Page 5 of The Silent Hour

He tilted his head, and his gaze swept over me—a slow assessment that made heat prickle up the back of my neck.

"You never gave me your address. So, I made an executive decision."

I peeked at him over the pillow, my voice muffled by down feathers. "To kidnap me to your penthouse?"

"I have no need to kidnap a woman," he countered, his voice dropping even lower, smooth and unbothered.

He didn’t move from where he stood, but his presence seemed to fill the space between us. "I don’t take advantage, and for the record, I like my women awake, sober, and aware so they remember every minute of our time together."

"Is that a double entendre?" I waved a hand weakly, wincing at the dull ache that traveled up my arm. "It's too early for this...I think."

"It's nine-thirty," he stated, as if that settled everything. He gestured toward the tray. "I figured you could eat, shower, pull yourself together. Then we'll decide what to do from there."

I squinted at him through the thrumming behind my eyes. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I never said I'd spend the day with you," I managed, my voice still rough with sleep and last night's rum. "I don't even know who you are."

"I'm your number seven, Ethan. You're Julia, who I let sleep in my bed while I took the sofa. Think of it as repaying me.”

“That is not—wait. Latoya,” I blurted, the name a sudden flare in my hazy mind. “My friend. She was in those red-bottom heels, has dark skin and long dark brown hair. Five-foot-nine pure legs and enough attitude to level a city block. She had on a little black dress. You know who I mean, right. Where is she?”

Latoya was my anchor. My loudest cheerleader, my fiercest protector. She was the kind of friend who’d physically wedge herself between me and trouble, even if trouble looked like it bench-pressed sedans for fun. Drunk or sober, she never let me drift too far.

Ethan leaned against a dresser so polished it looked liquid; arms folded over his chest. The wood was a deep, almost black mahogany, carved with subtle art deco lines. “Drooling into a five-hundred-thread-count pillow in the guest room,” he answered, his tone dry as desert air.

A laugh bubbled up in my throat, and I pressed my lips tight to keep it in. Poor Toya. She’d probably wake with one lash hanging by a thread, glitter smudged under her eyes, blinking up at some vaulted ceiling wondering what fresh reality this was.

“The other one left with her future husband not long after we got here,” he added, a slight shrug lifting one shoulder. “Turns out I know him. Small world.”

Small world indeed. I glanced down at the t-shirt pooling at my thighs. "You could've taken us to a hotel."

"First I was a kidnapper—" he tilted his head, "—and now I look like a man who abandons drunk women at hotel front desks at two in the morning?"

I laughed at that. "Fair point, but why would you even want to spend the day with me?"

He considered me for a moment. "Why wouldn't I? You're beautiful—genuinely, not just in the way that's easy to say. You're funny. Even half-slurring your words last night, I could tell there was something behind your eyes worth knowing."

The complement landed somewhere it shouldn't have. "Oh... thanks?"

What the fuck is wrong with me? Heat crawled up the back of my neck and I felt it reach my face before I could do a single thing about it. I am Julia Kovalenko. I do not get flustered or dick shy over a man.

A low chuckle. "Eat. Take the medicine." He nodded toward the far door. "Spare toothbrush is in the bathroom through there. Towels are on the rack."

He had me at toothbrush. I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cool floor under my bare feet, smooth and grounding.

"Fuck," I muttered.

Ethan's brows shot up. "Interesting language."

"Not really," I mumbled, pressing the heels of my hands into my eye sockets.

"I don't mind a few fucks every now and again. Some occasions call for it. Other occasions call for a lot of fucks. However, let me at least take you out and spoil you first."

I almost told him to shut up out of reflex, the way I did with Toya when she got going, but then I really looked at him. His smile wasn't restrained this time. It was wide and unguarded, pulling at something in his whole face, and it carved deep dimples into both cheeks. How had I missed those?

Stay focused, sis. Focus.