Sure enough, Ethan waits for Jose to back out of the room before closing the door behind him. I watch as he locks it this time, and any relief I felt slowly drains away. Because he’s stalking toward me, a long, lean panther of a man whose intentions are clearly written on his face. Intentions that are a long way from honorable.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks after he stops in front of me.
“Hurt?” My mouth is so dry I can barely get the word out.
“Your hip. Where’s the bruise?”
“Oh, right. ” I yank my eyes away from his too-pretty face, gesture awkwardly to the top of my hip. “Here. ”
I try to take the ice pack from him, but he brushes my hand away. Then slowly, gently, presses it to my hip.
His fingers are big and warm where they rest against my waist, a direct contrast to the cold of the ice pack. For long seconds, I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I can’t. Not when he’s so close that I can feel the brush of his hair against my cheek as he tilts his head down to watch what he’s doing.
“Is this the spot?”
“Yes. ” My breath breaks on the single syllable.
His head jerks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. I’ve never seen eyes so intensely blue—or so turbulent, like the storm-tossed Pacific as it beats against the shore.
The way he’s looking at me is overwhelming. Terrifying. Mesmerizing. Like he wants to devour me and at the same time shelter me. I stand frozen—nothing so much as prey to his predator—while I wait to see which instinct will win out.
He lifts his hand to my face, runs his fingers down the line of my jaw. His touch is soft, so soft, and I can’t help myself. I lean into it, press my cheek into the palm of his hand until he’s cupping my face.
The hand on my hip tightens convulsively but then he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. His hand relaxes again, and when he opens his eyes they are filled with unspeakable tenderness.
“Chloe. ” My name sounds almost reverent on his lips.
“Yes?”
“Have dinner with me. ”
“Dinner?”
“Tonight. ” His thumb whispers across my lips. “I want to take you out. ”
I’m so lost in his touch, in the feel of his skin against mine, that I can barely focus on his words. Or on my answer. There’s a part of me that knows that this is a bad idea. That it won’t work out the
way he wants it to. It can’t, not when I’m involved. It’s why I always say no when a man asks me out or when Tori tries to discuss setting me up with someone.
But standing here, wrapped up in Ethan—drowning in him—I want to say yes. I want to go out with him, want to see if he’ll touch me this sweetly, this tenderly, when we’re on a date together. Want to find out if my instincts, which are telling me that I can trust him, are right.
For a moment, just a moment, I turn my face into his hand. Let my lips brush against his surprisingly callused palm. He stiffens—in surprise or arousal or something else entirely, I can’t tell. But before he can say or do anything else, I pull away. And give him the only answer I can.
“No. ”
After all, my instincts may want to trust him, but the rest of me isn’t nearly as easy to impress…or fool.
Chapter Four
Ethan actually jolts a little in surprise at my answer, his brows raising nearly to his hairline. “No?”
It’s like he’s never heard the word before, but I know for a fact that isn’t true. I said it to him myself, just yesterday. Right before I did exactly what he wanted me to.
Color rushes into my cheeks at the thought, even though I know that this time is going to be different. This time I’m not giving in to him. I can’t. No matter how much I ache to do just that.
“No,” I repeat. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not a good idea. ”
At first I think he’s going to argue. He tilts his head to the side, stares at me for long seconds like he’s building an argument in his head. But in the end, all he asks is, “Why?”