Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)
Which is why I don’t understand why this relationship thing is so difficult for me. I’m well on my way to making my first billion before this year is up. Why the fuck can’t I keep my relationship on steady ground for longer than the blink of an eye?
I hear Chloe get up off the couch, hear her move across the room to me. And still it comes as a surprise when she wraps her arms around my waist and leans into me. She’s wearing heels, so I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck, feel the softness of her breasts against my back.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I admit hoarsely. Somehow, I’ve never felt more exposed. “I don’t know how to help you when you turn your back on everything I can offer you.”
“All I want from you is to be your partner,” she tells me, pressing soft kisses against the nape of my neck. “For you to let me stand beside you instead of standing behind you, using you as a shield.”
“I want to be your shield.”
“And I want to be yours. But neither of us is going to get what we want if we keep jockeying for position.”
Fuck. “You know, I really hate it when you’re right.”
She laughs then, and it’s a real laugh. Warm and sweet and happy, so happy, despite what’s in store for her. And I don’t know how she does that. How, in the middle of this gigantic shitstorm we’re about to get hit with, she can find joy.
“Yeah, well, you should probably get used to it, Ethan, love. You’re stuck with me for a long time and I plan on being right a lot more than I’m wrong.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me at all. Future lawyer that you are.”
She laughs again, and this time I turn to face her. To cup her cheeks in my hands and slowly, so slowly, bring my mouth down to hers.
It’s a lazy kiss, filled with memories and promises and all the moments that stretch between. I lick my way into her mouth, taking the time to explore her thoroughly. It’s only been four days since I’ve kissed her like this, but that’s four days too many. To hell with Brandon, to hell with my mom, to hell with everything, right now, that isn’t this. There will be time soon enough to deal with all the shit that’s headed straight at us.
But Chloe breaks away too soon. And when she looks at me, the joy is gone. But it hasn’t been replaced by fear or sadness or rage. No, the look in her eyes—the look that rips right to the center of me—is her total, abject resolve.
“Let them leak it,” she tells me.
“What?” I couldn’t be more shocked if she suggested self-immolating in the middle of my office.
“I have nothing to be ashamed of, and neither do you. Let your mother leak whatever she wants.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Whoever gets the narrative going is the one who controls it. If she leaks it, it will be her story.”
“So make it our story. You leak it.”
“Are you serious?” I demand. “A few days ago you told me to do exactly the opposite of that.”
“No, a few days ago I told you I didn’t want you going after Brandon and his illegal activities because I was afraid you were going to get hurt. But this? He’s already hurt me all he’s going to with this rape. If laying it all out on the line for the whole country to see is the only way for me to be totally free of him, and for you to be safe, then I say let’s do it. Now. He and your mother brought it on themselves.”
“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You don’t know what being the object of a story like this entails.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But haven’t you been saying all along that you wanted to protect me? This is your chance.”
“This is—I don’t—I haven’t even thought about this as an option.”
“Oh, bullshit. You’re a brilliant guy, Ethan. Don’t tell me you didn’t look at all the options, including this one. I know I have. And while I might not know the sheer magnitude of what it entails, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s going to happen. Reporters at the gates at all hours of the day and night. Stories about me—and the rude, obnoxious comments that go with them—all over the internet. People calling me a slut or a whore or a gold-digging bitch. I can handle it. I swear.”
“I don’t want you to handle it.” I repeat my words from earlier. Just the thought of those things happening to her makes me crazy.
“Too bad that’s not a choice you get to make.” She presses another kiss to my lips, then walks across my office to the minibar in the corner like the debate is over—and like she isn’t the least bit bothered about the decision she’s making.
Once there, she pours herself a glass of water. And I do my best not to pay attention to the fact that her hands are shaking.
“So, oh wise one,” she says after she’s taken a long drink. “Tell me. How are we going to do this?”
“I have no idea.” It’s not an option I was ever willing to consider.
“Well, you better figure it out pretty quickly, because there’s no way your mother is getting the drop on us this time. No way in hell.”