The sound of feet on the stairs brought her back from her mental grumble, making her realize that she was nearly naked to the waist and that her T-shirt barely reached the tops of her thighs. She reached under the pillow for her pajamas and slid the short bottoms on just as Ethan opened the door.
He carried cold packs from the freezer, and the stable’s bright red first aid kit. Her heartbeat kicked back up again. Maybe she had hit her head harder than she thought… He dropped the red bag on the bed next to her. “Towels?”
She pointed to the closet.
He was efficient and oddly professional as he wrapped a cold pack in a small towel and indicated she should use it on her head. Another towel went beneath her leg before he produced a bottle of saline from the first aid kit. “This might sting a little,” he warned.
“You don’t have to—ouch!”
“Wimp,” he teased, and grinned at the dirty look she shot him. “How’s the head? Any blurriness or double vision?”
“Nope.” She pulled the towel away from her forehead and noticed the blood on it. “Boy, I’m really a mess. I don’t need stitches, do I?”
“It’s just a nasty scrape. Keep the ice on it. Anything else hurt?” Ethan dabbed at her shin with gauze.
“That does,” she gritted out. “Look, I’m okay—really. I appreciate the help, but I can take care of it.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “And give up the chance to fondle your leg? No way.”
It was such an odd, out-of-place comment that the absurdity of it made her laugh out loud. Ethan grinned. She sat back against the pillows and put the ice pack on her forehead. She wasn’t concussed, and she wasn’t imagining things. Ethan was actually flirting with her. In the privacy of her apartment. While she wasn’t really wearing all that much…
Maybe he was just the kind of guy who flirted with every woman who crossed his path. Maybe it was just part of that whole “being friendly” thing. She really shouldn’t read anything into it—after all, hadn’t she already made that mistake once today already? It was still fun, though—except for the blood and pain part.
Her ego was enjoying it enough, however, to scrape the rust off her own flirting skills. “Do you fondle all the stablegirls’ legs?”
“Only if they’re bleeding.” He grinned as he worked. “I don’t want to get slapped, you know.”
“Good policy.” She examined the bandage on her shin as he taped it into place. “I’m impressed.”
“So am I.” He shot her a sideways smile. “You’ve got great legs. Very fondleable.”
If her heart beat much faster, she’d pass out. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready to scrape all the rust off those skills just yet. “I meant the bandage. Very nicely done.”
“I have many talents.”
I’ll bet, she thought, before she squashed it.
Ethan tidied up after himself and carried the trash to the can. “You’ll probably want to take some aspirin or something. Your head—and everything else—is going to start hurting soon. Do you have any?”
“I do.” She started to slide her legs off the bed, only to have Ethan stop her.
“Just sit for a minute, okay? You nearly gave me a heart attack out there.”
“Maybe you should be the one resting, then,” she mumbled. Ethan looked at her expectantly. “Fine. In the bathroom. Medicine cabinet.”
He nodded and went to get it. She heard the cabinet door open, and the thought of Ethan riffling through her private items bothered her. Then he was back, fixing her a glass of water and handing her two tablets.
He leaned a hip against her table and watched while she swallowed the pills obediently. “Thank you, Ethan. I’m not normally so accident-prone. But I do appreciate the save. And the bandaging.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven for whatever I said this morning that ticked you off?”
He really didn’t shy away from the direct questions, did he? “I think I’m the one who owes you an apology. Again.” She tried to laugh it off, but it was hard to do so with Ethan staring at her. “I guess I’m not what you’d call a ‘people person.’ I need to just stick with the banimals. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to work.”
“I think you should take it easy for a while.”
“Nah, I’m fine.” She removed the ice pack from her head and touched the sore spot with her other hand. Her fingers came back clean. “The bleeding seems to have stopped.”
“Well, quit touching it. Here.” Ethan dug through the first aid kit and pulled out a Band-Aid. He sat next to her again on the bed and leaned across her to inspect the cut. “You’ll probably have a bruise tomorrow, but I doubt it will leave a scar.”
Lily heard the words, but they weren’t making a lot of sense. Ethan was really, really close, and all of the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear. She tried to inhale, but only got a lungful of his unique scent that sent shivers through her racing bloodstream.
She closed her eyes and tried to calm her pulse. Bad idea. Without visual distraction she felt his touch more keenly. His fingers were gentle as they smoothed over her forehead, but the skin felt scorched.
“Am I hurting you?”
Her eyes flew open; a big mistake because now Ethan’s attention was focused on her, not her injuries.
And he was still really, really close. Close enough for her to see the tiny flecks of gold in the green of his irises and count each of his eyelashes. Now she really couldn’t breathe, and she felt light-headed.
Time froze as his eyes darkened and moved slowly over her face. Her heart was in her throat, and a warm, melting feeling oozed through her chest. Ethan was only inches from her; she could feel his breath against her lips already, and the trail of his fingers from her injury to her chin was a feather-light touch, hypnotic and paralyzing.
Then his mouth met hers. A soft, slow, barely-there touch that teased her, making her lips heat and tingle. His thumb slid along her jaw and down her neck, and the melting feeling in her chest developed sharp edges of want.
