“I never said anything.”
“This is all your fault,” I say fiercely. “I should have just quit when I had the chance.”
He listens to me rage at him without uttering a word. When I release him, he straightens up and fixes his tie, calmly.. However, instead of heading inside, he takes my hand in his, studying the sleeve of my white silk blouse with concern. “Your shirt is ruined. My mother will notice. What are you going to tell her?”
I pull my hand away, baring my teeth at him in frustration. “How do you think she’ll feel if I tell her her son was pawing at me?”
Ethan gives me an indignant look that would be convincing if not for the heat in his eyes. “I wasn’t pawing at anything. You kissed me back.”
“I—That’s because—” I splutter.
“Face it, Natalie.” Ethan gives me a heated look, his eyes narrowing with predatory intent. “You can deny it all you want, but you still want me.”
Huffing, I push him away and walk toward the door, ready to go home, but he grabs me by the arm, swinging me around until my back slams into the wall. His body presses against mine, his voice rough with barely controlled desire. “You seem to love testing my patience. I’m not the kind of man who forces himself on a woman, Natalie. If you don’t want me to touch you, say it. You have a voice. Use it.”
I open my mouth to say the words that will stop him, but his hand creeps under my blouse, caressing my bare stomach with skilled fingers, and the denial gets stuck in my throat. I should be slapping him. I should lift my knee and kick him in the family jewels. I should?—
My thighs clench together as his fingers brush against my skin with deliberate slowness. His touch is leaving a trail of fire and burning need that I can’t ignore. I can’t get the words out that will finally put an end to all of this.
“Cat got your tongue?” Ethan whispers against my ear, his hot breath on my skin making me shiver with unwanted pleasure. His other hand grips my chin, forcing me to face him, and I glare at him with all the fury I can muster.
“You haven’t changed, you know? You’re still so sensitive. The slightest touch has you all worked up. I wonder what else hasn’t changed.”
A fire lights up inside me, a maelstrom of anger and desirethat threatens to consume my rational thought. I shove him back with both hands. “Enough!”
Eyes blazing, I push him back another step. “I’m not a naïve girl anymore, Ethan. I’m not that same starstruck girl you remember. This time around, I know how to use my head, and I’m not going to let you ruin my life a second time.”
His expression tightens dangerously. “How did I ruin your life?”
My lips twist in a pained smile, my heart aching with old wounds. “I was so insignificant to you back then that once you were done with me, you threw me away to face the consequences. Everything changed because you wanted to use me against my brother. I lost everything. My body may be attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean I’m a slave to my desires. So fuck you. I’m leaving.”
I walk past him, brimming with fury and hurt. When he grabs me, my hand flies out, making sharp contact with his cheek.
Time stands still as I stare at him, stunned at what I just did. He doesn’t look angry, but a shutter falls over his face like a mask.
I lower my hand, horrified at my loss of control. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to?—”
“Ethan?” Footsteps are approaching us, a familiar woman’s voice making me jump.
I quickly take a step back as Ethan’s mother enters the foyer with perfect timing. “What are you two doing still standing here? The food is getting cold.”
Helen Wilder is a graceful woman with silver-gray hair swept up into an elegant chignon, her pale blue flowing blouse highlighting her trim figure with each movement, and tailored black pants that speak of understated wealth. She’s wearing pearl earrings, her neck adorned with a simple but expensive-looking necklace.
She’s beautiful, with her warm hazel eyes and slightly tanned skin that speaks of careful maintenance.
“You must be Natalie.” She smiles warmly, her voice carrying the cultured tones of old money. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“I—” I glance at Ethan, who is looking at his mother with a carefully controlled expression. “I was just leaving actually. Something came up.”
“Nonsense, dear.” Helen wraps her arm around my elbow with gentle firmness. “If you want to come up with an excuse, you should’ve thought of something better. Now come along. You too, Ethan. And you be nice to your siblings.”
She’s efficiently cutting off all my escape routes, and I look over my shoulder at the door anxiously. “I really don’t want to interfere with family time.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You are an invited guest.”
She walks me through an enormous living room decorated with tasteful antiques and family photos, straight through double doors that open into an elegant dining room. There are pictures hung everywhere; I wish I could pause and look at them all properly. The Wilder family home is tastefully decorated with an eye for quality over ostentation. It doesn’t scream money, but whispers of quiet generational wealth.
The food is already set on the mahogany table, and Harold is seated at the head, reading something on a tablet with reading glasses perched on his nose.
