As I slip the kayak into place next to the dock, I take in the overall house once more. The place looks sad to me, foreboding even, as if the structure itself matches the hearts of those who live within, and I wonder, once again, what happened to her.
Card 6: Oatmeal and Cherry Cookies
Soft and large dried cherries
[Ella]
The flip has switched on me again. I don’t know what it is about Ethan, but he just gets to me. Maybe it’s what he said about being on his face. It did something to my insides that I hardly recognized. The rush up my middle nearly doubled me over, and the heat between my thighs took my breath away. Still, I slapped him. Then I couldn’t believe I slapped him, and he stood there. He took it and didn’t rat me out to Jacob when I expected him to tell my brother what I’d done. Jacob knows I’m angry, but he’d never want me to physically take it out on someone else. He knows too well what that’s like.
Still, I’m upset that Ethan is even in our home. I don’t want him here even though I don’t feel threatened by him. Not really. He did approach me rather quickly, getting up in my space, but even then, I wasn’t fully frightened. The nearness of him did other things, thrilling things to me, and I hate that I can’t explain it.
Then he made me breakfast. I couldn’t believe it. After all that happened, he actually made me a plate of food, which of course, I refused to eat and tossed in the trash to make a statement.
And to top it all off, Ethan is not only too pretty, but he smells amazing. Something spicy and delicious that makes my mouth water.
Speaking of mouths, I think of his words again.
If you want to get on my face, all you need to do is ask.
Who the hell says that?
My best guess is Ethan Scott’s a player. He knows women and uses them. He eats them up and spits them out. Women exist only for his pleasure. Unfortunately for me, while I think these thoughts, a part of me that has sworn off such pleasure begins to pulse. And ache. And throb. And my heart matches the rhythm.
Urgh, what is he doing to me? I want to pull at my hair and scream at the top of my lungs. Yet Jacob will not budge on this decision. He’s leaving for six weeks, and he wants someone present. His words, not mine. He’s giving me a babysitter when I’m not a baby.
Then stop acting like one, my head warns, but once again, my anger rears, and I struggle to rein it in. I could go thirty rounds with Jacob’s punching bag, and that’s my plan until I enter the kitchen and see those cookies cooling on the racks. Who bakes cookies unless he’s trying to be…nice? I’ve returned to the scene of my first crime—tossing out the breakfast he left for me. My protesting spirit wants to add I will not eat his food, cookies included.
Oh yes, you will. Between the voice of Jacob and the reasoning within my head, I remind myself of the promise I gave my stepbrother. I will not go back. I will not return to the girl who refused to eat to be thin, to be pretty, to be accepted. And I will not regress to the woman who fell prey to an illness a second time as I grew older. Twenty-five isn’t old, but it is in the modeling industry. At twenty-seven, I was nearly a has-been and then . . .
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but those cookies on the counter tempt me—not to be eaten and then regurgitated but to be destroyed. This is a peace offering if ever I saw one, or smelled one, and they smell delicious. Still, I will not play nice with Ethan.
I will never be afraid again.
The truth is, I’m not afraid of Ethan. Not his size or his stature. It’s his eyes that bother me. The way they look at me. I hate his pity. I hate him. And his pretty face, and his perfect body, and his wild hair.
The next thing I know, I reach for a knife in the block on the counter. Using the handle end, I smash the first cookie. He’s too pretty with those pointed caramel eyes.
Another stab and the scent of oatmeal and something sweet permeates the air before me. And he smells spicy-sweet himself, like he’d be good enough to eat.
As the cookie is a mix of crisp outside and soft inside, it cracks in half, smashing into the metal wire of the cooling rack.
And I don’t want to sit on his face. I’d never consider straddling those cheeks and letting him… Another smash, on another cookie.
My enthusiasm continues. The adrenaline rises. Blood rushes through my head.
I will not like him. I do not want to be friends.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I look up, startled at the depth of his voice. I didn’t hear him enter the house. From the moisture in his hair, I surmise he’s been out on the lake. Was he in my kayak? How dare he? How dare he look so good with his hair slicked back a bit, taming those wild curls, making him supermodel worthy? And where is his shirt? How is his chest so sculpted, perfected, rippled with a tease of hair peeking out his waistband?
Look away, my eyes scream, but I can’t turn my head. I’m not attracted to him. I won’t be attracted to him. But I can’t pull my eyes away from him, and it gives him the advantage to approach me.
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl as his hand comes forward. I stand with the end of the knife poised in the air as if I were going to stab him even though I’m holding it in the wrong direction. I’d never hurt him—not really. I wouldn’t be capable of it, but I’ve taken self-defense classes. I’ll never be defenseless again.
“Just put the knife down before you hurt yourself,” he says. His gaze latches onto my eyes. How can they be such a honey-gold color? Who has eyes like that unless he isn’t human?
That’s it.
I’ll think of him as an alien. A foreign being. Someone from outer space.
Good God, you are losing it, Ella. And I am. I’m losing my mind, but I will not lose my heart. I will not give in to those eyes of his.
My body vibrates as he steps even closer to me. My arm feels heavy, the weight of the knife more like an anvil pressing at all my strength, and I struggle to hold my stance.
In one smooth move, Ethan slips an arm around my back and grips my wrist with his other hand. For a split second, we look like we might dance. He flicks my wrist, and I lose hold of the knife, tossing it to my left. It clatters into the sink, the noise making me flinch. Worse yet, Ethan tugs me to him. My nose hits his bare chest, and I inhale his scent. His arms circle my body, pinning both of mine at my sides. I refuse to reciprocate, and my fingers fist, but he holds onto me. Embracing me.
What the hell is he doing?
He takes a deep breath and then releases it. His exhale is forceful enough my hair flutters near my ear. He takes another large inhale, and for some strange reason, I follow his lead, inhaling with him. Then he releases the breath, and I exhale along with him. We continue in this manner for three more breaths.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Feel better yet?” he whispers to me, his lips at my ear. The ruggedness tickles the shell, but I don’t flinch. I don’t move. I just continue to breathe him in, melting against his chest. My head turns and my cheek presses against the warmth of his pec. His heart thuds under my ear.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
My eyes close, and I wonder what kind of spell he’s put on me. My fingers have unfurled, and the tips brush the edge of his shorts. The material is smooth and damp.
I pull back abruptly. “Were you in my kayak?”