Chapter Six #2
His piercing ice-blue stare had hitched her heart and made her yearn for things that would never be. Could never be, even as she’d admired muscles that flexed and bunched as he’d returned shots with a power and skill that belied the fact he hadn’t played in years.
She’d yearned to scrape her fingers over his darkened jaw.
Press herself against the hard body that felt as though it had been embedded into her DNA.
The feeling of rightness she’d craved. She’d filmed scenes with some of the best-looking men on the planet, yet none of them made her feel the same way Ethan had.
An intoxicating combination of safety and delicious danger, strength and bone-melting dizziness.
She was surprised she’d got anything over the net, never mind won. Still, she’d respected that he’d given his all, no pandering, just a healthy competition, which hadn’t changed once she’d won.
Suddenly her adrenaline plummeted as the significance of the first game she’d played in over a decade hit, and she pressed a hand against her throat.
Horrifying tears welled and she frantically blinked them away, yet still her feet refused to move.
‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’ he snapped.
‘I haven’t played a match since my dad died.’ Her words caught her unaware; she hadn’t meant to tell Ethan.
His face softened. ‘How come?’ His voice lowered, calling to a place deep inside her, making her want to tell him everything.
‘It was our thing. I was in the local comp, but it was Dad who I preferred to play, much to the amusement of my friends, and not because he allowed me to win, as he didn’t.
But he was fun and supportive, and we’d spend hours on the court, practicing shots, honing techniques and playing games.
’ While the memories burnt down her throat, paradoxically, sharing them with Ethan helped.
‘You miss him?’ The surprise and tenderness in his tone was unmistakable.
‘Dreadfully.’
‘He taught you well. He’d be proud.’
She nodded, too moved to respond. She hoped so, because she’d let him down in every other way.
‘How long since he died?’ He rubbed his nape.
She swallowed. ‘Twelve years ago.’
‘And since then, you’ve only used the ball machine?’
‘Yes.’ Because it’d never felt right. Until today, when Ethan had arrived on the court. She’d been so intent on trying to extinguish the relentless attraction to him, she hadn’t noticed his presence until the gate had squeaked.
She’d hated him catching her unprepared with her make-up sweated off, hair a mess and devoid of any of her usual armour.
When he’d suggested a game, he’d looked as startled as she’d been, because she’d assumed he had been as uninterested as her in spending additional time together.
Yet before she’d had a chance to flatly refuse, because after all she’d been trying to get away from him, he’d smiled at the memory of his games with Cam and Luc.
Two men she’d met only once before at Ruby’s party.
Men cut in the same mould as Ethan, yet neither had affected her like he had.
All resistance had disappeared as she’d spotted the man she’d met eight years ago, who she’d been drawn to like no-one else before or since.
And in that moment, she’d been unable to resist him.
Something she struggled to regret, because they’d shared a sense of camaraderie missing from all the hours she’d spent on the court.
Alone. When she’d load up her automatic launcher and hit ball after ball.
Until her body would scream for her to stop, but she’d keep going until she was sure she’d finally be able to sleep.
But she liked sharing things with Ethan, a little too much, perhaps—because she couldn’t afford to get waylaid by an unwanted, irrelevant attraction. There was no future for them, her past and pact assured that. She was here for Ruby, nothing else.
‘I’m all sweaty. I’m going to head inside for a shower. Thanks for the game.’ She forced herself to look at him and not fidget with her hair.
He stiffened, tensed. And suddenly temptation tore into her as she imagined Ethan in the shower with her.
Her whole body trembled.
Ethan’s gaze bored into hers, his nostrils flared.
She shook her head. Still, her stupid treacherous body yearned for his touch, and an insistent voice reasoned that a session in the shower with him would ease the relentless ache.
Biting her lip so hard she waited for the metallic taste of blood to fill her mouth, she turned to flee from the temptation only he elicited, before she did something they’d both regret—and invite him along.
* * *
The next morning, Ivy sank into the deep sofa in the conservatory and hugged her knees to her chest, watching the rain beating against the glass.
She was early for her daily meeting with Ethan, but after an unexpected and unsettling phone call, she’d sought the comfort of this spot.
A spot she’d frequented numerous times while Ruby tended to her potted plants.
