No Ring Required. Laura Wright
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she were falling, sliding down, down, until she landed against plush, fuzzy white carpet. Her back to the floor, Ethan poised on top of her, his dark blue eyes hungry, almost desperate, Mary struggled to catch her breath.
“Ethan,” she rasped.
Ethan paused, his body pulsing with heat. He’d never heard her say his name like that—desperately.
His body tight to the point of pain, Ethan slid his hand up her torso to her rib cage and gently cupped one breast. Instantly hungry for more, he brushed his thumb over her nipple until it stiffened into a rosy peak. His mouth watered. He’d tasted her before, but the memory had been little comfort over the past weeks.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, leaning forward into the warmth of her body, her skin, his mouth grazing the tender bud.
Gasping, she arched her back, her chest rising and falling rapidly, one hand fisting the carpet. Her skin was so hot, electric, and he couldn’t help himself, he covered her with his mouth and suckled deeply.
“Oh…” she uttered breathlessly, cupping her other breast. “Oh, Ethan, please.”
Ethan rooted between her ribs to her other breast, over her fingers until he found the sweet, taut peak in the center. Her body danced beneath his, her hips pumped as though he was inside her, and how he longed to be.
So caught up in the moment, Ethan gently sank his teeth into the pink flesh surrounding her nipple as he continued to flick the tight bud. Her breath quickened, and he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. He wanted to make her climax, just with his mouth on her breast, and she was close, so close. But then outside the window came the sounds of people laughing and talking, some loud enough to hear.
“Where do you think Curtis ran off to?” one said.
“Back to the office?” someone suggested, chuckling.
The conversation wasn’t lost on Mary or Ethan, and they stilled, looked at each other, their breathing labored. Then after a moment, Mary let out a frustrated sigh and rolled away from him.
Feeling like an ass, Ethan didn’t say anything as he watched her dress, but when she finally looked at him, pink-cheeked, slightly disheveled and, judging by her eyes, still on the verge of orgasm, he couldn’t stop himself.
“No farther?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, deep regret in her eyes, but from what, he wasn’t sure. “We have to get back to the party.”
“God, why?”
“They’re leaving.”
“I don’t care—”
“Yes, you do,” she said, coming to her feet, smoothing her blouse. “We need to make an appearance, say goodbye to those who remain. You don’t want people thinking that you completely disappeared.”
“I don’t give a damn what they think.” Desire still raged through him. He wanted to play caveman and drag her off to his bed and lock the door behind him. “I want to finish this.”
“Another time.”
He was about to tell her that he didn’t want to wait, but he knew that determined look on her face, knew better than to try to sway or push her. “I’m holding you to that,” he grumbled.
By the time they returned, separately of course, to the party, most of the guests had gone. There were a few stragglers milling about, and while Mary thanked and paid the staff, Ethan showed his face to the last of the guests.
He was in his office when Mary found him a half hour later.
“Well, the general consensus is that everyone had a good time,” she said.
“Everyone?” he asked pointedly, his gaze intense.
She bit her lip, which made his groin tighten painfully. “I should get going.”
“Stay until the end,” he said.
“This is the end. Everyone’s gone, even the wait and kitchen staffs have taken off.”
He sat back in his chair. “I meant stay until the end of the night…when it gets light outside and my housekeeper serves breakfast.”
“Ethan…”
“You could stay upstairs in my bed. Because you want to…this time.”
She sighed, let her eyes fall closed for a moment. When she opened them again, he saw the same look in her eyes as he had upstairs. She wasn’t finished with him or what they’d started, but she also wasn’t about to agree to stay with him, either. She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Then turned and left the room.
Her ancient Betty Boop bedside lamp clicked on and Mary uttered a tired, “Man…”
Her father’s face, bed-worn and confused, stared down at her. “What are you doing here, lass?”
“Sleeping.”
“Why?”
She glanced at her matching Betty Boop clock, both it and the lamp presents from her parents for her twelfth birthday. “Because it’s four in the morning.”
Hugh sat on the bed and dragged a hand through his rumpled hair. “Why are you here and not in your apartment?”
Right. Mary glanced around her old bedroom. Not a thing out of place since she’d found her own apartment at nineteen. Same red-checked curtains and white dresser. She smiled halfheartedly when she spotted her Xanadu album in the corner by the old turntable.
Her father cleared his throat, and Mary looked at him sheepishly. “All right, I ran away.”
“Did you indeed?” he said, his shaggy brows lifting.
“From a boy.” Actually from a man, a gorgeous, fever-inducing man, who wanted her in his bed almost as much as he wanted the nonexistent child in her belly. Mary shook her head. What a mess. She burrowed deeper under her old, white down comforter.
“You won’t be telling me why you’re running from this boy, will you lass?”
Her lips pressed tightly together, she shook her head like a stubborn toddler. How could she possibly? Her dad wouldn’t understand what she’d done—the lengths to which she’d gone to protect him. Or worse yet, he’d understand perfectly, feel incredibly guilty and fall deeper into the chasm of despair he was already stuck in.
“You just need a bit of the old family house, do you?” he asked finally, shooing a tiny insect away from the lamp.
She gave him a grateful smile. “If you don’t mind, Pop.”
“You know you’re always welcome here, lass.” He paused for a moment, his eyes concerned. “I just don’t want you to be running away from your problems too often. You’ll never have time to sit down and take a breath if you do.”
“I know.”
“I love you, lass.”
“I love you too, Pop.”
When her father left the room, Mary lay back against her pillow and stared out at the same moon she’d watched change from sliver to crescent to full so many times when she was a kid. What had started out as the only foreseeable way to keep her father out of jail, or from a trial at the very least, had become a nightmare that she wanted to wake up from. She and Ethan had a meeting next week, and no matter how difficult it would be, she was not going to run away from the truth. She was going to tell him everything.
The wind off the lake whipped her hair from side to side, as though trying to make up its mind which direction to go. It was Sunday morning, a day Mary usually reserved for the newspaper, coffee and as many Danishes as she could eat without exploding, but when Ivan Garrison had called and asked her to see his boat, she’d readily accepted. The fact was, she was dying for some impersonal work to take her mind