Читать книгу The Dare Collection: May 2018 - Clare Connelly - Страница 22
ОглавлениеIT IS LATE when I stir, and Ethan is no longer in bed. I blink, a little disorientated, a lot satisfied, and stretch my arms over my head, smothering a yawn. Then I am still. I listen. I hear music.
I push the duvet back and step out of bed, padding into the lounge. He has his back to me, sitting in the wing-back armchair, looking out of the window at Manhattan. It occurs to me that no one out there has any idea that Ethan trending-on-Twitter Ash is right here, high above them like some beautiful, sexy sky-angel.
I know the song he’s playing. It’s not his. I think it’s Bob Dylan’s. I listen, trying to catch the words, but he’s humming them quietly, as though he’s not even aware he’s singing.
Is this what it’s like for him? Does the need to make music simply overtake him? Beyond his control, his realisation, his intention?
Much like the way I am moving towards him, which is also beyond my intention. I have sometimes felt that there is a sort of magnetism between us. I don’t really go in for all that woo-woo universal energy stuff. Or, I didn’t, at least.
‘Hey. Sleeping Beauty’s up.’
He smiles at me at the exact moment the sun beams from behind a cloud and his face glows gold. He places the guitar down as he stands and moves towards me.
He’s wearing his favourite jeans—and now, let’s face it, my favourite jeans—low on his hips. His feet are bare. So is his chest.
And suddenly my breath is lost. My throat is dry.
He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me to him. ‘How’d you sleep?’
‘I think I passed out.’ I smile up at him. ‘That is one comfy bed.’
‘You should stay over more,’ he says with a grin.
It’s just a throwaway comment, yet prickles of danger flush my spine. I ignore the suggestion.
‘Coffee?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods towards the machine. ‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘Of coffee?’ I wilfully misunderstand. ‘Of course I do. I live for the stuff.’
‘Of staying over.’
I meet his eyes and I know my expression holds a warning. ‘Ethan...’
His phone rings, interrupting whatever the hell I had been going to say.
He shoots me a look that speaks volumes. This isn’t over.
I gnaw at my lip, half watching as he moves across the room and lifts his phone off the coffee table, where he left it the night before. Something crosses his face—an emotion I don’t comprehend—and then he drops the phone again.
‘Dodging someone?’
His eyes meet mine. He’s distracted. ‘No.’
I remember the message he sent the night before. Or whatever it was he did. Was it to a friend? Or another woman? Or Sienna?
Something like alarm bells sound in my mind. I have to silence them. Not care. Because it’s not what we are. And he’s not Jeremy.
‘You were saying?’
I push a pod into thecoffee machine and wait for the light to show that it’s ready to wor.
‘I had fun last night. But I think it’s really important to remember—’
‘That we’re just fucking,’ he interrupts. Tersely.
I am irrationally emotional in the face of his obvious annoyance. ‘Well, yeah. I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely. I just mean that we should remember what we’re doing here.’
‘Right. The rules.’ He nods.
He is keeping a grip on his temper but I know him better than that. I know he is tense and cross.
‘And what are they again?’
I force a light smile. ‘Fun! No-strings!’
‘Right. And we can’t do that if you stay over with me?’
‘You’re the one who said no sleepovers.’
He laughs—a harsh sound of disbelief—then drags his fingers through his hair. Of all the tools in his arsenal, this and this alone has the power to weaken the last threads of my resolve. He looks impossibly, edibly hot, his chest rippling, his hair spiking, and yet there is such an air of sweet helplessness in the gesture that I ache to go to him and properly explain. To tell him everything.
His eyes lock to mine and it’s almost as though I have.
‘Who hurt you?’
The machine whirls into life, pushing coffee through with its reliable hum. I drop my attention to it, pretending fascination with the dark brown liquid that is running into the bone-china cup. But my chest is moving too fast as each breath struggles for release.
‘Alicia?’
God. Hearing my full name is such a weakness. When he says it I melt.
‘I...’
He thrusts his hands on his hips, staring at me, and I blink my eyes shut.
‘This isn’t a request for state secrets. It’s not that hard.’
I bite down on my lip. ‘Yeah, it is.’
I swallow and force myself to look at him. I see the interest. The speculation. The sympathy.
‘It was serious with you and him?’
My nod is barely a tick. A slow lift of my head. Yet it’s all the confirmation he needs.
‘Yeah. We were... It was.’
‘And it ended badly?’
I nod again.
He moves towards me and runs his thumb over my cheek. ‘What kind of asshole would ever hurt you?’
