He grunted at me and narrowed his eyes. I could tell he was contemplating if I was serious or not and then he made a sneer and backed off of me. “Cold, English bitch,” he muttered, weaving through the crowd, off to harass some other poor person most likely.
“I’m an American, you ass**le! From the good part of the country!” I yelled at his back before spinning into the hard wall of a male chest. A chest I’d been up against before. A body that carried the scent of pure intoxication for me. Ethan.
He did not look happy as he scowled at the retreating bulk of Big Red and then back at me. Ethan pressed his hand to my back and pushed me toward a table. I could tell he was pissed. But even angry he still looked beautiful in his black t-shirt, dark jeans, grey jacket, and that wickedly serious glare on his face.
“Why are you here, Ethan?”
“It’s a damn good thing I am, isn’t it? That ape was all over you—his mitts on your ass—no telling what he would have tried next!” He glowered at me in the plush seat, his jaw a hard line, his lips set in a slash.
“I believe I handled him very well all on my own—”
Ethan took my face in his hands and kissed me, holding me trapped to his mouth, pushing his tongue in, demanding I allow him access. I moaned and kissed him back, tasting only mint and the faint taste of beer. I still couldn’t believe he was a smoker. I could never smell it on him. Even if I’d wanted to deny his kiss, saying no to Ethan was next to impossible. I always wanted him. He pushed all the right buttons for me and for that reason he was dangerous.
“Look at you,” he said slowly, eyes raking down at my outfit and then back up to my face, “it’s a miracle there aren’t fifty hard-ons trying to get at you.”
“Nope. Just two—Big Red and you.”
“Who?” He narrowed his eyes.
It was my turn to raise a brow at him. “Benny was with me until a few minutes ago, and I’m gonna let that one slide, Ethan. Not sure where to go with it.” I folded my arms beneath my br**sts. “Are you supposed to even be here, Ethan? Better yet, how did you know I was at this particular club? Are you stalking me now?”
He raked a hand through his hair, and looked away from me. A bleached blonde cocktail waitress appeared instantly, blushing and jiggling as she took his drink order. I’m sure Miss-Sex-On-The-Beach wouldn’t bat an eyelash if he asked her to sit on his lap. Seriously, how did he even come to a place like this without women stumbling at his feet?
When Ethan asked me if I wanted something from the bar I simply shook my head and lifted the drink Benny had bought me. The waitress gave me a look as she took off, hips swinging.
“What do I do for a living, Brynne?” His voice was steely and I had to give him credit for not looking at her ass considering she practically waved it at him like the Olympic flag, and the fact he was speaking toward the dance floor, sweeping the room with his eyes.
“You own Blackstone Security International, Ltd. and have the tools at your disposal to stalk your dates?” I said sarcastically, tilting my head in question.
He spun back to me and flicked his eyes over my body. “Oh, we’re well past you being just a date, my beauty.” He leaned in, his lips at my ear. “When we f**ked in my bed you passed into uncharted territory—trust me on that one.”
My heart stuttered at the look on his face and the words he’d just spoken. Instantly wet for him, I tried to steer the conversation away from the sexual. I don’t know why I bothered though; Ethan probably knew I was panting for him as we sat together.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Clarkson’s credit card popped up. Only the work of a moment.” He reached for my hand and caressed it with his thumb. “Don’t be angry at me for coming. I would have just stayed back if you were with your friends but that f**king cowboy put his hands on you.” Ethan brought my hand up to his lips, the brush of his goatee a touch I was beginning to love and take for granted. “I wanted to see you having fun. You looked so sad the last time I saw you in that cab.”
Ethan smiled and his whole face changed.
“I love when you do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“When you kiss my hand.”
He looked down at my hand, still clasped in his. “It’s a very lovely hand, and I would be devastated if anything ever managed to harm it.”
His eyes returned to mine again but he mostly stayed quiet and watched me, rubbing circles with his thumb or pulling my hand up to his lips when he wanted to. Ethan needed to touch. It was just something he did that I understood about him. And oddly it comforted me. I couldn’t explain it really but I knew how he made me feel when he touched me. I suppose it was something I should talk to Dr. Roswell about at my next appointment.
Ethan’s choice of words struck me as unusual though. He was definitely overprotective, like he worried about me getting hurt. That train pulled into the station six years ago, Ethan.
Benny and Gaby showed up, did the meet and greet with Ethan, and then slipped away about as inconspicuous as frat boys at a kegger thinking they were playing it cool. Whatever. I’m sure they would stay up half the night speculating anyway.
When his drink arrived he used his left hand to hold it. Ethan never let go of my right one. Not until he put me in his car to drive me home.
He kept looking over at me in my seat, pulling my eyes to his repeatedly; arousing me to the point I felt the urge to squirm to relieve the ache between my legs.
“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” I finally asked.