They’d chat and laugh and shoot the breeze, and other times Ruby would read and Ivy would go through scripts and make notes.
She hugged her knees harder, the Ruby-sized gap in her heart red-raw this morning.
She even missed the uncomfortable times when Ruby had gently questioned whether she was happy and fulfilled.
Asked her why she made career choices which didn’t align with the person Ruby knew.
Ivy would brush the questions off and hide how they cut her to the bone.
Although Ruby had never judged her, she’d definitely expressed her concerns about the way she lived her life.
Those times Ivy had come dangerously close to unburdening herself, but she’d always reined herself in, her guilt too ingrained, and she’d been frightened Ruby would think less of her if she knew the truth.
Instead, she’d dig into her acting skills and tell Ruby she was happy and living her dream career, but the response had always been the same…
a look full of solicitude and scepticism before Ruby would remind her that her door was always open, and she’d always be there for her.
Ivy swallowed. Not anymore. Now she was alone.
She jumped as Ethan stepped in, carrying a tray with a coffeepot and cups, wearing the blue jumper that matched his eyes and a pair of jeans hugging his muscular thighs.
Her mouth dried and she averted her eyes instead of staring like she wanted to at the image of male perfection.
Memories of years ago hit—his hard muscle beneath her needy hands and the completely out-of-control way she’d responded to his kisses and how much she’d wanted that again yesterday on the tennis court.
She shook her head, attempting to rid herself of such unhelpful thoughts, and self-consciously tugged at her own outfit, tucking the hem of her dress under stockinged feet.
The black maxi, not something she’d normally wear, especially in front of Ethan, had been chosen for comfort this morning, exactly what she’d needed after her phone call.
Her red velvet scarf wrapped across her shoulders was much more Ivy, along with her lipstick, although it wasn’t as bright as usual.
‘You’re early,’ he said.
‘So are you,’ she shot back.
He frowned. ‘Only a couple of minutes. Everything okay?’ he asked, placing the tray down. Each day they took turns providing the refreshments and choosing the location of the morning meeting.
She shrugged. ‘I got a call from Ben this morning.’
His face hardened and he braced his legs apart. ‘What did your former colleague have to say for himself?’
When she’d seen his name flash up on her phone screen for the first time since they’d finished filming, she’d been sure he was finally calling her to apologise. It took all of five seconds to realise that was a fantasy.
‘To let me know the news was breaking today about him and Molly. And he was blaming me for leaking it to the press.’
His eyes held hers, and the memory of the photos from eight years earlier throbbed in the space between them. She pressed her spine against the cushions and swallowed against the bile at the ongoing ramifications of her actions.
‘Did you leak it to the press, Ivy?’ he asked grimly.
She straightened her shoulders. ‘I did not.’
She held her breath, waiting for him to contradict her, until he gave a curt nod and the air whooshed out of her lungs so quickly she placed her forehead on her knees.
He believes me, after everything.
Horrifying tears prickled and she frantically blinked them away.
How could she keep her barriers up when he behaved like that?
Acting like he had her back? She’d practically worn a hole in the floor contemplating this conversation with Ethan.
That he’d scorn her. Or they’d go back to being fierce enemies rather than what they’d become, something she didn’t have a name for, because it was beyond anything she’d had with anyone else.
An awareness that had ramped up even more after being on the tennis court yesterday, making her yearn for things that could never be, as he didn’t deserve anyone like her. And that terrified her all over again.
‘You look like you could do with this,’ Ethan said gently.
He poured her a coffee, adding just the right amount of cream to her morning treat, the ritual at the start of every one of their daily meetings.
She blinked again and brushed a fingertip against her lashes before swinging her legs to the floor to get up.
‘Stay there.’ With a purposeful stride he was standing above her in mere seconds.
His eyes roamed her face making her wish she’d worn heavier make-up.
Usually when scared, or sad, she’d go extra heavy-handed, but this morning she just couldn’t summon the energy to be ultra-Ivy.
It had been like trying to push the proverbial boulder up a hill.
In the end she’d assured herself it was a reprieve for one morning only, then this afternoon she’d reload her armour, and full-flight-Ivy would return. She’d have to.