Page 28 of Ethan & Grace

My heart leapt. I pushed away from the wall and rushed over to Ethan, practically tearing the coat from his hands. I clutched it to my chest, and a tear of relief escaped my eye.

“Thanks,” I croaked hoarsely.

“You’re welcome.”

“How did you do that?”

“Kindness,” he replied. “And money.”

I stared at him. “You bribed her?”

“I wouldn’t call it bribery, exactly.” He shrugged. “It was more of a financial incentive.” He slipped on his coat, which hugged his body like it was made for him. I was certain the fabric would feel soft beneath my fingertips—so unlike Amy’s coat, rough and scratchy with wear. Still, I clung to it like a frightened child clinging to its mother’s leg. I vowed to never let it out of my hands again. I would guard it like the treasure it was.

“How much did you give her? I’ll pay you back.”

“You can keep your money.”

Ethan reached for my coat, and although I’d just sworn to never let it out of my hands again, I allowed him to take it. As he held it open for me to slip into, his fingers brushed my bare shoulder. Despite how tense I’d felt only moments before, a tingle shot through me.

I turned to face Ethan. He was standing close. Too close.

“Thanks,” I said again.

He gave a crooked smile. “You’re welcome. Shall we go?”

The question—that we—made my heart race so fast that all I could do was nod.

The entrance was crowded, and we had to fight against the tide of people coming back from the smoking area and the toilets. They were loud and drunk, some of them high, and I fought to weave my way through the chaos. Suddenly, I felt Ethan’s hand on my back, and he was walking beside me. His silent authority was enough to make even the drunkest person step aside, despite the fact that, just a moment ago, they’d ignored me completely. Just like I was currently trying to ignore the sensation of Ethan’s warm hand against the small of my back.

He held the door open for me, and we stepped out of the club together. In the two hours I’d spent inside, the night had grown cooler, and it had started to rain. I ducked my head, glad I wasn’t wearing high heels for my dash to the station.

“How are you getting home?” Ethan asked, taking his hand from my back.

I immediately missed the gentle pressure of his touch. But that didn’t have to mean anything. I was just exhausted and emotionally drained, not to mention starved of touch. The unwanted hugs from my colleagues didn’t count, and my family couldn’t even bring themselves to look at me, let alone touch me. That was all. It had absolutely nothing to do with Ethan.

“I’m taking the Tube.” One upside of going home this early was that the trains were still running. Otherwise, I’d have to call a taxi, which wasn’t really an option. I still had the money my coworkers had given me, but I wanted to keep it for emergencies, not waste it on taxi fare.

“You can ride with me,” Ethan offered.

I shook my head. “That’s not necessary.”

“Would you really rather sit in a Tube that stinks of alcohol and vomit with a load of drunk people instead of letting my driver take you home?”

I hesitated. This wasn’t just anyone offering, but Beelzebub himself. But in the end, convenience won out over the reasonable part of me, which warned me to steer clear of Ethan. “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”

He led me to a waiting black limousine. We had almost reached the car when a man in a suit stepped out from the driver’s side. He was around fifty, with light-blond hair, and he looked vaguely familiar. I’d probably seen him around the hotel.

“Hi, Wallace,” Ethan greeted him. “Sorry that took a bit longer than expected. I had to handle something in the club.”

“No problem,” Wallace replied with a smile, his eyes flicking briefly towards me. I couldn’t tell if he recognised me or had just filed me away as one of Ethan’s conquests. Either way, he went to one of the back doors and held it open for us.

Ethan gestured for me to get in. Under the stares of the party crowd, I slid onto the back seat of the limousine. I saw these fancy cars idling outside The Darlington all the time, but I’d never actually been inside one. I examined the interior with curiosity, taking in the dark leather and polished-wood panelling. Everything gleamed and sparkled as if it had rolled straight off the production line mere hours earlier. Warm air streamed from the vents, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

“Where to?” Wallace asked.

I told him my address in Shadwell. A moment later, a privacy screen slid up, separating the front of the car from the back—probably a feature that frequently came in handy when you were Ethan Darlington’s driver. The car pulled away. The engine was barely audible, the vibrations hardly noticeable—unlike my dad’s ancient Toyota, which always thoroughly rattled your bones. But the barely audible hum only made the silence between Ethan and me more glaring, and I felt the urge to fill it.

“How did you like the club?” I asked.