“Oh my God. All those people—”
“I know,” he tells me grimly, even as he helps me out of bed. “Frost Industries is running buses in the poorest area of towns, where public transportation is overloaded and people don’t have the means to get away.”
“Where are you taking them?”
“We’re working with the city on getting shelters set up in Temecula and Lake Elsinore. At this point the wind is blowing toward the south, and they don’t anticipate any changes for a while. Which means we’re in trouble down here, but people up north should be safe.”
“You’re amazing,” I tell him, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. “You know that, right?”
“It’s nothing. Anyone who has the means would do it.”
“No,” I tell him, looking him straight in the eye. “That’s what makes you different than so many others.”
It’s what I should have told Miles when he came here bitching about Ethan, what I should have reminded myself of when I started to have doubts. Ethan is, no doubt, the most decent guy I know. He helps people for no other reason than because he can. A guy like that doesn’t throw in with scum, even if they are his family. A guy like that would never betray me.
“Do I have time for a shower?” I ask as I cross to the closet, suddenly realizing how sticky and gross I feel.
“If you hurry. No more than five minutes. Michael is already outside.”
“Michael. You’re not leaving him here, are you?” I demand.
“No, Chloe. He’s flying the helicopter that’s taking us out of here. And I’ve hired a large plane to take any Frost Industries employees and their families to Vegas who want to evacuate there. Good enough, Your Highness?”
“Perfect. Better than perfect.”
“Now move,” he says, with a quick swat to my bottom. “Your shower’s down to four minutes.”
It takes me six, but Ethan doesn’t complain. And then we’re making a mad dash for the helipad. My hair is soaking wet and I’m shoving a haphazard assortment of clothes into my backpack as he shoves me toward the back door.
But the second we step outside, I can see why he’s so concerned. The sky is nearly black with smoke, the air quality so terrible I can barely catch my breath. And as we run toward the helipad, ash actually falls on us, coating our skin and clothes and hair.
“My God,” I tell him, looking around with wide eyes. “It’s like hell out here. Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”
“I woke you as soon as everything was arranged. Waking you up earlier wouldn’t have done anything but given you more time to worry.”
“No offense, but it looks like there’s a lot to worry about.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “We’ll be fine. Now move.” He points to the helicopter that’s waiting on the helipad, rotors whirring. “Michael will have trouble flying that thing if the smoke gets any thicker.”
That’s all it takes to get me moving, running full out toward the chopper despite my sore muscles and aching lungs.
Within minutes we’re airborne, flying straight up through the smoke to where the air is a little clearer. “Why Napa?” I ask Ethan, after we’re out of the worst of it.
“Because I have a vineyard there I thought you might like to see.”
“A vineyard? You own a vineyard?” I don’t know why that shocks me so much. The man owns a lot, after all. But still. A vineyard? It sounds so decadent and lovely, all at the same time.
Ethan laughs and pulls me into his side. “I own several vineyards, actually. But only one in Napa.”
“Several. Where are the others?”
“Italy. France. Mexico.”
“Of course. Because why wouldn’t you have vineyards all over the world?”
He laughs. “Exactly. Why wouldn’t I?”
I shoot him a dirty look. “You don’t actually want me to answer that, do you?”
“Not even a little bit. This one is my favorite, though.”
That gets my attention. From the beginning, things have been so intense between Ethan and me that I forget there’s still so much I don’t know about him. So much that I want to know. “Why is this one your favorite?”
“Because it makes my favorite pinot noir. And because it was my first.”
“Ahhh, you never forget your first.”
Ethan’s face goes dark and sensual at that, and I can’t stop my breath from hitching in my throat. “What—” My voice cracks, so I clear my throat, try again. It’s hard, though, when Ethan’s looking at me like he wants to devour me right here in the helicopter. “What’s that look for?”
He runs a rough thumb back and forth over my lips. “I like that I was your first. It wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t, wouldn’t make what I feel for you any less overwhelming. But still, I like knowing that I’m your first … and I plan to be your last, as well.”
My stomach jumps unpleasantly. “Technically, you weren’t—”
He stops me with a look. “I was your first in any way that matters. Brandon is a fucking animal and he got nothing of you. What he took—” He breaks off, shakes his head. “What he took has nothing to do with what we have, with what we are to each other.”
Tears bloom in my eyes at the sweetness—and the intensity—of his words. “I love you,” I tell him when I can finally find my voice again.
“I love you more.”
Chapter Nineteen
“It’s a vineyard. A real, honest to God vineyard.”
“That’s what I told you.”
We’ve just landed at Ethan’s place at Napa and I’m standing behind the main house, on top of a huge hill that looks down upon acres and acres of grapevines.
“Yeah, but I thought you meant you had a few grapes.”
He shrugs, raises his hands in a self-deprecating gesture as he nods toward the grapevines. “I have more than a few grapes.”
“I can see that now. You also have trucks and grape pickers and a tasting room. And wine-making … stuff. You have a vineyard.”
“Which is exactly what I told you I had.”
