Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ethan
Annika Rao … I roll her name around on my tongue, tasting it anew.
It’s unique and gorgeous, like her.
She’s also twenty years younger than me. She’s strong but also fragile in how she perceives herself. She’s sexy and witty and pulls all that protective, possessive bullshit out of me.
The naked gleam of want when she asked me if I liked to put my partner to work… my dick twitches at the memory.
Tugging at the collar of my shirt, I pace the small confines of the suite. The steady stream of the shower only heightens my awareness of her presence.
Her stilettos sit next to the door, and her crossbody bag dangles from the back of the armchair. Everything about this situation is so… new. I want her here, but my brain is baffled at seeing her things in my space.
In the twenty-odd years since my ex, Sophie, and I divorced, I haven’t had a girlfriend. Becoming a dad at nineteen and getting hitched while struggling to get into med school was hardly the ideal gateway to marriage. We were barely more than kids ourselves when Jonah came along. By the time we realized it was better to separate, the experience thoroughly burned me.
Getting through med school and providing Sophie with the funds to raise Jonah meant I was a stranger to him. Especially in those early years. For years, I buried myself in work. In establishing my reputation, in climbing the career ladder as high as it would take me.
Looking at my reflection in the French doors rattling against the wind, I thrust a hand through my hair.
I achieved everything I set my mind to: a distinguished career in cardiology, properties in more than one city, a fat investment portfolio, and the ability to look after Mom after she slogged multiple jobs to get me through college.
I’m paying for Jonah’s med school and have set up trust funds for any kids he might pop out. I even set up a pension fund for my cousin Arthur, who always shared what little he had with me.
It’s only in the last few years that Jonah and I are trying to get to know each other as two adults. Meeting my son as a grown man is both unnerving and exhilarating. Especially since it’s a miracle that his mother’s and my flaming-hot-mess of a relationship didn’t traumatize him.
Now, at forty-three, I have everything I ever dreamed of. But I’m lonely.
The stark truth hits me in the face, and I flinch. I have no one to share all that I achieved with. No one to come home to. And until this moment, I didn’t know how much that loneliness was gnawing at me.
Is this a mid-life crisis then? This… madness with a girl half my age? Some innate biological drive to prove that I can still build something meaningful out of my life?
A groan rumbles out of my chest. Outside, the storm is painting the sky in violets and blues, matching the chaotic, intense feelings that Annika stirs in me.
Nothing has ever felt more electric than this strange connection between us. Or more real.
She’s special, there’s no doubt about that. Warm, witty, with a wildness she tries to hide.
The delight that crossed her face when she spied the dual jets in the shower, the soft little groan that slipped out when she rubbed the fluffy towel against her face, the impish smile when she asked if I would feed her because she’s starving, everything about her fascinates me.
The truth is that I’ve done nothing like this, ever.
I trust my gut, my intuition, of course. It’s the quality that sets me apart in my chosen field instead of operating with an oversized ego.
When I do feel the urge for sex, I have a couple of friends-with-benefits. Women who have the same highly charged, competitive, God-complex-inducing careers like mine. Women who know the score and want nothing more.
Like a hard, pounding run or a grueling workout, sex became another way to blow off steam. To release the stress valve after a patient dies on the operating table or a child’s difficult consultation looms ahead.
But lately, those quick encounters leave me feeling emptier than before, itching for more.
Is Annika the answer? Or am I going mad?