My heart jumps. My body throbs. I don’t know what to say.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘God! Don’t do that, please.’ I pull away from him. ‘Don’t be so perfect. We both know you will hurt me, unless I’m very careful. Don’t...don’t make promises you can’t keep.’
‘I’m not.’
‘We both agreed. We want the same thing here.’
‘And what if that’s changing?’
‘No.’ My denial is sharp, and panic is obvious in my voice. ‘It can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘For many, many reasons.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well... You’re not in any kind of place to be getting serious with anyone. And I’ve just... I’ve done that. I’ve done the whole falling in love thing. Getting to know someone. Swapping secrets. Planning a future.’
My voice cracks and I think of my engagement ring for the first time in months. Unconsciously I rub my finger, trying to focus my thoughts. Ethan is watching me, though, and I am distracted by him.
‘I’m not... I’m barely myself again. Eight months.’ My eyes feel hollowed out. ‘For eight months I have tried to make sense of how terribly things went wrong. I have tried to move on. To forget. To look in the mirror and see myself as someone other than that woman. It almost killed me when it ended.’
I stare at him, willing him to understand.
‘I’m still so...so broken. So broken. If I let myself... If I let you in and you hurt me... God, Ethan. I wouldn’t do so well.’
He pulls me close roughly, urgently, and he wraps his arms around me so tight, as though he can put me back together again.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘That’s exactly what he would have said.’
He doesn’t let go. And I really, really don’t want him to.
‘Okay,’ he murmurs against my hair. ‘I promise I’m not going to push this. We can do it your way.’
Relief—or I think that’s what it is—moves through me.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he says again. ‘But I want to see more of you. I want to see as much of you as I can before I go.’
Hurt. Pain. It lashes through me.
Just contemplating his absence from my life, the finality of his departure, fills me with an ache I didn’t to expect.
And I know then that we have to shift the rules slightly. Because I don’t want him to go from my life and for me to realise I didn’t see as much of him as I could. I want to grab him with both hands while I have him, so long as my heart isn’t in play.
I nod slowly. ‘More is fine. Just so long as we both remember what we want here.’
‘You know what I want?’ he says seriously, his expression impossible to interpret.
‘What’s that?’
‘I want a burger.’
‘A burger?’ I think for a second I’ve misheard.
‘Yeah.’ A sexy grin. ‘A burger. Whaddya say, Miss Douglas? Brave the streets of New York with me once more?’
I have become used to indecision. I think one thing and want another. And then I question what I want and what I think until they become tangled together. But I am glad for this change in conversation topic and tempo. It is a relief not to be thinking about defining what we are, nor the rules we have already agreed do define us. I try not to think of them as limiting us, because that has negative connotations and our boundaries are definitely a good thing.
‘A burger sounds good.’
It does. My stomach is prepared to answer that question.
‘I know just the place. How quickly can you get ready?’
The promise of food motivates me.
I shower in record time, pulling on what I arrived in the day before—a pair of jeans and an oversized shirt. I have just a few cosmetic basics in my handbag. I wipe some concealer underneath my eyes and some rouge on my cheeks, tap a little gloss over my lips. But I’ve forgotten a hairbrush, meaning my hair is wild and sex-styled. I comb it with my fingers and pull it over one shoulder.
He whistles when I step out of the bathroom, low and soft, but it makes my tummy flip-flop.
‘Same to you.’
He’s wearing jeans and a black shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He’s got a black baseball cap on his head. Groan. He’s hot.
He puts a hand in the small of my back as we leave the hotel. The contact is nice. No, it’s better than nice.
The elevator doors swish open and we move inside, but the second we’re in he pushes me against the back wall and kisses me, his mouth on mine demanding. It is a kiss that drugs me with its intensity and changes the parameters of my existence.
He doesn’t break it until the elevator touches down with a gentle thud on the ground floor of the hotel.
‘Wait a sec.’
I am not even sure my legs can carry me, so it’s easy to do as he suggests. He lifts a spare baseball cap off his head—I didn’t even realise he was carrying it—and places it on mine, then reaches for my hand, pulling me out of the lift.
The foyer is as usual. There are a couple of guards by the doors. But when we step out it’s like the whole world erupts.
Flashes go off in my face and Ethan, beside me, swears. He squeezes my hand and suddenly Grayson is there, pushing people back, cutting a path for us through the crowds. But they move with us, following, and I am afraid.
Beside me, Ethan tosses a look over his shoulder. ‘Wankers.’