It was those sharp edges that focused her. Weakly, she put her hand on his and felt the tension there. He was holding back. She dragged air into her lungs painfully. “Wh-what are you doing?”
His chuckle was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard, rolling over her skin like a caress.
“Kissing you.” Ethan punctuated the statement with a slide of his tongue against her bottom lip. “Unless you want me to stop…”
No! Every nerve-ending in her body screamed in unison, nearly—but not quite—drowning out the alarm bells in her head. Ethan’s other hand slid to the pulse at the base of her throat. Focus. She closed her eyes. “But…why?”
CHAPTER THREE
THAT was a damn fine question, and for the life of him Ethan couldn’t come up with an answer better than “Because I want to.”
He heard Lily’s gasp in response, and the pulse in her neck fluttered under his fingers. She must’ve liked that answer. “B-but do you think it’s a good idea?” she whispered.
“Best one I’ve had in a long time.” He pressed another kiss against the corner of her mouth and felt the tiny shiver that ran over her skin. “You taste delicious, Lily.”
“Oh.” The muscles in her neck relaxed, giving him access to the soft skin under her jaw. The hand holding his slid to his wrist and her fingers tightened. Her chin dipped, and Lily’s lips met his—hesitantly at first, then gradually more insistent. Her tongue touching his was spark to the powder, igniting a fire in his stomach that raced through his veins.
Lily angled her body toward his as she sank into the pillows, and the kiss grew deeper, hotter, more devouring. One hand held his wrist tight as he traced over a delicate collarbone and moved lower to rest on her chest, right over her pounding heart. When her other hand gripped his bicep it was icy-cold and the contact against his heated skin…
Cold? His brain was tangled from Lily’s kiss, but the small part still working knew that wasn’t right. Icy…ice pack…injury.
He smothered a curse as he pulled away. Lily looked confused. And delightful, his half-stunned brain added, but he forced himself to focus. He was pawing an injured woman just moments after patching her up. Lily didn’t seem to mind, but still…not his best moment.
“Ethan?” She bit her bottom lip—still swollen and moist from his kisses—and her forehead creased in con fusion. The movement must have hurt her head, because the crease smoothed out and she lifted a hand to rub around the bandage. “Is something wrong?”
One of her braids was loose now, but he had no memory of releasing it—only of how silky it had felt between his fingers. Her breathing was still slightly erratic, and pink tinted her cheeks. When Lily licked her lips and pushed her hair out of her face with a shaking hand it was all he could do not to reach for her again. He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face—noting he wasn’t exactly steady either. “Nothing’s wrong, but you should probably rest for a while. I’ll tell Ray what happened and have him come check on you later.”
Lily looked…shocked? Disappointed? Upset? It was hard to tell because she dropped her head and her hair fell across her face.
“Take it easy, okay? And keep the ice packs on.” She nodded and he stepped outside. Shaking his head to clear it, he questioned his sanity a bit.
He didn’t regret kissing her—not by a long shot, he thought ruefully, and tried to calm his body down a bit—but Lily’s “good idea” question did have merit. Now that he wasn’t kissing her, at least.
There were the obvious problems—the fact she worked for the Grands was a huge one, actually. Nana and Granddad disapproved of any kind of not-strictly-professional relationship with the staff. It was a good way to either get slapped with a sexual harassment suit or make the front page of the tabloids. Or both.
Plus Lily was young and very sweet. She might not be able to understand or handle the ground rules he always made sure to lay down—ground rules that should have been established before he kissed her in the first place.
None of this rational self-talk could take the sharp edge off the desire still knifing through him, though, and he rubbed a hand across his stomach. Lily was a sinful temptation, and now that he knew she tasted as sweet as she looked…
Tinker was probably back from getting his new shoes and ready to ride, but there was no way he could sit a saddle in his current condition. Maybe his best bet would be to head back to the main house and work awhile before dinner.
First stop, though, would be a shower. A very cold one.
Dinner could have been an uncomfortable affair, except that Nana had a hard and fast rule about unpleasant topics at her table. Douglas Marshall was definitely an unpleasant topic—at least for Ethan. So they talked around the elephant in the room, keeping the conversation safely on the horses, politics in general, Ethan’s trip to London, and Nana’s latest charity project.
But once the coffee was cleared away Nana retired with a claim of fatigue, and Granddad suggested they move to the study—a sign that he was probably about to be called on the carpet, exactly as Brady had predicted.
Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.
Granddad’s study was a moment frozen in time—all dark woods and old-world elegance. His aesthetic dislike of “new” kept this room firmly entrenched in the past: the only nod to this century was the computer on Granddad’s desk, and that was only because Granddad couldn’t figure out a way to either not have one or camouflage it better. But the study was comforting in its familiarity and lack of change.
Granddad went directly to the bar, poured two Scotches and handed him one.
“You’re not supposed to drink that,” Ethan chided, as he took his glass and leaned against the fireplace.
“So that’s what you were doing with yourself in London for so long. However did you find the time between partying and making the tabloids to finish a medical degree?” Granddad lowered himself into a chair facing the cold hearth and stretched his legs as he took a sip out of his glass. “If I want advice we have plenty of doctors in the family already, though.”
