The Start of Something Good Read online

  Her voice was a whisper of sound. "That last one is a lie."

  Ophelia and Harper gave a whoop. Chloe laughed.

  Ethan jerked, as if woken from a strange trance. Surprise flickered over the hard lines of his face before quickly being masked. But it was too late. She'd spotted the shred of vulnerability and now she knew.

  He had secrets he kept buried from everyone.

  Even himself.

  The room tilted as the realization broke over her and changed everything. No wonder she'd sensed wrong when she assumed it was a car crash. What had really happened to him? Why were there so many shadows banked so ruthlessly in his eyes? And why did she want to find out so badly? Her fingers shook slightly as she laid down her fork.

  "I don't want you to do me," Chloe stated, making everyone laugh again and break the pulsating tension.

  "Who wants one last serving before dessert?" Ophelia asked.

  Mia glanced at the last biscuit on the platter and put out her hand. Dessert? "No, thanks. Everything was delicious."

  Ethan rolled his eyes in pure mockery, back to his usual self. "Sure it was."

  She shot him a withering look. "What is that supposed to mean? The food was delicious."

  "You hardly ate anything. Five green beans and three bites of turkey isn't a meal."

  Her voice chilled. "I ate a lot today. I was stuffed."

  A delighted grin broke over his face. He leaned back in his chair. "Lie. What did you eat?"

  She shifted her weight in the chair, the earlier peace forgotten. Oh, how she disliked this man with intensity. Why couldn't he mind his own business? Why couldn't he just be polite? "Plenty of healthy things. Fruit. Yogurt. Hummus. Carrot sticks. Okay?"

  "I knew it. You're one of those women who doesn't eat. That's why you're so high strung!"

  "Ethan!" Ophelia admonished. "That's not nice."

  Mia gasped. "How dare you? What I do or don't eat is none of your business."

  "Probably not, but starving must make you kind of miserable. Nothing wrong with enjoying good food. Bet you eat processed frozen diet meals and products that advertise no fat."

  "I don't!" She only ate the frozen meals when she was forced to.

  He scratched his chin and regarded her. Then chuckled. "Lie. Hmm, maybe I'm good at this game, too."

  Ophelia glared at her brother. "There's a lot of reasons people don't eat. Mia, I'm so sorry. Just ignore him. Lord knows he can eat whatever he wants without gaining a pound, so he assumes we can all gorge on desserts."

  Harper snorted. "Yeah, that was messed up, dude. You should just respect her decisions. No wonder she doesn't like you."

  In that moment, Mia saw the looks on their faces and almost groaned. Of course, they believed she had an eating disorder, which was a sensitive subject. Her friend in high school had suffered from bulimia, and it had been tough watching her struggle. It took a lot of therapy for her to get healthy.

  Ethan seemed to realize his error, pulling back in slight horror. "Sorry. Forget I said anything."

  "I don't have an eating disorder," she said quietly. "Not that it's any of your business," she added, cutting a glance at Ethan. "But note to self for the future: don't share your opinions on a woman's food choices."

  "Noted," he said gruffly.

  Chloe tittered. "Mia, Ethan made a point, though. I never see you eat."

  "If you must know, I'm trying to squeeze into a very expensive Gucci dress for an important event. I need to be careful."

  "Maybe you should just buy another dress and treat yourself to some real food while you're here," Ethan threw out. "You're a size six already, for God's sake. Nothing wrong with food made with real cheese and milk and sugar. At least it has no additives and fake products that have no nutrients."

  "I did read on the internet how whole milk, real butter, and even ice cream is good for you in moderation," Chloe offered.

  "Did you try the biscuit?" Ethan asked. "Ophelia makes them homemade. When was the last time you had carbs?"

  Even the word made her knees shake with longing. Irritation skated across her nerve endings. Damn him. Why did he always have to stir stuff up? "A while," she said with a grunt.

  He grabbed the last biscuit, split it in half, and smeared a touch of butter over the inside. Real butter. Not the pretend kind. A tiny puff of steam rose from the dough. Suddenly, her mouth was full of drool. "Here. Just eat half and enjoy it."

  She gazed at the weapon of mass destruction. "If I eat the damn biscuit, will you leave me alone?"

