21. Aftershock
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AFTERSHOCK
Ethan
Energy pulses through the ranch. The horse show drew a larger crowd than expected, and the evening gala transformed the grounds.
Everywhere I look, I see the culmination of Lucy’s, Sloane’s, and Claire’s vision and hard work.
They organized an elegant and successful event—a testament to Claire’s immense effort.
No matter how hard I try to concentrate on Claire, my eyes keep searching for Brooke. I spotted her shortly after we arrived, coordinating the silent auction tables. She’s gorgeous in a coral gown.
For most of the evening, we avoid each other. Yet every time I look across the crowd, our eyes seem to meet. The awareness is impossible to escape. It follows me through conversations with guests, and as I stand beside my wife, pretending to be focused.
Eventually, I catch sight of Brooke heading toward the restroom, the soft click of her heels audible above the music. I’ve spent the last hour looking for an excuse to speak to her again. She’s about to reach the blue door when I call after her, “Busy night?”
Looking over her shoulder at me, she smiles. “You can’t imagine.”
“You look beautiful tonight.”
“Ethan—stop.”
“I mean it.”
A faint shadow crosses her features, and her gaze drifts past my shoulder. “We can’t do this here, Ethan. Someone will see us.”
My hand finds hers, a reckless impulse. I pull her past the catering station and through a heavy canvas flap into the relative quiet behind the tent.
The music is muffled here, the laughter of guests dangerously close.
An old service door to the barn stands ajar.
We slip inside, and I press it shut, fumbling for a lock.
My thumb finds a simple iron bolt and slides it home, the sound unnervingly loud in the sudden silence.
I look around and realize we’re in the tack room.
“I need you,” I say, turning her to face the door.
“Ethan, what are you doing?”
“I can’t wait,” I whisper, my voice rough. “I haven’t stopped thinking about last night.” I lift the hem of her dress, my fingers glide across warm skin as I pull her closer. “You’re incredible,” I murmur against her ear.
“Don’t stop.”
I fumble with my belt, every rational thought drowned out by want. I reluctantly loosen my hold on her just long enough to work the buckle free. The instant I do, she reaches back for me, urgency replacing hesitation. The force of us sends the door rattling against its frame.
“Ethan, the door.”
“The door doesn’t matter.” I bury my face in her hair. “Nothing matters except you.”
The words are out before I can stop them.
My hips move with frantic urgency, and she meets me thrust for thrust. My orgasm tears through me so suddenly, and she cries out at the same time. I cover her mouth with my hand, muffling the sound.
When it’s over, we pull apart, breathing hard. The silence that follows is louder than anything that came before it. Neither of us speaks as we straighten our clothes. Brooke smooths her dress without looking at me. I button my shirt with hands that don’t feel entirely steady.
I open the door just enough for her to slip out first. Once she’s gone, I let it fall shut again and rest my forehead against the worn wood, squeezing my eyes closed.
What is wrong with me?
This is Claire’s fundraiser. She’s thirty feet away, thanking donors, and I just betrayed her in a storage room.
The realization lands with a sickening weight, but instead of following it where it wants to take me, I shove it down, straighten my jacket, and force myself back toward the noise of the event.
I make my escape toward the bar, hoping a change of scenery will help me regain some perspective. Leaning against a cocktail table is Reid with a drink in hand and an expression that puts me on edge.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“You seem distracted. What’s up with your hair?” he asks as he circles his hand gesturing toward my head.
I force a shrug and fight not to run my fingers through it. “What do you mean?”
“You look like you just tumbled out of bed,” he says with a strange look.
He sips his drink before speaking again. “You may want to run to the bathroom and splash some water on it. Also, you should work on your subtlety.”
The blood drains from my face. “What? No. I don’t—” I shake my head, eyes darting to the window. “That’s not even—why would you say that?”
“Really? You’ve spent most of the evening pretending not to look at a certain someone while looking at them constantly.”
I force a laugh, jamming my hands in my pockets. “It’s a party, Reid. People look at each other.”
“Maybe.”
His gaze is unwavering. “Or maybe I’ve known you too long.”