Chapter 7 Barbara
BARBARA
If Ethan Kane smirks at me one more time, I’m going to commit a crime at his brother’s rehearsal dinner.
A minor one. Probably.
Something that involves a butter knife and plausible deniability.
He’s everywhere. Leaning back in his chair like sin in a tailored suit, nursing his whiskey, pretending he’s not watching me. But every time I look up, there he is—eyes hooded, mouth curved in that smug little I-know-you’d-scream-my-name grin.
It shouldn’t affect me this way. He’s cocky. Arrogant. A walking red flag in an expensive suit.
So why does my body react like it recognizes him?
I blame the champagne. And the week I’ve had. And the fact that men like Ethan—loud, magnetic, self-assured—are exactly the kind I swore off years ago.
“Are you okay?” Emily asks, her lips quirked in a smile that tells me she sees right through my mask.
“Fine,” I lie smoothly, stabbing my salad with unnecessary aggression. “Just trying to figure out how someone like that still exists without a court order.”
I look at Ethan, who’s laughing at something Damien said, head thrown back, throat exposed.
Emily chuckles. “You’re glaring at him like he owes you money.”
“He probably does,” I mutter. “Just in emotional damages.”
When he turns and catches me staring, I look away too fast, nearly knocking over my glass. Smooth, Barbara. Real smooth.
Ethan leans down to whisper in my ear. “Relax,” he murmurs, voice low enough that it slides down my spine like smoke. “I don’t bite.”
I turn slowly, forcing a sweet smile. “Shame. You’d be more tolerable if you did.”
His grin is infuriatingly lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. You sound like you’re asking me to prove it.”
Holding my gaze, he slowly puts down his fork, before his hand disappears under the tablecloth.
I’m frozen still, like a deer in the headlights, when his fingertips graze over the top of my thigh.
Goosebumps erupt on my skin, traveling from where he’s touching me toward my core, and yet, I just look at him, my breathing going hard. Why am I not yelling at him?
Obviously taking my lack of reaction as a green light, Ethan’s nostrils flare before he walks his fingers up, ever so slowly, toward where the edge of my panties would be. If I were wearing any. The material of this dress is way too unforgiving to allow for panty lines.
The pads of his fingers gently glide over my pubic bone, and I have to bite my lower lip to swallow the moan rising in my throat.
His eyes grow heavy-lidded at my reaction, but he doesn’t show any surprise at the thin material being the only thing separating his skin from mine.
Like he expected it. But the only person I’ve told is Seb, so…
Oh no, Seb.
How can I let Ethan touch me when I have such an awesome man in my life?
I stand up so fast the chair tips over, drawing everyone’s attention. I don’t dare twist to see if there’s a wet spot on my dress, but I have to get out of here.
“Barbs? What’s going on?” Emily asks, her gray eyes blinking up at me.
I wrap my fingers around the charm on my necklace, grounding myself, then take a deep breath before I answer, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.
“Sorry about that,” I say breezily. “Thought I felt a spider on my ankle, you know how I feel about anything that has more than four legs.” Or Ethan Kane’s face. “I’m, umm… I’ll be right back.”
Ethan waves me away when I try to pick up my chair, giving me an exasperated look I can’t keep my eyes on for too long, because my cheeks already feel as bright as a stoplight. Before he has my chair upright, I’m already halfway across the dining room, taking a beeline toward the toilets.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Seb says over the phone. “Didn’t have fun at the rehearsal dinner?”
I’m on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone’s on my stomach, Seb’s low voice coming through the speaker like a massage for my ears. Still, I’m unsettled. We’ve been talking for days now, almost all the time. What are we? We haven’t even been on a date. So why do I feel like I cheated?
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I ask instead of answering. He’s in London for work. It’s even later there than it is here in New York, and it’s the reason we haven’t met up yet. I can’t believe I ran into a guy who lives in Manhattan in a massive multiplayer online role-playing game.
“I waited up to hear from you,” he says quietly, warming me from the inside out. Can he be any more perfect? “Did you get any compliments for the dress?”
This time it’s my cheeks that burn. I hear Ethan’s voice in my head: “You look ravishing.”
