Page 128 of When We Ignite
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ASH
If I tried to pinpoint what it was, I wouldn’t be able to say. Sitting across from Ethan, watching him listen to the conversation around him but not fully engaging, I searched for an answer.
His skin was smooth and fair, clean-shaven, with thick, perfectly curved brows that framed those eyes. Ethan’s were striking—not just because of their pale-blue hue. They always held a quiet kindness, even when he was angry, his eyes betrayed him. The same thing happened with his lips, which naturally pulled at the corners. That shy smile of his was priceless. When it appeared, his dimple would deepen in his left cheek, and his bone structure seemed to sharpen, his cheekbones looking higher, fuller somehow. His jaw would tighten, leading the eye to the subtle cleft in his chin. And that was just his face.
I took a sip of my drink, my mind wandering to the curve of his spine as he’d arched over my desk, the breathtaking flex of his strong shoulders as his palms pressed into the wood to hold his weight. He had dimples on his other cheeks too. I adjusted myself as discreetly as possible, praying no one at the dinner table noticed me blatantly leering at him.
I had no idea why I was so drawn to Ethan. It felt like a magnetic pull—a need to touch him, to press my lips to every inch of his skin. It was overwhelming. Maybe it had to do with the wait. Aside from Chris a while ago, I’d gone without for longer than I could remember. It had been years, perhaps, since I’d waited this long to sleep with someone. Maybe that was why I felt like I was ready to devour him. And the fact that he’d just asked me to, at the worst possible time—before this fucking family dinner—only made it worse. If it hadn’t been for this, I’d have said yes in a heartbeat, and we’d probably still be tangled up together right now.
Every time our eyes met, I caught the faint blush over his cheeks, and my ability to follow even the simplest conversation evaporated. Henry had been right—I was acting like a randy teenager. By the time we arrived at the house, the hour-long ride had been a blur of stolen touches and Ethan’s lips imprinted on my brain. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for him, pulling him closer, over and over again. It was addictive—Ethan’s lack of resistance.
Henry cleared his throat loudly, snapping me back to reality. I turned toward the sound, catching the pointed look he shot me, nodding toward my right. My father sat beside me, his expression unreadable. I quickly pulled my thumb from my mouth, where I’d been biting it without realizing.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked, trying to mask my distraction.
My father raised a disapproving brow, shaking his head. “The hotel in Tribeca.”
I nodded, regaining my composure. “Warren already okayed the development with the contractor. They’re starting on Wednesday.”
The deal had come out of nowhere but that was fine. I hadn’t really paid much attention to it.
“Earlier than expected. That’s good, Sebastian,” my father said, his tone almost approving.
The tight knot in my chest eased slightly.
“The projected returns on the investment are excellent. It was a smart move. And we have Oli to thank for that,” our father said, placing a hand on Oliver’s shoulder.
The knot in my chest returned with a vengeance, this time laced with a sting of cold betrayal. I leaned back in my chair, meeting Oliver’s eyes. He looked guilty.
“Oli must be a real estate savant—mere days into the company and already pulling off miracle deals,” I said, my tone icy.
Oliver’s eyes widened, darting toward our father nervously.
“He has strong connections,” my father said dismissively.
I let out a bitter laugh, glancing at Henry, who shook his head at me in warning. I ignored him. “Or maybe Warren hasn’t been instructed to sabotage his every move. Tell me, Oli, where exactly did the funds for this buy-in come from? Redirected, perhaps?” The sting of betrayal burned hotter as I watched Oliver hesitate.
“It was a sound investment,” my father interjected before Oliver could respond. “Solid.”
Oliver shook his head, barely perceptibly. “We decided to backtrack on Georgia—just temporarily?—”
“I fucking knew it,” I muttered under my breath, gripping the edge of the table.
“Sebastian, we’ve discussed this,” my father began.
“Does anyone need a refill?” Henry cut in loudly. “Ash? Wine?”
I ignored him, my focus entirely on my father. “When exactly was this call made? Because, as thefucking CEOof this company, I’m informed of all major decisions at the seven a.m. briefing every day, and I’ve heardnothingto that effect. Convenient, isn’t it, that Georgia—a project I’ve been advocating for—was the one sacrificed? Were you planning on filling me in, or is my input no longer required?” My voice was tight, brimming with restrained fury.
“This isn’t the time or place for this conversation,” my father said, his tone even but no less condescending.
“You’re damn right it’s not. The time for this conversation was four days ago, before you authorized it behind my back.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled child, Sebastian. Take the loss with dignity,” he said, his calm delivery slicing deeper than if he’d raised his voice.
I pushed my chair back, my fists clenched. My eyes sought Ethan instinctively, and I caught him watching my father with barely disguised contempt. The sight only added fuel to the fire raging inside me.
