Page 85 of A Certain Step
“Cute, cute, cute. But a friendly reminder that I’m still in the room, and I’m not getting off this couch. You two can go elsewhere if need be,” Sahar added.
Shaking her head with a grin, Willa then shimmied her feet into her ankle boots. “You need to go change out of your sweats. Sam said he wanted us there at least half an hour early. We need to leave in ten minutes if we’re going to make it.”
Sahar bounced off the couch. “Oh shit. You’re right.”
Willa ambled over to where Ethan sat and snaked her arm around his neck. She lowered herself onto his lap, legs folded together, likely to keep her skirt from rising too much. His arm circled her waist, and his other hand dropped gradually against the top of her knee, moving higher with languid caresses.
He took in the hypnotizing scent of her perfume—reveled in her nearness. “This skirt is going to torture me all night, you know that?”
She raised her unoccupied hand to brush a strand of hair back from his forehead. “And that’s why you get a few minutes now to make up for me robbing you earlier.”
Ethan drew his fingers closer to her thigh. “So thoughtful. So unaware of how far gone I am that a few minutes will never be enough.”
She smiled indolently, lashes darting up and down. “Patience is a virtue.” Tipping his chin up, she pressed her mouth onto his, the gloss from her lips catching on.
He repeated the words she’d once spoken back to her. “No, patience is life’s most enraging plot device.”
Willa guffawed. “What if I tell you I have a surprise for you, and it’s one I know you’ll appreciate? Can you be patient, then?”
“Anything for you,” he croaked, his hand still roaming her legs, touching, kneading, and worshiping the parts that were bare to him. Away from their respective houses and the theatre, he couldn’t show physical affection. They had no idea how many fans would show up. He had to get everything—or as much as he could—out of his system until they were back in close quarters again.
“Have you always been a thigh man?” she asked.
He squeezed her flesh demonstratively. “Never knew I was one until I touched yours.”
She shook her head, an adorable smile on full display for him. “What’s so special about them?”
He shut his eyes, fingers tucked in between her soft skin. “They’re yours,” he answered candidly.
She kissed his lips again, then wiped the lingering gloss off with the pad of her thumb. He stared at her, still in awe that she was his.
“Ready, lovebirds?” Sahar called out, popping out of her room.
Willa sighed against his arms and passed a look to him. “No,” she said in a voice so low he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it. She lifted herself from his lap. Ethan rose afterward, taking her in his arms for a quick hug and a peck along the side of her temple.
Out there, they couldn’t be a couple. Out there, he had to master levels of control he wasn’t sure he possessed.
28
WILLA
There was no doubt in Willa’s mind that she wanted more with Ethan—more of his body, his heart, his mind. She couldn’t get enough of him, understanding well enough the novelty of their honeymoon stage, but knowing that it was far beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Desires she had never felt before hit her at maximum speed. Her skin prickled with every touch, wanting more of him in the places where she ached for his attention. The things she saw in her dreams and pictured when she was alone in her bedroom.
And she knew where he stood. He was waiting for her. In that regard, the ball was entirely in her court, and she was ready to shoot her shot, land the three-pointer, or whatever it was that they called it.
She forced her attention back to Ethan and Sahar, who were deep in conversation about linen as a fabric. She had been so zoned out that she wasn’t even sure how it started.
God, she wanted to reach over and hold Ethan’s hand, walk down the street proclaiming that he was hers, and she was his. But secrecy had also been her decision, and it was one she needed to see through until she was ready for their relationship to be publicized. Things were finally looking up for her—everything made sense. Her anxieties had given her a brief and surprising respite, allowing her to bask in the joy of being beside a man she adored. Still, she was terrified of public opinion.
The truth was, maybe people would equate their intimacy with friendship. She could put her arm around his waist, and it’d be fine. Who’d bat an eyelash? But they’d be lying if someone were to call them out on it.
These small, intimate touches were no longer between best friends who shared an easy rapport but two people who cared about each other far more.
“Wills,” he called out, nudging her out of her head.
She looked over at them. “Hmm.”
“What plant does linen come from?” Sahar asked.
