The photographer shot the hell out of that moment, and I knew I would see the pictures in print, on TV, magazines, everywhere. I was in it now, and there was no going back. For any of us.

I could feel Ethan beside me, as tight as a bowstring about ready to snap. He was undoubtedly furious that Lance was touching me in an intimate way. Strangely, it didn’t affect me much at all. I felt numb more than anything. So I forced myself to continue on with the charade, to propel it forward so we could all end the torture.

Retrieving my hand from his grip, I said, “Lance, this is my husband, Ethan Blackstone. Ethan, Lance Oakley, an old…friend from San Francisco.”

Lance gave Ethan his full attention and held out his hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, Ethan.”

There was a long pause where I wasn’t sure Ethan would return the handshake. Time stopped as everyone held their breath.

After what felt like an eon, Ethan brought his own hand forward and delivered a firm shake. “How do you do?” The greeting was conveyed smoothly, but I knew my man, and he was hating on every bloody second of being here. Of me having to be here. Of him having to pretend.

Then, as if a screen director were calling the shots, someone came up and tapped Ethan on the shoulder, apologizing for the interruption, but he had an important call that required his attention. And just like that, he excused himself. I watched Ethan walk out, the rigid gait showing me how hard it was for him to leave me there alone. You can do this.

“Will you sit down?”

“Yes, of course.” I followed the script, astounded that my brain was remembering what to say and do.

Once I was seated beside him, he reached out and took my hand again. I allowed it only because I could hear the camera clicking as it captured pictures of us chatting together as close friends would, when one of them was hurt in the hospital. You are doing a job and you’re almost done. Finish it, and walk out the door and never look back.

“You look so wonderful. You look happy, Brynne.”

“I am happy.” And as if I needed reminding, my little butterfly angel chose that moment to assure me of its presence. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel the fluttery brushes of my baby growing safe inside me. The beauty of that miracle sort of made all of the awkwardness in the current moment fade out of my focus, enabling me to bear it.

“Brynne…I am so sorry about this…that you had to come here. I’m sorry you had to, but I am so grateful to finally see you again.” His voice was so different now. The way he spoke was different. I sensed sincerity…

I opened my eyes and looked at him, having a very hard time coming up with a response. Eventually I did. “I hope—that you recover quickly, Lance. I—I have to get going.” Time for the coup de gras, the part which would be the hardest for me to get through. But I knew what I was expected to do. And so I would.

I stood up from my chair and bent down to him.

His face fell, his expression changing to one of displeasure that I was ending the visit. I took a deep breath and pressed my cheek to his in a simple embrace. I held myself suspended as the camera exploded in another round of furious clicking.

Lance brought his arms up around my back.

I closed my eyes again…and thought of Ethan and my butterfly angel to get me through the moment.

My mission was nearly complete, the checkered flag about to drop, when Lance whispered in my ear. The words were spoken in a rush, and audible only to me, but there was only one way to describe how he sounded. Desperate.

“Brynne, please come back to see me again. I have to tell you how sorry I am for what I did to you.”

CHAPTER 9

I knew Ethan was in a bad state the second I came out of Lance’s room. I could see the lines of worry around his eyes and the harsh set of his jaw. And I most definitely felt the tension in his body when he refused the car to take us home and had Len waiting for us instead. Ethan wouldn’t accept another morsel of anything from the senator. He was done.

The moment Len dropped us at the lobby of our building, Ethan propelled me inside with quick steps. No seconds wasted on even a simple greeting to Claude, our concierge, as he usually did. He moved us along with a singular purpose, trundling me into the elevator without ever uttering a single word.

He herded me into a corner and pressed his body up against mine, dropping his head to my neck and inhaling. Still silent, he just pinned me there and breathed me in. I could smell the seductive male spice coming off him. The scent of desire for sex, and the burning drive to mate.

“Ethan,” I whimpered his name.

“Hush.” He brought one finger to my lips and held it there. “No talking.”

I could feel the length of his c**k pressing into my hip and a long shiver rolled down my spine. I was already wet and he hadn’t even done anything to me except press his body to mine and express his displeasure for conversation. It was all in the power of suggestion in his manner, the way he communicated to me with his mind and his body about what he wanted, that was so compelling.

Ethan wanted to f**k. Me.

I knew he was just holding back the firestorm that would be coming at me the second he got us behind closed doors.

THE click of the door latch sounded incredibly loud against the tense silence.

With my senses on high alert, I braced myself for him to come at me. I didn’t have to wait long. In less than a second, I was covered from behind by a very hard body intent upon one, and only one goal. To get inside mine.

Ethan had his hands up my skirt and his fingers sliding over my clit before I could even take a step. His forceful probing of my sex was primal, and sent me into instant lust. It was his animalistic desperation that flipped the switch. Ethan was a ravening beast at my back right, and the erotic images he conjured up in my mind made me go just as wild.

“So drenched already,” he purred smugly at my neck, his hips thrusting into my ass while he fingered my pu**y, building me up to where my body took over, and my mind didn’t have to think about anything beyond this.

He pushed me forward, up to the foyer table. “Put your hands there and hold on,” he commanded.

As I took my place, I felt my panties pulled down roughly, one leg lifted out of them and then…his magic fingers were back at my pu**y. Thank you. This time, he plundered from the front so he could grind into me from behind. Spreading the slickness up and down my slit, he worked it around with talented fingers, stroking and lubricating my flesh until I was nearly ready to orgasm. Ethan was well versed in the signs, and I knew he would change things up because of it. He let me go along until I started to rock into the rhythm he had going, riding his hand like a wanton. Then he stopped. “No,” I cried out in protest when his fingers left me.