“Were you driving?” he asked.
I brushed a few wayward tears from my cheeks.
She was picking me up from a party I’d snuck out to. Someone had pulled out drugs, and it got a little wild and I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. Of being watched. Uncomfortable and wanting to leave, I’d rung her and she’d come to collect me. The pickup had hit us three blocks from home. If I hadn’t gone, or if I’d called a cab instead, or just stayed there, she’d still be alive today. Nerida didn’t deserve to lose her mother, nor my father his wife. Sometimes—all the time—I wished the truck had just slammed into my side.
I shook my head. “No.”
A few minutes later we pulled off the main road onto a long driveway. The house, like Katrina, screamed wealth. It was timber-clad, painted crisp white, and sprawling. In front, in a sandstone circle, a water feature cascaded softly over two naked figures. Short, vibrant-green lawns spread out on either side of the premises. Neat garden beds, full of blossoming roses and purple flowers, lined the front of the house. The covered front porch housed a white patio setting built for four. On either sideof the black double doors, sandstone pots with green plants that looked like giant lollipops.
Ethan leaped out of the car. Wearing an above the knee dress wasn’t the wisest move in hindsight, in my rush to get out before he could get to my side and catch an eyeful of my thighs, somehow, I managed to hit my knee on the door. Hissing a curse, I hopped to the side, snapping the door shut, my face flushing as I turned to face him.
He chuckled, his eyes sparkled with amusement, so captivating I felt my breath catch in my throat. I stared at him, my head a little dizzy, the ground a little shaky under my feet.
He held out his arm. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to the house.
I jerked out of my stupor, ignoring his arm as I strode toward the door. He caught up quickly. I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, and I ignored that too.
“Ethan, Amy, come through.” Katrina greeted us on the front porch, wearing neat black slacks and a pretty blush blouse. She ushered us in through a snow-white hallway. It had Edwardian architraves and an exquisitely detailed round molding on the ceiling. A glinting black ball etched a pretty mosaic of light on the walls. I grew up in some homes that could be classified as hovels more than houses. My parents’ house was older, but neat and tidy. Tom’s was modern, but this place looked like it was straight out of the pages of a magazine.
Katrina ushered us into a room with white linen couches. Bob was chatting to two other people in front of a fireplace. I was introduced to her husband, Robert, and Bob’s wife, Marg.
Robert was a plain man, shorter than his wife, with brown hair and a potbelly. He seemed nice, warm and inviting, but even so, Katrina must have been quite the catch for him all those years ago.
“Amy, it’s so lovely to meet you,” Marg said with a smile. “Bob has told me all about you. Thank you so much for helping him out—he’s getting a little past it now.”
As much as Bob reminded me of an eccentric, loving grandpa, Marg was homely to the point of dowdiness, and equally as nice. Her hair was permed, silver-colored strands climbed through her auburn curls, but her skin was wrinkle free.
“She’s proving to be quite the asset. Even I didn’t know we served up balls.” Bob snorted a chuckle.
Shock dropped my jaw open. Color bloomed on my cheeks. Apparently, there was nothing wrong with his hearing. “Oh, I . . . he was trying to steal,” I muttered to the floor.
Marg let out a honking laugh, and Ethan grinned, but didn’t look surprised, like he knew the story already. Katrina looked befuddled as she glanced between all of us.
“I look forward to hearing the story,” she said.
I threw a warning look at Ethan and mouthed, “No.”
Mischief glinted in his eyes.
Katrina indicated toward the next room with her hand. “Everyone, please come through. Dinner is ready.”
The formal dining room was the epitome of fresh luxury. A white ornate mantel surrounded a huge open fireplace in the corner—unlit, as it was way too warm for a fire tonight. In the center stood a long white wooden table, adorned with pretty white flowers and fine white china, white napkins, and what looked like real crystal glasses. Tall, old-fashioned gold candelabras sat at each end of the table, flickering silently. A floor-to-ceiling window provided a lovely view across the perfectly manicured green lawn.
“Amy, please sit,” Robert said, pulling out a chair, and Ethan slid himself onto the chair next to mine.
“It looks beautiful, Katrina,” I said, impressed by the setting, and mildly unsettled by the perfection of it all.
“Thank you, Amy. I do love entertaining.” She smiled, sliding into her chair.
My belly rumbled as a lady with blond hair tightly rolled into a neat bun swept in, carrying a large pot. She ladled a steaming bowl of pumpkin soup in front of each of us.
Katrina linked hands with Robert, and Marg linked with Bob and Ethan’s and— Ohshit!
Ethan reached for my hand, and I had no choice but to take it. His palm felt like touching silk. A shock wave reverberated up my arm. Everything sprung to life, my skin tingled, and my heart pitter-pattered.
Katrina said a prayer, but I couldn’t hear it over the rush of blood in my head. Ethan had his head down, his eyes closed, his thick hair tumbling across his forehead. The tingling increased, rushing through my veins, my stomach, between my thighs. I wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, to stare into those eyes as he slipped inside.
He cracked open his eyes and met my gaze. His irises were darker than ordinary, the look was intense, sensual even . . .
