Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHLOE
I’m curled up on Ethan’s mattress, his house gently swaying as the wind batters the island. Normally, the rocking motion puts me right to sleep, but not tonight.
Tonight, I’m thinking about my dad and feeling mildly guilty that I’m not there to make sure he’s okay.
But dammit, he can get his own glasses of water and find his own painkillers for the debilitating headache that’s bound to strike around five or six in the morning.
I love my house, but right now I can’t be near him.
There’s one more reason I can’t sleep.
He’s six foot and change, has the body of a Greek god, and is lying as far from me as the king-sized bed allows.
I smooth my hands down the blanket covering my waist, already feeling his giant sweatpants tangle around my legs.
I hate sleeping in pants, but since I’m not wearing anything underneath them, I don’t really have much of a choice.
I could go downstairs and grab my underwear from the dryer, but am I really going to sleep in Ethan’s T-shirt and a pair of lace panties that leave nothing to the imagination?
“Are you asleep?” I whisper into the dark room, counting the seconds between the flashes of lightning and booms of thunder.
When I was a kid, my dad told me that every second between the two is how many miles there are between you and the storm.
I have no clue if that’s true or not, but if it is, the storm must be right on top of us.
Ethan huffs a breath. “No.”
His voice sounds so much deeper in the dark.
“Why not?” I whisper back. He’s so still—I honestly thought he was passed out.
“Because you’re talking to me. And because a house isn’t supposed to move like this.”
Where I’m from, all houses move like this. “Are you always this grumpy?”
“Yes.”
I don’t believe that. There has to be some scenario where he’s not eager to bite a person’s head off. Oh! I know a good one. “What about after sex?” I can imagine him growling during, but after? When he’s all sated and proud of himself for making his partner come seven or eight times?
My big, snarly bed buddy groans and throws both his hands over his eyes, scrubbing them down his face. “For the love of all that is holy, will you please just go to sleep?”
Would if I could, but I can’t now that I’ve got sex on the brain. It feels like forever since I’ve had any.
Let’s see… there’s this cute guy named Steve, who’s been coming to Inner Shores with his family every summer for the last four years from New York. He takes me out when he’s on the island, but we didn’t properly hook up until last July. After that, there was…
No other name or face comes to mind.
Don’t tell me it’s been almost a year.
No wonder everything this grumpy man does turns me on.
I’ve enjoyed hanging out with Ethan, hearing about his passion for working with his hands and getting a glimpse behind that stern exterior. When he spoke about his brothers and his family, he seemed almost happy.
When he started talking about work, though, he sounded tired.
My job isn’t as stressful as Ethan’s, but running a business comes with its own responsibilities.
Being the person in charge of everything, making all the final decisions, is tough.
I can’t imagine the pressure of having not only other people’s livelihoods, but also their lives resting on your shoulders.
I don’t care how strong those shoulders are, that shit has to get heavy.
Sometimes, you need a friendly neighbor to help take your mind off those burdens.
I press my tongue into my cheek to keep from giggling. “Answer my question first, and maybe I will.”
“No.”
“‘No,’ you’re not grumpy after sex, or ‘no,’ you’re not going to answer?
” I roll over so I can study his silhouette through the murky darkness.
His facial hair is a bit longer than when we first met, and that messy hair of his falls just right.
What I wouldn’t give to run my fingers through it, scrunch it up, and see how many curls I can coax to life.
His face turns toward me, and although it’s hard to tell, I’m pretty sure he’s glowering. Default-mode engaged. “We’re done talking about this.”
“You don’t know me very well, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” I reply.
“When I have a question, one way or another, I will find out the answer.” If that means I need to sleep with this man to learn the truth, then I will gladly sacrifice myself in the name of science.
Given the current state of our sleeping arrangements, that should be a lot easier than it feels.
“You know, I’ve gotta admit, all the books I’ve read have not prepared me for the disappointing reality of the ‘only-one-bed’ trope. ”
“What the hell are you talking about now?”
“In romance novels, when the hero and heroine are forced to share a bed, they’re expected to get up to something.” And that something isn’t lying around talking.
“I’m not a hero, Chloe.”
He could be. Throw on a cape and mask and he’d make a damn fine superhero. “I don’t know. I think you could pull off the spandex.” His ass plus spandex is a surefire way to save the world.
“Do you always talk this much at night?”
“Only when I’m horny.”
The way he sucks in a breath, then groans, makes me giggle.
Usually, I’m the first person asleep. Despite being exhausted from a shitty day and terrible first half of the night, right now, I feel like I could run a mile. Or have some really hot storm sex.
I know exactly what would be happening if I’d gone back to an empty house after seeing Ethan in those wet sweatpants earlier. Here’s a hint: it would involve a glass of wine and my vibrator.
Would I still be attracted to him if we got all this tension out of our system?
Who knows… Sometimes the build-up is more pleasurable than the actual deed.
I’d love to find out.
But from the way Ethan is lying with his hands folded behind his head, staring at the white ceiling, he’s clearly not going to make a move.
Which means it’s all up to me.
For women everywhere who’ve ever wondered if this man has the goods to justify his piss-poor mood.
For science.
I snuggle closer. He’s like an inferno. A big, brooding fireball.
Speaking of flames, his eyes spark when they meet mine. He looks like he’s about to breathe fire when I nestle into the crook of his shoulder. How is this more comfortable than the pillow? He’s just the right height, and he smells like spring rain.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks.
