eyes, she laid her hand in his. He began to stroke her knuckles with his thumb. She dismissed the danger signals in her head. Her skin tingled from his touch. Her throat dried up, and liquid wasn’t the solution.
Had she been so sensitive to male contact before? Had her hormones gone this crazy ten years ago? Those memories were locked away, never, ever to be revisited.
Ethan had seen her wistful expression as she watched the couples moving around the floor, her body swaying in time to the music. She was in another world. A long-lost world? He wanted her in the here and now, totally focused on them.
She’d provoked an acute rush of satisfaction when she’d given him her hand. His heartbeat had spiked, unaccustomed yearning snaking through him. The eons-old urge of man to protect his child? Or primitive gratification that its mother trusted him to safeguard them both?
‘Dance with me, Alina.’
She glanced across the room, shook her head. ‘I’ll embarrass you. I only do modern stuff with no touching. Nothing like this.’ She gestured towards the dancers. ‘They are so graceful.’
‘No touching ever?’ His eyebrows rose in disbelief. ‘Or only since...?’ He left his question unfinished, didn’t need a reply.
She tried to free her hand, merely succeeded in twisting it so that his thumb pressed into her palm. Stopped resisting when he resumed his slow caress. Was he playing fair? Touching and kissing hadn’t been mentioned when they’d first made their agreement. There’d been no reason in that emotionless civil conversation.
‘You’re denying something you really want, Alina. Trust me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.’
Cautious eagerness dawned in her sceptical eyes. ‘Your toes might regret it if I do.’
He laughed, walked round the table without letting her go. ‘Let’s find out.’
Drawing her to her feet, he led her onto the dance floor. He placed her left hand on his shoulder, his right hand on her waist, then clasped her free hand in his, over his heart. Each movement was slow, deliberate. Non-threatening to her peace of mind.
‘Look at me, Alina.’
Alina did.
‘Trust me.’
She did.
‘Let me guide you.’
He held her firmly, murmured in her ear and directed her steps with his thighs. His breath tickled her earlobe, his cologne filled her nostrils. Heat radiated from his touch as he compensated for her initial stumbling. She let her muscles go loose, giving him full control of her movements.
They glided round the room as if floating on air. Her eyelids fluttered. The music combined with the man to create an ethereal realm she wished she could stay in for ever. No more sorrow. No more loneliness. She gave a soft sigh, glanced up—into a searing wave of cobalt desire.
Their feet stopped moving; their bodies swayed in time with the rhythm of the music. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe, yet she felt his deep intake of air. Felt...
Guilt—as strong and shattering as when she’d been the only survivor.
The magic dissolved into stark reality. She began to shudder—couldn’t stop. She tried to pull away, found herself being ushered to their table and gently settled into her seat. The strong arm stayed around her, supportive, grounding.
A moment later there were muffled words in a concerned tone, a deep reply. Deep as Ethan’s voice but clipped, disconnected, not like him at all. She did know that it was his fingers lifting her chin, and hazily wondered why they trembled.
‘Alina?’
She blinked, saw his pale face, his brow creased in concern. She bent her head, unable to find words to explain.
His hand dropped. ‘Let’s go home. We’ll talk there.’
‘No.’ Plaintive, even to her own ears.
‘We have to.’ Soft-spoken. Decisive.
They drove home in silence. Alina counted cars as they passed, timed their stops at traffic lights—anything to keep from dwelling on the talk ahead. Could she feign a headache? Believable in the circumstances, but delaying the inevitable.
If Ethan James wanted to talk, they’d talk—sooner rather than later.
ETHAN KEPT HER hand in his after locking the car, only letting go to allow her to enter the apartment first. How come she’d not only become used to that small intimacy but welcomed it? She dropped her bag onto the island, walked round to make hot drinks.
‘Would you like coffee?’ She reached for a bronze pod.
‘Make it a black pod. I need a strong kick.’ He was already walking towards the hall, discarding his jacket as he went.
Good idea. She picked up her bag and headed for her room to change. Jeans and a casual top were more conducive to a serious discussion.
In the few minutes it took her he’d returned, and their drinks were ready in the lounge.
‘Biscuits?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
His lips twitched at the corners, just a tad. ‘Chocolate?’
So he’d noticed the wrappers in the bin and her stash in the cupboard. Again she declined. Why the heck was she being so formal? Last night the atmosphere had been light and friendly. Today even better. Until that moment when the past had reasserted its claim on her.
She sat in the corner of the settee, drawing her legs up tight when he chose one of the armchairs, putting extra space between them. She stared at the mug in her hands, dreading the words she might hear, fearing he might be annoyed if she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.
‘We have to talk, Alina.’
The sombre tone of his voice brought her head up. His eyes had the sharp intensity she remembered from when she’d taken over filling in the marriage application. As if reading her inner thoughts was the only thing that mattered at this moment.
‘This isn’t going to work the way we are now. I’ve never had a problem with women before, but now I’m second-guessing what to do. For our baby’s sake we have to convince everyone we’ve had a passionate affair.’
‘And I’m failing miserably. I’m sorry, Ethan. I don’t know how... There was only ever...I...’ The words wouldn’t come. She bit the inside of her lip, looked down at her white knuckles gripping the hot mug.
His hollow laugh snapped her gaze back to his face.
‘I’m not doing much better, Alina. I never knew grief could be so overwhelming, so soul-draining. You brought some light into my dark world. Now you’re here—so sweet and beautiful, so vulnerable.’
He
