Chapter 6 Ethan
ETHAN
Ican’t wait to talk to Barbara. As Ethan, I mean.
She, of course, sent Seb pictures of her in the outfit he funded.
After complaining about the amount she received for two days.
Well, she'd better get used to it. I meant what I said—I have more money than a single man needs, and she’s the woman I choose to spend it on.
One day, when we have kids, she’s going to have to keep me from spoiling them rotten.
I’m not great with boundaries—either setting them or respecting them.
As evidenced by my jacking off to Barb showering at least once a day.
“You alright, man?” Damien asks. His eyes are locked on Morgan across the reception hall, where she’s talking to her friend Basia.
Our old buddy Ward, her bodyguard, is standing in the shadows, even though he’s technically a guest too.
He’s not socializing, taking his job as seriously as he did leading his missions back in the sandpit. “You seem antsy,” D continues.
“I’m waiting for Barbara,” I admit in a murmur. I never bullshit Damien. Swear he can see right through it anyway—there’s no point.
“Ah, yes,” he muses. “Cross told me about your little fixation.” He finally rips his eyes off his woman and levels me with a warning gaze. “Don’t force her into anything she doesn’t want.”
I lift my hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t put me on your list, bro. She’s gonna be begging for everything I give her.”
He gives me a long-suffering sigh. “It’s Killian you should be worried about. Don’t upset Emily’s friend this close to the wedding if you like your nuts attached to your body.”
I cross my heart with my index finger. “Scout’s honor.”
“You’re as close to a scout as Charles Manson,” D replies deadpan.
I throw my head back and laugh, the sound cutting through the low murmur of voices. And, of course, that’s when she walks in. Breathtakingly beautiful Barbara. My world stops.
Barbara’s dress is a soft champagne gold that catches the light like liquid warmth.
Satin, draped just enough to whisper against her curves, with thin straps and a neckline that dips low enough to make my cock twitch in my tailored pants.
The skirt clings to her hips before flaring to mid-calf, moving when she walks like it’s alive.
Her hair is pinned half-up, soft curls tumbling down her back and brushing the bare line of her shoulders.
There’s a gold clip at her temple shaped like a delicate wing.
She’s wearing the shoes too. Strappy stilettos the same tone as her dress, showing off the curve of her calves and the delicate gold anklet glinting above her left heel.
And the necklace... fuck. A simple chain with a teardrop gem that rests right between her breasts, catching the chandelier light each time she breathes. My necklace.
The reception hall fades out around her. The golden glow of the string lights, the low hum of conversation, the faint clink of champagne glasses—all background noise to the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears.
I know I should keep my distance. I know I should play the long game.
But she looks around the hall like she’s searching for someone.
And when her eyes find mine across the crowded room, her lips part slightly, her breath catching.
Damien murmurs something next to me, probably another warning, but I don’t hear it. I’m already walking her way.
“Barbara,” I purr, sweeping my gaze from her toes to the top of her hair. “You look ravishing.”
She snorts and purposefully looks away. “Someone with great taste helped me pick it out,” she replies nonchalantly.
I cross my arms at my chest and smirk at her. “Oh, really? Maybe you should introduce us.”
My girl rolls her pretty brown eyes. “I don’t think you’d like him,” she says, putting emphasis on the pronoun as if she’s trying to make me jealous. I cackle. If only she knew.
Barbara frowns at me. “What are you laughing at? Is it that hard to believe there’s a man in my life?”
I put my hands up. God, I keep pissing off this woman when I’m being myself. Is it me or is it her? Because she seems to like Seb just fine.
“Barbs,” I say calmly. “I made it pretty fucking obvious I think you’re fantastic. Any man—”
I’m interrupted by Emily approaching with two champagne flutes in hand. “There you are, girl! I was getting worried.”
“Ugh, yeah,” Barbara says, flustered. The two girls link arms. “Traffic was a bee-atch.”
With one final glance at me from under her lashes, Barbara leaves me standing there, words stuck in my throat.
Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not quite sure what I was going to say—that any man would be lucky to be in her life, or that any man who thinks he should be would find their electric car driving them off a bridge?
I shake my head and look around the ballroom. It’s amazing what you can get on short notice when your bank account is busting at the seams. Everyone’s laughing, drinking, teasing each other. Well, everyone except Ward. Time to see if I can put a crack in his impenetrable armor.
“Hi there, Aegis,” I greet him. Aegis is a stupid nickname some Green Berets gave him, and it stuck because, well, it’s catchy as hell and also fitting—he always did put himself between danger and anyone he worked with.
He gives me a long-suffering sigh. “You need new jokes, Kane. The pretty blonde seemed to agree.”
I lightly punch his arm. Damn, he must be hitting the weights hard. “Hey, you don’t mention my pretty blonde and I don’t mention yours, capisce?”
Caleb all but rolls his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? I see the way you look at Basia Langford.” He gives me an icy glare at my use of the governor’s daughter’s real last name. “That’s not security looking at their charge. That’s a man who’s picturing a woman naked and daring any other ape with a dick to do the same.”
