87 - One Inch Closer
Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, pouring molten gold across the polished floor like a stage light waiting for actors to take their mark. The house was silent—unnaturally so. Not peaceful. Anticipatory. As if even the walls sensed something volatile coiling in the air.
Scarlett stood near the doorway, fingers resting on the brass handle. She didn't open it yet. Didn't move. Her shoulders rose once with a steadying breath before she turned.
"Ethan," she said quietly.
Her eyes signaled the rest.
Come with me.
He didn't answer immediately.
He studied her.
Not her face alone—her stance, the tight line of her mouth, the way her fingers curled slightly against the handle like she was gripping more than metal. His gaze sharpened, dark and calculating, but he followed.
No protest.
No question.
His footsteps echoed behind her as she walked down the hall—measured, unhurried, heavy with the same deliberate patience of a predator that already knew the hunt would end in its favor.
Scarlett opened the door.
Stepped inside.
He entered after her.
Click.
The door shut.
Snap.
The lock twisted.
Silence fell.
Not empty silence. Thick silence. Charged silence. The kind that pressed against skin and slipped into lungs.
Scarlett turned sharply.
The restraint she'd been holding cracked.
"What do you want, Ethan?"
The words lashed out before she could smooth them. Her chest rose and fell too fast, breath catching between anger and something far more fragile.
Ethan's brows lifted.
Genuine surprise flickered across his face, brief but unmistakable.
He stepped closer.
"What do you mean, Scarlett?" His voice was calm. Smooth. Like dark velvet pulled slowly across glass.
She scoffed, though her hand trembled faintly at her side.
"Why did you come here?"
The question sliced the air open.
Raw.
Defensive.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing—not in offense, but in interest.
"Am I not allowed here?"
His gaze locked onto hers.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Scarlett's breath hitched. Just for a second. Just enough for him to notice.
"That's not what I meant," she admitted, softer now—but no less sharp. "But you're not someone who visits unless it's business."
Something shifted in his eyes.
Challenge.
Intrigue.
He stepped closer.
The faint scent of his cologne reached her—rich wood, spice, something darker beneath. It curled into her senses before she could stop it, invading, lingering.
"Seems," Ethan murmured, voice dropping lower, "like you're not happy to see me here. Am I right?"
Scarlett didn't answer.
Silence became her armor.
He didn't let her hide behind it.
"Why did you leave the house yesterday, Scarlett?"
The words cracked something open inside her.
A memory surged forward—
Catherine leaning in.
Catherine's lips on his.
That unbearable, searing stab in her chest.
Her stomach twisted violently. Heat rushed to her face—anger, hurt, humiliation burning beneath her skin.
Ethan saw the color rising in her cheeks.
And misunderstood completely.
In his mind, it was his kiss—the one he'd stolen from her—that lingered so vividly it still made her flush like that. The thought sparked something dark and satisfied in his gaze.
He closed the distance.
Completely.
Scarlett instinctively stepped back—
Wall.
Her spine met it.
She hadn't realized she'd retreated until there was nowhere left to go.
Ethan lifted his hand.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
His fingertip slid beneath her chin and tilted her face upward.
The touch was gentle.
Almost reverent.
Possessive all the same.
Her pulse slammed against her ribs.
Her green eyes flashed—storm clouds gathering. Anger. Confusion. Something deeper she refused to name.
And he couldn't read her.
For the first time in years—
Ethan Blackwood looked into a woman's eyes...
...and didn't know what she was thinking.
The realization unsettled him.
More than he would ever admit.
—
Scarlett's lips parted.
No sound came out.
His touch burned through her resolve, forcing her to hold his gaze.
Why can't he just admit what happened yesterday?
"Say it, Scarlett." His voice dropped lower, huskier. Command threaded through every syllable. "Why did you leave?"
She swallowed.
Forced herself not to flinch.
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
Defiance sharpened her tone—but her eyes betrayed her. Something fragile flickered there before she could smother it.
His thumb brushed slowly along her jaw.
Testing.
"Yes," he said simply. "I want to hear it from you."
Her chest tightened.
Catherine's kiss replayed again.
Again.
Again.
Her fists clenched.
"You don't get to demand answers from me, Ethan," she whispered sharply. "Not when you—"
The words stopped.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
He stilled.
His brows drew together.
His grip beneath her chin tightened just slightly.
"Not when I what?"
Soft.
But edged.
A warning under silk.
Scarlett's breath shook.
She hated how close he was.
Hated how his presence unraveled her thoughts.
Hated how those eyes searched her like he could peel her apart layer by layer.
