Holding my gaze, he slowly puts down his fork, before his hand disappears under the tablecloth. I’m frozen still, like a deer in the headlights, when his fingertips graze over the top of my thigh. Goosebumps erupt on my skin, traveling from where he’s touching me toward my core, and yet, I just look at him, my breathing going hard. Why am I not yelling at him?
Obviously taking my lack of reaction as a green light, Ethan’s nostrils flare before he walks his fingers up, ever so slowly, toward where the edge of my panties would be. If I were wearing any. The material of this dress is way too unforgiving to allow for panty lines.
The pads of his fingers gently glide over my pubic bone, and I have to bite my lower lip to swallow the moan rising in my throat. His eyes grow heavy-lidded at my reaction, but he doesn’t show any surprise at the thin material being the only thing separating his skin from mine. Like he expected it. But the only person I’ve told is Seb, so…
Oh no, Seb.
How can I let Ethan touch me when I have such an awesome man in my life?
I stand up so fast the chair tips over, drawing everyone’s attention. I don’t dare twist to see if there’s a wet spot on my dress, but I have to get out of here.
“Barbs? What’s going on?” Emily asks, her gray eyes blinking up at me.
I wrap my fingers around the charm on my necklace, grounding myself, then take a deep breath before I answer, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.
“Sorry about that,” I say breezily. “Thought I felt a spider on my ankle, you know how I feel about anything that has more than four legs.” Or Ethan Kane’s face. “I’m, umm… I’ll be right back.”
Ethan waves me away when I try to pick up my chair, giving me an exasperated look I can’t keep my eyes on for too long, because my cheeks already feel as bright as a stoplight. Before he has my chair upright, I’m already halfway across the dining room, taking a beeline toward the toilets.
“You’re quiet tonight,”Seb says over the phone. “Didn’t have fun at the rehearsal dinner?”
I’m on the couch, staring at the ceiling. My phone’s on my stomach, Seb’s low voice coming through the speaker like a massage for my ears. Still, I’m unsettled. We’ve been talking for days now, almost all the time. What are we? We haven’t even been on a date. So why do I feel like I cheated?
“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I ask instead of answering. He’s in London for work. It’s even later there than it is here in New York, and it’s the reason we haven’t met up yet. I can’t believe Iran into a guy who lives in Manhattan in a massive multiplayer online role-playing game.
“I waited up to hear from you,” he says quietly, warming me from the inside out. Can he be any more perfect? “Did you get any compliments for the dress?”
This time it’s my cheeks that burn. I hear Ethan’s voice in my head:“You look ravishing.”
“Um, yeah,” I answer, my voice a bit squeaky. “Dress was a hit.”
“I’m glad, little bee,” he rumbles, making my belly quiver in response. “Anytime you need a second opinion when shopping, I’ll be there for you. Virtually, of course.”
I roll my lips together, gathering the courage to voice my desires. “What if it wasn’t just virtually?” I finally ask, sounding a bit meek—a lot meeker than I usually let myself sound.
Seb takes a breath before responding. “How about after the wedding? I should be back right about then.”
“Really?” I breathe. Butterflies take flight in my stomach—I feel sixteen again.
“Yeah. I’ll take you to that new fusion restaurant that got featured in Vogue Living. Or maybe I can cook.”
My brows climb up. “You cook?” I ask in disbelief.
His warm chuckle sends a pulse of lust straight to my clit. For a moment, I’m back at the rehearsal dinner with Ethan’s hand on my pussy. Then Seb speaks up again.
“I’ve been known to whip something up, bee. Not gonna lie, though, I never bother when it’s just me.” He takes a pause before continuing. “But for you? I’ll slave in the kitchen all day with a smile. Naked. Well, maybe an apron. Hot oil splatter and boners don’t mix.”
My laughter comes out choked with surprise. He has an outrageous, boyish sense of humor, a bit like—no.
“I’ll look forward to that,” I say happily. “But I should grab a shower and call it a night now.” Midnight has long come and gone.
“I guess I should start my day then,” he answers with a yawn. “It’s morning in London.”
I can’t help teasing him. “You sound like you’re ready to end it, not start it.”
He laughs again, then I hear the rustle of bedding. He must be getting up then.
“Ending it or starting it, as long as it’s with you, I’ll look forward to the next one.”
