Ruined (Ethan Frost 1)

My heel catches on the edge of one of the steps and I trip, go flying. I’m about six or seven steps from the bottom of the staircase and I know if I go down, it’s going to hurt. Not to mention give whoever’s chasing me the chance he’s been looking for.

Desperate to stop the fall, I claw at the railing, try to catch myself. I miss, the cool railing slipping through my fingers. I feel a bump, followed by a sharp pain in my hip. But I’m too busy trying to avoid injury to pay much attention. By now I know I’m going to fall, so I attempt to brace myself. Hunch my shoulders and try to tuck myself into a ball, like my self-defense instructors taught me.

But before I can hit the ground, a strong hand grabs my arm, stops my descent in midair. It’s the guy who’s been chasing me. I just know it. And while logic insists that I have nothing to fear from the man who just stopped my fall, the specter of my past is all around me. Clawing at me. Choking me. Destroying the peace of mind I’ve worked so hard for.

I’m frantic now, so crazed with fear that everything but instinct goes straight out the window. I lash out, try to kick him even as I’m still dangling over the stairs.

He blocks my kick, then yanks me toward him with his other hand. He keeps pulling until my feet are back on the step—and I’m wrapped in his arms, my back to his front.

I’m surrounded by him on all sides now, the hardness of his chest and stomach and thighs pressing against me even as his scent works itself into my consciousness. He smells like the ocean on a wild, storm-tossed day. Like moonlight on the open water. Like rain falling thr

ough leaves. All that with an underlying, barely discernible, hint of blueberries.

Suddenly I know who’s holding me, even before he growls, “Damn it, Chloe. Stop fighting me. I’ve got you. ”

Juice Guy. Mr. Frost. Ethan.

Suddenly I’m furious, so furious that it overshadows the fear of being held so intimately. Of course it’s him. Why wouldn’t it be? The universe seems to have decided that if I’m going to make a fool of myself, he’s going to be there to watch it.

Then again, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been in any of these stupid situations to begin with. I sure as hell wouldn’t be in this damn stairwell right now, after having nearly plummeted to certain injury. It also means I wouldn’t be standing here, my body pressed intimately against a virtual stranger’s while every nerve I have stands at attention and my heart nearly beats out of my chest.

“Can you let me go, please?” I jerk against his hold, try to wrench my elbow from his grasp. Again, not the smartest move, but I need him to let me go. When he touches me I feel all kinds of things, things I don’t have a clue how to deal with.

But Ethan’s having no part of my bid for freedom. He holds me firmly, painlessly, as he guides me down the last six steps until we’re on the landing that opens to the lobby. Only then does he relinquish his hold and step away.

For long seconds he doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. I know he’s waiting for me to look at him, know he’ll wait all day if he has to. But I don’t have that luxury, so finally—reluctantly—I turn to him. “Thank you for catching me,” I say.

I also want to tell him it’s his fault I was falling in the first place, but I think I’ve done enough to alienate the man in the last twenty-four hours. No need to actually beg him to fire me. Besides, now that I know who was pursuing me on the stairs, my whole headlong flight makes me look a little too much like a basket case for comfort—even without explaining where my phobia comes from.

But then he says it for me. “It seemed the least I could do, since I was the one who made you fall. ” He eyes me critically, looking for I don’t know what. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. ”

“Are you sure? It looked like you banged your hip against the railing when you started to tumble. ”

“I don’t think so. ” But now that he mentions it, I do feel an ache in my right hip that wasn’t there before. Wonderful.

I push at the sore spot a little, bite my lip to keep from whimpering when pain radiates out from under my fingers. So much for those self-defense classes I’ve invested so much time and money in over the last couple of years. What do I do the first time I’m in a sketchy situation? Panic and forget nearly everything they taught me.

Ethan’s watching me closely, so closely that I know he sees me flinch. His eyes darken to near black and he growls, “Let’s get you some ice. ” For the first time I see the CEO and not the surf bum, and it has nothing to do with the expensive Italian suit he’s wearing.

Then his hand is back, only this time it’s not grabbing my arm. It’s resting in the center of my lower back as he gently propels me forward. I’m uncomfortable with him so close, with the heat that radiates through him and into me and with the sudden possessiveness of his hold. As a rule, I don’t let men touch me there. It’s too personal, too intimate. Ethan should be no exception.

Except he is, because I don’t step away. Don’t shrug him off. Instead, I let him guide me to the stairwell door, even wait pliantly while he opens it.

I’m limping a little, and he must notice, because he stops. Eyes me sharply. “Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“Seriously?” I roll my eyes at him. “It’s a bruise. I think I can handle it. ”

He doesn’t answer, just waits for me to pass through the doorway ahead of him. When we get to the lobby, I start to head for the front door—a glance at my watch says I’m already five minutes late reporting for work—but he stops me with a look. “You need ice. ”

“What I need is to get to my office. ”

“I’m sure the legal contracts department will survive without you for ten minutes. ” He guides me across the lobby to the front desk, where two security guards are supervising the scanning of employee badges as people arrive for their workday. “Jose, Ms. Girard injured herself in the stairwell. Could you please get her a bag of ice?”

The bald security guard all but leaps to his feet. “Sure thing, Mr. Frost. ” He turns to me. “Are you all right, Ms. Girard?”

“I’m fi—”