost the same words Ethan did.
“I know.”
“So…” He hesitates, then says, “You’re taking a job at Ethan’s company, then?”
I hear the edge of judgment in his voice and decide to ignore it. “Yep. He had an opening in his finance department.”
“Huh,” he says skeptically.
I’m not taking the bait. There’s a long silence.
“Anyway, I called for a reason,” Kyle says when the silence starts to become awkward.
“What is it?”
“You know the charter company that owned the Temptation? Hawaiian Sunset Charters?”
“Yeah.”
“Their sister company, California Sunset Charters, is inviting a bunch of people onto their yacht for an evening cruise tonight. It’s kind of a wake for Nalani.”
I close my eyes. “God, Ky. Nalani died on a boat. Why would they celebrate her on a boat?”
Kyle is silent for a moment. Then, he says quietly, “She loved the ocean. Everything about it. She was a bitch to you most of the time, so you probably didn’t see it. But the ocean was her happy place. If she’d been able to plan her own wake, trust me, it would have been on the water.” He pauses. “Anyway, they’ve invited you. It’s kind of a last-minute thing put together by the owner, because they had a cancellation tonight. Otherwise the yacht is booked up through the holidays.”
Kyle gives me the details—it’s going to be like a cocktail party but on the water. Dress is California formal—which means casual in most other places. They’re just going to cruise around the marina, and probably out in the ocean for a bit, but no farther than a few miles. The party will start at six and end at midnight.
I should go. I should also feel sick at the idea of ever getting on another boat…but for some reason, I don’t. Even without Ethan, I can handle myself. I’m going to be fine.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll go.”
“You and Ethan?” Kyle asks.
“No. Just me. Ethan is out of town on business.”
“Cool,” he says, and for the first time, I hear some of the old Kyle—my old happy-go-lucky friend—in his tone.
* * * * *
A few hours later, I exit the car at the marina dock and thank my driver, Juan, as I check my phone to see if I have any missed ca
lls. I don’t. I’d called Ethan several times to tell him the plan, but only got his voice mail. I told him to call me when he could, and I still haven’t heard anything. Strange, but not unheard of if he’s deep in a meeting.
It’s nearing twilight. The yacht sits by its own private dock. It’s a huge thing, with big, curving letters on its stern proclaiming its name: Aphrodite. I suppose the name fits, because it looks like a Greek billionaire’s toy. People mingle on the decks, and a warm golden glow of lights spills from its many windows.
I straighten the skirt of my yellow sundress and drape my sweater over my arm, knowing it’ll probably get chilly later. The guard at the gate checks my name off a list and lets me in, but as soon as I step through the gateway, I hear a harried voice behind me. “Miss Jameson?”
I turn to see a pair of burly men rushing toward me, and I instinctively step back, using the gate as a shield. But they reel to a halt just on the other side.
“Um, I’m Roger Stone, ma’am. This is my partner, Jim Gonzales. Mr. Williams hired us to look after you.”
I arch my brows. “Look after me?”
Roger Stone shifts uncomfortably. “Um, yes. We’re…ah…your bodyguards. In the event you left the apartment. Which…um…you did.”
I give the gate guard a sheepish look, heat rising to my cheeks. “Ummm…”
I really don’t want two big guys shadowing me all night. But if I called them off…would it be stupid? Ethan would think so.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Ethan has hired “protection” for me since the day we arrived in Hawaii. I can’t expect that to have changed overnight. These guys have probably been following me discreetly every time I’ve left the apartment, and only now have they had to make their presence known.
Ethan and I need to have a talk about this. It’s really getting out of hand.
“Mr. Williams insists that we don’t let you out of our sight,” Roger says.
