Chapter 11
Natalie Nolan
Acouple of minutes later, the condo smelled like food. Tomatoes, cheese, oregano… I soaked it all up like a wonderful lullaby, with Ethan himself as the chorus.
I could not be more screwed if I tried.
The next time Ethan appeared, he wasn’t alone. He had two plates and a bottle of Coke Zero in his grasp, and I forced myself to sit up straighter.
“Did you wait tables through college?” I asked.
He chuckled. “No. I don’t think they stuff their pockets.” He turned slightly, revealing a second Coke Zero in the back pocket of his jeans.
I grinned.
“I bartended and kicked drunks out of clubs in my college days.” He set the plates down, and the drinks, then excused himself to change into a pair of sweats.
I eyed the food. It looked incredible. A small bowl of tomato soup on each plate, his mama’s baked ziti next to it, some chicken, and bread. Freaking perfect on a cold night like this one.
“Did you go to college?” he asked from his bedroom.
“Yes, sir. I went to NYU,” I responded.
He let out a whistle. “What did you major in?”
“Business. And I almost flunked out, it was so boring. But I already knew I wanted to start my own business, so…”
I wasn’t sure I’d retained a quarter of everything I’d learned back then, but I’d gotten by, and I’d like to think I was doing fairly well today.
“It must’ve worked,” he noted as he returned. I got stuck on watching him tie the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “You’re practically a superstar.”
“If you exaggerate any more, you’re going to pull a muscle,” I told him.
He laughed and sat down next to me, just a foot or two away. “Are you gonna choose a show or something? Otherwise, I’m putting on The Weather Channel.”
I handed him the remote. “Have at it, weather guy.”
“Thanks, foot fetishist.”
I mock-scowled at him, to which he grinned and shoveled ziti into his mouth.
“I don’t have a foot fetish,” I stated.
I grabbed my soup first, hoping it could trigger my appetite. I needed to eat, and everything looked delicious, but I wasn’t super hungry.
“I’m sure you don’t,” he responded with a shrug. “I kinda do.”
I side-eyed him. Was he serious?
He shot me a look, as if he wanted to roll his eyes. “It’s not sexual.”
“Fetishes are usually sexual. Otherwise, it’s a hobby.”
“Fine. I have a foot hobby.”
I laughed. “Okay, it still sounds sexual.”
He chuckled under his breath and shook his head.
“Fuckin’ brat. I’d imagine it’s not unlike a massage therapist’s interest in giving massages.
I like to give foot rubs.” He shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie and say it doesn’t matter who I’m doing it for.
I’d prefer a beautiful woman over my old man, but I’ve sure as shit done it to him more.
He’ll come down to the gym sometimes when his arthritis acts up. ”
I should have considered that. Ethan had studied all this in college, and he was big on rehabilitation and recovery. It made perfect sense that he knew his way around massages too.
“I keep reminding him we have a massage therapist on staff, but he says he wouldn’t put an innocent stranger through that trauma.”
I cracked up and almost choked on my tomato soup. “Good news, it stopped sounding sexual.”
That made him laugh too. “Well, thank fuck.”
I grinned to myself and let the food steal my attention for a bit. Ethan was serious about The Weather Channel, and I found it soothing. My daddy used to keep that on around the clock, almost.
“How’s the food?”
“So good.” I took another spoonful. “Unfortunately, my appetite isn’t great. But my energy levels feel low.”
“When was your last meal?”
I had to think about it. “Umm, around three or so…?”
He nodded once. “Then only eat what you want. I can make you tea after,” he said. “Some lemon and honey will give you enough energy to last you till breakfast.”
That sounded good, but he was already going to struggle to get me out of here.
Okay, that wasn’t actually true, but damn, he could be a little less accommodating.
“Actually, could I bother you for some painkillers?” I asked hesitantly. “I took an ibuprofen about an hour ago, but it’s done nothing so far.”
“Yeah, of course.” He crammed some bread into his mouth and rose to his feet. “What’s your poison? I have ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and naproxen, I think.”
“The first two, please.”
“Comin’ right up.” He disappeared into his bedroom for a beat before he returned with two bottles. “When I get sick, I party it up with 400 milligrams of ibuprofen and 1000 milligrams of acetaminophen. I don’t fuck around with man colds.”
I chuckled tiredly. “Clearly not.” I washed them down with some Coke Zero and hoped it would get me through the night.
