Opening my eyes, I find a freshly showered Ethan looming over me in a tight t-shirt, his hand gentle against my cheek. A glance at the dark windows tells me I’ve slept through yet another day.
There’s a light feminine voice laughing and looking over his shoulder, I see a beautiful girl with long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing jean shorts and a t-shirt with a university logo.She’s putting packaged meals in the fridge and looking over her shoulder at Ethan.
I want to throw her out the window. A third-story fall would just like, break a leg, right? My weird bolt of aggressive jealousy is startling. I’m notthatgirl. Besides, Ethan isn’t mine. So why I am so pissed off, watching her sway over to us, eyes fixed on him?
“You’re all set up, then,” she says cheerfully, gaze still fixed on Ethan. He looks at her briefly over his shoulder and nods.
“Thank ya, goodnight Freya.”
She looks a little disappointed by his dismissal, but she nods and slinks away, throwing a flirty glance at an expressionless Patrick as he holds the elevator door open for her.
“That’s your professional chef?” I ask, my tone far more waspish than is warranted, “I’m going to eat your portions in case she poisoned mine.” There’s a quickly smothered chuckle from Patrick and when I look over, he’s standing by the elevator, hands folded and staring in the opposite direction.
“Are you jealous, darlin’?” Ethan sounds unreasonably pleased by this.
“No!” I scoff, “I just don’t want to get between you and one of your many conquests.”
Oh, my god why can’t I shut up?
His full lips twitch in his beard and I just want to smack him. “That would be my second cousin, Kenna MacTavish. No matter what ya think of my clan, we dinna marry relatives.”
“Oh. Well… I’m kind of an asshole, then,” I sigh, rubbing my eyes.
“I enjoyed it,” he says with a diabolical little wink. “Just relax, I’ll plate up dinner and bring it over. Patrick? Give me a hand.”
They talk in low, concerned tones as they pile three bowls full of mussels and risotto. Setting it in front of me, Ethan proclaims, “This is a specialty here in Edinburgh, mussels in a white wine sauce with sausage.” Patrick puts a loaf of bread in the middle of the coffee table and they dig in.
Whatever they were concerned about earlier doesn’t seem to be hindering their appetite. Ethan eats voraciously, and it reminds me with acute clarity of how he dove in between my legs and made me scream as I came that night after the auction. Watching him consume his dinner is unsettlingly sexy.
“Do ya not like mussels?” Ethan asks. I realize my fork’s poised halfway to my mouth, the little shellfish dripping butter onto my borrowed t-shirt.
“Oh! No, I love them,” I squeak, popping the mussel into my mouth. Patrick’s got his head down, steadily eating and pretending we’re not there. Yeah, I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is, either.
They reminisce about past adventures in Edinburgh, Ethan kindly pausing to explain who they’re talking about when referring to their partners in crime. It’s all cousins or second cousins or random friends who are as close as clan… I realize that he’s just as protective and cautious about his people as I am, even though my little family has shrunk to Nate, Carmella, and me.
“Why is it that most of these stories seem to involve the two of you getting someone else out of trouble?” I ask.
“That’s only because the boss here is too slippery to get caught,” Patrick says.
“Yeah, that tracks,” I laugh.
When I start trying to hide my yawns, Ethan swiftly cleans up the dinner rubble. “It’s time to get ya to bed, lass. Patrick, ya did good work over the last twenty-four hours, and I’m thinking ya could use a break.”
“Ian and Clyde are patrolling the building,” Patrick says, rubbing his eyes, “Bryce and Craig are on exterior watch. Ya may see them on the terrace outside.”
“Excellent.Oidhche Mhath,good night.” Ethan nods, picking me up like I weigh less than the pillow I’m holding.
“Aye,Oidhche Mhathto ya both,” he says, disappearing into the elevator.
The apartment is too quiet, just the two of us as Ethan takes me down the hall. I notice that there’s at least two other bedrooms, but he carries me to the big double door at the end and into what is clearly his master bedroom. The bed is ridiculously huge, a four-poster with a mattress the size of an ocean liner.
“I know you’re a giant,” I say, a bit peevishly, “but is there a reason you need a bed big enough to safely land a 747?”
He gives me the most shameless grin. “Well, I must keep an eye on ya, aye? I’m tired of sleeping in a chair. There’s plenty of room here. Ya need not touch a single toe to mine.”
“Uh, huh,” I eye him distrustfully, “this is for my health.”
“And my lower back,” he retorts.