Caleb’s mouth tightens into a line. “You should stop talking before you start bleeding.”
I grin wider. “Touchy. Didn’t realize I hit a nerve.”
“You didn’t hit anything,” he replies evenly, eyes flicking across the room like he’s scanning for threats instead of conversation. Classic Ward—always working, even when he’s supposed to be at ease.
“Come on,” I press, nudging his shoulder. “We both know the bodyguard act is just your way of staring at her legs without getting slapped.”
His jaw ticks. “I’m doing my job.”
“Yeah, protecting her from tripping in those heels. Heroic.”
That earns me a glare sharp enough to slice steel. “You forget I’m licensed to carry,” he mutters.
“You forget I’m faster,” I shoot back, and his lips twitch—the ghost of a smile, there and gone. Progress.
I lean in, lowering my voice. “So what’s the deal, anyway? You two doing the ‘strictly professional’ dance, or are you one late-night stakeout away from blowing that cover?”
He exhales through his nose, looking back at Basia as she laughs at something Emily says. “She’s not my type.”
I bark out a laugh. “Right. And I’m a monk.”
“Your mouth’s gonna get you killed someday, Kane.”
“Probably,” I admit, taking a sip of champagne. “But at least I’ll die entertained.”
Caleb doesn’t answer, which tells me I’m right. The man’s silence says more than words ever could.
“She’s trouble, you know,” I add casually. “That one’s got chaos tattooed all over that porcelain skin.”
His eyes flick toward me, hard now. “Then it’s a good thing chaos and I are well-acquainted.”
I smirk, tipping my glass toward him. “Careful, Aegis. You sound like a man about to fall on his sword.”
He studies me for a long second before replying, quiet but certain. “Better that than let anyone else touch her.”
I let out a low whistle. “Well, damn. Didn’t think you had poetry in you.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Relax,” I say with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re among friends. No one’s gonna tell the governor there’s a lovesick ex–Delta watching his daughter’s every move.”
His glare cuts to me again, voice low and sharp. “You tell anyone, Kane, and I’ll put you in a hole so deep not even your hacker friends will find you.”
I grin, utterly unbothered. “You’re adorable when you threaten me.”
Damien’s voice cuts in from behind us. “Are you two flirting or plotting murder?”
“Why not both?” I shoot back. Caleb just shakes his head, muttering something about idiots under his breath.
Damien arches a brow, clearly amused. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’re already trying to get your ass kicked?”
“Just keeping the team dynamic alive,” I reply. “You know me—morale booster.”
“More like chaos generator,” Caleb mutters.
“Semantics,” I say, grinning. “Besides, admit it—you missed me.”
Caleb doesn’t look at me, but the faintest curve of his mouth gives him away. “Not even a little.”
Emily’s voice rings out over our small gathering. “It’s time for the rehearsal dinner, guys, let’s head to the table.”
“After you,” Caleb mutters, motioning for Damien and me to go first. Typical Ward—always has to have our backs.
We enter a smaller adjoining room, more intimate than the main ballroom where the reception itself will be held next week.
Warm candlelight glitters off crystal and champagne, and the air is heavy with the scent of roses and wine.
I snort when I see a string quartet tucked into a dark corner.
My brother must really love his bride-to-be to put up with these frills.
He sits with her at the head of the table now, looking disgustingly happy, her hand tucked in his while he whispers something that makes her blush.
Damien sits down next to Morgan to Killian’s right, and drapes his arm along the back of her chair, protective even among friends. I’m on the other side, looking at Caleb, who still hasn’t unclenched since I brought up Basia.
And speak of the devil—here she comes. She sits between Morgan and Caleb and laughs at something her friend says. Caleb’s posture changes instantly, his back going ramrod straight, eyes locked, jaw tight. The man’s doomed.
My Barbara walks in next. Her eyes narrow when I pull out her chair, the one between me and the bride.
Better get used to it, baby. I’m going to be by your side through all of this.
She sits down while pointedly looking the other way, not thanking me as I gently push the chair with her back in. Maybe Seb should send her a text. Shake things up a bit.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Emily says cheerfully once a few more of her friends and our military buddies, along with their partners, make their way to their seats.
“We know it’s a bit unusual to have the rehearsal dinner a week early, but that’s what happens when your fiancé proposes on New Year’s Eve and doesn’t want to wait for a wedding. Booking this was not easy.”
My man looks heavenward. “I told you you’re marrying me the morning after I first had you in a bed, Red. Were it up to me, we’d have been hitched a long time ago, and none of them would be here.” He gives the assembled a droll look. “Some offense intended.”
Predictably, everyone laughs, but only the men know he’s not really joking.
I tune out the rest, my focus on the amazing woman next to me. One who’s pretending I don’t exist. Well, that’s going to be hard for my firecracker. Especially when I’m balls deep, pounding that sweet pussy.