“Yeah, but …”
“But what?”
“But it’s a vineyard!”
He’s full-on grinning now, like I’m the craziest thing he’s ever seen. “You already said that.”
“I know, but it’s—”
“A vineyard,” he finishes for me. “Yes. It is. And not that I’m not having a good time, but are we really going to do this all day?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. What else is there to do?”
“I could show you around, show you all the ‘wine-making stuff’ you were speaking of so eloquently. Or we could go into town, get some lunch. Maybe pick up some groceries.”
“What?” I ask him in mock outrage. “You don’t have a cook? Or someone to stock the house for you? I’m very disappointed in your king of the manor persona.”
“I do, actually, have someone to do all of that, but I was afraid you’d rag me about it if I asked her to do it. I wonder where I could possibly have gotten that idea?”
“I can’t imagine.” I stand on my tiptoes and give him a loud, smacking kiss on the mouth. “But I’m hungry, so food sounds like a good plan. Give me a minute to run a brush through my hair and maybe put on some lip gloss and I’ll be good to go.”
“Do you want me to show you to our room? I can give you a quick tour of the house.”
“I would love a tour. But my stomach’s growling and from out here the thing looks like an only slightly smaller version of the Palace of Versailles, so maybe we’ll wait on the tour until later. I’m not adverse to you pointing me toward the nearest restroom, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Your disdain for my wealth is truly impressive, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Almost as impressive as the wealth itself, huh?” I answer with a roll of my eyes.
“Oh, more so. Definitely more so.” Ethan’s laughing now, his blue eyes glowing as brightly as the low-hanging sun
right above our heads. It’s exactly the reaction I’m going for with my banter, considering I’m filled with guilt after the stunt I pulled last night. Not that I don’t think I had a right—have a right, because I’m still not over it if I’m being honest—to be upset, but I can’t stand the fact that I hurt Ethan. That my own issues made me lash out and damage him, when he’s done nothing but love me. Nothing but care for me to the best of his ability.
I’m still not sure how I’m going to get past the news that the man who raped me is one small step away from being a United States Congressman. Any more than I know how I’m going to live with the fact that—if he wins—the man I love helped put him there.
Oh, Ethan says it’s not going to happen. He says he’s working hard to ensure that Brandon never gets the chance to abuse his power again. But Ethan told me he did a lot of work for him before the last few weeks. He’s given him a lot of his own money, since family money doesn’t count as a campaign donation. He’s held a dozen fund-raisers for Brandon as he ran—and won—a seat on the state senate two years ago, almost straight out of college.
So even though he’s withdrawing his support now, much of the damage is already done. Or much of the success, depending how you look at it.
Maybe it’d be smarter to walk away. Actually, there’s no maybe about it. It would definitely be smarter. But not easier. And not better.
Not when I love Ethan the way that I do.
Not when I need him just to breathe.
He leads me through the house to the nearest bathroom, and though I’m intent on freshening up and getting out the door to eat, I can’t help being awed by the parts of the house I’m seeing. I thought nothing could be as perfect as Ethan’s La Jolla house, all high ceilings and huge picture windows in every room that make the most of the ocean views. But this place is just as beautiful, in a different way.
Whereas his La Jolla house is light and modern, this one is warmer, more ornate. With its antiques and elaborate furnishings and warm, cherrywood in every room, it should be a little over the top. But the decorator was brilliant and somehow knew exactly what he or she was doing so that each room seems elegant and warm instead of cold and overdone.
I can’t wait to explore—and maybe even match the La Jolla House for number of rooms we’ve made love in—but right now I’m definitely more interested in eating than I am anything else. Even sex with Ethan. And I never thought I’d say that. But I was too upset to eat lunch or dinner yesterday and since today started with a helicopter ride, after a twenty mile run, I think I’ve got a right to be famished.
A quick look in the mirror tells me that my six minute shower did me no favors this morning. My hair has dried in frizzy waves that make me look a little like a crazy person—okay, a lot—and my super late night followed by no makeup routine has left me with circles dark enough to look like actual bruises.
I’ve got to give Ethan credit that he even suggested taking me into town looking like this. I’m seriously one minuscule step away from scaring small children with a single glance.
After digging in my purse, I come up with a banana clip and a small bag of makeup. It’s more than I expected to find, to be honest, so I twist my hair up and then do the best that I can with some BB cream, lip gloss and mascara.
I’m certainly not going to win any beauty contests but maybe the small children won’t scream quite so loudly …
Our trip into town is quiet. This is my first time in Napa and I’m kind of overwhelmed at how gorgeous it is. All rolling vineyards and warm sunshine and flowers as far as the eye can see. And while it’s horrible what’s happening in San Diego right now, I can’t help being grateful that I have these few days with Ethan in this beautiful place. Just the two of us, trying to reconnect after all the crap that’s been thrown at us these last few weeks.
He takes me to a charming little bistro with rock walls and striped awnings and a truly astonishing menu, which Ethan seems to know quite well. He offers to order for me and does a really nice job of it, considering we’ve only been on a few real dates.
