Page 24 of Unless It's You
“Actually, I have another meeting to run to. Can you send me the link?” I nod out the kitchen door and grab my coffee from the dispenser before he can even touch his phone.
But as I spin around and move toward the open doorway from the small kitchen to the hallway, one of my heels catches on the bump between the tiled floor and the rough carpet. My body starts to contort, surely in slow-motion, and I lurch forward, my vanilla latte flying out of my left hand into the hallway, and my torso involuntarily leaning forward to follow.
I’m screaming in my head as I picture the disastrous scene unfolding in front of Ethan. My arms flail and I prepare to land, sprawling, on the crappy corporate carpet. I shall never live this down. I’ll ask Tessa to take me off the account. Hell, I’m just gonna quit and hide in my flat for the rest of my life.
But then strong hands wrap themselves around my body, one on my waist and one farther up, right under my breasts, stopping me mid-air. My hair swishes in front of my face, and I watch the vanilla latte as it crashes to the carpet and splashes everywhere, drops wetting the tops of my feet.
Instead of landing in a spot of old, soggy carpet, I’m pulled up to a standing position by Ethan, his other hand sliding down my torso to settle on my waist. For a century—or maybe seconds—the back of my body is pressed up against the front of his and this time mybodyscreams, not just my head. I basically cease to breathe and can think of nothing but the feel of his hands around my waist and the hardness of his chest against my back. For a second, his beard is pressed to the top of my head and my hairembeds itself in the coarse hairs. I want to reach both my hands behind me and feel the sides of his hips with my fingers. I imagine spinning around and looking up into his eyes, so close to him.
I should be humiliated, not turned on. But for some reason I do not, under any circumstances, want Ethan Fraser to remove his hands from my body. I let myself lean back ever so slightly and I swear I hear him take a ragged breath.
We’ve been here before.
Ethan’s hands shift and then he’s gone, no longer touching me.
Fuck! What am I thinking?I step forward and spin around. Only five seconds have passed. But that’s a lifetime longer than was appropriate to be pressed up against him.
“Are you okay?” Ethan’s voice is off. Deeper. Scratchy.
Maybe he didn’t notice any of the weirdness. Maybe it was all in my head.But Ethan’s face is flushed, and his eyes have a weird glaze over them.Fuck. He totally noticed.His hands are spread, like they are trying to remember the shape of my body.
That’s it. I totally have to resign.
“I’m so sorry. I’m usually not so clumsy.” But I am today, in front of Ethan.
I scoop up the empty coffee cup from the ground, Ethan silently watching.
“I’m gonna get another. See you back there.” I desperately try to dismiss him. He nods and walks away, and I waste a solid ten minutes lingering by the coffee machine, mindlessly scrolling my email and trying to get a hold of myself.
By the time I get back to my desk, Ethan’s gone. I shove my noise-canceling headphones on in case he comes back.
My mind reels, trying to process what just happened. I gotta make sure Ethan and I never touch again. And that guy’s my bucket list advisor?
Damn, but I don’t trust our truce. I don’t trust the way he’sbeen looking at me, or the warm feeling in my core when my eyes lock with his warm brown ones.
But I don’t have to trust him, right? And I definitely don’t have to touch him again.
I hate that I want to.
10
ETHAN
Thursday, 11 July
“Are you ready to talk bucket list?” Stella and I walk side by side under the London Zoo entrance sign.
“Do I have to?”
“Well, if you’d like me to fulfill my advisor duties, then yes. Let me advise you.”
“Ugh.” Stella scans a code from her mobile at the entrance and shrugs off a light white sweater, revealing her sleeveless gray shirt. It’s a rare hot London day, which basically means all the city emerges from their flats and offices and de-clothes. As she pushes through the entrance turnstile, my eyes drift over her sculpted shoulders and the outline of her bra beneath her shirt. She didn’t have a sweater on when I stopped her from falling at the office yesterday. My hands were right there, on her sides, and I imagine them there again, running along the soft fabric, sliding them up her back, feeling that bra line with my fingers.
Fuuuuck.What am I supposed to do when I’m around her? This is unmanageable. And it’s fucking hot out.I roll up my sleeves as far as they’ll go, halfway up my biceps.
I don’t understand a lot of things. Like why I’m attracted to this woman. I tried so hard to squash any feelings I had for her after she got with Ben. I tried to bury them with avoidance by having one-night stands with strangers I’d meet at the pub. It didn’t work.
What’s it about Stella Hart? Is it that she’s off-limits? It must be.
