Chapter 9
Clara stirred first, blinking against the pale wash of morning light that slipped through the threadbare curtains. Her body ached in ways she had never known before. Her thighs were tender and her lips swollen from his kisses—but beneath the soreness there was a warmth, a glow that made her press her face into the pillow with a shy, secret smile.?
For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel small or unwanted. She felt… seen. Cherished.
Her gaze drifted to Ethan. He was sprawled beside her, one arm flung lazily across the blanket, his dark hair mussed, the faintest shadow of stubble roughening his jaw. The lines of his face, usually so guarded, were softened in sleep. She traced the slope of his nose with her eyes, the curve of his lips, the faint scar on his temple she’d never noticed before. He looked younger like this, almost boyish. Vulnerable.
Her chest squeezed tight. What if he regrets it?
The thought landed heavy, dimming her joy. She swallowed hard, curling into herself, afraid that when he woke, he’d pull away.
She was about to slip from the bed when his hand moved—firm, steady—closing over hers.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was husky, rough from sleep, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Clara froze. “I—I didn’t want to wake you.”
His eyes opened slowly, impossibly blue, still heavy with dreams yet clear as they landed on her. “Wake me,” he murmured, tugging her closer. “You’re the best thing I’ve opened my eyes to in years.”
Her heart stuttered. “You don’t… regret last night?”
That woke him fully. He pushed up on one elbow, his expression sharp, searching hers. “Clara.” His thumb brushed across her cheek, gentle but sure. “Do you regret last night?" Clara shook her head. “Listen to me. There’s not a single part of me that could ever regret being with you. Not now. Not ever.”
Her throat burned. She wanted to believe him, needed to. But the voice of her stepmother whispered in the back of her head, telling her she was never enough. Tears pricked her eyes before she could stop them.
Ethan’s hand cupped her face fully now, his brows drawing together. “Hey… no tears, not here. Not with me.” His tone was soft, yet steady, the kind of voice that could anchor a storm. “Last night wasn’t about pity, or chance, or mistakes. It was about us. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.”
Something in her broke then, not from pain but from release. She leaned into his touch, letting her forehead rest against his jaw. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said. His lips brushed her hairline, lingering. “I’m scared too.”
That startled her. “You?”
He gave a short, quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve spent most of my life keeping people at arm’s length. It’s easier that way—less messy, less chance of being hurt. Then you walk into my world and… I can’t keep you there. Not when every part of me wants you closer.”
Her breath caught. He wasn’t a man who gave words easily, she could tell. Each confession seemed pulled from a place he didn’t let others see.
“Do you mean that?” she asked, voice trembling.
His answer was a kiss—slow this time, reverent, nothing like the hungry urgency of the night before. When he pulled back, his eyes shone with a raw honesty that made her heart tumble all over again. “Clara Bennet, you’ve changed everything for me. And I don’t even know how you did it.”
She buried her face against his chest then, letting the steady beat of his heart calm her own.