Ethan's Temptress Bride

But Ethan wasn’t thinking of gifts, he was thinking of murder. He was seeing Aidan Galloway’s handsome face and how it was going to look when he had restructured it. He was thinking about how this proud, feisty woman had been reduced to this, because one spoiled lout didn’t know how to control his libido. He was also thinking about the way she came into his arms without hesitation, how she was nestling here.

‘I thought he was my friend.’

Ethan recognised the pained feeling that went into that wretched comment. ‘We all make poor judgements of people now and then.’

She nodded against his breastbone—he wished she wouldn’t do that he thought, as other parts of him began to respond. He wished he understood it, wished he knew why this woman had the power to move him in ways he’d never previously known. It wasn’t just the sex thing, he made that clear to himself. But he liked the way she clung to him, and how, despite the ordeal she had just been through here, she could trust him enough to cling.

‘You’re being too nice to me.’

‘You would prefer it if I tore into you about the dangers of flirting with one too many young and sexually healthy men?’

‘Like you just did, you mean?’ Lifting her head she looked at him through eyes turned almost black by fright and whatever drug was swimming in her blood.

Vulnerable, he thought. Too—too vulnerable. It made him want to kiss away her fears—What he didn’t expect was for Eve to suddenly fall on his neck and start kissing him!

Shock leapt upon him like a scalded cat with its claws unsheathed. Those claws raked a pleasurable passage across his senses before he found the wits to prize his mouth free from hers. He had to use tough hands on her waist to prize the rest of her away from him. ‘What the hell?’ he ground out forcefully as she stood staring up at him through those wide black unseeing eyes. By now he was feeling so damn shaken he was almost on the point of running himself! ‘Dear God, Eve, what do you think you’re playing at?’

The rough-cut rake of his voice brought her blinking back from wherever she had gone off to. She stared at him in horror then in dawning dismay. ‘Oh,’ she gasped out in a shaken whimper, and then it was she who tried to make a mortified bolt for it. But the moment she tried her legs gave away once more.

On a muttered curse Ethan caught her up, then dumped her unceremoniously back onto the bed. The whole thing was taking on a surreal quality. Standing there he stared down at her as if she was some kind of alien while she rocked and groaned with a hand flattened across her horrified mouth. It was then as he watched her that it really began to dawn on him that the swine must have spiked her drink with something pretty potent and it was still very much at work in her blood. ‘I’m sorry,’ she was saying over and over. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I don’t—’

‘You need a doctor,’ Ethan decided grimly.

‘No!’

> ‘We need to call in the police and get them to track that bastard down so that we can find out what it is he’s slipped you.’

‘No,’ she groaned out a second time.

But Ethan wasn’t listening. He was too busy looking around for the telephone. As Eve saw him take a stride towards one sitting on a low table across the room, she erupted with a panic that flung her anxiously to her feet.

‘No, Ethan—please—!’ she begged him. ‘No police. No doctor—I’m all right!’

Virtually staggering in her quest to put herself between him and the phone, she stood there trembling and looking pleadingly up at him while he looked down at her with an expression that grimly mocked her assurance.

‘I will be all right in a minute or two!’ she temporised, saw him take another determined step and felt the tears begin to burn in her eyes as fresh anxiety swelled like a monster inside. ‘Please—’ she begged again. ‘You don’t understand. The scandal, my grandfather—he will blame himself and I couldn’t bear to let him do that!’ I can’t bear to know that he will never look on me in the same way again, Eve added in silent anguish. ‘Look…’ at least Ethan was no longer moving, and the panic had placed the strength back in her legs ‘…I was drunk. It was my own f-fault—’

‘There is no excuse out there to justify date rape, Eve,’ Ethan toughly contested.

‘B-but it didn’t get that far. I m-managed to stop him before he could—’ The words dried up. She just couldn’t bring herself to say them and had to swallow on a lump of nausea instead. ‘I’ll get over this—I will!’ she insisted. ‘But only if we can keep it a secret between you and me; please, Ethan—please—!’ she repeated painfully.

She was pleading with him as if she was pleading for her life here, but Ethan could see the lingering horror in her eyes, see the shock and hurt and bewildered sense of betrayal, see the swollen mouth and the chafed skin, and the effects of some nasty substance that had turned her beautiful eyes black and had left her barely able to control her actions.

Did she really expect him to simply ignore all of that? In an act of frustrating indecision he sent his eyes lashing around the room. It looked like exactly what it was: the scene of some vile crime. The man was dangerous; he needed to be stopped and made to pay for his actions.

Flicking his gaze back to Eve, Ethan opened his mouth to tell her just that—then stopped, the breath stilling in his lungs when he saw the tears in her eyes, the trembling mouth, the anxiety in her pale face that was now overshadowing the incident itself. His mouth snapped shut. A sigh rattled from him. Surrender to her pleas arrived when he acknowledged that she was in no fit state to take any more tonight.

‘Okay,’ he agreed with grim reluctance. ‘We will leave the rest until tomorrow. But for now you can’t stay here on your own…’

He deliberately didn’t add, ‘…in case he comes back’. But he saw by her shuddering response that Eve had added the words for herself. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

He didn’t want thanks. He wanted a solution as to what he was going to do next. Glancing at Eve in search of inspiration, he found himself looking at a wilting flower again, only she was a slender white lily this time, covered as she was in the cotton sheet.

A sad and helpless slender white lily, he elaborated, and the image locked up a blistering kind of anger inside his chest. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked gruffly. ‘Do you think you can manage to get yourself dressed?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Good.’ He nodded. At least she was managing to stand unsupported at last. ‘Do that, then I’ll walk you up to the main house,’ he decided, aware that there was a small army of live-in staff up there to watch over her.