Page 68 of Recklessly, Wildly Yours

Every muscle in Ethan’s body locks and his voice drops to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates along my skin when he says, “This shit is done, Brandt. There’s nothing left between you and Madeline. If you have anything to say to her again, you’ll do that through her lawyer. And you’d do well to never say anything like that about her again.” He jerks his chin at Tucker. “Now, get out of my sight before I’m tempted to punch the fuck out of you.”

Before I see it coming, Tucker takes a swing at Ethan. He’s unsuccessful, though, because Ethan blocks the punch in time, stopping Tucker’s fist from connecting with his jaw. Ethan slams both his hands to Tucker’s chest and pushes him back again, hard enough this time that Tucker crashes into his car with a heavy thud. Ethan then closes the gap between the two of them and says something to Tucker that I can’t hear.

When he steps away from him, he looks down at me, his expression furious but his eyes gentle for me, grips my hand firmly, and says, “We’re going.” His tone implies that no argument I make will dissuade him.

I don’t have any reason to argue, and when I walk away from Tucker, I do that without so much as one final glance. Ethan’s right: there’s nothing left between Tucker and me. If I never see him again, I’ll be a happy woman.

Ethan ushers me and Leigh into our waiting car that’s parked behind Tucker’s and climbs in after us.

“Wow.” Leigh’s the first to speak as the car starts moving. “Just wow.” Her eyes are wide. “I knew Tucker could be an asshole, but I never knew he could be that much of one.”

Ethan’s watching me closely, his body still strained, his face still tense.

“He never spoke to me like that while we were together,” I say to Leigh, but I’m also getting this out there because I don’t want Ethan to think I would be so stupid as to stay with a man who treated me like that.

Leigh’s phone sounds with a text, then another, and another. She pulls a face. “I imagine you’re about to have another video go viral. And I think I want to withdraw my earlier statement about being okay with Hottie’s high jinks.”

When she shifts her attention to her phone, Ethan places his hand on my thigh and leans in to ask me quietly, “You okay, Miller?”

I look down at his hand. I like it there. I like it a lot. It makes me feel safe for some reason. Like he won’t allow any harm to come to me.

Meeting his gaze, I nod. “Yeah. I’m holding my head high and keeping on going.”

His eyes search mine for a beat, like he’s making sure for himself that I really am okay. “Good.”

With that, the tension eases from his shoulders, from his face, and his mood lightens a little. Not fully, though. I think Tucker really got to him and that it may take him some time to rid his system of that.

“Why are you here?” I cock my head. “And did you actually give up your grandpa ways and go on social media to find me?”

This earns me a smirk. And then his hand comes to the nape of my neck to hold me while he bends his mouth to mine for a very un-Ethan-like quick graze of our lips. “I checked out your Instagram. Found a little thing called Stories.” Another smirk before another brush of his lips over mine. “I had a gut feeling about your ex running into you today.”

His reason for coming is short and sweet but there are a thousand unsaid words sitting between us, along with a million butterflies.

“If we were alone,” I say just loud enough for him to hear, “I would be on your lap right now.”

His grip on my neck tightens. “I’ll take a raincheck on that.”

My gaze drops to his mouth and I think about all the things I want him to do with that mouth tonight.

“Miller,” he growls softly, “Don’t look at me like that.”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and smile as I lift my eyes back to his. “Did I tell you I’m expecting a parcel to arrive today?”

“No.” He keeps watching me, waiting for me to elaborate because he knows I’m going somewhere with this.

I turn into him and place a hand to his chest. “It’ll be filled with panties I know you have a fetish for.”

The lines that crinkle around his eyes are lines I’m beginning to live for. “Red ones?”

“I got you all the colors, Black. We can start with red.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “It’s gonna be a long afternoon thinking about that.”

I pat his chest. “You could distract yourself by learning the meaning of some acronyms. I’ll have Leigh text you a list of the most commonly used ones. It’ll help you keep up in life.”

“Smartass.” But this gets me his mouth again.

When he gives it to me for nowhere near long enough, again, I grumble, “What’s with the quickies? I am not here for them.”

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