Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
That’s the guy I just had a whole thing with.
The best sex of my life with a mister I can’t ever have for real. Also, my best friend’s brother.
Oh my God.
What am I doing?
And he saw all of me, too.
The stretch marks on my thighs, on my breasts, on my sides.
At least I think he did, when I can still feel the phantom imprint of his hands all over me.
They were everywhere, dueling beasts hell-bent on extracting pleasure.
I sit up slowly, taking in the room. It’s definitely empty and it’s still dark outside.
I slept away the afternoon and we’re well into night.
Well, shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Where is Ethan, though?
He said something about trying to get the kiss out of his mind when we had sex, so he’s probably busy regretting this. I wonder if he’s fled halfway across the country on that fancy jet, desperate to pretend this never happened.
Argh.
He probably didn’t even mean for it to happen.
Maybe he’s in a dry spell between girls or he’s actually honoring this engagement and staying celibate for me.
Maybe he was just horny and I was just accessible.
Maybe he’s wondering how he can ever smooth this over.
Maybe he’ll make me sign a shiny new nondisclosure agreement so no one will ever find out about the atrocity.
Or maybe he was so disgusted when he woke up and saw me that he couldn’t bear to share the same oxygen.
Maybe I’m being a ginormous idiot.
Better to face the music sooner rather than later, I guess.
The visceral regret that rips the air from your lungs.
The wedding people left a robe hanging over the back of the door.
I get up and slip it over my shoulders, wrapping the belt securely around my waist so there’s no skin visible. Then I push open the door.
And sniff.
Because, unless I’m very much mistaken, that’s—buttered lobster?
But there’s no mistaking that smell.
Confused, I pad downstairs toward the kitchen, winding through the cavernous house.
Ethan stands in front of the stove in a pair of shorts and nothing else, humming to himself as he cooks.
On the floor by his feet, Ares looks up, thumping his tail a few times when he sees me.
Am I still asleep and dreaming?
This isn’t really happening.
Ethan Blackthorn is half-naked and cooking dinner? And singing to himself?
No flipping way.
I have to be asleep.
“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, gesturing to a chair by the island. “Great timing. Just finishing up. Should only be a few more minutes.”
“…you’re cooking dinner?” I say flatly, like I can’t believe my eyes.
He sends me a scolding glance.
“I’m not my parents, Pages. I don’t employ home chefs unless I’m hosting a large dinner party or a cocktail social for work. That rarely happens here. Restaurants are more practical, but when it’s just me, I rarely eat out.”
“Right,” I say, because there are absolutely no words coming right now.
“I figured you might’ve worked up an appetite after—that fuck.” His arrogant smirk cuts me in two.
Yes, that fuck.
God, this is so surreal.
I sit quietly, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he plates up food, feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality. And I guess it’s a universe where literally everything is turned on its head.
Ethan smiles.
Somehow, we’ve had sex and he’s still here. He’s not fleeing the building like a man on fire with a swarm of killer bees descending.
The only thing that feels like it’s the same is me, because no matter how nice Ethan is, I’m still plagued with insecurities, uncertainties, doubts.
Like wondering how he can throw together dinner like nothing happened.
“Thanks. Smells incredible,” I say when he delivers me my plate. It’s a buttery garlic lobster pasta with a cucumber-tomato salad on the side, doused in some vinaigrette.
“Hope you’re still a lobster fan. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed since you never left the state.” He sits next to me and bites into a succulent piece of claw meat.
“Yeah. No, still a big lobster fan like any Mainer. I guess I’m just…” I sneak a glance through my eyelashes. “I thought we should talk.”
“Okay. Talk.” He keeps chewing.
“About what happened, I mean.”
“I was there, Pages. Go on,” he says, chewing more slowly this time.
“Are you, um… okay with everything? You’re not worried or anything?”
“Worried we fucked?” he asks matter-of-factly. “No. More like fucking ecstatic.”
“Ecstatic?” My brain scrambles to keep up.
“Sure. The closer we get, the easier it’ll be to pull this off seamlessly. There’s no harm in being believable. Also, we need a sexual outlet if we’re going to survive more than six months together. That’s only practical, and if we keep it in-house, that’s a lot less complicated.” He takes a bite and chews happily, totally unbothered.
“An outlet,” I repeat.
He’s obliterated my entire vocabulary.
“We’re engaged, aren’t we? I’m not about to go prowling after other women in town or anywhere else. And I know you wouldn’t bring another man around while the knot’s tied.” His eyes boil with jealousy.