Page 50 of My Enemy, My Obsession

He runs companies. I just try to run my life the best I can.

His cellphone rings, and I watch as he removes it from his pocket, and “Senior” flashes on the screen. There’s a noticeable tension in Ethan as he punches decline. A few seconds pass and a text pings. His jaw clenches as he hits the message retrieval and reads the communication. I swear his teeth all but grind together.

He types a reply and then slides his phone into his pocket.

I don’t think that message was work-related. I think it was about what happened in the restaurant with his brother and Anna, but I can’t be sure. And I don’t know him well enough to ask questions. Or maybe I do. I’m just not comfortable overstepping. Instead, I simply spread my fingers over his thigh where my hand rests, the hard muscle of his leg flexing beneath my touch; the freedom between us to allow my action is something new and thrilling.

He reacts, covering my hand with his, and when my eyes meet his, the warmth that spreads between us is downright addictive. How did this man go from my enemy tothis?He reaches up and strokes a wayward strand of my hair behind my ear, the touch tender and downright shiver-inducing.

“God, woman,” he murmurs softly, and he leans in and brushes his lips over mine, the caress of our mouths sending warmth spreading low in my belly, my nipples puckering. But this is so much more than a physical reaction. There is something intense about my connection to this man that reenforces how dangerous the mix of business and pleasure is between us, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m tormented by the idea of it. I want the opportunity for my brand. I want him. How can those two things really succeed together?

Rain pitter patters on the windows, and it’s somehow ridiculously romantic.

We arrive at the hotel, and Ethan’s phone rings again. He declines the call and then exits the vehicle, offering me his hand as he guides me to the sidewalk. His arm slides around my shoulders, our bodies nestled closely, his sheltering mine, as we rush through the rain toward the door, laughing as we step inside the chilly lobby.

His arm is back around me as we head toward the elevator, and he leans in close and whispers, “You’re wet.”

My lips curve as I glance up at him and dare to reply with, “I think that’s your fault.”

He laughs, and oh, his laugh is just so damn addictive to me—warm, and low, and rich. He punches the elevator call button, and I’m ridiculously obsessed with his hands—strong and well-manicured, and, oh, so skilled at pleasure. He uses one of those hands to capture my own and leads me into the car, only we are not alone for long. A small group of four people rush inside before the doors shut. Ethan pulls me to the corner, my back to his front and his hands on my shoulders.

The sexual heat between us is combustible, broken up only slightly when his phone rings yet again. And yet again, he declines the call. My mind goes a little wild over who he might be avoiding. His father? His brother? Anna? I’m frustrated at the pinch of jealousy that follows that idea, when Ethan has given me no reason to feel such a thing. I shove aside any such feeling, reveling instead in the crazy, amazing connection blossoming between me and Ethan.

The elevator halts on our floor, and Ethan pushes off the wall, shifts me beside him, and then, with my hand tucked into his, he announces, “Our floor,” as the group parts, and he leads me out of the car. There’s an anxiousness between us as we walk down the hallway toward the room, but damn it, his phone rings again. “Ethan, whoever that is really wants to talk to you. It’s okay if you need to—”

“I don’t,” he says, sliding the card in front of the panel besideour door.

A moment later, we’re inside, and I’m against the wall with him tugging away my bag and setting it on the ground before his hands settle on my hips, his legs framing my legs. “Why would you turn down the contract?”

“Look at us, Ethan. How can we do this and me do that?”

“I made it work. I disconnected me from the decision, and you were fine with that. What did Harper say to you that changed that?”

“Nothing.”

“Sofia—”

“Nothing bad. She said I was the first person you’d let in for a long time. And, Ethan, I do not want to have you feel like it’s for the wrong reasons. I know you say you don’t, but the only way you’ll really know is if I walk away.”

“This is your career, your dream. Why would you do that?”

“After losing my mother, I know people matter first.”

“I’m not letting you walk away from this. This is how this works. We stop what we are doing, and you take the deal. Or you take it, and we don’t. Decide now.” With that, he releases me and places several wide and miserable steps between us.

Chapter Forty-One

He stands there, justout of reach, looking too handsome to be a real flesh and blood man, a billionaire known far and wide, who has the power of many, while I have the power of just me. The only reason I’m on solid ground with Ethan at all right now is that the wall behind me holds me there. My fingers curl into my palms, nails scraping the skin. “I really know you’re trying to protect me, Ethan, but it feels like manipulation.”

“If you know I’m protecting you, you know I’m not manipulating you.” His tone is unreadable, the sunshine splaying through the open curtain, burning amber through the sea blue of his expectant stare.

But if he wants me to simply say he’s right and I’m wrong, that’s not where this is headed. “Do I?” I challenge. “Because I feel like I can’t win right now.”

“And yet, you can,” he argues, his tone somehow calculated but not cold. Not even a little cold. I have a sense that he’s as emotionally invested in my answers as I am his, and the idea would have been unfathomable only days before. “You can have everything you want,Sofia,” he continues, “but you are choosing otherwise. It’s almost as if you’re afraid of success. I will not be your excuse to let fear win.”

I bristle and push off the wall, poking at the air in a downward motion. “I’m not afraid of success.”

His brow quirks ever so slightly. “Aren’t you?”

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