Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ethan
“Something smells amazing.”
I turn around to find her standing under the arch of the bathroom entrance, her hair framing her face in damp tangles. Hands clasped at her middle, she looks so nervous that I feel protective as hell.
Until I note what she’s wearing.
“Hope it’s okay that I borrowed your stuff,” she says. The first three buttons on the shirt are undone, giving me a glimpse of smooth skin I want to mar with my teeth. “Not that you can ask me to take it off now.”
My gaze flies to hers, and she looks as surprised at her comment as I feel. “I didn’t mean it like a challenge.”
“Clearly, you’re better at flirting than you think you are,” I say, taking her in.
She tied the tails of the shirt in the back, so the fabric pulls against her chest. The shirt’s damp in places, thanks to the wet strands of her hair. I swallow at the shadow of her breasts visible through it.
Beneath it, she has black boxer briefs which bare her long, toned legs. The idea of her intimate folds touching the same place as my dick has me blazing hot.
God, I am a perverted old man.
“They were sitting near the sink, freshly laundered.”
The hesitation in her voice yanks me out of my fantasies. “That’s fine.”
I rub a hand over my face and turn away.
It’s not like she’s unaware of the blaze of heat every time we lock eyes. It might as well be a third entity in the room. But I hesitate, and it’s as much a shock as this whole evening.
Usually, I’m the most confident guy in any room, the one that people are looking at for answers. Like I’m their savior. While I don’t let it go to my head, I operate with a level of confidence that’s required to save lives.
But something about her, about this crazy attraction, makes me hesitate.
I want to touch her so badly that my hands shake as I lift the domes on the dinner tray. Suddenly, the luxurious suite with its king bed and a sitting lounge feels far too small for me and my throbbing dick.
I clear my throat. “I ordered a Caprese salad, mushroom risotto, and affogato for dessert. They will deliver hot chocolate whenever you want.”
Her mouth drops open with an audible gasp. “Those are all my favorites.”
I shrug, feeling like my chest has been splayed open under the knife of her gaze. For a second, all that shit that Jonah tells me about dating in the current world floods me.
No. I’m too old to play stupid power games.
“How…” she licks her lower lip, and I want to join her tongue in that swipe, “did you know?”
“Mom made me order that Italian feast from a Michelin-star restaurant for your birthday.”
“I thought that was Arthur.”
“Arthur’s Italian is Olive Garden.”
“Hey!” She pauses in the act of running her fingers through her hair. The movement pulls her shirt tight, and her breasts jostle. Fuck, but she’s sexy. “Nothing wrong with Olive Garden.”
“As long as you aren’t expecting gourmet food, no.”
“I can’t believe you remembered. That was months ago.”
I tap my temple. “Good memory.”
She nods, her breath coming out in a soft exhale.
I run my hands over the band of my trousers, feeling like a teenager on his first date. Bad enough that I’m second-guessing myself. I don’t want to make her do it too. “I remembered because I was curious about you. All the things Mom told me about you caught my interest.”
“And now?” she says, spreading her hands wide.
For a moment, I mistake the stance for a challenge.
It’s not though.
She wants to know where this is going, what I am thinking. And her neediness bolsters my desire to give her everything she wants. “It’s not just intellectual interest anymore.”
“Should I admit something too?” Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Although, in my dictionary, brave is usually another word for stupid.”
If it were anyone but her, I’d think she was going for self-deprecating coyness. But her eyes reveal her doubts.
“Tell me.” I inject every bit of authority and confidence I have into the words.
“I’ve had a crush on you for a while. It’s one of those… head things, y’know,” she hurries to explain. “Wasn’t like cheating on Rahul or imagining naked scenarios with you. You were just this larger-than-life guy I knew who wasn’t a complete douchebag. I mean, I have firsthand knowledge of surgeons and their god complexes.”
“And when you met me?” I ask, shelving her opinions about surgeons for later.
“You turned out to be better than my wildest fantasy.” She almost looks angry as she says this.
“What else are you thinking?” I demand, like a dying man begging for a sip of water.
“In the shower, I was thinking of ways I can pretend to be the kind of woman that holds your interest. Someone who’s all grown-up and sophisticated and has her shit together.” Her fingers play with the folded hem of the shirt, baring a sliver of smooth flesh to my greedy eyes. Until her gaze hooks mine again. “My life is in complete shambles, and I’m afraid that this might be another poor decision. But I want this. So much.”
The last statement is full of honest desperation that makes my muscles curl with want. “I don’t care what your life is outside of this hotel suite.” I cover the distance between us and clasp her cheek. Her silky-smooth skin is warm, and the sweet vanilla scent of her winds around me. “This is a parallel universe where none of the usual rules apply.” I edge my fingers toward her nape, sinking them into her wet hair.
She bends toward me like she’s a bow, and I am pulling the string taut. The movement’s so sensual, so trusting that it goes to my head and my cock.
Her chest brushes mine in the barest of grazes, and my knees shake. “In this space, you and I are equals. We can have whatever we want with each other.”
Her eyes widen into molten pools, and her lips tremble. A slim hand comes up between us, but she curls her fingers instead of touching me. Her tongue snakes out again, licking the thick lushness of her lower lip. “Thank you,” she says almost shyly.
“In your best-case scenario,” my words are a near-growl as her breath feathers over my lips, “what do you want tonight?”
“I want to feel so much pleasure that there’s no right or wrong.” Her mouth opens, and she breathes in roughly. As if she’s using up all her strength to just say the words. As if this costs her as much as it does me. “And I want you to tell me what to do so I don’t ruin this.”
“You won’t.” My tone’s not unlike the rumble of the storm outside, unable to leash all the swirling desires within.
“Okay,” she says.
I tighten my hold and pull until her forehead rests against mine. Her fingers clasp my wrist in a tight grip. And just that little skin-on-skin contact drives me wild. “I will make this a Valentine’s Day you won’t forget. Good?”
“Very good,” she says, her smile full of a trust I’m not sure I deserve.
Not that it stops me from taking it.
To this day, Sophie calls me a strategically greedy bastard, and I’m afraid she might be wholly right. At least in this case.
Because this beautiful girl’s thinking one night and I’m thinking something else entirely.