Page 22 of Ethan & Grace

“And what?”

“And on Monday, he hugged me.”

Rose spat the mouthful of cocktail she’d just taken back into her glass and stared at me wide-eyed, the colourful strobe lights flashing across her face. “He did what? How did that happen?”

“I was pretty shaken after talking to a few people in the break room. I felt so uncomfortable that I was almost looking forward to Ethan throwing some insults my way. But instead, he offered his condolences. It was just too much. I started crying right there in his penthouse, and then . . . he hugged me. For a really long time.”

“Did you like it?”

“No!” I protested far too quickly.

Rose was the only person who knew about my weakness when it came to Ethan. I’d confessed, after one too many gin and tonics last summer, that a rogue part of me was attracted to him. He was objectively hot, and his perfectly sculpted body was as intimidating as it was impressive. I was honestly curious about how it would feel to spend a night with him. Not that it would ever happen—not least because his terrible personality smothered every spark of desire I might have felt. My confession had surprised Rose, but she wasn’t blind, so she got it. Especially since she despised most men but still got involved with them for her own pleasure.

“Oh my God,” Rose squealed. “You enjoyed it!”

“I didn’t!”

She examined me through narrowed eyes. “Liar! I can tell!”

I bit my lower lip. “Fine, I liked it. It was a great hug. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that Ethan is big and strong and built to hold things tight—traumatised chambermaids, for example.”

Rose snorted. “You’re a weird pair.”

“We’re not a pair. He’s the devil!”

“Yeah, but it was the devil who turned into a snake and seduced Eve.”

“If you think I’d ever get involved with Ethan, then you’ve had too much of this.” I tapped her half-empty cocktail glass. “I have something called decency, dignity, and self-respect.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”

“I hope so,” Rose said with a warning look. She might understand my crush, but if anything actually happened between Ethan and me, she’d be the first to judge me. She hated the Darlingtons with a passion. She already resented Kate for being with Henry, but since she hadn’t known Kate all that well yet when the relationship started, she let it go. She’d be far less forgiving of me. Not that it mattered, because I was never going to get involved with Ethan Darlington. Never.

9

Hottest Face in British High Society: Ethan Darlington

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Ethan

“What are we toasting to?” James asked, raising his shot glass.

We were sitting on plush sofas in the VIP lounge of the newly opened club. The former industrial hall was packed, and the air was thick with alcohol, sweat, and the smoke from the fog machine shrouding the dance floor. The DJ—definitely not Deadmau5—urged the crowd to sing along to the next track. Bellowing voices filled the room, but thankfully, we were up in the gallery, so we were spared the worst of it.

“We don’t have to toast to something every round,” Charles replied.

“But it’s more fun this way,” James said.

“You can drink to the hottest face in high society,” suggested a husky voice.

I looked up and gazed straight into the seductively made-up eyes of Jessica Thompson. Jessie wore a red dress that stopped just below her thighs, showing off every inch of her slim figure. Her straight blond hair fell over her shoulders, and her smile was almost unnaturally, blindingly white.

“Hey, Jessie,” Charles said, looking at the model with a spark in his eyes. Any second now, he might start drooling, tongue lolling from his mouth. “Do you want to join us?” He slid over before she had the chance to answer.

“Sure,” Jessie said, but instead of sitting in the now-open spot next to Charles, she squeezed in beside me on the sofa, though there was hardly any room. She ended up perched more on my lap than on the sofa seat. Charles gave me a dirty look, as if it were my fault.