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But the questions about getting Asher back won't quiet.
“We'll work it all out, sweetheart,” he promises, pressing the button for the elevator.
“What about Dexter?” I inquire.
“What about him?” mutters Ethan.
“He'll realize I haven't kept my word by not seeing the police or ambulances arrive at the club.”
Ethan's lips draw into a grimace of displeasure. I imagine he understands, as I do, how close they have come to catastrophe.
“For now, Dexter Whitmore has enough on his plate to worry about.”
His words are mysterious, but Ethan doesn't explain further.
It's probably for the best. Just like spending the night at his place. Ever since Brandon proved to me that he can still sneak into the house, I haven't felt safe there.
As soon as we get inside, the lights come on automatically. Ethan dims them to a low glow and turns on the sleek black fireplace before heading to the bar for a drink.
I kick off my shoes and he moves toward me. He hands me a glass of wine and then turns me around.
“Okay,” he starts to say, after taking a swig from his glass. “Let's talk.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I inquire nervously as Ethan removes my jacket.
Down my back, I feel his fingers slide against my skin as they begin to unzip my dress. He takes the garment from me and lets it fall to the floor.
“About what happened. I want to know everything.”
I bite my bottom lip. “I don't know if that's the best thing to do,” I admit.
Ethan patiently loosens my hair. At first it seems to tangle between the braids and bobby pins, but then I find that his fingers have deftly maneuvered through my dark curls.
He removes the accessories and lets my hair fall against my shoulders, arranging a lock behind my ear as he steps closer to me to look into my eyes.
“I want you to be honest with me, Kristine. That you tell me everything that afflicts you.”
“It's too much to tell,” I inquire bitterly, a joke stuck between my lips.
I give Ethan a wistful smile, and he lifts my head.
“We have all night,” he promises.
Sighing, I plop down on the couch, clad only in my underwear, and he sits next to me.
His eyes shine with the glow of fire reflecting off his face. So handsome and so self-confident, he makes me feel safe and, at the same time, terribly guilty for everything that has happened.
I nod and take a sip of red wine, which is refreshing and finally manages to calm my nerves.
“Okay,” I concede.
Slowly, I begin to tell Ethan everything, from Brandon's intrusion into my apartment, to the horrendous treatment I was forced to accept from Dexter.
At first, the words have a hard time getting their way out of my mouth, but as I tell him the whole truth, it slowly becomes easier.
In the end, I find tears sliding down my cheeks. I feel outraged, upset, and used, but first and foremost, very scared.
Ethan runs his fingers patiently up and down my neck. His fingers are like a protective balm that manages to heal me with his mere touch.
