Chapter 10
Ethan
Driving down the quiet streets of Harbor’s Edge, glancing over at Blake in the passenger seat. The grime and exhaustion of the day’s cleanup are all over both of us, but she still looks incredible to me in the late afternoon light.
Bandit is half in Blake’s lap, and she strokes his head as we drive in companionable silence. As we near Main Street, I sense her surprise as I turn toward one of the nicer neighborhoods, where the houses are more spread out and well-maintained.
“You live here?” She raises an eyebrow. “I thought you lived around the corner from Jake.”
“Yeah,” I reply, turning onto my cobblestone driveway. “Bought this place recently. Business has been doing really well, and this one had some unrepaired water damage from Hurricane Karen, so I got it at a good price.”
I pull up in front of my house and kill the engine. It’s a soft gray single-story house with white trim, and large windows framed by elegant plantation shutters. The lawn is pristine, and the garden is a carefully arranged display of vibrant bushes and flowering plants.
“Wow.” She seems genuinely impressed. “This is... really nice. Not what I was expecting for your bachelor pad.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
I park the truck and jump out, quickly making my way around to open her door. She steps out, looking a bit self-conscious in her dirty clothes, and she pulls at the bandana holding back her hair, shoving it in her backpack before smoothing the strands of red down.
“Leave the thermoses in the car. Come on, let’s get cleaned up.” I lead her to the front door where Bandit is already waiting patiently to be let in.
Inside, the house is a reflection of everything I’ve worked for: modern furniture, clean lines, and a warm, welcoming color palette. The living room features a large, comfortable couch, with a sleek kitchen visible beyond it.
“Give me a second.” I head down the hallway, returning with a pair of my sweatpants and a T-shirt. “These should just about fit you. The shower’s down the hall on the left.”
“Thanks,” she says, taking the clothes from me. Our fingers brush briefly, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The chemistry between us is electric, and I know she said no funny business , but it’s going to take all my self-control to keep that promise.
“Really, thank you.” There’s a honeyed edge to her voice.
“Anytime.”
As she heads to the guest bathroom, I watch her disappearing down the hallway, a massive smile on my face. In my ensuite, I shower quickly, trying not to think about Blake’s tight, perfect body in the shower just down the hall, hot water beating down on her skin, the room filling with steam.
Dressing fast, I make my way to the kitchen. The sound of the water running in the guest shower is a faint reminder that Blake is here, in my home. And I can’t believe it.
It’s like balancing on the edge of a precipice, gazing down at the glittering prize below, knowing that one wrong move could send me crashing down. The anticipation is both thrilling and terrifying, a heady mix of hope and fear.
I should hate this feeling. I spend my life trying to make sure all the variables are taken care of. But I’ve had a crush on Blake for years. The fact we’re edging closer to this thing I’ve wanted for so long but never really believed would happen is mind blowing.
Bandit is staring at me, so I fill his food bowl with food and start preparing a simple pasta dish. Water goes on to boil, then extra virgin olive oil into my enameled cast-iron skillet. Garlic and onions soon sizzle in the pan, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma.
Bandit finishes his food and turns to stare, watching as I drop the pasta into the rapidly boiling water. “Well, buddy, looks like we did it. Can you believe Blake is here? In our house?”
Bandit tilts his head, as if he’s actually considering the question. I laugh and continue chopping tomatoes. “I know, right? She’s something else.”
Bandit lets out a small bark, and I nod. “Exactly. And she’s not afraid to challenge me. She pushes back, and I kinda love that about her. And did you see her smile when she was playing with you? Man, it was like the whole beach lit up. She’s got a smile that makes you want to do anything just to see it again.”
Bandit wags his tail harder. “You like her too, don’t you? I could tell. You’re usually a good judge of character. Remember that time you growled at that guy who turned out to be a total jerk, refusing to pay his bill at the end of the charter? But with Blake, you were all over her from the start.”
Bandit barks again, and I grin. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.”
I set the table for two, pouring us each a glass of red wine, then drain the pasta and serve it with a simple puttanesca sauce. The water stops, and moments later, Blake emerges, fresh-faced and stunning.
The sweatpants and T-shirt are too big, but she looks perfect. She’s carrying her dirty clothes under one arm, including her bra and panties. Which means underneath my clothes, she’s wearing absolutely nothing. Holy shit.
“Let me get you a bag for your dirty stuff. Do you want me to wash it for you?”
“That’s fine,” she replies, accepting the neatly knotted plastic shopping bag I retrieve from under the sink. “Thanks, though.”
“You look more comfortable, at least.” I hand her a glass of wine once she finishes stuffing her clothes in the plastic bag, swallowing and trying not to stare at her chest or think about the fact she’s not wearing panties.
“I feel a lot better. Thanks again.” She sits down at the table, eyeing the meal I’ve prepared. She takes a tentative bite of the pasta, her eyes widening in surprise.