There’s a car waiting. Grayson shepherds us into it. Ethan steps back to let me in first and I don’t hesitate. I slide in, keeping my head down, grateful for the protection offered by the cap, which shields at least some of my face.
My breath is fierce.
Ethan moves in beside me. He stares at me for a long second and then shakes his head.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
I don’t know what to say. Questions and doubts run through me. He must have known that would happen?
But I’ve left his hotel lots of times and not seen anything like that.
‘It’s the concert,’ he explains, reaching for my hand again and lifting it to his lips. He presses a kiss against the racing pulse point.
I nod, but only because he seems to be waiting for me to say something. I’m full of doubts.
‘That’s... I can’t believe you live like that.’
‘Yeah.’ His lips compress. ‘It takes a bit of getting used to.’
‘I could never get used to it.’ I shudder in revulsion. It is yet another reason to be grateful for the fact that this is going nowhere.
‘It’s not all the time. In fact when I’m out on my own I can usually do most stuff. I should have checked the foyer before bringing you down. That won’t happen again.’
I shrug, staring out of the window. ‘It’s only one more week,’ I point out. ‘We can keep a low profile after this.’
He doesn’t say anything. What is there to say?
Grayson takes us a few blocks south and pulls up outside a diner. I’ve never heard of it, but when we step inside the guy behind the counter comes over and wraps Ethan in a bear hug. I stand back and watch curiously.
‘How you going, mate?’
‘Not bad.’
‘See you lit up Manhattan last night.’ The man, who’s wearing chef’s pants and a white T-shirt, punches Ethan jokingly on the chest. ‘Surprised your head still fits through the door.’
Ethan laughs. ‘Benji, this is Alicia. My cousin Benji, here, happens to make the best burgers in town.’
‘Think you might be biased there.’ Benji grins, but reaches across and shakes my hand. ‘Though they are pretty damned good. Nice to meet you, Alicia.’
‘Likewise.’
Benji nods towards a table at the back. ‘You want coffee? Beer?’
‘Coffee.’ Ethan nods. ‘Ally?’
‘Same. Thank you.’
He nods and moves through the restaurant, talking to a waitress as he goes. Our coffee appears almost instantly and I curl my hands around the cup.
‘Your cousin seems nice,’ I say, with my head tilted to one side. ‘This is his place?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s our place.’
Benji is back, handing menus over. Ethan makes no effort to pick his up. I don’t either.
‘Your place?’ I prompt, studying Ethan.
‘Yeah. Ash bought it years ago. Got me in to run it.’
‘Huh. So you’re a restaurateur-cum-rock-star, huh? Is there no end to your talents?’
Benji laughs. ‘I like her. She’s got your measure.’
‘She has that,’ Ethan agrees.
‘Okay, what’ll you two have?’
‘The usual,’ Ethan says.
‘I’ll have whatever you recommend.’
‘Great.’
Benji winks and moves away, leaving us alone once more.
Something heavy lodges in my chest. I can’t explain it, but then I realise. Ethan is renovating a house in New York. He owns this restaurant and his cousin works here. He’s not leaving in a week—not really. Not for good.
He’ll be back again soon and then what?
Will he call me?
What will I say?
Would I see him again?
I stare out of the window.
Worse. What if he doesn’t? What if I find out through Twitter that he’s here and he hasn’t thought to get in touch?
And that second option is far more likely, isn’t it?
It doesn’t matter. Because this is what I want.
This is all we are.
And so long as I remember that I’ll be fine. He can call. Or he can not call. It changes nothing about what we are. Nothing.
* * *
Hours later, back in his hotel suite, I look at him and feel myself smile. Without my consent. He’s reading.
Yes. Ethan panty-melting-superstar Ash reads—and not just anything. It’s Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo.
‘Good book?’
He presses a finger into the page and looks up at me, his own smile crooked in response. ‘It’s one of my favourites.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘I just... I don’t know.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He grins, putting the book down and moving closer. ‘You’re surprised I can actually read, right?’
‘No!’ I deny, my cheeks burning. ‘It’s just not very...rock and roll.’
‘So what do you think I do with my spare time? Snort cocaine and trash hotel rooms?’
I wrinkle my nose. If anything, he’s a complete neat freak. Oh, he’s sexily dishevelled in his personal appearance, but he makes his own bed each morning and tidies up after himself.
‘I don’t really like the whole housekeeping thing,’ he said, when I asked him about it.
‘Yeah. Sleep with supermodels—that kind of thing.’
He laughs. ‘How boring the reality must seem.’
I grin. ‘You’re not boring, Mr Ash.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, Miss Douglas.’