We dine on rustic French soups, followed by a gorgeous beet salad and the most delicious coq au vin I’ve ever tasted. It’s a lot of food, but I’m hungry enough to do it justice—even with the different wines Ethan insists on ordering to accompany each course. I do draw the line at dessert, so Ethan has a couple packed up for us to eat later, and then we’re on our way.
We spend a couple of hours walking around the Historic Napa Mill, a shopping center filled with quaint little boutiques and gourmet food stores. It’s a lot of fun strolling hand in hand with Ethan, who knows more about the area than I had ever imagined. He regales me with story after story about Napa Valley and the only moment of discord we have is when he wants to buy me a silk scarf I admire.
It’s hand-painted by a local artist and absolutely gorgeous—very impressionistic in style and even the color scheme reminds me a lot of Monet’s The Rose Walk. And while I like it very much, I’m not inclined to let Ethan spend close to two thousand dollars on it. Not after everything else he’s bought me. And not when the lavender bath oil from the shop across the way is just as charming of a souvenir for literally one percent of the cost of the scarf.
On the way to the car, I can tell Ethan’s a little annoyed by my refusal to let him buy me the scarf—which in turn makes me anxious. Not anxious enough to change my mind, but more than anxious enough to talk to him about why I refused.
“I’m really not trying to be difficult,” I tell him after he pulls into traffic.
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a pretty good job of it for not trying.” His tone is crisp, acerbic even, but a glance at his face shows me that the right corner of his mouth is twitching just a little—the way it always does when he’s struggling not to smile.
“Look, I know you have money. I know you have a lot of money and that buying that scarf would mean less than nothing to you—”
“Of course it would.” He looks surprised that I would think otherwise. “Everything I buy for you means something.”
I nearly melt, which I’m pretty sure is not what needs to be going on here. But it happens anyway and by the time I have my emotions under control, he’s pulling the car into the parking lot of a local market. “Can I buy the food?” he asks after he comes around and opens my car door for me. “Or do we need to go dutch on that? I don’t want to step on your toes.”
“Really?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just asking. Want to make sure I’ve got the rules clear.”
“I don’t know. If you intend to be this big of an asshole, then I think I’ll be paying for my own food, thank you very much.”
“I’m the asshole?” He slams the car door, then leans back against it like he has no intention of going anywhere until we have this sorted out. Which is more than fine with me, since it’s a fight that’s been brewing for a while between us. “Do you ever think how it makes me feel that every time I try to give you something, it’s a fight?”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t fair, to either of us. But it is true. So why don’t we get to the bottom of this once and for all so we can go back to enjoying the day. What is it about me buying you presents that makes you so goddamn uncomfortable?”
“First of all, when I said it wasn’t fair, I meant that it’s not all your presents that make me uncomfortable,” I tell him. When he looks at me like I’m not being honest, I insist, “It isn’t. I love the things you send me—the seashells, the tea, the books, the hair combs. I even kept the suit without a hassle, though I have to admit that grated on me a little bit. But I needed it and I knew it was your way of making up for what happened on the beach.”
“Just to be clear, there’s nothing I regret about what happened on the beach that night. And nothing that I want to make amends for.”
“You know what I mean. The rain ruined my suit which p
robably wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t …”
“If I hadn’t … Oh, right. If I hadn’t ripped your clothes off and fucked you up against a building?”
I roll my eyes, try to pretend I’m not blushing. “Yes. Exactly. That.”
“So you took the suit because I was at least as responsible for ruining its predecessor as you were.”
“Uh, no. You were way more responsible for it. You ripped every button off my blouse. And broke the zipper on my pants.”
He smiles reminiscently. “I was in a hurry.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that.”
“So, you took the suit. But the blender, the scarf, the belly chain—they don’t sit well with you.”
“They don’t. No. I mean, I love the belly chain and if you want it back at this point you’ll probably have to pry it out of my cold, dead hand. But if I’d had any idea what it cost when you first gave it to me, I never would have accepted it.”
“Why not?” Ethan demands, and for the first time since we started the discussion he seems truly frustrated. “That chain is more than just a piece of jewelry and we both know it. So why would you object to something that’s a symbol of the commitment we have to each other? Something that helps ground you and makes you feel more secure in yourself and in our relationship?”
“Don’t talk about it like it’s a collar,” I tell him.
“That’s exactly what it is and you and I both know it. And I don’t appreciate you pretending otherwise. You want to talk, we’ll talk. But I’m not up for bullshit right now.”
It’s probably the toughest Ethan has ever talked to me and it gets my back up a little. Then again, a look into his stubborn blue eyes tells me that that’s exactly what he’s going for. He’s trying to piss me off. Trying to get me to react when I’m trying so hard to be calm about this.
But even knowing what he’s doing doesn’t stop me from reacting to it. “And I’m not up for this macho act you’ve got going on, either, so you might want to reconsider it,” I say with a definite bite.