“Margot?” he asks in a groggy voice.
Sheepishly, I reply, “Hi.”
Ethan shifts beside me, his muscles tensing. The hand on my back stills, but his fingertips linger for a second longer.
“Guess I never made it to the couch,” he says.
I lay there stiffly, unsure of what to say. I wonder if waking up with a woman is an unusual experience for Ethan. Do his dates stay the night, or does he call them an Uber as soon as the sex is over? Does he cuddle with them? Rub their backs in soft, lazy strokes like he did to mine a minute ago?
It takes me a few seconds to realize that Ethan is still looking down at me. His eyes roam over my face then drift to where my chest presses against his ribs. Up close, I can see him clearly even without my glasses, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat. His expression has shifted, surprise replaced by something else. Something that looks a lot like desire.
“I’ve never seen you without your glasses,” he says quietly.
Ethan’s hand moves to my face, his fingers gently brushing away a strand of hair. My stomach flutters at his touch.
That’s new.
It’s not like Ethan and I have never touched before, but he doesn’t routinely caress my face either.
Yeah, I’m blind without themis all I can think of to say, but I swallow down the words, along with the lump in my throat, so I don’t ruin the moment.
I don’t know what’s more surprising: this fleeting thought that Ethan might kiss me, or the fact that I think I want him to.
Our faces are suddenly closer. His breath skates along my lips, and I inhale it in a shaky, quiet gasp. Ethan’s eyes stay locked on mine, searching for any sign of objection.
He won’t find any.
Against all of my better judgement, I’m suddenly very receptive to the idea of kissing my boss.
His hand flattens against my back, fingers flexing against my skin as his lips tentatively brush mine. It’s so soft, so tender, more of a question than a kiss. My nerves spark under my skin and the fluttering in my stomach amplifies by a million. I’m strung tight, waiting and hoping for more.
Then the doorbell rings.
I practically jump right out of my skin. We pull apart like we’ve just been caught doing something wrong. Maybe we have. Ethan’s head lands on the pillow with a thud, and he curses under his breath. I’m not sure if he’s cursing the fact that we were interrupted, or the fact that there was anything to interrupt in the first place.
Running a hand slowly over his face, Ethan sits up and mumbles, “I should get that.”
When Ethan stands up and strides out of the bedroom, I roll onto my back and try to catch my breath. The ghost of Ethan’s touch lingers on my skin, the taste of him fresh on my lips. Just when I think my pulse can’t race any faster, I hear muffled voices in the living room.
“I didn’t think you’d be here until later this afternoon,” Ethan says.
A woman replies, “We got an early start.” She hesitates, her voice growing quieter when she adds, “I hope that’s okay.”
Crap.
Ethan’s sister-in-law is here, and I’m lying in her bed, still a little hot and bothered from our almost-kiss. The only thing more awkward than walking out of this room right now would be getting caught still lying here.
Welcome to your new house. Don’t mind me, I’ve just been kissing your brother-in-law in your bed.
I spring off the mattress and slide into my shoes while finger combing my rumpled hair. Scurrying out of the room and down the hall, I’m greeted in the living room by two wide sets of eyes. That’s when it occurs to me that I should have climbed out a window or hid in a closet instead.
Ethan’s head swings back to the other woman. In a voice he usually reserves for the boardroom, he explains, “This is my assistant, Margot. She offered to come over this morning and help me set up some furniture.” I don’t miss the way he emphasizes the wordsthis morningor the way he barely glances in my direction when he adds, “Margot, this is Rachel.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, giving her an awkward wave from across the room.
The smile she gives me in return is hard to read, an unusual mix of friendliness and weariness. Then I remember what Ethan said last night. Maybe Rachel isn’t here under the best of circumstances. Maybe something happened with Ethan’s brother, like a relapse or jail. I don’t know the whole story about Silas, and it’s clear that Ethan doesn’t like to talk about it. I can respect that.
The air in the room feels stiff and awkward. Ethan is typically easygoing and charming, but there’s none of that now—just a tightness around his mouth and a silence that hums with something unspoken.