Flawed (Ethan Frost 4)

When he was talking in the kitchen earlier, telling me that I should never have to thank him or any other man for doing what’s decent, I could see the regret in his face. The pain. The self-loathing. This is not a man who blithely turned his back on his little sister for his own gain after she’d been violated in the most heinous way. And this is not a man who lives his life unaffected by his sister’s pain.

No, I can’t hate him. Not now that I’ve seen who he really is.

With that thought in mind, I follow him into the kitchen, the open bottle of Pinot Grigio dangling between my fingers. It’s tempting to pour another glass—so, so tempting after the day I’ve had—but I ignore the temptation. I may not be planning on doing much thinking tonight, but tomorrow will come soon enough and I’m damn well not going to start my new life, whatever it may be, with another hangover.

So instead of emptying the remaining half of the bottle into a very large wineglass, I slide it into the fridge and settle for pouring two glasses of water instead.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” I ask as I hand one to Miles. I’ve decided I’m going to give myself the rest of the evening to hide from the mess that is my life. Tomorrow is soon enough to start trying to fix things.

He doesn’t answer right away and I find myself holding my breath as I wait to see what he’s going to say. It’s not that I’m afraid to be alone or anything, I assure myself. Because I’m not. It’s just that I want to do something to keep busy. Otherwise, all there is for me to do right now is stare at the ceiling and wonder how the hell I’ve let my life get so off track.

Because the truth is, no matter what Miles says, no matter what Chloe says, there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that this mess is all my fault.

After all, I’m the one who was stupid enough to date Alexander in the first place.

I’m the one who was fucking moronic enough to seek him out at the party last night, even if it was just to show off a little.

And I’m definitely the one who was stupid enough to turn him down in a way that was guaranteed to piss him off. Guaranteed to make him lash out.

If only I’d known what he had in his possession. If only I’d known how quick he would be to use it against me.

But if I’d known, would I really have done anything different? Would I have given in and slept with him as my father suggested, just to avoid embarrassment?

I don’t think so. I sure as hell don’t want to think so. But looking at where I am now, dependent on my best friend and her brother to house and feed me because I can’t take care of myself, I’m not so sure.

It’s the uncertainty that enrages me the most, the idea that if I had known where I was going to end up, I might have fucked Alexander just to save myself. The fact that he has that kind of power—that I unwittingly gave him that kind of power over me when I dated him two years ago—makes me more than furious. It makes me sick.

For the first time since I talked to Chloe, I let myself think about what she said. Let myself think about what standing up for myself in this situation would look like. Alexander’s people will dig up every piece of dirt on me they can. Every indiscretion. Every drunken party. Every guy I ever slept with. Before they’re done, I’m sure I’ll be labeled everything from a party-girl socialite to a whore.

It’s not fair.

Believe me, I know better than most that life isn’t fair. It’s a lesson I learned at an early age, despite my life of privilege, and it’s a lesson that this whole nightmare is just reinforcing.

But it isn’t fair—not to me and not to all the other girls and women this same thing has happened to.

So what if I wasn’t a saint before tonight. So what if I drank too much and slept with too many guys because I wanted to feel connected to someone, even if it was just for a little while. Does that give Alexander the right to do this to me just because he can? Does it give him the right to violate my trust and put my whole future in jeopardy just because he wanted to build himself up as the next big action-movie stud?

It doesn’t. It really, really doesn’t.

“Hey!” Miles’s sharp exclamation draws me out of my head, has me staring up into his concerned blue eyes even as he wipes his thumb across my cheek. It’s not until I feel his skin rubbing over the wetness there that I even realize that I’m crying. “You know he’s not worth it, right?

“Shit!” I dash my own hands over my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—”

“Stop,” he growls, taking my hand in his and leading me from the kitchen into the family room with its big-screen TV and huge, overstuffed sofas. “For Christ’s sake, don’t apologize for being upset. It just makes me want to beat the hell out of that jackass even more.”

Before this whole thing happened the idea of brilliant inventor and engineer Miles Girard beating the hell out of anyone would have been laughable to me. After all, I’ve always thought of him as a total tech geek, one who is way more comfortable in his workshop than he’ll ever be punching someone’s lights out.

But that was before he looked down at me with such fierce protectiveness.

Before he dipped me on the dance floor and held me there, effortlessly, with just one hand.

It was definitely before I’d kissed him and felt his surprisingly ripped and powerful body pressed against my own.

Now

that all that has happened, the idea of him taking on Alexander isn’t laughable at all. It’s sweet and comforting and shockingly arousing all at the same time. I’ve never been one to be turned on by men going all muscle-bound and mad for me, but I’d be lying if I said all the protective vibes emanating from Miles weren’t getting to me. And if the idea of him flattening Alexander—whose overinflated muscles are pretty much all for show anyway—turns me on, then nobody needs to know about it but me.

“Alexander’s lawyers would have a field day with you if you so much as came near him,” I tell him a little regretfully.