Chapter 11 #3
“Why have you changed so much?” I mutter at the ceiling, addressing the absent Ethan. “Why do you make me question myself so much?!”
Groaning again, I turn around and scream into the pillow, the fabric muffling my frustration.
It doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension within me, but the masseuse that Ethan has sent up to give me a full body workup definitely does.
Her skilled hands unknot the tightness in my shoulders and back.
The makeup artist arrives soon after, and I’m nearly nodding off as she does up my face, the gentle brush strokes lulling me into relaxation.
I don’t see the point of getting so dressed up. I’ve always done my own makeup, but when I said as much to Megan, she just gave me a long look, which was either filled with disapproval or disgust; I have yet to decide.
Fortunately, with my new haircut, a quick blow dry saves me time, and I slip into my dress with ease once my hair and makeup is out of the way. I tuck the dress’s tag inside the collar. I have no intentions of keeping any of the things Ethan bought me. I’ll return them tomorrow morning.
When I look at myself in the mirror, it’s like staring at a stranger. The makeup artist used a light hand on my face, but with the haircut and the makeup, the dress looks vastly different than it did when I tried it on.
The dress is a forest green, mermaid cut, accentuating every dip and curve on my body, the forest green fabric shimmering subtly in the light. My teeth sink into my lower lip. This is a fundraiser, and it won’t be my first time attending one— but in a dress like this?
I’ve usually worn knee-length black dresses with some slight jewelry. It’s not the best choice, but it works. A dress like this, it’s eye-catching, and I feel out of place, like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life.
A knock on the door has me startled. I hurry over, grateful that the heels I got aren’t so high. As soon as I open the door, the wind is knocked out of me.
Ethan’s adjusting his cufflinks as he stands outside my room, and it gives me the time to stare at him, admire the way the fabric of his tailored black tuxedo molds against his broad shoulders and lean figure.
My breath catches, heat crawling up my neck as he finally looks at me, his eyes roaming over me, slow and possessive.
His gaze dips down the length of my dress, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.
“I should send my sister a thank you note,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The lust in his amber eyes is unmistakable. “You look breathtaking.”
The compliment throws me off, and I turn around, not wanting him to see the impact his words have on me. As I look for my phone, I mutter, “It’s just a dress.”
He’s still standing in the doorway when he speaks, “It’s not the dress, Natalie, it’s you.”
I’ve never been pursued so aggressively, especially by a man I’m trying desperately to keep at arm’s length.
Although, now I’ve thrown that opportunity out the window by sleeping with him again.
For someone who’s always prided herself for having immaculate self-control, impulsively sleeping with Ethan has been my biggest mistake.
Trying to ignore his words, I grab my belongings. “Let’s go.”
It’s hard to ignore this man beside me when he brushes against me so provocatively, each action carefully deliberate, and enough to drive me up the wall.
As we walk down to the lobby, his hand brushes against my lower back, polite but lingering, a possessive hint to it.
My body is covered with his marks, his taste on my tongue.
Ethan Wilder is an addiction, one I didn’t know I had, and one I don’t know how to break free of.
I don’t understand him. The more time I spend with him, the more questions I’m beginning to have. His sister, his mother, even my own friend is telling me that Ethan seems to want more from me. But why? Why now? Why not back then? What changed in all these years?
As we head to the fundraiser, I look out the window in silence, stewing over my thoughts. I’ve not heard a word from him in these past five years, and suddenly he shows up and begins pursuing me. It doesn’t make sense to me. Why? The only logical explanation is that he wants something from me.
I’m not so arrogant as to believe he suddenly fell head over heels in love with me for no reason.
But would he go so far as to manipulate his own family?
And then there’s the thing Sarah said about him waiting outside the apartment that day he overheard my mother’s drunk voice message on the answering machine.
The same day he kissed me. The same day I slapped him.
I’m starting to get a headache just thinking about all of this. Surely he knows I have nothing of value to give him. I don’t even have any money, not that he needs it.
So what is it?
Is it just sex? But I’ve already slept with him.
I can’t figure this man out. But I do know that the only one who can protect my heart is me. I will never let Ethan into my heart again. The outcome of the first time has left too many scars. I will forever be waiting for the other shoe to fall with him.
My demeanor is considerably cool when we reach the event hall, the tension in my shoulders visible.
Photographs are being taken as people arrive, and I try to linger back as Ethan walks the red carpet. However, he’s not having any of it. His hand wraps around my waist, and he holds me close. “Smile for the cameras.”
I smile tightly and stomp on his foot with my heel. “I am not here as your date.”
In response, his hand tightens around my waist, and he turns his face towards me. Before I can react, his lips press against my cheek. The cameras immediately begin to flash like crazy, capturing the moment for posterity.
I can’t pull away from him quick enough because his grip is like iron, unyielding.