  "Yes. For now."

  "Fine." She grabbed it and took a bite. Then tried desperately to hide the orgasmic feeling of pure pleasure seizing her body. "Are you happy?"

  "Yes. You're too skinny."

  "I think you look beautiful," Ophelia defended. "I'm surprised at you, Ethan. You came straight from an industry that puts a lot of stock in a small-size designer dress. Why are you picking on her?"

  "What do you mean?" Mia asked, mouth full of heavenly goodness. Oh God, it was so good, she was sweating. "What industry?"

  "Ethan was a bodyguard in Hollywood. He protected movie stars and stuff. He knows firsthand how crazed we get about our weight and what the industry calls out as fat or skinny in today's world."

  As another juicy bone from his past fell out of the closet, Mia found herself greedy for more. Ethan had lived a very different life than she'd originally thought. Maybe there were more layers underneath to reveal.

  "Is that where you got to hang out with Scott Eastwood?" Chloe asked.

  Now he was the one who looked uncomfortable. Good. Payback is a bitch. He seemed to gather himself together before answering. "Yep. Attended a whole bunch of those glitzy parties, where the media picked apart how they all looked, throwing the term fat around without caring what damage it did. I'm tired of watching women do that to themselves when every damn man you line up will tell you the truth: we like our women big, curvy, small, petite, tall, short, and every way in between. Wanna know what makes a woman really hot? If she's real and healthy and happy. Not the size dress she fits into."

  Mia was struck speechless, the last of the biscuit crumbs still lingering on her lips. She'd dated men before who gave her pretty words on how she didn't have to diet, but they were the first ones to raise their brow when the waiter offered dessert. They were the ones who pointedly gazed at a curvy female and shook their head slightly, as if sympathetic for her plight. In her heart, she never believed them, and she had been right.

  But she believed Ethan Bishop.

  It radiated from his very aura, rang from his words still echoing in the air. In that moment, she believed he'd appreciate a woman in all aspects, especially naked, out of her designer dress, vulnerable to his gaze.

  He'd make her feel like a queen.

  Her cheeks flushed at the thought. Dear Lord, what was happening to her? She intensely disliked him!

  "That's lit," Chloe said. "I know some girls at school who torture themselves by starving to get thinner."

  "Agreed," Harper echoed, sharing a smile with the teen.

  "On that note, I'm going to fetch the apple pie," Ophelia said. "But no pressure, Mia. It is homemade organic crust, fresh apples, cinnamon, sugar, and a few secret spices. Just to tempt you."

  Chloe's phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. "I need to take this," she mumbled, getting up from her chair. "Be back in a few."

  Harper rose. "I'll put on some coffee." She disappeared into the kitchen.

  Ah, crap.

  Refusing to be intimidated, Mia crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked him dead in the eye. "How'd you really hurt your leg?"

  "You're not going to eat that pie, are you?"

  She pursed her lips. Considered. "Why do you want me to eat it?"

  "'Cause it'll put you in a better mood."

  She couldn't help it. A smile threatened. As much as he was a pain in the ass, he kept her consistently engaged with his banter. "You won't be around me much,"
she pointed out. "I'm barred from your barn."

  "I dare you to eat the pie. A decent slice. Even the crust part."

  She leaned over the table, resting the tips of her fingers together. "And if I don't take your ridiculous dare?"

  He shrugged. "You miss out on pie and I know you don't have grit."

  Her brows shot up. "Grit? Are we trapped in some old John Wayne movie, horse man?"

  "Eat the pie, and I'll tell you what happened to my leg."

  She pretended to consider. "I also want free access to the barn whenever I want. And no more yelling at me. You be civil at all times."

  He gnashed his teeth together. "Hell no."

  "Then I don't need the pie."

  A grumpy frown creased his brow. He muttered a curse. "You can visit my barn, but if you do something stupid again, I get to yell."

  She let out a long-suffering sigh. He was way too easy. She'd devour him whole in a business negotiation. Now she got to go where she wanted, had learned the truth, and would have a delicious piece of pie. "Fine. You win."

  Ophelia and Harper came back and set the pie on the table.

