37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“ F ollowing me now, Grant?” Ethan says drily, sipping his coffee. To those who might observe, he is nonchalant, unaffected, and regal. To all but me, whose legs are encased by his powerful, tense thighs, his need to hold onto me offering instructions.
Don’t move. Don’t engage.
“It’s low for even you,” he adds.
“You wish you were that important to me,” Grant replies, and while he attempts to be as aloof as Ethan, his fingers tap the table, and there’s an edgy, nervous energy about him. “We just happened to be here.” He indicates a table to my far right.
I glance over to find a stunning blonde who is voluptuous in a black dress that I can tell fits her curves to perfection even from where she sits. Ethan’s gaze never leaves the table. “What do you want, Grant?”
“Why don’t I invite Anna over and we can catch up?” Grant proposes, and I have no idea why, but I have this sense that it’s a brazen suggestion on Ethan’s brother’s part .
Ethan’s expression doesn’t change, but there is a flex to his legs where they hold mine, and a coldness in his eyes that I can only call brutal. He hates Grant. And I think he might hate Anna, too.
“We’re about to leave,” Ethan states, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his wallet before waving to the waitress.
She rushes over, and Ethan hands his card to her. The woman hurries away, but I watch as a customer stops her, and I’m certain she will not bring that bill nearly as fast as Ethan would prefer at this point. Grant then does what I’ve silently hoped to avoid. He shifts to face me, and thankfully, Ethan releases my legs as I instinctively scoot further away from Grant and rotate to bring him into full view.
He doesn’t strike me as Ethan’s brother, though he’s good-looking, I suppose, but there is an imperfect quality to him Ethan does not possess. His jaw is not quite as straight, his eyes not quite as bright blue, his presence nowhere near as magnetic. And I don’t know what got into me, but I say, “You don’t look like him. You even have a different energy.”
Grant’s jaw clenches, and his irritation is downright palpable. “The last thing I attempt to do is remind anyone of Ethan,” he replies, his tone as sour as bad milk.
“Of course not,” I say. “I don’t have siblings, but I imagine the comparisons might become off-putting.”
“Who are you?” he snaps.
I’m saved answering when Anna appears beside us at the end of the table. “Hi, everyone,” she greets, and she is prettier in close range than I imagined, her skin porcelain perfection, her eyes a bright green one might call summer grass. Her lips plump and pink. If ever there was a female that could make me feel inferior, she stands before me now, and her attention is locked on Ethan a few beats too long.
He does not look at her. Anna seems to tear her gaze from Ethan before she glances around the table, all but dismissing Grant and focusing on me. “Who are you? ”
So much for dodging the question. “Who are you ?” I counter, and I can almost feel Ethan’s amusement at my turnaround.
Anna bristles, her delicate brows dipping, and I wonder when the check will arrive. She ignores my question, as if not about to be forced to answer first, and she seems to make a decision to claim her territory, and it’s not Grant. She sits down next to Ethan and rotates to face him. Grant’s energy is a missile in a deep dive, and I’m fearful an explosion is about to follow.
“How are you?” Anna asks of Ethan, her voice soft and delicate, an intimacy about the question I do not like, a ripe jealous sensation spiraling through me that is like nothing I have ever known.
Ethan senses it and captures my legs again, ignoring her, his eyes warm as they meet mine. “How are you?” he asks softly.
“Ready to leave, please.”
“I’m right there with you,” he promises, his voice low and silky, and it’s as if we’re on an island of our own. The way he’s pushed Anna away and pulled me close without ever moving from where he sits, steals my breath. I was right back in the hotel room. There’s something happening between me and Ethan, something warm and wonderful, and oh, so seductive.
The waitress chooses that moment to return Ethan’s card. His gaze lingers on mine a moment before they shift to our server, and he thanks her, reaching for the ticket she’s set on the table. Anna chooses to do the same, and their hands collide. She laughs. “Sorry. I was trying to help.” She rotates toward him, exposing her cleavage.
Grant stands up, and he’s beside Anna, yanking her to her feet, and none too gently, either. “Enough,” he bites out in a low voice, but not low enough for me and Ethan not to catch his reprimand. It’s embarrassingly obvious, and I feel my cheeks heat at the inappropriateness of their exchange and our witness to it happening .
Grant rotates to face Ethan. “Father wants to speak to you and me before you leave town. Today at three o’clock.” With that, he turns and hauls Anna back to their table.
Ethan signs the check and then slides out of the booth, moving to my side of the table and offering me his hand. I steel myself for the impact of his touch, not even a little shocked when the connection vibrates through me with the force of a rock song. Our eyes collide, and he says, “You couldn’t have handled that better.”
The compliment is surprising, and I’m shocked at how much his approval means to me on a personal level. But I’m also appreciative of how he treated me, how he protected the growing bond between us, which is why I say, “I feel the same way about you.”
Something flickers in his eyes I do not understand, and he runs his hand over my hair, captures my hand, and guides me through the restaurant and right by Grant and Anna’s table. I try not to look at them, but I can feel the pull of their attention, and when my eyes meet Anna’s, there is pure hatred in the depths of her stare. Hatred so intense it’s almost nauseating.
We exit the restaurant, and Ethan guides me right and then pulls me into the enclosure of an abandoned office space, the brick wall sheltering us from the world behind. His hand presses to the wall by my head, his other hand a branding on my waist. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“He hates you, and she hates me. Why?”
His gaze lifts skyward, torment radiating off of him, punching at me before he levels his stare at me, the lines of his face all shadows and anguish. “Grant and I have a complicated relationship. He always wants what’s mine.”
I digest this, but the puzzle pieces still don’t quite fit together. “Who is Anna to Grant?”
“His wife. ”
“But Anna doesn’t hate you like Grant does,” I say, a bad feeling burning like acid in my belly. “Who is Anna to you?”
“My ex-fiancée.”