He moves closer and so do I, drawn as ever by that inevitable pull. He smells insanely good. It is dark outside now, and his hotel room is warm. I know I will need to leave soon, get home and get ready for work the next day, but I am reluctant to bring our weekend to an end.
I should be worried by that, but I cling to our agreement and trust in my own strength. He’ll go, and I’ll be fine.
I ignore the strange presentiment of emptiness that fills me.
‘I have a question for you.’
I lift myself up and straddle him, smiling at his immediate look of desire. At the way I feel him harden beneath me.
‘I’m yours. Ask me anything.’
My laugh is soft and husky. ‘Anything? Hmm... Maybe I don’t want to waste that on this question.’
‘You can ask me anything. Again and again.’
His generosity, sweetness and openness are beautiful.
But didn’t I feel that about Jeremy?
‘You’re amazing. I can’t believe I got so lucky as to have you in my life. Ally, marry me. Please. I want to spend every morning waking up beside you...’
God!
An acidic taste permeates my mouth. I focus on Ethan beneath me. Ethan who’s holding my hands. Ethan who’s pulling me into his world with no expectations or strings.
‘Where does Grayson go when you’re up here?’
‘Grayson?’ He pulls a face. ‘I don’t know if I want to think about him right now.’
I grin. ‘Sorry. I was just wondering if he’s, like, sitting outside the door, waiting for you to call.’
‘He has a room on the same floor,’ Ethan says after a small beat of time.
‘And how does it work? If you go out you text him and he has to stop whatever he’s doing...?’
‘I try to give him notice if I’m changing the schedule.’
‘And he’s your bodyguard?’
‘Yeah. Technically he’s my driver, but he’s ex-military, ex-cop, a martial arts expert. You wouldn’t want to be on his bad side.’
‘Wow. I had no idea.’
‘Plus, I trust him completely. He’s been with me for over seven years.’
‘He doesn’t have family?’
Ethan shakes his head slowly. ‘He was married once.’
‘It didn’t work out?’
Ethan looks over my shoulder. And despite the fact that he said I could ask him anything I sense that he’s feeling awkward about betraying his friend’s trust.
I lean forward and hover my lips just above his. Close enough that I can feel his breath but not touching him. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s not my business.’
‘It’s no secret,’ he murmurs, not attempting to bring himself closer.
But then he shifts his hips a little, so I feel his hard cock between my legs. Desire shreds me. How can I want him again? All we have done today is touch, kiss, feel, make love, doze, eat and repeat. Suddenly the thought of going days without being able to have him whenever I want is anathema.
All the more reason for me to get the hell out of Dodge and prove to myself that I can live without the wonder that is Ethan Ash.
‘She died.’
It’s ice water on my flaming needs. ‘What? Who?’
‘Grayson’s wife. Matilda. A car crash.’
‘Oh, God. That’s awful.’
‘Yeah. It was years ago. Before I knew him. But so far as I know he hasn’t dated since.’
‘That’s so sad,’ I murmur, thinking of Grayson’s faithfulness to his wife.
‘There’s no guarantees in life, right? You just have to make the most of what you’ve got. Every day.’
He buzzes his lips over mine, lightly, sweetly, just so I get the faintest hint of him before he pulls away.
‘Speaking of Grayson—are we going to be needing him tonight?’
I arch a brow. ‘Threesomes aren’t really my thing.’
‘Then you’re missing out,’ he teases. ‘I meant do we need him to take you home?’
I draw my brows together and his finger lifts to the little divot between my eyes.
‘I want you to stay,’ he pushes on, the words roughened, ‘but I presume you’re going to do your disappearing act sometime soon?’
‘Right.’
I nod, but my body is screaming at me to stop being so stupid. What harm will it cause if I’m late in tomorrow? I can stay here. Spend the night in his bed and then cab it home early. It’s no biggie, right?
But then what? Two nights in a row is habit-forming, and I will not let this become a habit. Even if Ethan Ash is more addictive than any substance on earth.
‘I’ll get a cab,’ I murmur.
‘Stay.’ He pushes his fingers into my hair and draws my mouth to his, his kiss one of promise and pleasure.
I surrender to it on a sigh. ‘A little longer.’
A little longer...
I fall into his kiss. I have been wearing a shirt of his all day. He pushes at the fabric, lifting it up, and I obligingly raise my arms, making it easier, so that I am straddling him wearing only a flimsy pair of lace panties. His mouth drops to my breasts and I cry out as his tongue rolls over the flesh that is already so sensitive. His fingers run down my back and there is something so reverential in his touch, as though I am an object he was born to worship, that I feel a strange emotion lurch inside me.