“And you’re obviously not listening to any of them.” But the Scotch was excellent, and Granddad wasn’t one to give up his pleasures without a fight.
“What your grandmother doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me.” Granddad raised a white eyebrow at him in challenge. “Are you planning to tell on me?”
“Possibly.”
Granddad shook his head. “Not fond of your trust fund, are you?”
Ethan smirked. “Just don’t drink all of it, okay?”
“Son, I’m old, and I’ve earned this drink. Life isn’t worth living without a few small pleasures.” He took a sip and closed his eyes briefly in enjoyment of the liquor. When he opened his eyes a second later, the stare nearly pinned Ethan to the mantel. “So, are you ready to just cut to the chase?”
“Might as well.” Get it over with.
“This is going to be a tough election. Mack Taylor wants that seat. All the incumbents are in for a hard fight, and we are no exception.”
We. Like they were all up for election, not just his father. The idea of a “family business” took on new meaning when the business was politics.
“I’ve been keeping up. The poll numbers are still good—”
“But not great. Taylor likes to run dirty, mud-filled, negative campaigns, so those numbers are very volatile. We could be down before we know it.”
“Dad is running on your name and your legacy. Hell, half the voters think they’re still voting for you.”
“Just something else Taylor seeks to change. We need all hands on deck, and that includes you. Starting with the fundraiser.”
“I’m busy that night.”
“Then un-busy yourself. I don’t expect you to actively campaign, but I do expect you to show up and smile.”
“Sorry. I’m not a hypocrite.”
“But you are a member of this family, and therefore you have a vested interest in seeing that we continue to hold this seat.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You can’t. The Marshall family rises and falls together.” Ethan started to rebut that, but Granddad stayed him with a hand. “You have a responsibility not only to this family, but to the people of Virginia and the rest of the country. You can’t just shrug that off.”
Granddad liked to play both the duty and the responsibility cards, and as hard as Ethan tried it was too ingrained in him to ignore. He sighed and took the opposite seat. “Here’s the thing…”
“I’m not unaware of the ‘thing,’ Ethan, and that’s why I don’t ask more of you.” His voice was quiet and earnest. “I’m not always proud of the man Douglas is. As his father, that’s a hard truth to swallow, because it’s my failing. The way he treated your mother was shameful, and you boys deserved much better than he gave. You still do. I have to wonder where I went wrong with your father.”
Granddad was a career politician, but this was the most honest pain Ethan had ever heard. For the first time ever Granddad looked old. Tired.
“But I am proud of the man you are. Finn and Brady, too. Keeping this seat is more than just protecting my legacy. It’s protecting yours, too. Dirty laundry creates a stink that covers everyone and never really washes away. What we present to the public protects us all from that stink.”
“That’s dishonest.”
“No, that’s politics. People like to think they’re electing someone they like—someone like them, or someone they’d like to be. But the best person for a dirty job isn’t always the one you’d want to have a beer with after work.”
Hadn’t Brady said pretty much the same thing? “Like Dad.”
“Like your dad.” Granddad sighed and swallowed the last of his drink. “Look at it this way—I won’t have to ask you again for at least six years.”
Ethan knew when to give it up, no matter how much it galled him to do so. It still felt dishonest, even though he wasn’t really lying to any
one. Dad was a good senator, and would probably do more good things in his next term. He was splitting hairs, but as long as no one expected him to endorse anything other than his father’s legislative record he wasn’t actually being dishonest. “Fine. Fundraisers and general party activities. I can do that. But that’s all.”
Granddad nodded, and the tired look etched into his face disappeared. Ethan could soothe any residual angst with the knowledge that at least he’d made Granddad happy. He didn’t owe his father anything, but he did owe Granddad everything.
“That’s actually good, son. Keep the focus on the issues, because that’s where we’re strongest.” Pushing to his feet, Granddad reached for Ethan’s empty glass. “I’m having another small splash. Care for one?”
Did he ever. Ethan handed over his glass gratefully.
Lily had wandered through her day, unable to shake off the bemused fog. Or maybe it was a confused fog. Either way, she was having a hard time concentrating. She wished she could chalk the fog up to a slight concussion, but she knew she hadn’t hit her head all that hard. No, the fuzzy-brained feeling had Ethan Marshall written all over it.
More specifically, Ethan Marshall’s kiss.
Even now, hours later, she was still sighing over it like a teenage girl. As far as kisses in general went, Ethan got high marks for quality. Hell, her toes were still curled up in pleasure. And when he’d found a sensitive spot on her neck she hadn’t even known existed… Damn. It made the muscles in her thighs clench just remembering.
Like she could forget it. Lily was having a hard time convincing herself that it had really happened and wasn’t just some fantastical daydream kicked up by a knock to the head. Maybe it was some kind of reverse amnesia—instead of forgetting things, she was remembering things that didn’t actually happen.
If so, it was one hell of a nice and real-feeling day dream. She could still feel the weight of his mouth, the tension humming through him. She could still taste him. And she’d never had a daydream of any sort with that level of detail.
The Privileged and the Damned Page 4