“Warming up. I’m cold.” I prove it by pressing my fingers to the sliver of toned stomach between the waistband of his shorts and his T-shirt that’s ridden up beneath the covers.
He hisses and tenses, but doesn’t push me away. “Chloe, what are you doing?”
“You looked like you didn’t believe me.”
“So you thought you’d stick your icicles under my shirt?”
“Be glad you got my fingers and not my toes.” Pretty sure they’re frostbitten.
Stiffly, he lowers his arm. I wait for him to nudge me away, but instead he tucks me closer, and his hand just happens to land on my hip.
His touch should feel completely innocuous, yet I’m the one on fire now, because I can feel the rough pads of his fingers in the tiny gap between my shirt and pants.
Er… his shirt and pants.
After another sigh, he asks me if I want socks.
“And seal in the cold?” Has this guy never suffered from cold feet? Putting on socks now will only keep the frostbite from thawing.
His hand moves from my waist, and the other slips from beneath his head. “Give them here.”
Is he serious?
This night just got a whole lot better.
I turn toward him and put my feet in his big, warm hands, feeling so damn happy, I swear my heart swells in my chest. Yeah, I kinda wish I was feeling a different sort of swelling, but this is a pretty decent consolation prize. “My hero,” I say, smiling.
His thumbs begin to move along the bones of my foot, gently massaging. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it, and since I don’t want him to stop, I keep my mouth shut.
At least that was the plan before he hits my arches, and I moan.
That’s right. A full-on, feral moan.
Ethan’s grip on my foot tightens. “Chloe.” He says my name like a curse, low and deep, almost angry. Only I don’t think he’s actually angry. He looks like a man with a very thin hold on his self-control.
“I can’t help it.” I blink innocently. “That feels sooo good.” I expect him to freeze, to realize the game I’m playing. Instead, his fingers continue up my ankle. My calf. Coming to a stop right above my knee. It’s like we’re playing a game of chicken, and whoever pulls back first loses.
I’ve never liked losing.
“You don’t have to stop,” I say. In fact, I’d prefer he didn’t—that his hand would continue higher until he eased a different ache.
His grip on my lower thigh tightens as I inch closer, my knees widening.
A breath passes between us. Two.
Just when I think he’s going to let go, a low curse falls from his lips.
Ethan drops my leg and rolls on top of me, his strong arms bearing the bulk of his weight as he fits his hips to mine.
A gasp rolls from my throat. Yes… Yes.
The thin material of his shorts can’t hide his bulging erection.
To answer Lola’s question, he is absolutely working with some serious equipment downstairs.
He buries his face into the crook of my neck, breathing deeply.
I lift my hips, a silent plea for what I want. What I need.
What would help us forget the storm outside and every other shitty thing that’s happened today.
He shifts a little, dragging himself against me with one slow, heavy thrust, drawing another moan from my lips, the friction making my head spin and—
CRACK!
Ethan and I spring apart; he falls onto the floor on one side of the bed while I tumble onto the other.
“What the fuck was that?” he grits out, his voice ragged and deep.
I’m pretty sure he’s talking about the loud noise, but he could also be referring to what we were just getting up to. Either way, he sounds pissed. And horny.
Guess that makes two of us. “How should I know?”
He lumbers to his feet, adjusting himself in his shorts. Even in silhouette, the sight is impressive. “Stay here.”
Like that’s going to happen.
I follow him to the back door, peering through the lashing rain to where a limb from one of the trees in my yard has fallen onto… Oh, shit.
Ethan’s truck.
He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes narrowed at his poor vehicle, the roof collapsed in on itself and the front windshield busted clean out. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
“At least you weren’t in it,” I say in an attempt to put things into perspective.
Doesn’t work.
He looks like he wants to murder what’s left of the tree.
Old Tom owns the auto body place, and I offer to give him a call first thing in the morning. There’s no sense worrying about it now that the damage is done.
Speaking of damage, I’d love nothing more than to go back to bed and finish what we started, but from the way Ethan refuses to meet my gaze, I’m not sure that’s in the cards.
The light in my kitchen flicks on, and I see my dad step onto the back deck. When I hear him shouting for me, guilt worms its way into my stomach.
Time to get back to reality, I guess. “I should go home.”
Ethan’s lips roll together before he nods. “Let me grab my coat—”
“There’s no need.” I have the door unlocked before he can stop me. “Thanks for the clothes,” I shout over the howling wind, the rain splattering my forehead as I step onto the deck. “I’ll wash them before I give them back!”
I sprint across the driveway, careful to avoid the broken glass from his crunched windshield. When I get inside, my dad is back in the kitchen, his eyes bloodshot and a beer in his hand. “Hey, Clo. You got any more of these? This is the last one.”
Do I have any more?
Is he serious?
There’s a storm raging outside, and he’s worried about freaking beer. Was that why he was shouting for me? Not because he was concerned for my safety, but because he was worried about his freaking buzz.
Ethan’s words from earlier drift through my mind like the wind through my drafty windows. “It’s okay to say no.”
The frustration boiling beneath my skin makes the idea of telling my dad “no” feel a lot less intimidating. Having a ton of pent-up sexual tension doesn’t hurt either.
Straightening my shoulders, I look him dead in the eye, and say, “No, Rick. I don’t.”
My dad’s eyes widen; his jaw goes slack.
I snatch the bottle right out of his hand, carry it to my room, and slam the door.