His hands slip beneath the elastic of my underwear and he cups my ass, pulling me closer to him. I press myself down. Were it not for the barrier of clothing we would be together, and I want that.
I want everything.
It is never enough.
Should I have known that from the beginning?
Should I have understood how dangerous it is to play with fire?
Probably.
Would it have stopped me?
I doubt it.
This is as inevitable as day following night, autumn embracing winter. I want him, but I want more than that. I want to make him lose his mind as much as I am losing mine.
I pull away from him with regret, and he makes a sound of frustrated confusion. I drop to the floor between his legs and loosen his belt, my eyes holding his as I pull it from his jeans and then unclasp his button and zip.
He knows what’s about to happen and he doesn’t move. He stares at me, as lost in the moment as I am.
He is rock-hard and I bring my mouth to his tip first, encircling him with my tongue, my eyes locked to his as I tease him with what’s to follow.
He keeps his hands by his sides, balled into fists, his expression one of determination.
‘Something wrong?’ I smile as I take him deeper, rolling my tongue over him as I guide him to the back of my mouth.
‘Fuck...’ He shakes his head.
But as I move my mouth up and down, he moans my real name, low in his throat.
‘Alicia... You are perfect.’
I’m not.
We’re not.
But this is.
Our bodies might well have been forged with this in mind. They are perfectly designed to please one another. It has never been like this for me. Not with anyone before Jeremy, and not even with Jeremy.
What we shared was good once. But it was borne of love and friendship and knowing one another.
This is different.
It’s indefinable.
At least for me.
I wonder if it has ever been like this for him. If it was like this with Sienna. Or anyone else. Has there been anyone else for him?
I know they were together a long time...
These are questions I want answered, but not now. Now I want to experience this moment to the full.
I bring one hand to cup him around his base and I roll him further back in my mouth. He lifts his hands over his head and slides lower on the sofa, giving me more access, and I taste a hint of him in my mouth.
He drops a hand to my hair, and another to my shoulder, and I know why. He wants me to stop before he finishes.
But the power is thrilling. I take him deeper and he lets out a groan. And then he moves, sliding across the sofa, out of my grip. He moves quickly, dropping onto the floor beside me at first, and then he is behind me. He straddles me, his chest to my back, the weight of his body bending me over the sofa so that my face is flat against the cushions. He’s so deep, and my body welcomes him as its master returning.
His fingers find my nipples and he teases them, pulling at them, cupping my breasts, his fingers callused against my smooth skin.
I swear low in my throat as he pushes into me again, harder, faster, and then he drops one hand to my clit and moves his fingers over me. I explode. It is fast, it is intense, and I am loud. I cry out with no care for who hears me. Pleasure rips through me like a hurricane.
I kneel straight up, arching my back, but that just gives him better access. To my breasts, to my body, and then his mouth is on my throat, kissing me as his harder-than-granite dick controls me.
I am his.
I am completely his.
‘Your mouth on me is the fucking hottest thing ever.’
‘No...’ I shake my head, trying to find his lips. It’s too awkward the way I’m positioned. ‘This is.’
He laughs—a sound of dangerous desire. He brings his hand around to my ass and then to the small of my back. He presses down with enough strength to bend me over the sofa again. I do not even dream of resisting. I am on a ride of his creation and it is a good ride.
The best.
He holds my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh in a way that is deliciously painful, and he drives into me, thrusting and finding every single nerve inside me. My body is melting. His fingers run over my flesh, across the curves of my ass, and I moan as he moves inside me.
Heaven is a place and it’s right here—in the middle of the Gramercy Park Hotel.
* * *
It is midnight when I surface from the haze of our sensual exploration. My body is heavy with lust and liquid heat. Ethan is asleep beside me. I roll over, staring at him, watching the rhythmic intake of his breath, the gentle exhalations, and I smile at his beauty in repose. At the way he looks younger somehow. And so handsome.
I don’t want to go. Which is all the more reason why I must.
I slide sideways slowly, pulling myself out from under his arm. I’m almost there. But when I’m right at the edge of the bed his fingers clamp around my upper arm and he pulls himself closer to me.
‘Stay, baby,’ he murmurs, the words husky and coated in sleep and dreams.
‘I can’t.’ I shouldn’t.
‘Stay.’ His eyes blink open groggily and land on my face.
And I weaken completely. I nod, smile and wriggle a little closer.
One more night won’t hurt.
