Page 43 of Ethan & Grace

“Shame.”

Ethan looked at me thoughtfully. “How drunk are you?”

I paused to check in with myself. “I’d say a three out of ten.”

I was apparently sober enough for whatever he had in mind, because he threw back the blanket, got to his feet, and held out his hand in invitation.

“Come with me.”

I stared at his fingers, undecided, before throwing caution to the wind. I’d just been thinking about sleeping with him, after all. What did I have to lose?

I took his hand. His fingers were surprisingly soft, and the touch didn’t feel as strange as it should have. Again, it felt oddly familiar, as if we’d touched dozens of times before.

“Where are we going?” I asked as Ethan steered me towards the lift.

“It’s a surprise.”

16

How was the hearing? Want to talk?

Message from James to Ethan

Ethan

“You’re taking me to the basement?” Grace asked, frowning as I pushed the button in the lift. Though at The Darlington, it could hardly be called a basement. To me, a basement was dark and musty, with low ceilings and cobwebs in every corner—but the hotel’s lowest floor had far more to offer.

“Looks like it.”

“What are you planning?”

“You’ll see in a moment.”

“If you’re about to throw me into a sex dungeon, a warning would be nice.”

“Do you really think The Darlington has a sex dungeon?”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past you rich people. You’re all pretty weird.”

I couldn’t argue with that. When you had a lot of money, you bought all sorts of strange things—not because you needed or wanted them, but simply to own them and prove to others that you could have anything you wanted. “I’m not taking you to a sex dungeon. I promise.”

“Shame,” Grace muttered so quietly I doubted she meant for me to hear. But I did—and it did things to both my head and my cock. This was probably a bad idea, but the thought of leaving Grace to be sad all by herself hadn’t appealed to me. Not to mention the fact that I’d had a totally shitty day myself and could use the distraction, now that my main—if I was honest, my only—coping mechanism had fallen away. I’d sat at the bar trying to trick my brain with alcohol-free cocktails, but it hadn’t worked. It was only talking to Grace that had brought me the slightest bit of relief.

With a barely perceptible jolt, the lift came to a stop and the doors slid open.

The floor was made of light-marble tiles flecked with gold, and even down here, criminally expensive oil paintings hung on the walls. Columns adorned with floral arrangements lined the corridor, and the air was filled with a pleasant, flowery scent. Speakers mounted to the walls usually played soothing music for spa visitors, but since this area was closed to hotel guests after ten o’clock, it was completely silent at this hour.

I took Grace’s hand again. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. I didn’t usually feel this urge with other women. Holding Grace’s hand felt good in a way I couldn’t quite define. Maybe it was because she needed me just then—to keep herself from breaking under the weight of her pain.

Hand in hand, we stepped out of the lift. I led Grace along the corridor until she realised where I was taking her, and her steps faltered.

“You want to go for a swim?”

“Yes. Now’s the best time for it.” No one else was here. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled brat, I hated having to share the pool with guests. They knew who I was and never tired of approaching me when all I wanted was to relax after a tough workout. That was also one of the reasons why I didn’t go to the sauna in the daytime. I had no problem with nudity; what bothered me was being stared at. It was partly my own fault. If I hadn’t made sure the tabloids were full of headlines about me, I wouldn’t have this problem. I should’ve taken a leaf out of Logan’s book—he’d managed to stay completely under the radar. But it was far too late for that now.

“The pool’s closed,” Grace said.

“Not for me.”