“Wow, this is amazing. I had no idea you could cook like this.”
A flush of pride. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking is one of the ways I unwind after work.”
Blake twirls another forkful of pasta, puts it in her mouth, savoring it. “Well, you’re definitely good at it. This is better than the boxed mac’n’cheese I would have served up for you.”
We continue eating, and there’s a charged energy I’m sure I’m not imagining that makes every glance feel electric.
“So, Mr. Boss Man can cook,” she teases, raising her glass of wine, taking another sip. “What other hidden talents do you have?”
Leaning back in my chair, staring at her mouth. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
She laughs, the sound light and musical. “Maybe I would. Enlighten me.”
“Well.” I lean in conspiratorially. “I can juggle.”
Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “Juggle? Really?”
“Yeah, but only if you count barely managing three oranges as juggling,” I admit, grinning.
“Impressive. Anything else?”
I pause, pretending to think deeply. “I’m also pretty good at fixing things around the house. And I can make a really good martini.”
Blake raises an eyebrow. “You’re a man of many talents, Ethan Carter. Who knew?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I like to keep some things a mystery.”
“Well, you’re doing a good job of it.” Her voice is softer, the playful edge giving way to something more serious. “I didn’t expect this side of you.”
“Guess there’s more to me than just being Mr. Boss Man.” My gaze locks with hers.
She looks down at her plate, then back up at me, her eyes glinting with something unspoken. Something that looks a lot like desire. “I like this side of you.”
Her words have me grinning like an idiot, and I take a forkful of pasta, unable to keep the smile off my face.
After we finish eating, Blake insists on doing the dishes. “You cooked, so I’ll clean,” she declares, standing up and grabbing our plates. “That was always the rule in my house.”
I follow her into the kitchen, grabbing a dishtowel. “Alright, but I’m helping.”
“Mom was usually the cook when I was growing up. What about you? Did your mom or dad teach you to cook?”
Blake knows my parents divorced when I was young, that I spent more than a decade moving between their two houses in the shared-custody arrangement that meant I pretty much lived out of a suitcase.
What she doesn’t know is how distracted they were with work and hating one another, that most days I was left to scrape something together for myself, my dad living on cigarettes, wine and imported cheese, while Mom was always on some stupid cabbage soup diet. They loved managing my every movement, overprotective to the point of stifling. But dinner on the table? Too much to ask.
Blake’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. I shrug. “You know, they weren’t that into cooking. I just figured things out myself.”
She looks at me with a slight frown, but I change the subject, veering it back to safer territory as I tell her about the last solo skydiving jump I made.
We fall into an easy rhythm, her washing and me drying. The close proximity makes the air between us feel even more charged, and our arms brush occasionally, sending little jolts of heat through me. Bandit watches us from his bed, head on his paws.
“You really didn’t have to do the washing up.” I glance at her as I dry a plate.
“I wanted to,” she replies, handing me another dish. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after such an amazing meal.”
As the last dish is put away, we find ourselves standing close, both leaning against the kitchen bench, draining the last of our wine. The kitchen suddenly feels much smaller. There’s warmth radiating from her, and the way her eyes tick over mine makes my heart race.
“Ethan...” she says, her voice soft, and I suddenly know she wants me as much as I want her. I literally can’t hold back any longer. Every cell in my body needs to touch her.
Before she can say another word, I close the gap between us, my hands gently cradling her face. I pause for a brief moment, scanning her eyes for any hint of hesitation. She stares back at me, and I practically see the moment where she says fuck it , giving in to the fire between us, before leaning in.
Her lips are soft and warm, pressing against mine with an urgency that sends desire coursing through me. Parting my lips, deepening the kiss. The sensation is intoxicating, like I’ve been granted access to a secret garden filled with endless pleasure, the world falling apart around me and remaking itself in her mouth, in the press of her body against mine.
My hands slide down to her waist, pulling her closer as our bodies mold together. Her hands roam over my shoulders, grasping at me, tight and wanting. Trailing my fingers from the top of her ass up her back, feeling the delicious curve of her spine through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. She shivers at my touch, her breath hitching as I trace circles over her skin.
My mouth is still on hers, but I’m memorizing the sensation of her body pressed against mine, every curve and contour etching into my brain. My fingers thread through her hair, my hardness pressed against her. She grinds her hips against mine, letting out a groan that comes from the back of her throat.
Then she pulls back, breathless, staring at me. She’s shaking her head, saying no , but her body, her eyes, tell me she’s hungry for more.
My breathing is ragged, body flushed with heat. She stares at me, green eyes wide, hips still planted between my legs, and I lean back against the bench.
I’m literally shaking from the effort not to touch her, but I wait. It’s a delicious kind of torture, the kind that leaves me totally unsatisfied, wanting more. Wanting everything.