Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
“Yes, baby, we are.”
Baby.
Sweetheart.
He uses these endearments for me that, from someone else, wouldn’t mean anything, but from him, they set my belly fluttering.
“And I’m really happy you’re coming with me, Sofia,” he says, pushing to his feet and offering me his hand.
I accept, pressing my palm to his, oh so aware of his long fingers closing around mine as he eases me to my feet. “You and me,” he murmurs. “I think I could get used to us. The question is, can you?”
“I’m afraid that might be a little too easy,” I dare to admit, wondering how his version of “us” might vary from mine. Us in bed could well be what he means, but for me, he might not just drag me under the sheets. He might drag me to heartache.
“But that’s just it,” he says. “Easy isn’t so easy to find. It just feels like it is when you happen upon it.”
“Are we? Easy? We’ve had some drama.”
“Nothing we can’t work out naked,” he assures me, his eyes as warm as my cheeks feel. “Let’s go get your passport so you’re free to roam the world with me. And get naked sooner than later.” His hand settles on my waist, his fingers flexing intimately. “But that’s not all we are.”
It is everything I want to hear from him, but it’s also terrifying. When the clothes come off, it’s just two people enjoying each other. Once it’s more, it’s romance and happiness.
Or pain.
He picks up my cup and hands it to me before reaching for his own, and his hand settles on my lower back as he guides me into the main coffee shop. Of course, Martha and her barista gape as we walk by, and I can feel how eager they are to know our story.
But right now, we’re only on about page ten of the book of us, and I don’t need Martha, or anyone else, trying to write our ending.
Chapter Sixteen
Sofia
The sunshine is warm, but the heat between me and Ethan is scorching. The short walk to the area where his car and driver are waiting for us is eternal, and the silence between us far more comfortable than the heat of our hands pressed together. I’m going to burn alive by the time we’re finally alone. Of course, I’m not surprised that he’s using a car service. Ethan’s a busy, powerful man, and I squash any thought of how different our lives are at this point. I can’t become a major success if I don’t believe I belong in the realm of that possibility.
Once we’re outside the black SUV that is now our limo, a forty-something man in jeans and a colored shirt opens our door for us. Paul is tall and fit and has an Army vibe that has me thinking he’s a driver and bodyguard, but I don’t ask. Not now, when I’m climbing in the backseat with Ethan right behind me. By the time I’m settled in, Ethan is beside me, his hand settling on my thigh while the door slams shut. “Always traveling in style,” I say, teasing him a bit.
“Yes, we are,” he assures me. “And you should get used to it. You don’t just have me by your side, demanding the best for you; you have Zoey. And Zoey is you. You’re going to be a star, sweetheart. Watch and see.”
Zoey is me. Only, she is my mother, and that’s a huge reason for me to make this brand a star. I’d say as much, but Paul is already joining us. Besides, my cellphone rings with my distributor’s number and I end up going through our upcoming orders with him, a bit concerned about overordering. I whisper an explanation of my call to Ethan, who is not only completely understanding, he pulls out his MacBook, and dives into some work of his own.
I’m finally off my call, and Ethan has put away his computer but taken a call of his own, and I know immediately it’s either his father or his brother. “That’s not happening,” he says and listens a moment, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might buckle. “No. If that’s what you want, I’m out.” Another second passes and turns into a good twenty before Ethan says, “I’m okay with that. That’s what you don’t seem to understand. I’ve hit my limit.” A beat, and then, “Try me.”
Whoever he’s speaking with must hang up because Ethan lowers his phone and slips it inside his jacket pocket, and while he might appear cool and calm on the outside, I can feel the hurricane inside him. I reach over and dare to press my hand to his thigh. He doesn’t look at me, but he covers my hand with his and eases lower in his seat, letting his head rest on the cushion behind him, his eyes shut. He’s not just affected by that conversation; he’s coming out of his skin affected. I am certain that this man, who is all about control, would be pacing if he were outside this vehicle. I wish I knew what had happened, but more so I wish beyond words that I could say or do something to help, but we’re not alone.