Page 166 of When We Ignite
That was fine as long as I got to climb in his bed every night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ASH
Ethan was wreaking havoc on my life.
I had no idea how or when this had turned into what it was. One day, I was stealing glances at his toned legs in tennis shorts; now, I was watching those same legs flex as he strolled leisurely across the room. The vast ocean framed him perfectly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a backdrop that only amplified the absurdity of how much I wanted him. He wore nothing but briefs, his shorter hair in an endearing mess—partly from sleep, partly from the rough tumble we’d shared in bed after dinner last night.
We had arrived at the hotel just before sunset and set out for a drink and a stroll. Dinner had been at a restaurant I loved, and for once, we had been eating among other people—a refreshing change for us. I was on the phone when the server approached, speaking in a heavy Spanish accent. He had asked Ethan if he knew what I wanted to drink, phrasing it in a way that made my stomach drop.
“Do you know what your father would like to drink?”
Ethan’s eyes had widened comically, his lips pressing together in a desperate attempt to contain his laughter. I had opened my mouth to correct the man, but Ethan had placed a hand on my arm to stop me.
“Macallan, neat,” he had said with impressive composure. The moment the server had turned, Ethan burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to keep it quiet.
I had shaken my head, hiding my own smile as I returned to my call. But Ethan hadn’t let it go. Every time the server came by, he had referred to me as “Dad,” and, in one particularly disturbing moment, “Daddy.”
By the end of dinner, we had both been full and a little tipsy. On our way out, Ethan had stopped me at the door. He had tugged on my shirt, pulled me down for a kiss—bold, unapologetic—and then turned back toward the restaurant, winking at the dumbfounded server.
Back at the hotel, we had barely made it through a quick shower before stumbling into bed. We couldn’t stop laughing, the alcohol making us giddy and uncoordinated. And then Ethan, with that wicked, mischievous smile of his, had leaned in close, tugging on my neck, and whispered, “Fuck me, Daddy.”
That word was now ruined forever.
Now, here we were—the morning after. Ethan was walking around the room, completely at ease in his skin, and I wanted nothing more than to steal him away and keep him here with me forever. It had been less than twenty-four hours, and I was having the best time I’d had in years.
And it wasn’t just the sex. God, the sex was phenomenal—better than I ever could have imagined. But it was more than that. It washim.It was being with him, laughing with him, sitting together on the terrace sharing a smoke. It was coming back to the house and finding him there, waiting for me, like he belonged there.
I fucking loved it. All of it.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this close to another person.
And yet, all of this—this connection, this ridiculous joy—had to be with the nineteen-year-old brother of my brother’s fiancée. Anyone else in the world, and it wouldn’t have been such a goddamn tragedy. But it was Ethan, and I knew I had to end it and break his heart in the process.
I could see how fast he was falling for me, and I did nothing to stop it. In fact, I kept giving him exactly what he wanted. I couldn’t help it. I loved the way his face softened when I spoke to him, how he reached for my touch like it was instinct, and how willingly he came to me when I beckoned. I loved how sharp his humor was getting, how proud he looked every time he made me laugh.
I didn’t know what was happening to me.
All I knew was that I never wanted him to stop looking at me like that—like I was his entire world.
“Do you have to work today?” Ethan asked, the curve of his back looking sinful as he looked over his shoulder.
I nodded regretfully.“I have a couple of meetings and then I’m all yours,” I promised.
“You always say that, and then it’s nine at night, you’re still on your phone, and I’m bored out of my mind,” he countered, rolling his eyes.
I smiled and walked over to him, placing my hands on his shoulders and sliding them down his arms. “Yes, but you’re in Barcelona now—no getting bored here.”
Ethan stepped back, leaning into me, his back pressing against my chest. “Are you going to be in a good mood when you get back?”
I frowned, caught off guard. “What?”
“You’ve been in a shitty mood lately,” he deadpanned.
I sighed, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck. “Sorry about that, darling,” I said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before attempting to step back.
But Ethan grabbed my hand, holding me there. “Are you doing okay?”