“Um, yeah,” I answer, my voice a bit squeaky. “Dress was a hit.”
“I’m glad, little bee,” he rumbles, making my belly quiver in response. “Anytime you need a second opinion when shopping, I’ll be there for you. Virtually, of course.”
I roll my lips together, gathering the courage to voice my desires. “What if it wasn’t just virtually?” I finally ask, sounding a bit meek—a lot meeker than I usually let myself sound.
Seb takes a breath before responding. “How about after the wedding? I should be back right about then.”
“Really?” I breathe. Butterflies take flight in my stomach—I feel sixteen again.
“Yeah. I’ll take you to that new fusion restaurant that got featured in Vogue Living. Or maybe I can cook.”
My brows climb up. “You cook?” I ask in disbelief.
His warm chuckle sends a pulse of lust straight to my clit. For a moment, I’m back at the rehearsal dinner with Ethan’s hand on my pussy. Then Seb speaks up again.
“I’ve been known to whip something up, bee. Not gonna lie, though, I never bother when it’s just me.” He takes a pause before continuing. “But for you? I’ll slave in the kitchen all day with a smile. Naked. Well, maybe an apron. Hot oil splatter and boners don’t mix.”
My laughter comes out choked with surprise. He has an outrageous, boyish sense of humor, a bit like—no.
“I’ll look forward to that,” I say happily. “But I should grab a shower and call it a night now.” Midnight has long come and gone.
“I guess I should start my day then,” he answers with a yawn. “It’s morning in London.”
I can’t help teasing him. “You sound like you’re ready to end it, not start it.”
He laughs again, then I hear the rustle of bedding. He must be getting up then.
“Ending it or starting it, as long as it’s with you, I’ll look forward to the next one.”
“Can’t wait to meet you,” I whisper through a tightening throat.
“Me too, bee. Me too.” His sigh travels through my quiet living room. “Good night, beautiful.”
“Good night, Seb.”
I drag my carcass over to the bathroom, stripping as I go. I lose the shoes in the hallway, the dress pools to the floor on the carpet in my bedroom, and I step onto the cold tiles naked and shivering. Clearly I need to turn the thermostat higher. Or call Seb again.
The hot water quickly mists the bathroom as I pull my hair up in a bun. I really can’t deal with drying it right now, I’m so tired. In the shower, I aim the spray at my chest, moaning when my muscles instantly relax. I didn’t even realize how tense I was.
Water sluices over my breasts, down my stomach, dripping off my mound onto the tiles.
It tickles, awakening my senses, but it’s nowhere near enough to feel pleasurable.
I grab my cotton candy shower cream, lather a dollop up in my hands, and soap up my armpits, stomach, arms, breasts…
I can’t help tugging on my nipples. When my pussy clenches in answer, I let loose a moan that echoes off the tiles.
I chew on my lower lip, debating. But I guess nothing helps a girl sleep like a hot shower and an orgasm, so I let a hand roam down, over the curve of my stomach, and between my thighs. My eyes close when I find myself slick and hot.
Time for a thorough wash.
I take the showerhead off the wall mount, turn the lever until the spray is firmer, more concentrated, and bring it to my pussy. When the stream hits my already sensitive clit, I brace my arm on the wall and let my head rest on my forearm.
So fucking good.
Like any self-respecting woman, I have several toys, each vying for the title of being my favorite. But there’s something about the showerhead. I always get off within seconds. I barely start thinking of the sounds Seb made when we had phone sex the other night, and I’ve almost reached the brink.
My thighs are already shaking, my breathing growing deep and raspy, and I’m fighting the urge to move my hips like I want to hump the stream bringing me so much pleasure. Nerve endings sparkle to life, like they did a few hours earlier, when Ethan’s fingertips were just barely touching me.
What if I’d just let him continue? Would he make me come right there? Right next to Emily and Killian? Where anyone could see or hear, or suspect?
If I reached over, would I have found him hard and throbbing in those indecently flattering suit pants? Would he let me wrap my hand around his dick, stroke him under the table, under his friends’ noses? Would he come for me?
“Oh god,” I moan at the thought. “I’m gonna come… I’m gonna come… God. Ethan!”