  Her mouth practically gaped open.

  The crust was so high on top, it practically rose to a whole foot. Apples oozed out of the corners of the crust, and the color was a toasty brown. She bit her tongue to keep from moaning out loud. No, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He'd have to torture her first. "Looks good," she said casually.

  Ethan grinned knowingly.

  Plates were doled out. Chloe came back, adding a scoop of ice cream to hers and chattering with Harper about the rescue horses and what was involved. Ophelia excused herself to take care of a guest.

  And Mia ate her pie.

  It wasn't easy. She gathered all her forces to swallow each delicious bite without shaking in pleasure. Under the table, she squeezed her thighs together with merciless brutality and fought for focus. The rich flavors danced on her tongue with sheer abandon, coursing through her body like wildfire.

  And the bastard watched her through every heavenly, torturous bite. Studied her face, delved into her eyes, devoured each flitter of expression that leaked out. It was one of the most intimate exchanges she'd ever experienced with a man. Every bite forked between her lips made her knees quiver and prickles of heat skip over her skin. Her panties dampened. Finally, when the last bit of crust had been consumed, she slowly put her fork down on her plate with slightly trembling fingers.

  Gathering the last of her strength, she lifted her chin and stared at him with haughty demand. "Done."

  His voice lowered to a husky pitch. "Was it good?"

  She licked her lips. Those blue eyes focused on the action with pure greed. Her heart skipped in a mad beat, and the air suddenly buzzed like a wild live electrical wire that got dropped under water. She could barely drag in oxygen. "It was okay."

  Oh, his smile was smug and sexy and wicked. Her nipples tightened and pushed against the thin silk of her top. Longing spilled through her for . . . something. What was happening?

  "Lie," he whispered.

  Her fingers itched to touch his hair. The ginger strands were thick, tousled, and glowed almost gold in the lamplight. She focused on the task at hand. "Now tell me how you hurt your leg."

  His face changed. The connection broke like a cord ripped away, writhing and twisting on the floor. He stood up from the chair and headed toward the door. "Thanks for dinner, Ophelia. Chloe, see you tomorrow." He gave her a curt nod, like they never experienced that mind-blowing chemistry over the dinner table or made a bet that seethed with undercurrents of meaning.

  She shot to her feet. "Hey, you owe me the truth. That was the bet."

  He turned toward her. A smile tugged at those luscious lips. What would his face be like without that beard? Would his skin be rough or smooth? What were the true shape of his lips and jaw?

  "I said I'd tell you. I didn't say when."

  Her eyes widened. "You cheated!"

  "You didn't specify the details of the terms. I would've thought better of you, princess. You work in PR."

  And with a mocking wink, he walked out of the inn, whistling.

  The bastard was whistling.

  He was so going to get his.

  Chapter Nine

  The loud whirr of the copter was like a lullaby, his only focus as he guided Aresh Hammati forward. After parachuting in last night, he'd been able to secure and escort him from the meeting place to the pickup zone. The valuable informant had been key in gaining terrorist information for the United States, but he'd been outed. Ethan needed to get the man out of Iraq before he was killed.

  There wasn't much time left.

  "They're coming!" Aresh screamed. "We're going to die."

  "Not today," he grit back. "We're here."

  Keeping Aresh pinned to his side, Ethan pushed through the exhaustion as his boots pounded over the terrain, where scorched desert earth met burned-out trees, concentrating on the wildly bouncing copter as it lowered down. The door slid open, and Buckeye motioned him forward, gun trained on the emerging enemy.

  No time to land. It would be a STABO extraction, and time was tight.

  Fuck.

  Ethan reached the rope and checked the equipment. The whip of adrenaline tightened his body, but his mind remained crystal clear. He'd done it before, and though the environment and circumstance always changed, his reaction didn't. He could perform an extraction in the dark of night, on land or ocean, because he turned to automatic with a burning focus that ripped every other thought from his mind.

  Save a life.

  He got Aresh secured at the same time thick smoke rolled from the trees and the burst of gunfire exploded in the air. His gut clenched, and his neck prickled with warning. Too close. They were too close.

