8. Ethan
Chapter 8
Ethan
D enver stretches her legs out on her towel, wiggling her red-painted toes as Sebastian dumps sand on them. She left an excited Wesson with the receptionist, something she told me she sometimes did so he could greet the guests. We’ve been at the beach for an hour, and Sebastian is having far too much fun with a bucket and spade as I watch with quiet amusement.
“You’re like a kid,” Denver says, tilting her head, her braid falling over her shoulder.
Sebastian focuses on his task. “My life is too serious back home. I’m on vacation. I’m doing whatever I want.”
“And… you want to bury me?” Denver asks, glancing at me. “Should I be worried?”
I laugh. I’m on the towel beside her, trying desperately not to notice whenever our elbows brush. Being here with her feels remarkably… normal. Our time together last night has switched something in her, a flip of a page in the most interesting book I’ve ever read.
Once Denver’s feet are successfully buried, Sebastian stands. “I’m going for a swim. You coming?”
Denver pats her shoulders. “I’ll burn to a crisp, but have fun.”
Sebastian set up an umbrella for her the moment we’d arrived after she’d claimed her skin would reflect the sun. She’d still rubbed a generous amount of cream on, even in the shade, and I hadn’t watched.
Okay, I watched a little.
Sebastian looks hopefully at me, but I shake my head. I want to have at least a few minutes alone with Denver.
“I like him,” Denver says after Sebastian leaves. “His ex-wife is an idiot.”
I watch my friend run into the sea like a puppy off its leash. Several women stop to watch the blond with washboard abs and a quick smile whip by them, but Sebastian doesn’t even notice.
“I think it was more mutual than he’s willing to admit,” I say, and Denver turns her attention to me. “He told me that everyone has a fire, and theirs just… went out.”
Denver doesn’t respond at first, dropping her attention to the small space of sand between us. “What about you? Where’s your fire?”
“Work. You?”
Denver sighs contentedly. “Right now? Tall vets.”
I laugh, and she grins mischievously.
All I’ve done since she arrived this morning is watch her, and right now is no different. The way her red braid hangs over her shoulder, almost touching the sand, how dark her eyes are in the shade of the umbrella, the subtle makeup hiding her black eye. She’s in a simple black bikini and denim shorts but may as well be naked for all it’s doing to my body. I feel like I’m the focus of her attention, which could be equally special and dangerous.
“Is that so?” I ask quietly.
“Yep. I’m just thinking it could be fun to… have fun. Vacation fun.”
“You mean have sex.”
“Weirdly, I don’t.” She blinks as if the admission surprises her. She swallows hard, and I watch the dip of her delicate throat and want to run my tongue across it and then carry her back to the hotel. “It wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing if we did, though. I mean… look at all this you have going on.” She gestures at my body.
I close my eyes, and if I were a cat, I’d be purring. “You always make jokes when things get too serious.”
“Then knock knock, Ethan.”
“Who’s there?”
“A redhead who wants to ride you.”
I hiss through my teeth, blood rushing to a place it shouldn’t when I’m on a public beach. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll call your bluff and fuck you right here.”
She’s quiet, and I keep my eyes closed—until she straddles me. My eyes snap open, and Denver grins, subtly grinding on my cock.
“Denver—”
She leans over me. “I thought you were calling my bluff, Big Dick.”
Fuck it. I pull her against me, and she gasps quietly as I grind against the intense heat coming through her shorts. She flattens her hands against my chest, likely feeling the throb of my heart against her palm. She drags her bottom lip between her teeth as I yank her chest to meet mine, and her pupils are blown wide. I slide my palm up her back, grasping the strings of her bikini top, and eye her in silent challenge.
“Go ahead, I have great tits,” she says, kissing my jaw and somehow getting the upper hand, the fucking temptress. “If you’re good, you might see them one day.” The words zip straight to my dick.
“I hate you,” I mumble.
She laughs, her breath warm on my neck as her lips move lower. “The feeling is mutual.”
She rolls her hips again, the pressure making my cock ache, and god, I hope no one is watching. I don’t want to get arrested for dry humping on the fucking beach.
“We’re going back to the hotel now ,” I say, about to sit up when we’re interrupted.
“Quit humping!” Zeke shouts, and Denver grins against my mouth. She squeaks when Zeke flicks water over us. “I’m hungry.”
“Then eat something,” I say, pulling Denver’s lips back to mine.
Zeke shakes his hair, coating us with more water. “Feed me. I want nachos.”
Denver suddenly sits up and gives Zeke her full attention. “I could eat nachos.”
I groan, my dick aching. I’m being cock-blocked by food. Denver hops up, and I glare up at her.
“You give me a boner then ditch me for food?”
She holds out her hand, and I take it, though she does very little to help me to my feet. I adjust my rock-solid dick, and she grins innocently.
“Ethan, my hair could be on fire, and I’d still find time for nachos. Suck it up, and I’ll blow you later.”
She pats my chest and darts off in the direction Zeke has already started walking.
I wait for Sebastian to join me, and we find Denver and Zeke at the small restaurant situated between the beach and the resort. The sand-strewn decking is open to the elements and we sit at a table in the center. As stories are traded and drinks are ordered, Denver moves closer to me. Soon, our knees are brushing, and when I rest my arm on the back of her chair, she places a hand on my thigh.
