Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(46)

His mouth comes down on mine, and it’s rougher than the two times we’ve kissed before. Of course, those were both blatant demonstrations for an audience. But for this kiss we’re 100 percent alone.

His mouth moves insistently against mine, his tongue sweeping along my bottom lip once, twice, until I open for him. The kiss deepens and I try to pull my hands free so I can touch him, but his grip tightens, and he moves closer, using his body to pin me to the wall.

I’m distantly aware that although the study room is windowless, it’s also a public space, and anyone could come in at any time.

And I don’t care.

I give myself over to the kiss, and he seems to know the second I relent, because the kiss becomes softer. As though he’s seducing me instead of claiming me. I want him to be seduced too.

The room is silent except for the soft, wet sounds of our mouths moving against each other, and I’m really, really wishing that we were home. Or at least some place with a door. Because I don’t want to stop at kissing.

My eyes go wide at the realization, and I struggle against him, frantically trying to tug my hands free. Ethan seems to sense my panic and pulls back immediately, even as he gently cups my elbows to steady me.

We’re both breathing heavily, and I wonder if my face is as stunned as his at what just happened. Probably.

But I’m not just stunned. I’m terrified. For the first time since before my mom died—since before Caleb freaking drugged me—I want to be intimate with a guy. I mean, I really, really want Ethan Price. I want to be naked beneath him, want to see him above me …

I give my head a little shake and push against his chest. “What was that?”

He doesn’t say anything, just runs a hand across the back of his neck. I’ve come to realize that he only does that when he feels out of his element, and it should make me feel better that he’s as off-balance as me, but instead it just pisses me off.

How dare he kiss me if he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing!

He reaches down to pick up my bag and hands it to me. I snatch at it without saying thank you. I want it to be very clear which Stephanie he just kissed. It wasn’t the sweet, biddable fake Stephanie. It was the cranky, angry real Stephanie.

The one he can’t possibly be attracted to.

I tell myself to walk away with my dignity intact. Because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing he can say that I want to hear. But I hear myself asking the question anyway.

“Was that real? Or was that some sort of warped experiment that we can use in our screenplay?”

His eyes dart away from mine, and it’s pretty much all the answer I need.

“Got it,” I snap.

“Steffie—”

“Don’t call me that.” I move around him, giving him a wide berth so that there’s no chance of physical contact.

“Wait, just give me a minute, all right? I don’t know—”

“Well, figure it out, Ethan.”

I’m out the door, closing it behind me before he can say anything else that will just make it worse.

I lean against the door for a second, trying to catch my breath. To sort out my thoughts. But the only thought that comes to mind is the realization that I want to cry, which doesn’t make sense. I haven’t cried—haven’t wanted to cry—since that day I found out my mom had cancer.

And I hate that some superficial, gorgeous rich kid who’d walk away from me without a second glance was the one to make me feel desire and pain—two emotions I thought were long dead inside me.





Chapter Sixteen


Ethan


If I was sort of dodging Stephanie after our too-friendly night at my cousin’s wedding, I’ve been all-out avoiding her after that kiss in the library.

A kiss that wasn’t about the game, or the movie, or anything other than the fact that I wanted her.

And she wanted me too.

At least I’m pretty sure she did. But then she totally flipped out and ran.

I don’t know what to think, or what to say to her. So I’ve been doing what any twentysomething dude with some common sense would do: I’ve been giving her a wide berth.

She seems to have had the same thought, because in the few words we have exchanged, she mentioned that she’s taken on a couple of extra shifts at the coffee shop. For my part, I’ve been spending a ridiculous amount of time at Price Holdings, considering I’m not even an official intern. I’m getting no school credit and no pay (not that I need the pay), and to be honest, I don’t know that I’m contributing much. Mostly I’ve just been shadowing my father, listening in on conference calls, observing the way he handles everyone from the staff to hotshot investors.

I keep waiting for the moment when it all freaks me out and I decide that I want to trade in my bespoke suits for hemp necklaces and linen drawstring pants and go be a tour guide in Costa Rica. In other words, I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and rebel against the expectations—and advantages—that have been heaped upon me since I was a kid.

But it hasn’t happened yet. It’s like I told Stephanie during that stupid two-truths-and-a-lie game: I really am excited about my legacy, or whatever. I may have signed up as a business major because it’s what my parents encouraged, but I’ve stayed there because I like it. I like the way numbers fit together if you work them just right. I like the way business is all about the balance between people and money.