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“How long has it been?” Jeffrey’s measured voice. “Years?”
“Two years.”
“You’re not a monk, Ethan. Things are not the same anymore.”
“I wanted her.”
“I know.”
“I wish I knew what the triggers are. They’re not the same anymore.”
There’s that word again – ‘triggers’. The one in the diary.
Jeffrey says, “Indeed. You can only try . . . and find out for yourself.”
“But what if – ?”
“Don’t think about it. I will know what to do.”
A pregnant pause stretches the air.
“Did you hear something?” Ethan says.
I freeze and try to melt into the wall.
After a long while, Jeffrey says, “I’ll prepare dinner. Your favorite scampi. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah.” I can hear Ethan’s voice smiling. He says, “Do you mind bringing it up to my room? I don’t feel like facing her.”
“I understand.”
My gut wrenches a little to hear this. My mind in turmoil, I detach my body from the wall and quietly scurry upstairs.
11
Ethan did not come down for dinner. I sit alone at the table, disconsolate, wondering how the hell I got myself into this mess. I’m not supposed to feel anything for my subjects. But I knew, even before I came to Kelowna, that I would not be able to completely separate myself from my teenage object of adoration.
Only, he is no longer David Kinney – the man boy who filled my fantasies all those years ago. I am infatuated with Ethan Greene, the man he is today.
I lie in my bed. It is dark. The clock on the wall ticks softly, like a time bomb.
I get up. I am dressed in my nightgown – a sheer, faux silk number from Victoria’s Secret. I have a mission. I am going to set my assignment back on track.
I’m going to read Ethan Greene’s diary.
After that, if he wants me gone from the house, I will go to Aberdeen and track down that hooker called Marla Sanchez. And then I will pay a visit to the police to find out exactly what they were investigating Ethan Greene for.
My feet trawl the carpet of the dark corridor. The window at the end portrays a pale moon hidden by wispy clouds. The moon gives me just enough light to find the door of the study.
I try the handle, and it resists three quarters of the way.
The door is locked.
I furrow my brow. Does Ethan suspect I have been going through his things? I recall his tale about the man who owned this house previously who killed himself behind these very walls – in that very room. Did he hang himself from the lamp in the ceiling? Was it a gunshot to the head? I didn’t get the chance to ask Ethan and he didn’t volunteer.
I turn away from the study. My restlessness will not allow me to sleep for a long, long while. My gaze is drawn towards a white rectangle down the corridor – the door to Ethan’s bedroom. Like a magnet, I am drawn to it.
I shut my eyes and open them again. My pulse thrums like a hummingbird’s wings.
Be bold, Ginny.
My feet pad on their own volition to his door. I raise my fist to knock, and then think the better of it. My hand closes around the doorknob instead. Why does he have a knob for this room and an old-fashioned handle for his study?
The knob turns fully and does not resist.
My heart fluttering in my throat, I push the door open.
The room is lighted only by a single lamp on the bedside table. I have never been in Ethan’s bedroom before.
Ethan is lying in bed, covered by a white sheet. His shoulders and chest are bare, and I don’t know if he’s wearing anything else underneath. Like the one in my bedroom, his bed has four posts and a canopy that falls around it in waves. Its sleeves are tied back to the posts by golden tassels.
He does not seem unduly alarmed that I am here. His features are serene, almost as though he is expecting me. His liquid eyes gaze at me as I enter and softly close the door behind me. Perhaps he has worked out his inner demons where I am concerned. But then, I can never be sure.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t at dinner tonight. I wasn’t feeling well.”
“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”
Well, this is certainly awkward. Then I remember what he told Jeffrey: I wanted her. That conviction that he was speaking about me gives my feet the courage to move towards his bed. He doesn’t stop me, and he never takes his eyes off me either. I can see my own desire mirrored on his face.
He wants me all right.
And I want him. Desperately. With all the heat between my thighs.
I am on the bed before I can stop myself, and he is not stopping me. He holds his arms out to me and I go to them. We are a tangle of entwined limbs before I can register what is happening. He’s kissing me and I’m kissing him – long-drawn, passionate, sucking kisses. All tongue and meshed lips and taste.
