by A. C. Arthur
“Are you crazy? Why would you think I’d want to hear from you now or ever?” Ethan was saying.
Portia shifted on the couch. She curled her legs up beneath her and focused all her attention on the screen.
“We have nothing to say to each other, so no, a meeting is out of the question. And your baby isn’t mine, remember?”
That last sentence caught all of Portia’s attention and she looked across the room just in time to see Ethan pressing the button to disconnect the call and glancing up to catch her gaze.
“It’s not what you think,” Ethan said when he was in the living room again, putting the phone back on its base.
He knew exactly what she was thinking. Just like he knew saying it wasn’t what she thought was most likely the dumbest thing he could’ve said, even though it was true.
Portia reached over to the far end of the couch where she’d dropped the remote control and turned the television off.
“We’re not in a committed relationship,” she said slowly while rubbing her fingers over the remote.
She wouldn’t look at him and that made Ethan even angrier.
“So technically you don’t owe me any explanations.” She cleared her throat. “But I’d like one anyway.”
She did look up at him then, her gaze pinning him where he stood. Ethan didn’t like talking about his past, and he especially didn’t like talking about Stacey and the horrible break-up they’d had. But what he didn’t like most of all was that look of hurt he saw in Portia’s eyes. And even if she wasn’t hurt because they weren’t technically in a committed relationship, he still didn’t like the possibility of her believing he was the type of man that would deny his own child.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and dropped down onto the couch next to her. “I haven’t repeated this story since I was sixteen years old,” he said and couldn’t believe he was about to do so now.
He didn’t need to tell her all of this. He could just say that he knew Stacey’s baby wasn’t his and let that be it. She could either believe him or not. But she wouldn’t believe him and while Ethan accepted that this thing between them was temporary, he would much rather her parting thoughts of him be of a positive nature.
“My mother left when I was six years old. My dad said she couldn’t handle being a mother to a bi-racial kid. I was a little older when it dawned on me that it had taken her six years to realize that she was uncomfortable with her son.” He paused because no matter how many years passed the situation still pissed him off. “My dad was a drunk. From my earliest memories I can remember smelling whiskey on him. That’s actually how I developed my roots in bartending. When dad was too drunk to get up and fix his own drinks, he made me get them. I was ten when my father hit me so hard he knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, I finally figured my mother had actually left because of him and not me.”
“Ethan.” She said his name on a sigh and Ethan shook his head.
“I’m not telling you this for pity. I’m telling you so that you know what I’ve been through and you’ll know the type of man I am,” he said. “When I was fifteen, my dad was fired from his hundredth job. I’d stopped counting how many positions he’d held and lost years before. He drank for three days straight. I came home from school and literally had to step over him passed out on the living room floor. Then one morning I woke up and he wasn’t there. I thought he’d sobered up and went out to find another job. Later that day, I was called to the principal’s office where I was told that my father had driven his car onto the train tracks and sat there drinking a bottle of Hennessey until a train came by and ended his misery.”
She lifted a hand to cover her mouth and Ethan pressed on.
“That’s how I ended up at the Grace House for Boys.”
“Because you were then an orphan,” she said quietly.
He nodded. “Fast forward to senior year in high school. I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from Providence and all the judging eyes of people who’d known both my parents and decided I wasn’t worth a damn because of them. I went to college in Baltimore and applied for the Secret Service immediately after graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Cybersecurity. That’s where I met Stacey Kennedy. We dated privately for a year. No workplace fraternization,” he said when she looked at him questioningly.
“Then one day, Stacey said she wasn’t in love with me anymore. It was an hour after I’d been demoted for the first time in my prestigious career. Later that night, I wanted to speak to Stacey in person, so I went to her apartment. My supervisor, who I considered my mentor, was there. He’s the father of Stacey’s baby. Not me. And I don’t know why she called tonight out of the blue. I haven’t spoken to her in months and I made it clear that I don’t want to speak to her again.”
And there were his first two strikes, he clenched his jaw at that thought. Speaking of them reminded that when Portia had first come to town, he’d sworn she wouldn’t be his third strike.
Portia didn’t say a word. She sat for a few moments just looking at him, before she got up from the couch and came to stand in front of him.
“I believe you, Ethan,” she said. “And I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
There was relief and then there was relief. Ethan sighed with the latter, feeling as if a weight he hadn’t even known he’d been carrying on his shoulders had been lifted. Portia now knew the darkest parts of his past and she hadn’t judged him, hadn’t walked away or criticized him the way so many people in his past had done. The way he’d thought she’d do when they were teenagers, hence the reason he’d never told her how he felt about her.
He was just about to suggest that they get back to their evening together when Portia pulled her shirt from her pants and lifted it up and over her head. She unbuttoned the khaki skirt she’d been wearing and pushed it down her legs. She didn’t say a word and Ethan realized that he may have said too many. But he was done talking and from the looks of things, Portia had the right idea. Conversation and movie watching was over.
