Singer

Life is blissful.

But I try really hard to keep my happy sighs contained. I don’t want to scare Ethan and have him thinking I might be some crazy girl with lofty intentions. That’s the thing with him. He’s temperamental. Not how I originally took him, but the year has changed him. I didn’t know him at all last year, but the wide smile I saw that day has faded over months. Noticeably.

Standing in the living room of this huge apartment, I wonder who tried to extinguish the fire I saw in his eyes the first time we met. Who turned it from a flame to a flicker? From what he’s shared tonight, can I ignite him back to life?

He has trust issues, but he seems to want to trust me. Why? How am I different?

This castle is amazing, but even with him in the other room, I feel so alone in the expansive space. Does it affect him the same way? It seems so opposite of who he’s struggling to be around me. The walls around his heart feel impossible to climb. He’s built them to the sky. But maybe, for me, there’s something hidden, a ladder or a secret staircase that will let me climb inside.

This isn’t a home. This is a place to sleep and eat, stiff like the furniture—sterile—not lived in at all. My apartment has poor lighting, but it’s cozy and comforting.

It’s drafty here. I take a blanket draped over the couch like a designer placed it there when he moved in and it’s not been touched since, and wrap it around me. The T-shirt I stole from a shelf in the closet is not enough to keep me warm.

“I thought we were going to sleep in?” he says across the stark light-colored wood floors.

“Did you miss me?” I turn to look his way.

“I did.” Standing just outside the hall, his incredible upper body is on display. Sleep pants hang low, teasing me with that V made of muscle and dirty thoughts. I lick my bottom lip, and then say, “I’m forever trained to wake up early. My body has set its own alarm clock, but I was hoping you’d get more sleep.”

“I slept. That’s saying something.” His words say everything and mean more to me than he knows. He comes to me, cups my face, and kisses me. “Do you want to try to sleep longer or can I make you coffee?”

“I slept soundly. Coffee please.”

“You got it.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the kitchen.

“I tried to figure out the coffee machine but it’s serious business.”

That makes him chuckle. “What would you like? A latte, espresso, café mocha? It can make practically anything without letting me screw it up too much.”

Setting the blanket over a barstool, I slide onto the large island behind him. I make sure his shirt is pulled low protecting the back of my legs from the cold marble. “Ohh. A café mocha please.”

“You got it.” I watch as he takes milk from the fridge and adds it to the compartment before pushing a combination of different buttons. The machine is off and buzzing when he turns around with a smile on his face.

Content.

He looks content, and content looks so good on him. Casual and relaxed, the burdens he carries not currently a weight on his shoulders. His ease comforts me. When he touches my knees and slides his fingers underneath to tickle, I laugh before I’m pulled to the edge, my legs around his middle. I lift and cross my ankles behind his back and take him by the face. “I like you, Ethan. I hope you’re okay with me telling you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I like you too. A lot.”

His hands warm my hips and if I’m not careful, he’s going to have me orgasming right here on his kitchen island, so I kiss him because nothing sounds more amazing than that right now. Warm hands slink under the T-shirt and around my ass. I’m bare, but he brings me closer until I’m pressed against him.

My body wants his hands all over. I stopped worrying about what he thinks and just let him feel, allowing myself to feel everything he wants to do. When he pushed them inside me last night, he made me come so fast.

I don’t think I’ll last long now, either. Everything about him—from his body to his lips to his words and the way he looks at me—it’s as if he was designed to be my weakness.

I will give in to him every time.

Damn him.

The machine chimes and Ethan pulls back. I like that I affect him. I like watching his chest rise and fall faster than before. I like that he’s disappointed we were interrupted. “You, Ms. Davis, were saved by the bell.”

“Saved from what?” I ask as he turns to retrieve the coffee.

“From being ravaged right here on this cold counter.”

“I’m not happy one bit about being saved now that I know ravaging was on the table.” Literally and figuratively.

He sets the tall mug down next to me. “The table can be arranged.” We both look at the long dining table nearby. “If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“I could be tempte—”

Before I finish my sentence I’m scooped into his arms and carried to the long table. It’s wooden and appears old, but I’m sure he spent a fortune on it like everything else in this penthouse. I’m set down and the blanket is retrieved. He spreads it out and then lifts me on top of it. “We don’t want to risk splinters.”

“That’s for sure.” Our gazes meet. Our smiles lighten. The intensity brewing between us builds as he leans forward, resting his hands on either side of me. Leaning back on my elbows, I close my eyes right before our lips touch. The pressure is light, the feel matching the morning as the sun rises outside the picturesque windows.

My legs are spread, and his fingers gliding up the inside of my thigh. The air is thick with desire, the whole apartment feeling a few degrees hotter. “I think you might even be sexier at sunrise than you are at midnight. I might have to hold on to you for a few days just to see the variance.”

“Like the hours, it’s not about the minutes that make them up, but the moments that make them memorable.” Sitting up, I kiss him. I kiss him because this man is almost too handsome to look at, and his sweet words are arrows of beauty straight to my heart.