  Ethan gave Buckeye the signal. Aresh grabbed him, his face sweaty and mad with fear. "Don't let me die," he begged wildly. "Promise."

  "You're not going to die. I promise. Hang on, you're going up."

  Hope flared in his deep dark eyes. A flicker of trust. A belief Ethan wouldn't let him down and would keep his damn promise, the vow that he lived and died for out here every minute of every day. With quick, deft motions, Ethan clipped himself in. The bird lifted, rising from the ground along with Aresh. Slowly, the cord began shortening. Inch by inch, they were brought closer to the door of the copter. Buckeye and Tyler waited to pull them in.

  They'd make it.

  The line of trees broke open, and men swarmed out, screaming and racing toward the rising copter. Gritting his teeth, Ethan held on, swinging in the air. They spun wildly, the wind ripping at the safety line, and then the sound of endless gunfire popped into the sky.

  In slow motion, the scene unraveled in brutal familiarity that he couldn't escape.

  The spray of bullets tearing into flesh and bone, burning up his leg until it hung uselessly under him. More pain knifed into his right shoulder. He trained his gaze on Aresh above him as he hovered close to safety, then watched the man jerk as bullets tore through him.

  "No! Fuck, no, hold on," Ethan screamed.

  They were carried away. Ethan saw Buckeye above him, yanking him from his restraints, the familiar gaze of knowledge he couldn't hide. Of death. Of injury. Of change.

  Tyler was yelling something. Fighting consciousness, he rolled and reached for Aresh, praying he'd made it. They were both alive. They'd both made it. They both . . .

  The man's head lolled to the side. Loosened muscles sagged lifelessly against him. His dead, dark eyes stared back into Ethan's, mocking him.

  "Don't let me die. Don't let me die."

  "I won't. I swear to God I won't let you die."

  No.

  His vision blurred. Nausea churned his gut. The world faded around him.

  No, no, no, no . . .

  Ethan shot up out of bed, his cry still lingering in the air. Sweat coated his body. He rolled off the mattress, feeling the panic attack grip him, and he sank to his knees,
a whimper exploding from his lips.

  Not again.

  The raw fear and uncontrollable dread pumped through his veins and blurred his thoughts. He fought for breath, trying to slow it down as his heart madly thumped out of rhythm and seemed to explode in his chest.

  He didn't know how long it took for the attack to surge and then slowly recede. When his body began to recover, Ethan stumbled to the bathroom, stepping into the shower to clean off the sweat and lingering dirt of the dream. He toweled off and threw on a pair of denim shorts and black tank, knowing sleep was done for the rest of the night. At this point, he was grateful for a few solid, uninterrupted hours and counted himself lucky.

  After all, he was the lucky one.

  He'd survived the bullets.

  Aresh Hammati hadn't.

  And he'd broken his promise.

  Ethan rubbed his hands over his scalp. Aresh had been an important informant to protect. And once again, Ethan kept going over and over the scenario, wondering if he'd just been a little faster, trimmed a few precious minutes, would Aresh still be alive?

  He knew it was useless to replay the event. He'd told that to his therapist, accepting the natural process of grief and guilt after a traumatic event. Always wondering why he'd been spared and another hadn't. He still talked on the phone and joked with Buckeye, but his friend was back in the shit, and Ethan was now home. His body would never recover enough to get back in the game, and it was as if a piece of his core had died with Aresh Hammati. So he left behind his second life in the military and his third life as bodyguard to Hollywood royalty.

  He'd come back to his first life in search of some peace.

  His knee ached, so he did some of his stretches to loosen the crumbled nerves and muscle. When he glanced at the clock, it was two a.m. Might as well take a walk and get some air to clear his head.

  He grabbed a pocket flashlight, stuffed his feet into shoes, and headed out into the darkness.

  The moonlight spilled in blotchy patches. The screech of crickets melded with the hoot of owls in a beautiful night melody. Fireflies glided by with miniswarms of gnats, and the trees kept still in the windless evening.

  Ethan walked for a while, finally heading toward the inn. Maybe he'd sit in one of the wicker rockers on the porch and watch the eventual sunrise. He followed the path, passing his favorite Japanese cherry blossom trees that gave off a ripe floral scent, and stopped short.