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I force myself out of my Ethan-induced stupor. “Maybe, but you’re totally right. It’s a disaster. ”
“Not a disaster. It just needs—” He breaks off when he sees my face. My lips are pursed, my brows raised, and I know I look as skeptical as I feel. “Okay, yeah. It’s a disaster. But I can fix it. ”
“What if I don’t want you to fix it?”
He pauses in his sand-packing activities, his indigo eyes suddenly as deep and fathomless as the Pacific licking at my toes. “Then I should probably walk away now. I’m not very good at sitting by and doing nothing when I know there’s a problem—and how to fix it. ”
Suddenly, I’m having a hard time swallowing—or breathing. My throat is tight, my hands shaky. He’s talking about a lot more than the stupid sand castle, and we both know it.
“I’m not broken. ” The words come out sounding harsh and jagged.
“Oh, baby. ” He reaches for my hand, rubs his thumb gently over my knuckles. “I know that. I just wasn’t sure you did. ”
I rip my eyes from his. I don’t know what to say to that—don’t know if there’s anything to say—but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He goes back to calmly filling the bucket and I…I go back to watching Ethan.
He looks good. Really good. He’s dressed casually tonight, in a pair of worn jeans and a Kings of Leon T-shirt that I can’t help coveting a little. They’ve been my favorite band for pretty much ever, though I’ve never gotten the chance to see them in person. Tickets cost too much, and besides, I’m not sure I could handle that many people crowded around me. I tend to freak out in big groups.
Another phobia that started when I was fifteen.
Another phobia that I can lay at Brandon’s door.
I cut off that train of thought before it can go any further down the tracks—and before it can derail me completely. I’m here on this beautiful beach with my best friend and a very attractive man, who just happens to be looking at me like he wants to lick me all over. My present is good. No reason to dwell on a past I can’t change.
As he turns the bucket over and the sand slides out effortlessly—into what I’m sure is to be the first turret of our sand castle—I think about his present yesterday. About the tea bags and the other stuff. It seems churlish not to mention it, especially when he won’t get my response until tomorrow.
“Thank you for the seashell,” I tell him, even as I follow his lead and start patting at the sand turret, making sure it is so tightly packed that it won’t collapse this time. Then again, it probably wouldn’t dare. Not with CEO, genius, and all-around Renaissance man Ethan Frost watching it like a hawk.
He freezes in place. It’s just for a second, but I’m watching him so closely that I can’t help but notice it. His eyes jerk back up to mine, and they’re burning hot, the amusement and control I’m so used to seeing there is suddenly gone.
“You liked it?”
“I loved it. Loved everything, really. ”
He relaxes then. “Even the blender?”
I think about the package he’s going to get tomorrow and can’t help but smile. Nothing to do now but dodge the question. “You seem oddly attached to that blender. ”
“A good blender is an important tool for any kitchen. ”
I laugh. “Now you sound like Martha Stewart. ”
“You sound like Melissa Etheridge. ” This time when he touches me, it’s to stroke one gentle finger down the front of my throat. “I love your voice. All jagged edges and rock and roll. It’s sexy as hell. ”
I don’t answer him this time. I can’t. I’ve completely forgotten how to breathe. If I duck my chin just a little, my lips will be against his hand and I’ll be kissing him. It’s all the invitation he needs, and for a moment I’m tempted. Really tempted.
I want to kiss him again, want to taste him and touch him and let him do the same to me.
I crave him on his knees in front of me, crave that wicked tongue of his once again taking me over the edge of orgasm.
I need to do the same to him, need to take him in my mouth, in my body, and give him the same pleasure he gave me.
Except I don’t know how to do that. How to do any of that. Not without inviting the memories back. Not without freezing up completely.
I break eye contact, pull away. Concentrate on the sand castle with a vengeance. Ethan doesn’t say anything, just goes back to building the second turret. But for a moment—just a moment—his fingers brush against, tangle with, hold my own, and it feels better than it has any right to.
This whole thing feels better than it has any right to, and I know I’m getting in over my head. Not like that’s a surprise. When I put that envelope together for Ethan this morning, I knew things would get complicated quickly. But now that it’s starting, now that he’s here and he’s interested and I’m interested despite the warning bells clanging in my head, it’s all just a little overwhelming. Like I’m walking a circus high wire without a net and any small miscalculation will send me hurtling toward utter disaster. Utter ruin.
Except I’m already there, and I have been for five long, interminable years. I’ve spent those years just trying to survive, and I have. It’s been no small feat, not when some days it takes every ounce of energy I have just to get out of bed, go to class, build some semblance of a life for myself.