When our lips part, he inhales and I think he takes a piece of me with him. “You make me want to experience every second of your day.” The heat of his hand moves to press on my most sensitive area and his fingers begin to circle. My breath is jagged on the tail end of a sharp intake. I lie all the way back, but keep my eyes open, staring at the way he bites his lip as he watches his hands move over me.

When his gaze lifts to mine, I can’t find the normal troubles in his expressive eyes. I suck in a breath. He allows me room to feel instead of think. He allows me to be the woman he believes me to be. Pliable to his touch, but reacting to every coax and caress, I whisper, “I want you inside me.”

“Say it again, Singer. Just for me.”

“It’s only for you.” I push my hair back, feeling restless from the cravings he’s awakening. I repeat it, quieter and heavier this time, just for him again. “I want you inside me, Ethan.”

He pulls the blanket toward him until my knees near the edge, and then kneels before me. “Can you stay still for me?”

I shake my head well aware of my limitations when it comes to this man. “No.”

His laugh is deep, buried in his chest. “Well, try. All right?” This time I nod. “Just lie there and enjoy.”

“What about—”

“Shh.” A large hand takes ownership of my stomach. “I want to do this for you. Will you trust me?”

“I do trust you,” I whisper, but it’s so quiet I doubt he heard. Closing my eyes, I want to silence my racing thoughts.

With his mouth between my legs, my body feels combustible. I’ve never felt more vulnerable than I do right now. This is new.

The vulnerability.

The position.

The man.

The relationship.

I rest my arm over my eyes, hoping to block out my fears. What if he finds out that he’s the first? Should I be doing something? Oh my God. My eyelids close as my back begins to arch. I reach for his head and grasp at his hair, needing something to hold on to, but I need something solid, so I reach to the sides and hold the edge of the table with both hands before I float away.

Ethan secures me to the blanketed surface, but my hips buck involuntarily to the swift swirling of his tongue. As soon as his fingers slide inside, I’m lost to the same oblivion, my body tensing, my voice not my own when I cry his name in ecstasy.

I release the table and let my lifeless body lie in recovery while he kisses up my stomach to my chest, tenting the shirt. When he kisses and licks, naughty man, between my breasts, I laugh. “You are positively great for me, but let me be great for you. Make love to me.”

“Making love isn’t for tabletops.” An eyebrow is cocked. “But fucking is.”

His warm breath sticks to my already dewy skin, and I know the words I chose don’t mean the same thing as what I want. I may not have been with many guys, but I’m not inexperienced. I know what I like and what I want, and with him I welcome the sexual onslaught. My guard is down, so I whisper, “Fuck me, Ethan.”

Not two minutes later, his arms have caged me as he leans above me, thrusting. That bottom lip is still trapped beneath his teeth. His eyes are closed and his muscles strained with tension. There’s so much beauty in the pain written on his handsome face. That I cause this man to fall to his knees turns me on even more.

I close my eyes and my back lifts to lower my hips as he gets a better grip, using my body to drain away his burdens. His release comes fast and is punctuated with a groan of pure ecstasy.

The weight of his body presses down on me and he relaxes. “So good,” he mumbles. “So damn good.”

He doesn’t stay long enough. When he stands, I lift back up on my elbows and ask, “Is it wrong that I don’t feel any guilt about this?”

“Fuck, no. You shouldn’t feel any guilt. What’s the fun in having sex if you can’t enjoy the pleasure of it?”

I close my eyes and lie back down. “Good, because I feel so damn amazing right now.”

“Do you normally feel guilty?” Coming back to the table, he sits on a chair and runs his hand over my breasts and lower.

“Kind of.”

“Why do you feel guilty?”

Fingertips dip between my lower lips and I exhale harshly. “I was always told to save myself . . .” My lids close and my body begs for more.

“For what, Singer? Save yourself for what?” Angling around, one of his hands steadies my thrusting hips, wanting more already, wanting more again.

“For marriage or at least keep my number of partners low.”

“Fuck that.” Two fingers slip into me, his thumb pressing delicious circles over my clit.

“Oh God.” I force my body down, my mind struggling to hold on to the conversation we’re having.

His lips are at my ear, whispering, “If someone doesn’t want to marry you because you enjoyed life before you met, they don’t deserve you, baby.” He kisses me, stealing the moan of pleasure right from my mouth.

Clenching.

Tightening.

Blissful relief.

When my breath steadies and I open my eyes, he asks, “How do you feel right now?”

“I’ve never felt this good.”

“Good. That’s how you should feel after a night of making love.” His shoulders are broad, the muscles of his shoulders and arms defined by confidence. As his hands roam over my middle, his eyes alight with mischief.

I want to enjoy him in his sexy glory, but I’m still stuck on the table with the words “making love” dancing through my head. Yes. Ethan. Love. I feel it so much in the afterglow.

“Hey, beautiful?”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go.”

“What? Where?”

“Let’s get cleaned up. I’m taking you to breakfast. You do eat breakfast, right?”

Shrugging, I reply, “Sometimes.”

“Well, with me you do.” He takes my hand and I wiggle off the edge.