He pulled off his shirt, undid his pants and pushed them and his boxers down his legs, grabbing a condom before pushing his clothes to the side of the floor next to hers. She watched as he sheathed his dick and then climbed on top of him, lowering herself over him slowly. She cupped his face in her hands and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
There was no pity in her eyes now, but there was sincerity. She could relate to his family life just as he’d been able to relate to hers. Did that make them a perfect match? No. It didn’t. This was no love match, or any other type of match. This was sex. She lifted her hips slightly and eased down over him once more. It was damn good sex. And Ethan was going to enjoy it, for however long it lasted.
So he pushed Stacey, his parents, pity and or apologies out of his mind and closed his eyes to the pleasure. He lifted his hips off the chair until they fell in sync together. Stroking each other in the physical sense, bringing each other pleasure and passion. That was all that mattered. It was all that Ethan wanted ever again.
14
Ethan had no idea how long he’d been in the other room working out. His loft had three bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into a home gym. That’s where he’d come before sunrise the next morning, after he’d lain in his bed staring at Portia as she slept. According to her book, everything they’d been doing was building an intimate relationship. They were linking themselves together both physically, mentally and even spiritually. The thought had shaken him until he hadn’t been able to lay still another moment.
So here he’d been for the last two hours, according to the timer on the treadmill he’d just stepped off. His chest hurt after the ten-mile run on the machine. His arms hurt after the numerous reps lifting two hundred and fifty pounds. His legs burned and sweat dripped off every part of him. And yet, that feeling of dread that had settled in the pit of his gut still sat like a ton of rocks. Ethan stood with his hands on his hips and tilted his head back. He had to get a grip.
&nbs
p; She was awake. He realized that the moment he entered the bedroom and noticed the rumpled sheets but no Portia sleeping prettily between them. Damn, she’d looked good in his bed, her hair tousled around her face, lips slightly parted as she slept. He’d touched her cheek, which was probably a little creepy, but he’d wanted to make sure she was real. And she was.
He headed to the bathroom and heard water. After continuing inside, he almost cursed at the sight of her neck deep in his soaker tub full of bubbles. The water was so hot, the mirrors in the bathroom had steamed. The Cowboys t-shirt he’d given her to sleep in last night was on the floor.
“Mornin,” she said, her voice still a bit husky. “Hope you don’t mind. When I came in here to use the bathroom, I saw the tub and couldn’t resist. There’s only the old claw foot tub at Sunnydale that my godmother refused to let Rod take out.”
Ethan swallowed. “It’s fine. Soak away.”
She looked as if she were doing just that.
“You can join me if you want,” she offered after he’d walked toward the double vanity.
Ethan placed his hands flat on the marble top and lowered his head. Everything about her was tempting. The sound of her voice, the sweet scent of the bubbles he hadn’t even known he owned and just like when she was in the bed, she looked as if she belonged here in his bathroom, in that tub. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her in his space all the time. Forever. Sucking in a deep steadying breath, he released it slowly and called himself all kinds of idiots before cursing quietly. In seconds, he was across the bathroom standing beside the tub.
“I’ll wash your back,” he told her, because if he stripped and got into that tub with her, he was definitely fucking her in that tub. Only it wouldn’t be just sex this time, just as it hadn’t been last night, no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself differently.
She smiled and handed him a loofa sponge. Ethan sat on the lip of the tub. He leaned forward to dip the loofa in the water and she surprised him with a kiss to his cheek.
“I woke up and you weren’t there,” she said. “I missed you.”
His gut tightened, but he still smiled. He liked the sound of those words falling from her lips. “Wanted to get a workout in before heading down to the bar. Today’s my early day,” he told her and held the loofa over her shoulders, squeezing so that water trickled down her body.
It glistened, bubbles sluicing over gorgeous honey-toned skin. She sighed and his dick jumped.
“I love soaking in a hot bath. These past few months have been a bit hectic with preparing for the tour and filming the final videos for the year,” she said.
“Do you like filming the videos?” he asked and dipped the loofa again, drenching her back with more hot water.
“Not as much as I used to,” she answered. “In the beginning it was sort of liberating. Now, while I still believe in the purpose and the lecture material that follows each demonstration, I’m a little tired of twenty-four seven sex.”
Ethan groaned at the irony of her admission. “Really? Because last night you seemed willing and eager to go all night.”
They’d moved from the couch in the living room, to the floor just outside his bedroom because they hadn’t been able to wait. And then finally to the bed, where only a two-hour nap had separated the heated bouts of sex that had continued there.
Portia turned her head to the side, resting her chin on her wet shoulder as she smiled up at him. It was a naughty smile, full of mischief and passion. He loved that look.
“I owe that all to my new instructor,” she told him.
He shook his head. “I didn’t teach you anything you didn’t already know. I just provided you a live specimen to work on.”
She shrugged. “I think I like working with a live specimen better than solo demonstrations.”
“Is that so?” he asked and despite his better judgment leaned closer to her.
“That is totally so.” She reached up at that moment, wrapping her arms quickly around him before pulling him down into the water. Ethan cursed through his laughter and cupped his hand to the nape of her neck.
“You’re such a bad girl,” he whispered while moving his mouth closer to hers.