Ethan didn’t struggle with his appetite, at least. While my eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and the cushions became even more comfortable, it seemed, he finished his food and then polished off my plate as well.
I liked a man with a big appetite. Sue me.
“So, other than ice cream with pretzels, you don’t even like desserts?” I asked, then promptly yawned.
“Pretty much, with one exception.” He slumped back against the cushions too, very close to me, and patted his stomach as he let out a long breath.
His gaze remained fixed on the TV, where a storm was moving across Vancouver.
“I can go to town on a good crumble. Not pie or cobbler, mind you. Crumble. It has to be crumble.”
“Did you say crumble?”
“Crumble,” he confirmed.
I snickered and yawned again.
“I’ll make you a crumble next week,” I said, watching the screen too. Had my parents been alive, this would’ve been the point when Daddy called Chloe and me to warn us about the storm that wasn’t even coming our way. That’d been his thing. He’d called with weather reports.
Ethan tilted his head my way. “What kind?”
So I turned to him too. “What kinds do you like?”
I drew a slow breath, realizing I should move away or, hell, go home! But I fucking couldn’t. I hadn’t been this comfortable in ages, and my headache was finally fading. If anything, the last ten or so inches between us could fuck off too.
He hummed as his gaze flitted across my face. “I like blueberries and strawberries the best. Blackberries are never wrong either. Or apples.”
I raked my teeth across my bottom lip, which drew his attention for a hot second.
Could he be…?
“I make a good one with tart apples, caramel and oat crisp, and browned butter,” I offered.
And he immediately locked eyes with me again, his interest clear as day.
“And, um…strawberries with burnt sugar on top. My dad’s favorite was my mixed berry—raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries—with a little bit of rum added in. ”
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I might need to sample all three.”
I smiled. “It’s the least I can do after you takin’ care of me tonight.” I made several others as well, way sweeter ones, but I had a feeling he’d appreciate those with a hint of saltiness.
Ethan hummed and lifted his hand again, and he felt my forehead like he’d done in the elevator.
My smile fell as the air around us suddenly felt thicker.
Was he…?
I swallowed nervously.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted his hand lower to touch my cheek, and it sucked the last of my doubts out of me, replacing them with fire and need.
“That you’re fucking irresistible,” he murmured.
Holy fucking shit.
Nothing in this world could’ve prepared me for that answer, and shock tore through me as he closed the distance between us and covered my mouth with his own.
Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. I went with it, not wanting him to hesitate for a second because I was the fumbling idiot who had to process before kissing him back.
There was nothing to process, goddammit.
He was clearly interested, and I could berate myself for thinking less of myself another time.
I deepened the kiss, to his obvious approval, and I reached out and fisted his T-shirt as he swept the tip of his tongue between my lips. I needed him closer. Much closer. Preferably on top of me.
Tasting him set me on fire, and he was an incredible kisser. Every movement was laced with seduction and barely contained urgency, and he unleashed some of it when I tried to pull him to me.
He kissed me harder and crawled over me, and he legit hauled me around to lie flat on the couch as if I weighed nothing.
I mean, I was big, but he was large. Everywhere.
And strong. So fucking strong. Sweet Jesus, he got settled between my thighs, and I was ready to keel over. Or bend over, actually.
He covered me with his body, and we made out hungrily. He wasn’t shy whatsoever, thank goodness. His hands wandered boldly. He grabbed at my hip, then slipped a hand under my shirt, settling along the curve of my side.
“Fuck,” I gasped. I exposed my neck as he kissed his way down my jaw, and he chose that moment to press his cock harder against me. I couldn’t help but whimper.
“We should stop.”
“Why?” That was the last thing I wanted. I slid my feet up along the backs of his calves to keep him in place.
“I don’t fucking know. Forget what I said.” He grabbed my jaw and kissed me forcefully before he returned his hand underneath my shirt, this time skimming higher up. I shivered violently and held his face in my hands, my head absolutely swimming in desire.
He made a rumbly sound of hunger when he cupped my breast over my bra.
It had to come off. And I didn’t wanna worry about his reaction to seeing me without clothes. I could feel the insecurities pushing closer to the surface, and I hated it. I refused to let them stop me.
His hands were turning me on beyond belief, just by touching me greedily. I had to focus on that. It wasn’t as if my clothes hid my size. He wanted me.
“Spend the night,” he whispered into a kiss. “In my bed.”
I sucked in a quick breath and nodded.