I hop to the floor and grab that fancy coffee he made me. One sip. Two sips. He’s waiting, but smiling. Three sips. “What? It’s really good. I could get used to waking up like this every morning.”

That receives laughter packaged in lighthearted happiness, something I haven’t seen on him since he walked into that party with a case of Heineken under his arm. It looks good on him.

I hang back and watch him walk into the bathroom. Damn good from all angles. He peeks back out, and says, “Come on. I’m going to wash you from head to toe, taking my time.”

Rawr.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

* * *

“What?” Ethan asks, looking up at me.

With a fork in the air and piece of pancake hanging from it, I’m in awe. “Nothing.”

“Then why are you staring at me?”

“I’m impressed.”

“With?” He eats the dangling pancake.

Thank God, because it was about to fall, and I have no doubt after sitting across from him for the last ten minutes that he would eat it right off the table if that happened. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat so much food so fast before. You do realize I’m not going to steal it?” He laughs, so I add, “And this isn’t a race, right?”

Another chuckle comes while he’s chewing. He takes a few big gulps of orange juice then says, “I have two brothers. Back then they played year-round sports. If I didn’t eat fast, they’d take it. It’s only breakfast that became a competition. Our mother would kick our asses if we tried to inhale our dinner.”

“Are you the youngest, middle, or oldest?”

“I’m in the middle. We’re all two years apart. My oldest brother lives in LA. My younger back in Houston near my folks.” He looks down, the subject clouding the happier expression he was just wearing.

“Do you see them?”

“Not often. My younger brother came to visit twice since I’ve been here. My older brother is busy with work.”

“Are you close?”

“Decently. Closer to my brother in Houston. As I said, my older brother is busy.”

“I’m an only child.”

“Yeah? What’s that like?”

“It’s a lot of attention for one person, and lonely all the same. That’s why Melanie and I are so close. She’s also an only child.”

“It’s good you have each other.”

“Yeah.” I try a new topic. “How long have you lived in that apartment? Or do I call it a penthouse?”

That doesn’t seem to ease the strain in the crinkles of his brow. The fork is set down and he wipes his mouth with a paper napkin he pulls from the dispenser on the table. “Whatever you want to call it is fine.”

“What do you call it?”

“Both. Depends who I’m talking to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just seems if you’re in a position of power, people respect you when you use terms that fit the image they want to see.”

“Last night at dinner, Chip was trying to land a meeting with you.” I pause, searching his eyes for answers to questions I don’t feel comfortable asking, especially with the hard lines of his face when he’s deep in thought like now. He doesn’t scare me though. I’m determined to keep those quiet moments he drifts into away while he’s with me, easing some of his burdens for a bit. I clear my throat and ask, “If I search your name online, what will I find?”

When his gaze shifts my way, his napkin is set on top of the empty plate and he rubs his hands over his face. “Two lawsuits and a lot of photos of me with various women, headlines about drugs, alcohol, and my ex-girlfriend.”

Wow. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

The check is set on the table. “A sex tape leak or caught yachting with the royals in the South of France. Maybe that you broke an arm while trying out for the major leagues. A long trail of discarded hearts left in your wake. My mind has gone crazy with all the things I’ve imagined you didn’t want me to see. So no, I wasn’t expecting drugs or lawsuits.”

“Now I feel like a disappointment,” he jokes while taking my hand.

“You’re anything but that.”

“You give me too much credit, Ms. Davis.”

“I’m starting to think most people don’t give you enough, Mr. Everest.”

“I think the same about you.” He sets his black card on the check tray and the waitress walks by, scooping it up.

The tips of our fingers mirror together, and he says, “Especially Chip Newsom. Is he as bad as he seems?”

“Worse.”

“I suspected as much.” The receipt is returned and Ethan stands, tucking his card back into his wallet. “How about a walk in the park?”

“Sounds romantic.”

“You know me. Mr. Romantic.” He’s laughing at his words like they’re a joke. Contrary to what he said, I don’t know him like I want to, and what he doesn’t realize is that I do want to know him. I want to know everything about him.

“You are romantic.”

“I think eating you for breakfast on my table might prove differently.”

“That was good, so good,” I sigh. “But you making me coffee, now that was romance at its finest.”

“And here I thought you would say letting you eat pretzels in bed was what won you over.”

I take his hand in mine and lift it to my lips. I kiss it once, twice, three times for luck, and say, “Eh, it wasn’t about the pretzels, though that was a perk. It wasn’t even about our activities.”

“What is it about, Singer?”

We stop in front of a department store where we pretend to window-shop while I give his question more thought before answering. The dress on display is gorgeous but I know by the avenue I’m on that it’s outside my budget. Catching his eyes on me in the reflection of the glass, I say, “It’s always been about that almost kiss. That is what romance novels are written about or what makes a movie worth watching until the end. An almost kiss that changed the course of two lives. That moment in time was serendipitous.”

“And yet, here we are.” Here we are, on a crowded Manhattan sidewalk, his hands cupping my face, our eyes closed with our lips pressed together—Kissing in public.