Page 4 of My Enemy, My Obsession

“No,” I say, and I can feel myself relaxing into the moment and the man. He’s interesting and not nearly as intimidating as his naysayers claim. “I don’t really travel much, but I’m sure you have stories from all around the world.”

“I do, but tonight is about you, not me. And since you haven’t been here before and don’t travel much, which means you won’t likely be back anytime soon, you have to try all the local favorites. I know the event didn’t feed you well. And I don’t care if you’re stuffed.” He motions to the waiter, who hurries to his side.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dalton.”

“She’s a first-timer,” Ethan says, smiling in my direction. “Can you bring us a sampling of all the local favorites?”

“Everything?” the waiter queries.

“Everything you think is a must-have,” Ethan confirms.

The waiter eyes our table with a smile. “I think you’ll need a bigger table. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Ethan says good-naturedly. “Move us wherever you need to move us.” He glances at me. “That is, if it’s okay with the lady here?”

“Of course,” I agree, shocked that he’s even considered my opinion.

“I’ll get that going right away,” the waiter confirms. “Anything else?”

“I’ll take a Macallan 25, neat,” Ethan says. “And thank you.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter replies. “You got it. I’ll be right back with your beverage, sir.” He hurries away.

Ethan’s intelligent green eyes focus on me now, a curve to his lips. “This will be fun.”

And over when I tell him the truth. Maybe if I find just the right moment, it won’t be as bad as I fear. For now, I say, “I ate a lot of bread.”

“Just taste everything. It’s an experience. You won’t be here long. You have to enjoy it.”

He’s really handsome, and kind of adorable. “This is very sweet of you.”

He laughs, and it’s this rich, low rumble from deep in his chest. “No one calls me sweet.”

“Well, to be honest, I saw that on your Wikipedia page.” I tilt my head. “Why is that?”

“I’m tough with high expectations and brutally honest. But wouldn’t you rather me be honest than just blow smoke up your ass and go cold on you?”

“Actually, yes. I hate fake people. There’s a lot of them in this world,” I add, but not without guilt. He still thinks I’m Zoey. And I don’t seem to want to tell him the truth right now. Because when I do, I fear he’ll see an agenda related to my father’s business and walk away. And contrary to all logic, considering how he treated my father, who I love and adore, I want him to stay.

Chapter Four

Ethan Dalton is sexin a suit, and I don’t remember any single man in my lifetime that has ever affected me quite like this one. I’m aware of how he looks, how he moves, with both grace and arrogance, and the way the sea breeze mixes with his cologne and creates something more alluring than any scent should be.

Sitting across from him, I watch him sip from his whiskey glass, and I’m acutely aware of the bob of his thickly muscled neck, and the fact that I drank from that glass,his glass, where his mouth presently rests. He finishes his sip, his tongue licking over his bottom lip, and it’s impossible for me to ignore the idea of him licking me. I swallow hard, and he offers me his glass again. I draw in a breath and exhale with a lift of my hand, “No, thank you.”

His eyes light with amusement. “Why? Are you driving?”

“No,” I say and I find myself laughing softly, the sound echoing the erotic hum in the air between us, darn near suffocating in its existence. “But walking can be pretty risky if you’re me,” I add. “It’s the truth. I could never walk a runway wearing one of my designs. I’d trip. It’s justthe ‘me’ curse.”

Now,helaughs, and the masculine rumble vibrates through me, and I think I might melt right here in my chair.He’s not for me, I whisper in my mind. There are connections between him and me that assure this is a reality. I know this, I do, so why am I still sitting here?

Because he’s like a drug and I can’t help myself, I answer silently.

“Did you always want to be a designer?” he asks, as if he really cares who I am, which he will never truly know. I won’t let him.

But I find myself replying easily, comfortable with him in ways I would not expect to be, considering his money and power.

“Since I was a little kid obsessed with Barbie. I actually started drafting designs at age ten. My mother was so proud. She showed them to the world, and I swear she would have sent out public announcements when I got into design school had I let her.”

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