“You absolute jerk!” I hiss at him, and his lips curve in that infuriatingly devastating smile which he only ever reserves for me.
“Step on my foot again. See what I’ll do when we get back to the hotel room.” The dark temptation in his tone has me averting my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.
My heart is pounding.
It’s everything.
The smell of his cologne, the way his hand holds my waist, tight enough to be possessive and firm enough to remind me how forceful those hands are in bed when he holds me by the neck, gripping my hair, spreading my legs.
My mouth dry, I try to focus on everything but him, desperate for distraction.
The chandelier inside gleams like a thousand captured stars, casting a golden light over the ballroom. The air hums with laughter and the soft clink of champagne flutes, but I’m too busy trying to ignore the man at my side to pay attention to anything.
These events are good for networking, so I try to slip away. Ethan simply tucks my hand in his elbow, his grip gentle yet unrelenting. “Stop trying to run away.”
Refusing to feel guilty, I scan the room for anyone I know. “Surely you don’t need me to hold your hand?”
He is about to say something when someone calls out, “Ethan!”
I turn my head and see a beautiful woman approaching us. Her eyes are on Ethan, ambition and determination sparkling in those stunning green orbs, her vibrant red hair piled in a bun on top of her head.
“You never called me back after our date!” The woman crosses her arms over her chest, looking vaguely annoyed. Her lower lip pokes out in a fashion that not many would be able to pull off, but she manages to.
I glance at Ethan, feeling a strange ball of tension form in my chest, and to my surprise, he looks vaguely annoyed. “Elizabeth.”
The woman leans forward, her hand coming to settle on his chest, her tone sultry, “You know you can call me Liz.”
A surge of uncontrollable fury surges through me before I can stop myself, and I grab her wrist, forcibly lowering her hand.
Her eyes flicker towards me, and I see the flash of sharp anger in her eyes.
When she speaks, the dismissive edge to her tone is unmistakable.
“And who is this? Your flavor of the week?”
She gives me a once-over, condescension dripping from her gaze. “A little lackluster, isn’t she? Where did you find this one?”
“Ethan.” My voice is sharp, my eyes on the woman, fury spearing through me. “If you brought me here to rub your past floozies in my face, I’m sure I can find a much better use of my time.”
I untangle myself from him, or at least give it my best shot. His grip loosens, and as soon as my arm is free, he pulls me into his side with a proprietary hold around my waist.
“You have such a way with words.” Ethan looks down at me with a smile.
“And I wouldn’t insult you by doing something so despicable.
I had dinner with this woman once.” He doesn’t even glance in Elizabeth’s direction.
“That is the extent of my involvement with her. It wasn’t something I would even consider a date. ”
The woman bristles, her perfectly made-up face contorting with indignation. “Excuse me? It was definitely a date! You kissed me?—”
“No,” Ethan says steadily, turning his attention towards her. “You attempted to kiss me, and I called you a cab.”
I don’t want to feel reassured by his words. I also don’t want to care about his past. But I feel a flicker of irritation nonetheless, the emotion taking me by surprise.
As the woman storms off, I glance at him. “You sure remember a lot about your dinner date with her.”
Ethan studies me, the corner of his lips tilting up. “And you sound like that bothers you.”
I open my mouth but the words get stuck in my throat. I quickly avert my gaze, jerking my shoulder, the gesture not as casual as I’d hoped. “Why would it bother me? You’re free to date the entire female population of Chicago if you please.”
“Unfortunately, the entire female population of this city isn’t you, and I don’t like to waste my time.”
He’s still holding me ridiculously close, and my heart is pounding from the way he’s smiling at me. However, I refuse to be charmed by this man who seems to know just the right thing to say when it comes to me.
“You certainly had time to waste on her.”
Ethan’s smile broadens now, a pleased glint in his eyes. “Is that jealousy I detect, Miss Thorne?”
“As if,” I scoff, trying to move away from him, only to have his arm tighten around my waist.
“I like the idea of you being jealous over me.” He takes a step towards me, and suddenly there is no distance between us.
In this room filled with people, conversation flowing around us, the sound of glasses clicking, and soft music playing, it feels like we are the only two people.
“However, you are the last person who should be jealous, considering you are who I’ve been coveting for all these years. ”
My mouth turns dry, the blood pounding between my ears. Suddenly, I’m remembering what his sister told me about his preference for a certain type of woman.
Redheads.
I could assume he was always partial towards women who had red hair, but I know a bit about Ethan’s dating history from long before he met me, what I could find out when he was showing interest in me all those years ago.
He was never into redheads specifically.
I stare at him, a thousand questions swirling in my mind.
I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t open this door.
“Did you go out with that woman because she had red hair?”
The words escape before I can stop them, hanging between us like a challenge.