Chapter Eight #2
His resolve unravelled and he couldn’t summon the need to care that this was the last thing he should be doing. He was standing close enough that he could catalogue the glowing hue of her make-up-free face, making her appear younger, more natural, than the woman who filled movie theatres.
She chewed on her lip and his body throbbed.
An inner alarm sounded; they were too close, it was too late, she was too scantily clad.
He ignored all of it. She was soft and warm and he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
He was going to allow himself this one moment because the bone-jarring truth was, he couldn’t resist her any longer.
Anchoring his hands at her waist he tugged her towards him. Her sharp intake exploded through the room as he caressed the silky fabric, reacquainting himself with the intoxicating feel of her, shutting down the internal warning that this was a bad idea.
She gently scraped her nails down his neck, eliciting a low rumble ripped from his depths. This woman. How did she make him respond like no other?
She stilled before tipping her head back, eyes shining up at him.
Need coursed through him.
He lowered his head, promising himself just one taste. And then he brushed his lips against hers.
A bone-shaking thirst roared to life that only she could quench, like her lips had been memory-stamped on his.
Yes. This.
Any promises he’d made to himself were forgotten as he kissed her again, like there would be no consequences, and nothing in the universe mattered more.
She moaned and gripped his shoulders, wiggling against him, fitting like a piece in a jigsaw.
Time ceased to exist as throaty murmurs and soft sighs enfolded them.
He ran his hands up her back, pressing her closer before twisting his hands into her hair, wrapping it around his wrists.
A sound permeated his fog of rampant desire.
A whistle.
Disconcerted he lifted his mouth off hers and tried to gather his wits as she murmured a protest.
The kettle screeched, making enough noise to drown out the weather.
On a muttered oath he disentangled himself, reached over to switch off the element and grabbed the bench as reality trickled in.
What was he doing? Hadn’t he promised himself he couldn’t ever start something with Ivy as much as his body screamed at him to do so?
He didn’t know where he stood with her, her lifestyle was the complete opposite to everything he wanted, and still he’d let his guard down.
Pounced on her like an affection-starved puppy, because it had been so easy to open up to her, tell her things he’d never shared with others, even when he didn’t fully trust her.
Nor trust himself around her, because every one of his senses had spiralled out of control at the taste, feel, scent of her.
Regret coursed through him, but he couldn’t lower his barriers to anyone, especially someone as guarded as she was, and worse he knew she was still hiding something from him.
Her dazed eyes locked on his as she raised a shaking hand and pressed it against her mouth before stumbling backwards.
Shock, shame, then a searing vulnerability crossed her face before she righted herself and an abhorrent false smile fixed itself on lips he’d been so intimately acquainted with minutes before.
Ivy Flame had returned, and his throat thickened that she needed to erect her protective wall because of him.
‘Well goodnight, Ethan, sweet dreams.’ She winked and swung towards the door with a flutter of feathers.
‘Wait. Please.’
She stilled and turned her head but not her body.
‘It’s better this way, friends. You understand,’ he implored.
After a beat, she nodded and left as he stood there with a bone-deep regret that this was the way it had to be. He needed total honestly, always, which meant he had no choice but to push away the feelings for her that continued to grow.
* * *
Ivy glided down the hall, chin up, until she turned a corner and sagged against the wall. What had she been thinking, kissing Ethan like she was starved for oxygen and he was the air supply? Like nothing else mattered?
Because as much as she’d tried to pretend otherwise, wrapped in his arms, his body jammed against hers, something tightly coiled inside her chest had sprung free, and for a series of thundering heartbeats she’d felt fully alive, totally free.
She dug her nails into her palms, tears smarting.
She had no right to feel either of those things, and when he’d called a halt to their kiss, she’d done the only thing she could do.
She’d called on Ivy, and like always, she’d delivered.
Ethan’s eyes had clouded with concern and it had rolled her stomach, making her fear she’d lose its contents all over the floor; she didn’t deserve his concern.
Now she’d have to see him tomorrow and all the tomorrows during the next three and a half weeks.
She fought the urge to race upstairs, pack and head for the hills, because tonight had proven the kiss from eight years ago had been no figment of her imagination.
It had been just as earth-shattering the second time around, and it was Ethan, only him, who affected her this way.
Who made her forget who she was and what she’d done.
Made her yearn for impossible things.
Made her feel special, wanted.
Pressing a hand over her mouth again, she muffled her agonised howl, recalling the glimpse of ecstasy before it had been replaced with the unescapable stark reality…
she wasn’t Annie, and there was no bright, sparkly future for her.
She’d always be Ivy. Always. And she could never, ever lose sight of that.
She couldn’t forget her guilt, her pact with herself, not even for a moment.
She’d instinctively sought to comfort him after he’d shared his harrowing memories of his parents’ last day.
She’d naturally read about their tragic deaths, but to hear it through the lens of a ten-year-old Ethan had struck at her like a thousand daggers.
And if he hadn’t been through enough, she’d learnt those infamous photos were taken when he’d found out about their deaths.
The same photos which had resurfaced eight years ago—because of her.
She knew the tabloids had no boundaries, gosh, she’d lived it herself, but he’d been only ten. Ten!
Her eyes watered. Because of her, those pictures had run again.
She bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself she had to shut down the kernel of hope that he’d trusted her enough to share his recollections of that day.
It didn’t mean anything, and judging by his reaction, he’d regretted it immediately.
Ethan, despite the scars of his upbringing, had made himself into a hardworking, driven man, who was generous and kind to those he trusted. Ruby, Cam, Luc and the staff at WillowGlen were testament to that. But he definitely didn’t trust her.
She hated that, but she’d done everything possible to make it so, trapping herself in an internal tug of war that had no winner.
She had to find out a way to carry on like nothing had happened and call on every skill she’d picked up, on and off screen, to hide her attraction to him. Because she couldn’t let Annie out again: that part of herself connected with Ethan on a level that terrified her.
She’d made Ivy take the lead for years and that’s what she had to keep doing.
A wave of exhaustion hit, as the endless charade was getting harder to pull off.
In the future, there’d be no midnight visits to the kitchen for tea, for anything.
No leaving her room in her robe. No longing for something she’d never have a right to, which was any kind of future with Ethan.
He’d never tie himself to someone like her, nor should he.
What she’d done to her parents would have to remain at the top of her mind, always.
Pushing herself off the wall, she headed to her frosty room, with a promise that tomorrow she’d be stronger against the incessant tug towards him. Because nothing else was an option.