Page 62 of Mob Boss's Second Chance

Yet, I’m hesitant to let my guard down.

“Come inside,” I say, stepping back. “Might as well sit down since you came all this way. Mind your step,” I add, pointing to the spilled juice.

Ethan goes to the living room while I linger at the door to catch my breath and process everything. I don’t know what comes next, either.

Do we go back to acting like two people who are inexplicably drawn to each other while ignoring the unspoken? Or is it going to end here, with an apology and a logical goodbye?

Exhaling, I ignore the spill, heading down to face things.

I find Ethan engrossed in a painting hung beside the window in my living room. I was so caught up in the shock of his presence that I didn’t take note of his appearance.

Now that he’s standing with his back to me, I let myself indulge.

The way his broad shoulders stretch beneath the fabric of his dress shirt, the way the muscles shift subtly when he moves. Strength, barely restrained. Power, coiled and ready.

I shouldn’t be looking. I shouldn’t be thinking about how easy it would be to step forward, to press my palm against the solid expanse of his back.

But I do.

Sensing my gaze, he turns.

I’m taken aback at the reaction that floods my body and invades my brain. It’s like a burst of dopamine and adrenaline, the kind that hits you with enough kick that you have to take a minute to breathe.

Sandalwood fills the air, and the intoxicating scent, coupled with his sheer gaze, is enough to leave me disoriented.

“It’s a beautiful painting,” Ethan comments. “Where did you get it?”

“Ah—” I shake my head to clear a path for my thoughts. “Danielle gave it to me as a gift.”

“Oh,” he nods thoughtfully. “Your best friend. It’s a beautiful painting. I have something of the same artist in my house. If you’d like, I could have it delivered to you.”

So this isn’t goodbye?

He tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Who said anything about goodbyes?”

How did he—wait? I smack my forehead. “Did I say that aloud?”

Ethan chuckles. “Maybe? But I’d like to know what you’re thinking, Natalie. I like to listen to you.”

“Nope,” I shake my head, making a line for the couch. “You definitely don’t want to know what I’m thinking. Half the time, it’s stuff about work, and we’re two completely different people.”

He walks over to me and sits down, keeping some distance between us. “That’s not true. We’re alike in some ways.”

I give him a pointed stare with a disbelieving snort that jumps out. “In some ways? Please,” I roll my eyes. “You’re the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, an elusive figure, and someone who I can’t, for the life of me, figure out.”

“What do you want to know about me, Natalie?” Ethan’s voice dips, taking on a velvety, almost teasing edge. His eyes hold a challenge, an invitation. “Ask me anything.”

For a second, I’m tempted. The words sit at the tip of my tongue, questions I’ve held back for so long, but I push them down.

I shake my head. “No.”

He doesn’t accept that answer.

Slowly, he moves closer, bridging the small gap between us. My breath catches as his fingers find mine, his grip gentle yet firm. Without a word, he guides my hand up, pressing my palm against my cheek.

The warmth, the weight of it—it shouldn’t feel like anything. But it does. Even though it’s my hand, it feels like his.

A slow seduction. A caress meant to spark. Ignite. My eyelids flutter, and my lips part slightly, but Ethan watches me.

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