Her throat was so tight, she couldn’t go on.
Ethan got to his feet, but Emily didn’t move to give him room. He was tall, had at least a foot on her, and for the longest time he stared down, his handsome face in shadow, his expression unreadable. He smelled of summer and sandalwood and pine, and something inside her responded to the scent—her eyes moved over his chest and abs—and sight.
Ethan Caldwell had always been a handsome, charismatic man, but tonight, the moonlight shining and the water lapping at the dock, the pain and things unsaid between them, heightened his attraction.
“I hear you, Emily.” His voice was low and husky.
She hadn’t been touched in so long, not since Beck Jacobs had warmed her bed and eased her pain, well over a year ago.
Mouth open slightly, she looked up at him. The air was so thick, she felt like she could choke on it, and God, she was hot.
“Do you see me?” Mouth dry, she barely got the words out.
After a few moments, Ethan nodded.
Her fingers went to the straps of the sundress she’d thrown on hours ago. Before she could change her mind, she slid them off her shoulders and then down and down until the light blue dress was a pool of cotton at her feet. Until she stood in front Ethan wearing nothing but a strapless bra and matching thong.
He said nothing. Not even when she slowly undid her bra and tossed it onto the deck along with her panties.
Ethan didn’t say a word when she reached for him. When she pressed her mouth to his and guided his hands to her breasts. He didn’t utter a sound when she slowly undressed him, didn’t move when she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He was like a rock, hard and unflinching in his darkness and silence and non-reaction.
“I need you,” she’d breathed into him. “Please, Ethan.”
A heartbeat passed, and just when her skin flushed with humiliation and she would have turned away and slipped into the shadows, he scooped her into his arms and kissed her until her head spun.
No words were said.
But he watched her, those glittering eyes of his unrelenting as he ran his hands over her body and claimed each breast with his hot mouth. When he laid Emily down on the dock and sank deep inside her, they never left her face. He held her tenderly and moved slowly at first, his hands and mouth bringing her to orgasm before she felt the tremors start all over again.
And as he rocked harder, holding her closer, she felt a bit of that ice around her soul break apart. Underneath the stars and the moon, with this man she’d known most of her life, she finally felt alive. As if she’d make it. As if the broken pieces inside her were less broken, at least while his touch was on her. While he was inside her.
They came together, their labored breaths the only sound aside from the water lapping at the shore and for a few minutes afterward he held her tightly; he was the harbor from the tempest that was her life.
But then something changed. He rolled off Emily and turned away. And when she reached for him, he glanced over his shoulder, his expression cold and distant. Ashamed, she dropped her hand.
He got up, grabbed her dress before she could, and handed it to her, his face dark and ugly and full of remorse. He told her to leave. He’d told her never to come back again.
And she hadn’t. Not until the week before.
With shaking fingers, Emily got up from the sofa just as the doorbell rang. Cheeks hot, nipples hard, she flung open the door, and her world tilted to the left. And then to the right. Which made her stomach turn, and for a second or two, she thought she’d lose her lunch.
Ethan Caldwell stood on her porch.
“Hey,” he said slowly.
Her first instinct was to slam the door in his face and tell him to go to hell. But then Bilbo pushed past Emily and rubbed her nose and body all over Ethan’s jean-clad legs, and those memories of the rain and his large hands and naked wet skin still lingered, along with a whole bunch of hurt.
“Can we talk?”
The ache in her heart couldn’t be ignored. Ethan Caldwell had always been her person.
Emily took a step back and motioned him inside.
Chapter Five
Ethan had sat in Emily’s driveway for a good ten minutes before he got up the nerve to knock on her front door. He felt a bunch of things as he waited: anxiety, shame, and some things he had no name for—but all of it was overshadowed by the fear that she’d take one look at him and slam the door in his face.
It wasn’t even close to what he deserved, and he wouldn’t blame her one damn bit if she did. In fact, knowing Em, she’d probably rain hellfire on his head before she slammed the door. And maybe he wanted her to, because on some level, he needed her to acknowledge what an absolute bastard he’d been.
He’d take it, let her say her piece, and leave if she wanted him to.
But when she’d opened the door, she’d looked confused, then surprised, and then her face stiffened, closing off whatever it was she felt inside.
It took a bit for him to get his throat working, and when he managed a sentence, “Can we talk,” she’d stood back without a word. Now he watched from the shadows of her foyer as she retreated to the kitchen. Her dog jumped up onto the sofa and looked between the two of them expectantly—if it was possible for a dog to do that—but Ethan wasn’t sure how to proceed. The air was thick with things unsaid. It was going to be tough to navigate through all that history and whatever the hell it was that had happened between them.
What he’d let happen.
Ethan shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with the silence, but unsure how to proceed.
“Do you want coffee or something stronger?” It wasn’t a question, really, because Emily was already filling the coffeepot with water.
“Coffee’s fine.”
He kept silent as she got busy filling the filter basket with grinds and then pulling cream and milk from the fridge, before grabbing two mugs and sugar from the cupboard. While she waited for the pot to brew, her back to him, Ethan took a good look around the place. She’d done a lot with it since he’d been there last, which was so long ago, he couldn’t remember when. Could have been years for all he knew.
He doffed his work boots and stepped into the living room, giving the dog a reason to wag its tail heartily against the sofa. If he was the guy to pay attention to such things he would have noticed the furniture was new, the walls freshly painted a light cream, and the décor tasteful. He spied a table near the door that led to the patio out back and found himself standing in front of it, gaze on the photos there.
Emily leaning back against Rick, who grinned like a devil at the camera with Pottahawk Beach behind them. Emily, Rick, and Ethan on their wedding day, laughing at something the photographer had said. The three of them years earlier at their graduation, with their friends. Samantha Coles. Cam Booker. And a bunch more.
Slowly, he shook his head, unsettled at the thought of how naïve they’d been to think life would leave them untouched by tragedy. That time would somehow forgive them their stupidity and wash away their sins.
Emily cleared her throat loudly, and he turned to accept a steaming mug of coffee. Her eyes fell to the framed photos, where they lingered for all of two seconds before she stepped back.
She walked to the kitchen and grabbed her mug, but stayed there, watching him from a safe distance, he supposed. For the longest time, they didn’t speak, and just when the silence became an unbearable living thing, she looked him in the eye, her chin thrust forward, her shoulders thrown back.