She wanted to shout it.
Throw the truth in his face.
I saw you kiss her.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because tangled inside them was something worse.
Something terrifying.
She cared.
Too much.
Her silence made his jaw tighten.
A muscle ticked.
"Scarlett," he growled, voice low thunder. "Do you think you can just walk away from me? From this?"
His hand pressed firmer beneath her chin, tilting her closer.
His breath brushed her lips.
"You belong in my house," he murmured roughly. "With me. Don't forget that."
Her eyes blazed.
"I don't belong to anyone," she shot back, voice breaking despite her effort. "Least of all you."
The words hit.
Hard.
For a moment—
Ethan froze.
Then slowly...
A smirk curved his mouth.
Dark.
Unreadable.
"We'll see about that."
Not a threat.
A promise.
Her breath caught.
The room felt smaller. Tighter. His shadow stretched over her, swallowing space, swallowing air.
Silence stretched—
Footsteps outside.
Reality snapped back into place.
Scarlett's heart lurched.
Ethan's eyes flicked to the door.
Then back to her.
His finger still beneath her chin.
His face still inches from hers.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Knock.
"Scarlett?" a voice called from the hallway.
—
His gaze bored into her.
He didn't move his hand.
"Is that why you left, Scarlett?" he asked quietly. "Because I kissed you without your permission?"
Her breath hitched.
Her lashes fluttered as she tried to turn away—
His hold stopped her.
The memory surged back—
His lips on hers.
The shock.
The heat.
The way it had shaken something deep inside her.
His mouth curved, dangerous and teasing.
"Tell me..." he murmured, leaning closer, voice brushing her ear, "...was it your first kiss?"
Her body went rigid.
Air stuck in her throat.
She didn't answer.
She couldn't.
She didn't have to.
His eyes sharpened like a hunter scenting blood.
The truth was written everywhere—her flushed cheeks, her bitten lip, the trembling she couldn't hide.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"So it was."
Mocking.
Intimate.
Cruel.
"How come a woman your age hasn't had her first kiss until now?"
Her eyes flashed.
"Who told you it was my first kiss?" she snapped.
But her voice trembled.
His expression darkened. The teasing vanished.
"Do you think I'll believe that?"
Steel wrapped in velvet.
He leaned closer.
Closer.
"Your face tells me the truth, Scarlett."
She tried to step back.
He was faster.
One fluid motion—
Her back hit the wall.
His hand braced beside her head, caging her in.
The impact sent a shiver racing down her spine.
Now there was barely an inch between them.
Heat radiated from him.
His breath mingled with hers.
His eyes burned into hers.
Her face turned crimson.
She couldn't hide it.
And he saw.
Oh, he saw.
His smile deepened.
Slow.
Dangerous.
Like he'd just won a war she hadn't known they were fighting.
—
His palm remained against the wall beside her head.
His body hovered close.
Scarlett's back burned against the cool surface, her chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.
His gaze dropped.
To her lips.
Time fractured.
Nothing existed except that space between them.
His face lowered.
Slowly.
So slowly.
His lips hovered a breath away from hers.
Scarlett froze.
Her heart thundered so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
She could feel him.
Heat.
Danger.
Gravity.
Her body screamed at her to push him away.
She didn't move.
She hated that she didn't move.
Hated him more for making her want to stay.
Ethan lingered there.
Eyes dark.
Something raw flickered through them—desire tangled with frustration, possession laced with something dangerously close to confusion.
One more inch—
Reality struck him.
His breath caught.
His eyes widened faintly.
His jaw clenched hard.
And suddenly—
He shoved himself back.
Like he'd been burned.
His chest rose sharply as he shook his head once, violently, rejecting the moment... rejecting himself.
Scarlett blinked.
Stunned.
Cold where his heat had been.
"Ethan—?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Didn't look at her.
He straightened abruptly, turned, and strode to the door.
Unlocked it.
Opened it.
Left.
The door shut behind him.
His footsteps faded.
Silence swallowed the room.
Scarlett stayed against the wall.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.
Confusion twisted through her chest.
Her lips trembled.
Why did he stop?
Why now?
The answer came.
Sharp.
Merciless.
Because he still hasn't forgotten Catherine.
The thought cut deep, hollowing her chest.
Her throat tightened.
Her eyes burned.
She squeezed them shut, pressing her palm over her heart as if she could steady it—
But the ache only spread.
Because what had just happened...
Wasn't only confusing.
It was devastating.
For one impossible moment—
She had almost believed...
Ethan wanted her.
And that realization hurt more than anything he'd said.