Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
His forehead presses to mine, and he says, “If only it were so simple.”
I’m confused, but then that is a perpetual state of being with this man. “If only what were simple?”
“Leaving you the fuck alone.”
I ease back, tilt my chin up, and study him, and I find torment in his expression that I can only assume he allows me to see. This man doesn’t show emotion unless he chooses to show emotion. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” he says without hesitation. “I do not want you to go.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Things I shouldn’t want. Things you shouldn’t want me to want.”
Things I shouldn’t want him to want? As in sex? As in something more?
My head is spinning and my breath hitches, and I can’t seem to process what he’s just said to me, let alone the implications. “Ethan,” I begin, but my voice trails off, as I’m not even sure what I’d planned to say or what I hope he’ll say.
His fingers tease my cheek, a delicate, somehow erotic touch that puckers my nipples at the same time that it softens my heart. I feel like there’s something happening between us, something unexpected and wonderful and yet, oh, so dangerous to my heart. His palm caresses down my arm, and his fingers capture my fingers.
“Let’s order dessert.”
“You’re always trying to feed me.”
He winks and leads me out of the bathroom. We settle on the couch with the room service menu, a fire licking at the walls of the fireplace before us, and soft music in the background. “You ordered an entire bottle of whiskey you didn’t drink.”
“They’ll hold it for me for tomorrow,” he assures me and lifts the menu. “One of everything?”
“No.” I say, laughing and holding up my hands. “I can’t jog enough to undo that and mac ‘n’ cheese.”
“One of everything it is,” he says, snatching up the hotel phone and placing the order, which includes coffee.
His cellphone rings, and he pulls it from his pocket, a grind to his teeth as he glances at the number and hits disconnect, before typing out a message on text.
“Problem?” I ask when he sets his phone on the table.
“My brother wants to meet.”
“Oh, well, I can go back to my room, Ethan.” I start to get up, and he catches my leg.
“No,” he says. “I don’t want to see Grant. I do want to see you.”
“I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“Half brother. My father was married to his mother for about thirty seconds.”
There’s agitation beneath his surface I wish I could wash away. “Did you grow up together?”
“She raised him. He didn’t move in with my father until I was in college.”
“Are you close to him?”
“No. Not at all.”
That was a fast answer, I think. And a firm one, at that. “And your father?”
“No one is close to my father, which is what all the women in his life never seem to understand until it’s too late.”
I curl my legs to the side on the couch and face him, thinking of how young he was when he lost his mother. “That must have been a lonely life growing up. Did you have a nanny?”
“Boarding school in London, which is how I became comfortable in Europe and why I spearheaded all of our international growth.”
I’m reminded of the apartment I thought Ethan had here in the city, but my gut says that is wrong. “And where do you work?”
“Paris.”
My heart begins to race, and I sit up straight, placing him in profile. He isn’t having it, though. He moves closer and turns me to him, dragging my leg to his hip. “Yes, I want you to come to Paris, where I live, Sofia.”
“Because it’s what the board wants?”
“It is what the board wants,” he agrees. “But it’s what I want, too. I’m not letting you run away from me this time.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ihave no idea why Ethan’s declaration over Paris and me running, creates a flight reaction in me, but it does. It so does. I’m so vulnerable and exposed with him, and too involved, too quickly, and I’m not even sure what that means. He’s overwhelmingly present, and I’m overwhelmingly absorbed in him to the point I’ve not processed what is really happening between us, beyond sex. Great, amazing sex, but it’s created a mind-numbing effect, as well.
He owns me when I’m with him, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
With my legs still draped across his lap, I try to pull away, but he holds onto me. “Already trying to run again?”
“I didn’t run.” My cheeks heat with the stupidity of that reply. “Okay, I ran, but you know why.”
“Because you had something to hide,” he counters.
I bristle. “Are you insinuating that I still do?”
“No. I’m not talking about your name, Sofia. I think you were afraid then, and you’re afraid now. Why?”