“Right. You’ve tainted me, Ethan Henley. I’ve made a complete crossover with you. And I think I like it.”
Ethan liked it too, way more than he’d ever intended. He liked it so much better when his mouth was on hers, his tongue delving deep into the warmth of her mouth. Finding the strength to pull away from her wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a sort of torture, but he was okay with that. He deserved it for daring to believe this could be anything other than what it was. After soaping the loofa, he bathed her from her pretty peach painted toenails to the nape of her neck where he liked to kiss and feel her squirm beneath his touch.
When she stood to rinse off, Ethan climbed out of the tub and removed his wet clothes. He used a towel to dry off quickly and then wrapped a clean towel around her before lifting her into his arms. Portia wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I could so get used to this type of treatment,” she said as he carried her into the bedroom.
Ethan could get used to it too. Going to bed with her at night. Sex in the early morning hours. Rolling over and waking up to her smiling face. He could get very used to it.
He set her gingerly on the bed and stared down at her gorgeous body. When she lay back and spread her legs in welcome, he licked his lips and prepared to take another dip inside her waiting heat. But something stopped him. As if a giant cement wall had been mysteriously erected right in front of him, Ethan came to a standstill. He looked at her full breasts, the dark nipples that made his mouth water, down her narrow waist to the mound of low-cut dark brown curls at her juncture. Then his gaze came back to her face. Her gorgeous amber eyes were staring back at him in question. She wanted to know what was going on, but Ethan didn’t have the words to tell her.
How could he make her understand that he didn’t trust anyone anymore? Not his mother, not Stacey, and unfortunately not her. And if he didn’t trust her, how could he even entertain the idea of keeping her? The war between his heart and his mind was proving to be an annoying sonofabitch and he closed his eyes, trying like hell to think of some way to make her understand that this wasn’t her fault. That it was all him. He was a hot mess and he hated that he’d pulled her into his vortex of disappointment.
Instead, Ethan took a step back. He dragged a hand down the back of his head and mumbled, “I’ve gotta get down to the bar to open up. I’ll catch up with you later.”
And then he went to the closet, grabbed his clothes and found sanctuary in the bathroom. When he came out twenty minutes later, Portia was gone. Ethan walked to his bed, where he’d last seen her sitting. He picked up the towel that had been wrapped around her and lifted it to his face. Inhaling deeply, he could still smell her scent. His entire body tensed at the aroma. He hurled the towel across the room and cursed fluently before dropping down onto the bed and burying his face in his hands.
He was a hot mess indeed.
An hour later, Ethan walked into the bar. They opened at eleven every day and it was just about forty-five minutes after that, but the lower level had a good number of tables already full. Music played in the background, baseball games, MSNBC, a pre-game football game and local news were on the televisions. Shaun, a trainee Ethan had hired part-time from the bartender school he’d attended, was behind the bar. She looked to be managing well considering only Rod sat in his favorite spot at the far end of the bar, talking to another man. She was filling an order when Ethan joined her.
“Mornin,” he said in a voice he hoped was a lot more cheerful than he was feeling.
She looked up from the glass of soda she was making and smiled. “Hey Ethan.”
“Everything go well opening up this morning?” he asked while moving around her to begin his daily check of supplies behind the bar.
Ethan hated to run out of anything, espe
cially when it became crowded. He liked to fill his orders as quickly and politely as possible, without too many interruptions and found the best way to do that was to be prepared at all times.
“Cool,” she replied. “That delivery you were expecting last week arrived. I signed the packing slips and put them in the folder beside the cash register as you instructed. The guys took the boxes back to the storeroom.”
Ethan listened and frowned. The storm had delayed the delivery so he couldn’t be too upset with one of his main distributors. Still, that meant he’d have to spend some time in the stock room today. That would probably work out for the best since he didn’t think he was in the mood to deal with too many people today.
“I’ll take care of that first,” he said. “Just let me review the schedule for the weekend. The local college has classes starting next week, so we’ll get parents and faculty pouring into town in the next couple of days. And Lance has some band coming in to perform on Sunday night. We’re probably going to need all hands on deck. Are you available?”
“Anytime on Saturday and Sunday after one. It’s Family and Friends Day at church,” she told him as she picked up her tray of drinks and moved around the bar.
Ethan nodded as he pulled out the tablet they used for everything in the place and moved his fingers over the screen to pull up the schedule. “Got it,” he yelled out to her, briefly recalling the yearly event at the church. While at the House, the boys had been required to attend all Sunday services. It was the grown-ups’ that were in charge, way of trying to cleanse the boys’ wayward souls. Even though there’d been nothing wrong with Ethan’s soul at that time.
“Hey Ethan, you got a sec?”
He looked up from the tablet to see that Rod was now standing in front of him and the guy he’d been talking to was right beside him. A slim, borderline skinny man, who looked to be in his early thirties like Ethan. He wore a blue and white Dodgers cap pulled low on his head, so that the wire-rim of his glasses were more visible than his actual eyes. He had a backpack on one shoulder and what looked like a small recording device in his hand.