I feel like a teenager on a first date. Every point of contact is electric; when our eyes lock, I can’t stop smiling, and neither can she.
“Sorry I’m late.” Ace slumps into the spare seat.
Zeke throws a nacho at him. “Dickhead. Where’ve you been?”
“Getting laid, loser.” Ace grins, snatching up the nacho and crunching on it. “I got the waiter’s number from that restaurant.” His gaze lands on Denver, and he pauses, another nacho at his lips. “Hello.”
She smiles. “Hi.”
“Ace, this is Denver,” I say.
“The woman who almost became swiss cheese,” Zeke adds, and Sebastian swats his arm.
Denver chuckles and continues chatting as I draw small circles on her back with my thumb. She asks Sebastian about work, why he became a doctor, what he likes most about it, and why. She teases Zeke over his fake Gucci sneakers, which he removes to show her they are very good fakes, but when she tries to speak to Ace, he seems less receptive. He’s grown quiet, watching Denver with reservation.
Sebastian catches my eye. Years of friendship mean a conversation conveyed with looks, and I know what he’s asking. What’s wrong with Ace?
I give him an almost non-perceptible shrug in response.
“Wait, so you were all in this band?” Denver asks, glancing at me and pulling my attention away from a sullen Ace. “Why were you called Trifecta if there were four of you?”
Sebastian and I gesture emphatically at Zeke. Even Ace drags himself out of his pensive mood to respond.
Zeke raises his hands. “I stand by that fucking name!”
“It made no sense!” Ace insists. “We told you this countless times.”
“Are you Denver Luxe?”
Denver’s head snaps up.
A man stands by our table, his phone out, eyes wide as he gapes at Denver. Tension bursts into the air as we fall quiet, and Denver inches closer to me.
I glance between her and the stranger. “You know this guy?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. You have the wrong person.”
A memory hits me. As if crawling from the debris of what happened last night, I remember what she’d said to Adam. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”
The stranger blinks. “Isn’t this you?”
He holds out his phone, and I stop breathing. My lungs constrict almost painfully as the man scrolls through a social media account seemingly dedicated to Denver.
She doesn’t move. Staring at the screen with wide eyes, her usual bite disappears, and her confidence evaporates.
The stranger raises his phone and points it at Denver. “Can I take a picture of you?”
I’m on my feet, my hand closed over the phone. “No, you fucking can’t.”
“You can’t be serious, man. Do you know how much a picture would go for?”
What the fuck does that mean?
“Say another word and see how serious I am,” I say, searching the man’s face. “Get the fuck away from the table before I put your head through it.”
The stranger’s face twists into a scowl. “Fine. Jesus.”
I release the phone and sit, and Denver leans close to me and whispers, “Can we leave?”
“Of course?—”
The camera flashes.
I see red.
Blood pumps in my ears, and adrenaline blasts through my veins. I’m going to smash that fucking phone to pieces. I stand so rapidly that my chair falls, but there’s no time for me to seize the phone, the man, and deal with whatever the hell is happening.
Someone already has.
A second man has appeared. He seizes the stranger’s collar and slams him into a nearby beam, the wood shuddering, dust breaking free from the thatched roof and scattering across our table. The stranger grunts from the impact, and his eyes round as they raise and raise and raise to the face of the man who holds him.
Even I almost take a step back. In my brief time boxing, I’d fought opponents who made cement seem like putty, and I’m fairly sure even they would second-guess challenging this man.
I’m six foot four, and it’s rare I meet men taller than me, but this guy is touching at least six foot six. That, paired with broad shoulders and muscles that strain against his white shirt, makes him seem enormous, like a brick wall of a man in a designer suit. He has a face that could sell that suit in magazines, either through charm or threat, and the deadly combination means that both women and men are gaping at the scene. He looks in his mid-thirties, with dark hair neatly cut and onyx eyes fixed entirely on the man whose neck he looks close to snapping.
“Holy fuck,” Ace whispers. “That’s Ranger Luxe.”
I don’t know how Ace knows this guy, and I don’t have time to ask. Denver is out of her chair and placing herself between the two men.
“Ranger, please.”
I watch as she grips Ranger’s shirt between her fingers, her voice soft, pleading, begging him to stop. Everyone in the restaurant has fallen silent, but beyond the fear is curiosity—and some have phones out, recording.
Ranger releases the man but leans closer to him, his voice an echo of darkness and threat, deep and promising violence. “You don’t want to eat here anymore. Leave.”
The stranger nods and darts away, throwing a terrified glance over his shoulder as he does.
The restaurant is quiet, guests glancing anxiously at one another, the staff frozen in place. I think music was playing when we arrived, but it isn’t anymore, and the quiet feels too quiet, like a bomb might go off at any moment.
Ranger takes Denver’s chin in his hand. He’s so much taller than her that he seems to swallow her up, his massive frame a shadow she could disappear in. “We need to talk, little bird.”
Her jaw tenses, the softness disappears, and she whispers something I can’t hear. The man Ace had called Ranger responds with equal annoyance before glancing at the table and then walking away.
Denver closes her eyes for a heartbeat before approaching me. She reaches for her bag. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.”
“Denver…” I take her hand gently, my heart beating furiously at the idea of her leaving with whoever the fuck that guy is. “You’re not seriously going with him?”
She keeps her eyes trained on the table.
“I don’t have a choice.”
She pulls from me and leaves.