Chapter Eleven
IVY WOKE TO unfamiliar sensations; she was warm, her body languid, but weirdly weighted.
She stretched, then froze.
She wasn’t alone; an arm that wasn’t hers was draped over her waist.
Reality hit like a bomb.
She was in Ethan’s room. In his bed. Naked.
And so was he. Spooned behind her.
Careful not to move again, she listened, but from his breathing she believed him asleep. Her heartrate slowed marginally as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
She had no idea what time it was, but moonlight seeped through the windows on a now-clear night. When the rain had stopped and clouds had disappeared, she didn’t know, other than she’d been too preoccupied to notice, or care.
Too preoccupied. What a way to describe what had happened between them! It had been… She searched for the words that could in some way reflect how he’d made her feel.
Revered.
Wanted.
Safe.
Safe enough to be herself, Annie.
But he hadn’t seemed to care it was Annie whom he couldn’t get enough of. He’d worshipped every millimetre of her body, and when they’d finally connected, they’d been so in tune it was like they’d shared something more profound than great sex. Her body stirred at the memory. Ethan had been…
Inventive.
Exciting.
Tender.
Tears gathered and she furiously blinked them away.
Was it because she’d never experienced anything like it before, so all her previous experiences had paled into insignificance? She’d begun to think maybe it was her, or the partners she’d carefully chosen, or maybe sex was overrated, but now she knew that wasn’t the case.
Was that why she’d fallen asleep afterwards, something she’d never allowed before, because she’d been so physically and emotionally spent by what they’d shared.
She’d closed her eyes to get her breath back, her senses under control, so she could decide what to say to him, but instead she had drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Now she had to get up and go to her own bed, except she couldn’t get her body to obey, cocooned by his body heat and divine scent, childishly hoping she could change what happened next, but she couldn’t.
They’d completed their agreement.
She had her pact and the reasons why it existed. That couldn’t, wouldn’t change because she’d never be able to erase her past, make herself worthy of something as wondrous as this.
She inhaled sharply at the dart of agony that struck her heart.
She had to get up. Now.
Rolling slowly and carefully onto her back, she lifted his arm, placed it next to him and turned to face him, immediately missing his warmth and contact.
He murmured in his sleep, and she sucked in a breath, holding it for a second, two, but he didn’t wake, and she exhaled slowly.
Lying on his side, highlighted by a moonbeam, his dark lashes fanning his face, lips that had driven her wild, making her forget every single thing except him, were turned up into a smile even in sleep.
She ached to crawl back under the shelter of his arm and run her lips down his body, especially now she knew all the spots that made him shake and growl and plead.
Her own body tingled because giving him pleasure had—she swallowed—made her feel invincible. Wanted. Safe.
But she’d never be safe from the ramifications of her past. And Ethan deserved so much more than she could ever give him. She knew he valued the truth above everything, and she imagined what would happen if he knew the truth about her, what she’d done.
She bit back the sour taste of despair and distracted herself by taking in as much of his bedroom as the moonlight allowed, anything to buy herself more time.
A room she’d never been in before. Not even when Ethan hadn’t been here had she ventured up to the top floor gabled room, which had been his domain since he was ten.
Three large heaters remained switched on and angled around the bed.
A desk with two screens and a laptop sat under a window and a rowing machine and an impressive set of dumbbells under the other.
Unable to deny any longer she was getting cold, and with no valid reason to delay the inevitable, she wiggled to the edge of the bed and quietly rose, before glancing down at him, one last time, she promised.
Temptation quickly followed by regret churned her belly into a tight knot before she bent down and drew the sheet and duvet, twisted at the base of the bed, up over him.
He stirred and she jerked backwards, but he didn’t wake.
She frantically searched for her clothes; she couldn’t get caught.
Collecting her trousers and shirt but unable to locate her underwear, she decided to leave her bra and panties behind.
She didn’t want him to wake and find her here like some kind of voyeur, nor did she want to have the awkward conversation now.
