At the bar, I tap Ethan on the elbow. The bartender hands him a beer and, turning, he drapes his arm around my neck. For the first time ever, his open show of affection makes me a tad uncomfortable, seeing that we’re under surveillance.
“He’s watching,” I murmur.
“I know,” he whispers in my ear. Goodness this man is devious. I really need to get him and Amber together. Although that may be like pairing up chaos and mayhem, or shock and awe…or Cagney and Lacy.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My eyes are glued to the stormy expression on Cal’s face as he stalks in our direction. One of the defensive players is about to say something to Ethan when Cal reaches us.
“Beat it, Simms.” The glare does the trick. Simms walks away shaking his head. His eyes skip between Ethan’s arm and me. “What the hell is going on here?”
Oh no, he didn’t...
He’s standing with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed, his biceps bulging through the fine wool of his suit. At the moment, I’m not sure what I want most, to kiss him senseless, or castrate him and wear his balls around my neck.
“Cal––”
“Shut up, E.” His scowl, though, remains directed at me. “Ethan go away.”
“Ethan don’t you dare.”
“I haven’t heard from your lawyer, yet.”
And there it is, the opening salvo. If he was trying to get a rise out of me, he just succeeded. “Really? You want to do this here? With Mr. and Mrs. Davis watching?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Wasn’t that your plan?”
I can’t…I can’t keep trying to deal rationally with an irrational man.
“My plan?” Rage is taking over. I can feel it. I’m going Hulk on his ass. “My plan was to live a quiet, drama free life. But then you come along with your perfect ass, and your sulky mouth, and your goddam leaky pipes! You wanna blame someone, Cal? Blame your shoddy surgeon!”
I’m so frigging angry and frustrated right now that I may do and say something I’ll regret, so I turn to Ethan and say, “I’m out of here. Please tell this larger-than-life-size prick that he can take every red cent he has and shove it. Any further communication can be sent through you.” Then I turn to the prick in question, point to Ethan, and say, “Meet my lawyer,” and walk away.
I get as far as the coat check when the noise of a large man moving fast finds me. He swipes my coat from the poor coat check girl with one hand, startling her, and grabs my arm with the other.
“Get your filthy hands off of me.” He rears back a little and releases my arm. I grab my coat from him and he follows me out onto the sidewalk. Except for the limos and SUVs lining the street, it’s blessedly empty.
“I’ll drive you home.” His attitude is much more subdued.
Good choice.
“The hell, you will,” I say raising my arm to hail a cab.
“Don’t be stupid. You’re not riding in a cab in your condition.”
“What condition would that be?!”
“Calm down.”
Whhhhyyyyy? Why would anyone in his or her right mind say calm down to an angry hormonal woman?
“Did Harper knock the last bit of sense out of you? Don’t tell me to calm down when you’ve been acting like a frigging lunatic for two months now!”
His fingers go to the bruise under his eye, touching it gingerly. He doesn’t respond, just stares like he’s waiting for something. An inspiration from God? Who the hell knows what goes on inside this man’s head, but the silence continues. In exasperation, I turn my back to him.
Where the hell are all the cabs in Manhattan when you need one??
“I miss you.” His voice is low and quiet. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. “Did you hear me? I miss you so much it’s physically painful.”
“Whose fault is that?” Okay, so I’m being bitchy. But come on…after what he’s put me through. He’s standing close, radiating body heat and a surfeit of emotion.
“How do you feel?”
The urge to turn and drink in the sight of him is greater than my willpower and my common sense. He looks so forlorn that I almost feel bad for him. Almost. I love this man, this man that may never come around, may never realize what a gift we’ve been given. I try to cross my arms in front and find it impossible with my new gargantuan breasts so I drop them.
“Fine. Just…swollen,” I grumble.
“You look…” He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
Why doesn’t he just punch me in the heart? It couldn’t have hurt more. This man does not hand out compliments. I’ve accepted that about him. And, quite frankly, respect the heck out of it because the ones he does so meagerly dole out, mean that much more.