“I should send my sister a thank you note,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The lust in his amber eyes is unmistakable. “You look breathtaking.”
The compliment throws me off, and I turn around, not wanting him to see the impact his words have on me. As I look for my phone, I mutter, “It’s just a dress.”
He’s still standing in the doorway when he speaks, “It’s not the dress, Natalie, it’s you.”
I’ve never been pursued so aggressively, especially by a man I’m trying desperately to keep at arm’s length. Although, now I’ve thrown that opportunity out the window by sleeping with him again. For someone who’s always prided herself for having immaculate self-control, impulsively sleeping with Ethan has been my biggest mistake.
Trying to ignore his words, I grab my belongings. “Let’s go.”
It’s hard to ignore this man beside me when he brushes against me so provocatively, each action carefully deliberate, and enough to drive me up the wall. As we walk down to the lobby, his hand brushes against my lower back, polite but lingering, a possessive hint to it. My body is covered with his marks, his taste on my tongue.
Ethan Wilder is an addiction, one I didn’t know I had, and one I don’t know how to break free of.
I don’t understand him. The more time I spend with him, the more questions I’m beginning to have. His sister, his mother,even my own friend is telling me that Ethan seems to want more from me. But why? Why now? Why not back then? What changed in all these years?
As we head to the fundraiser, I look out the window in silence, stewing over my thoughts. I’ve not heard a word from him in these past five years, and suddenly he shows up and begins pursuing me. It doesn’t make sense to me. Why? The only logical explanation is that he wants something from me.
I’m not so arrogant as to believe he suddenly fell head over heels in love with me for no reason. But would he go so far as to manipulate his own family? And then there’s the thing Sarah said about him waiting outside the apartment that day he overheard my mother’s drunk voice message on the answering machine.
The same day he kissed me. The same day I slapped him.
I’m starting to get a headache just thinking about all of this. Surely he knows I have nothing of value to give him. I don’t even have any money, not that he needs it.
So what is it?
Is it just sex? But I’ve already slept with him.
I can’t figure this man out. But I do know that the only one who can protect my heart is me. I will never let Ethan into my heart again. The outcome of the first time has left too many scars. I will forever be waiting for the other shoe to fall with him.
My demeanor is considerably cool when we reach the event hall, the tension in my shoulders visible.
Photographs are being taken as people arrive, and I try to linger back as Ethan walks the red carpet. However, he’s not having any of it. His hand wraps around my waist, and he holds me close. “Smile for the cameras.”
I smile tightly and stomp on his foot with my heel. “I am not here as your date.”
In response, his hand tightens around my waist, and he turnshis face towards me. Before I can react, his lips press against my cheek. The cameras immediately begin to flash like crazy, capturing the moment for posterity.
I can’t pull away from him quick enough because his grip is like iron, unyielding.
“You absolute jerk!” I hiss at him, and his lips curve in that infuriatingly devastating smile which he only ever reserves for me.
“Step on my foot again. See what I’ll do when we get back to the hotel room.” The dark temptation in his tone has me averting my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.
My heart is pounding.
It’s everything.
The smell of his cologne, the way his hand holds my waist, tight enough to be possessive and firm enough to remind me how forceful those hands are in bed when he holds me by the neck, gripping my hair, spreading my legs.
My mouth dry, I try to focus on everything but him, desperate for distraction.
The chandelier inside gleams like a thousand captured stars, casting a golden light over the ballroom. The air hums with laughter and the soft clink of champagne flutes, but I’m too busy trying to ignore the man at my side to pay attention to anything.
These events are good for networking, so I try to slip away. Ethan simply tucks my hand in his elbow, his grip gentle yet unrelenting. “Stop trying to run away.”
Refusing to feel guilty, I scan the room for anyone I know. “Surely you don’t need me to hold your hand?”
He is about to say something when someone calls out, “Ethan!”