That could wait till the morning. By then, she’d have called on Ivy and be dressed and ready for him, with her armour and her resolve as to why she could never have anything more than this with Ethan firmly on.
With one last lingering look at his sleeping form, she made for the door, but stopped short.
His jumper lay on the floor, the one she’d asked, commanded he take off, and he had, in one dexterous move, revealing abs worthy of an athlete and a dusting of dark hair on a broad chest that had made her eyes bulge and dried her throat.
She picked it up and brought it to her nose, traces of his scent remaining, and before she could second-guess herself, she put it on.
She’d wear it now, to keep her warm until she got to her own room.
Tomorrow she’d launder and return it to his clean clothes pile; he had plenty of others, so he wouldn’t miss it.
Decision made, she exited his room, never to return.
Her eyes smarted, from the cold, she assured herself, nothing else.
* * *
The click of a closing door roused Ethan from sleep as he groggily tried to orientate himself via the moonlight shining through the windows.
He was in his bedroom at WillowGlen.
Why had he gone to bed with his curtains open?
Then he remembered and vaulted upright before twisting to see the other side of the bed, empty. He reached out a hand, empty but still warm.
He twisted the other way and switched on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. He was alone. No Ivy in his bed or the room.
Was that what had woken him? Ivy leaving? Sneaking out at—he checked his watch—just after 10:00 p.m.?
Abandoning him, never to return.
A flash of outrage and hurt blended together, squeezing his chest until he remembered that’s what they’d agreed on. Once.
But technically it had been more than once; they’d pleasured each other before their official first time.
He didn’t need to remember that and flopped back down. But it was a mistake, as Ivy’s scent permeated his pillow, his bedding, him.
Yet it wasn’t Ivy who’d been with him.
It had been Annie who’d cried out his name.
Annie, who’d cradled his face so tenderly when they were finally joined together, that he’d thought he might cry.
Annie, who’d unleashed something in him beyond anything he’d ever experienced. She’d had him trembling and begging before she’d catapulted him into a realm he didn’t know existed.
He shook his head and ran a shaky hand over his face, trying to halt the images, yet they persisted, even though there was no place in his life for someone who lived theirs so differently from him, was so guarded.
He threw back the sheets and duvet he didn’t recall pulling up and shot to his feet.
Sleep would be impossible, so he’d grab a mega pot of coffee and obliterate the taste of her lingering on his tongue, in his bloodstream.
Then he’d plan how to proceed, because this couldn’t continue, as much as he wanted it to.
Too much was at risk. When he saw her tomorrow, he’d have this reasoned out, because there had to be some logic as to why she’d made him respond like he had. Made him completely insatiable…for her.
He spotted his jeans at the foot of the bed, but a quick scan failed to find his jumper, nor Ivy’s shirt and trousers.
A glint of sparkles drew his gaze to the tallboy, where her bra had landed after he’d discovered the diamante front clasp and released it.
He scrunched his eyes closed and took a series of deep breaths, before opening them and heading for his wardrobe, but soon stopped dead. Her panties were on the rug, where he’d flung them after slowly edging them down her long legs until she’d been completely, gloriously naked.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Hard.
Not. Helping.
Stepping over them, he grabbed a clean pair of jeans, hoodie and thick woollen socks and dressed in record time before heading to the kitchen, convinced a gallon of super-strong coffee would knock some sense back into him, because surely his memories were playing tricks on him.
Had hunger, from skipping dinner, made him hallucinate? But his churning stomach told a different story. He wasn’t hungry…for food, anyway.
He growled in disbelief. What they’d shared had been incredible sex, nothing more.
His feelings were nothing deeper or more profound.
And despite the fact he’d been with Annie, not Ivy, she still wasn’t for him, never for him.
She had too many walls up, and he could never be with someone he didn’t trust fully.
He could never, ever put himself through that again.
He flung open the kitchen door and ground to a halt.
Annie, sleepy, tousled and far too alluring, sat at the kitchen table.
She launched to her feet, her chair falling backwards. Her hair, wild and free from any constraints, tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. Her puffy lips opened in an O of surprise, shock.