His brows lift a hair. He doesn’t speak—he never wants to influence me by accident. But he’s watching me with that quiet, consuming intensity that could melt steel.
“I’m not going back to L.A.,” I say softly. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
Ethan doesn’t say anything at first.
He never does — the man could win awards for strategic silence, but the smile he’d been trying to hide tugs again, small but real, like he can’t help it.
His arms tighten just a fraction around my waist…and then his thumb slips beneath the hem of his shirt I’m wearing and brushes the bare skin of my hip.
My whole pulse shivers.
Yeah. That’s definitely a reaction.
I swallow, eyes locked on him, pretending I’m not melting like a coward.
But then… a sound. A soft exhale, almost a laugh.
“So you’re staying,” he murmurs against my shoulder, “and making my life complicated.”
I jab my fist into his ribs—not hard, just enough to tell him I heard the smile in his voice.
“In a good way,” he adds quickly, hands tightening on my hips like he’s anchoring me to him. “Most days.”
A laugh escapes me—tiny, breathy, surprised. God, I needed that.
The lake glitters in front of us, sunlight dancing like it’s showing off. Somewhere, a bird chirps. Somewhere deeper inside me, something unclenches.
I lean into him without thinking. “You like complicated,” I say.
“I likeyou,” he corrects, voice low, honest in that infuriatingly simple way he has. “Complicated comes with the package.”
My throat burns.
My chest does something stupid and hopeful.
“So you’re not kicking me out anytime soon?” I ask, trying to make it light but feeling the weight of it anyway.
His thumb sweeps my hip again—slow, intentional.
“Lucky,” he murmurs, “you’re not going anywhere.”
And somehow… that doesn’t scare me. It feels like breathing.
He dips his head before I can say anything, kissing me slowly at first — steady, deliberate, like he’s reminding himself he can take his time with me now. But I’m the one who loses patience. I fist the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer, pressing my body into his, needing the heat, the weight, him.
He answers instantly, his mouth deepening the kiss, his hand sliding under the hem of his shirt on me — warm fingers skimming up my thigh, tracing the curve of my hip, higher. My breath hitches when his thumb grazes the edge of my panties.
“Ethan…” I whisper into his mouth, not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.
His other hand cups the side of my jaw, tilting my face up. The kiss turns hungry, like he’s been holding himself on a short leash for days and finally lets it slip through his fingers. My hands roam over his shoulders, the hard plane of his chest, the nape of his neck where he’s always warm. He makes a low sound when I tug him closer again, a sound that vibrates straight through me.
The deck feels too open, the world too bright, but his body is all shadow and heat and familiarity. And for the first time since the trunk, since the forest, since the hands that grabbed me in the dark — I feel alive instead of afraid.
He presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice rough.
I shake my head, sliding my hands up his back. “Not today.”
His smile is small, crooked, and dangerous in the best way.
