No Ring Required. Laura Wright
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Yep.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Pregnancy, baby care, labor, postpartum, breastfeeding—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” she said, relaxing back into the couch as Ethan’s strong hands worked the tired knots in her arches. “Five minutes max.”
He laughed. “I’ve learned many useful things.”
“Like?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes open and the soft, cozy sound out of her voice.
“Like nausea and strange cravings are very normal in the first trimester.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So are leg cramps and exhaustion.”
“Yep.”
“And an unusually high sex drive.”
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, swung her legs to the floor. It took her a moment to tamp down the tremors of need running through her. She felt the urge so strongly, all she wanted him to do was continue touching her. She wanted his mouth on hers, nudging her lips apart with his tongue…“All right,” she said breathlessly. “Southern food, maybe Southwest or Cajun. What about having an autumn-barn-dance theme for your brunch?”
“A heavy sex drive is nothing to be ashamed of, Mary.”
She tilted her chin up. “I’ve never been ashamed of it.”
What she was saying dawned on him almost immediately, and his eyes lit with mischief, his lips parted sensuously.
“Now, can we get back to this?” she asked coolly.
He wouldn’t allow her to look away. “Nothing happened with Allisonn.”
Her heart skipped and she swallowed nervously. She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t care less about blondie, but he wouldn’t believe her. “This doesn’t sound like brunch discussion.”
“Mary…” he began, his voice the husky baritone she remembered from those nights at the lake.
“Listen, Curtis, what you do in your house, bedroom, pool, etcetera is your business. Let’s just get on with this.”
“Why are you so hard?”
“Bad genes,” she responded succinctly which made him laugh. “Not from my parents. They were angels. But they say attitude skips a generation.”
Shaking his head, he stared at her for a moment, then he stood up and reached for her. “Dance with me?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“We’ll make it business related. Show me what you’re talking about with this barn concept. There’s got to be some dancing involved on my deck, right?”
“Yes, but there’s no music.”
“I could turn some on, but I don’t think we need it,” He touched his temple with his index finger. “It’s all in here.”
Laughing, she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet and into his arms. “You have country music playing up there?”
He pretended to be insulted by her query. “Blues, baby. Only the blues for me.”
Her toes sank into the plush carpet and she sank into Ethan’s embrace. His hand gripped her waist, then slid to her back to pull her closer. She felt feminine and unsure, but she didn’t want him to release her.
“I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted.
“I’m not that great at it, either,” he said. “But I can manage a few turns and the side-to-side swaying.”
His eyes were so expressive, so full of life. They could leap from anger to lust to boredom to amusement in mere moments, but it was these times that made her toes curl, the times when he stared at her with unabashed longing.
As he rocked back and forth, as his hips brushed hers and his palm pressed possessively against her hand, Mary experienced a feeling so powerful, so new it made her heart thump painfully in her chest. She was enjoying herself, with Ethan Curtis, the man who had forced her into—A man she should never enjoy herself with.
Her thoughts dropped away suddenly as Ethan quickened his pace, twirling her first to the right, then the left. With a sinful grin, he grasped both of her hands and gave her a gentle push back, then he turned her and pulled her into his body, so her back was pressed against his chest.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled at the amusement in his eyes. “Tell anyone about this and I’m never dancing with you again.”
Laughing with delight, Mary let him sway them both to the right and left, then squealed when he dipped her. When he rolled her out toward the couch, she released him and dropped back on the brown leather cushions. Chuckling along with her, Ethan did, too. For a moment neither of them spoke, then they both turned to look at each other.
“We’d better be careful,” Ethan said.
“Why?” Mary asked breathlessly. “What do you mean?”
He reached over and brushed a strand of honey-colored hair from her cheek. “If we don’t watch our step we might have fun together—or worse, actually start liking each other.”
To Mary’s delight, the brunch fell on a glorious late-August day. The trees were starting to contemplate change, their green leaves making room for rich golds, ruby reds and pumpkin oranges. Mary had nixed the Cajun idea, but the pre-autumn Southern barn theme was there and looking fabulous. As she meandered through the guests, who had almost doubled in size since the last party, she took in her handiwork with a proud grin. The deck and surrounding land was decorated with an odd but interesting, contemporary rustic charm; hay bales in glass troughs like funky centerpieces, scarecrows dressed like runway models, Tom Sawyer-style rafts in the water, and on and on. Then there was the food. Pumpkin and sage soup in miniature pumpkins, fried catfish with a spicy green tomato relish, mustard greens with pancetta, watermelon and pecan pie tartlets.
Everyone seemed relaxed, the stuffy atmosphere of this crowd’s customary Saturday cocktail party forgotten. Diamonds still sparkled from ears, wrists and fingers, but the backdrop was denim and Ralph Lauren plaid.
Mary spotted five-star-inns’ Isaac and Emily Underwood coming toward her and smiled welcomingly. She knew that, as of last Monday, the couple were now Ethan’s clients. “Well, hello, there. Are you two enjoying yourselves?”
“Your creativity is astounding, Mary,” Isaac said, gesturing to the backyard.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, amazing,” Emily added.
Isaac dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Even though we don’t have to work, the feeling of success can bring great rewards, don’t you think?”
Mary’s brows drew together. Contrary to what the Underwoods believed was reality, Mary had to work for every penny. The Harringtons didn’t help her one bit, never had, nor had she ever asked them to.
“This is a great success,” Emily said, two-carat diamond studs sparkling in her ears. “Especially for Ethan. Invitations to his parties will be sought-after now.”
“Now?”
Heat spread across Emily’s face and she stumbled to explain. “Well, what I mean to say is…”
Isaac quickly covered for her. “Curtis is brilliant, and he has the client list to prove it, but as far as socializing…well, he’s not really one of us, you understand.”
She certainly did, and she had to resist the urge to grab the pumpkin out of Isaac’s hand and dump the contents over his head. Lucky for her and for them, the Underwoods spotted another group of snotty elitists over by the bar and excused themselves. Why did Ethan want to be a part of this world? she