No Need to Ask (4 page)

She’d just managed to rid herself of her ex, if not for good, at least for a while, and here she was dressed up as if she were on a date. She was excited and a little scared, too. She knew Ethan wasn’t Owen, but wasn’t sure if she could trust her judgment. As if sensing her presence, Ethan turned toward the front door. Jillian felt slightly dizzy with relief when she saw his face light up the sight of her. If she was about to make a mistake, she realized, there was no one else she’d rather make it with than him.

Ethan moved forward, the crowd instinctively parting to make way for him. A few people tried to stop him, most of them women, but Ethan gracefully eased away and continued on his determined path toward Jillian.

Ethan pulled the heavy glass doors open and immediately came in for a kiss, his lips warm against her cheek. “You made it. I was getting worried that you were going to stand me up.”

“I…” Jillian trailed off as a thin blonde tugged at Ethan’s sleeve.

“Ethan! We’ve been waiting for hours. Can’t you do something?” Her voice was high and babyish.

 “Megan is in charge of reservations and I have no pull with her. I just own the place,” he said as he put his hand on Jillian’s waist. The blonde set her face to what she probably thought was an adorable pout. “I’ll make sure Jimmy takes care of your bar tab. Thanks for waiting. It’s worth it.”

He turned his back on the blonde and began to guide Jillian inside, through the crush of bodies. He brought his lips close to her ear to whisper into it. “Sorry about that. People think that if they act like I know them, they’ll get a better table.”

Jillian nodded, but kept her eyes forward. People who had previously dismissed her were now reevaluating their initial assessment that she was a nobody. Jillian held her head high, glad she was dressed the part of the kind of woman who could capture a man like Ethan’s attention. No one needed to know that on the inside, she was quivering.

 Ethan stopped at a table that was tucked into quiet corner of the restaurant. She murmured her thanks when he smoothly helped her into her seat. She almost sighed with relief that she’d made it without tripping on her, or rather Maisy’s, high heels.

“That’s exactly how I feel sometimes. Right now it’s about the scene, but what’s going to bring people back is the food,” Ethan said.

“I’d forgotten was a feeding frenzy the social scene in LA can be,” Jillian admitted.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“It’s very nice,” she answered automatically.

“Great,” he smiled. “Now tell me what you really think.”

Jillian smiled, not at all uncomfortable that he was so easily able to call her bluff. She took a good look around, doing her best to ignore the openly curious glances that were being directed her way.

The walls were a creamy white, but mostly bare except for a forgettable piece of art here and there. What was good was the lighting. It was flattering and not so dim that it made it impossible to read a menu, but it came from nondescript fixtures. The maple wood tables were sturdy, but not bulky, stained in the same rich, warm tone as the chairs. She moved her around in her seat and found it to be comfortable.

“No tablecloths,” she remarked as she unconsciously ran her hands over the smooth surface of the table top.

“I don’t believe in hiding anything.” He sat back and loosened his tie. “If the table gets a little dinged up, it just adds to the charm. So you like the tables. Is that all?”

 “It is very nice, but it’s a little… impersonal. Other than the tables and chairs, there’s no real warmth or personality. The food might be great, but people want to eat at a place that makes them feel good about coming to. Especially this type of crowd.”

“Exactly.” Ethan ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve decided to hire you to put some heart and soul in this place, but only when you’re done with my loft.”

“Hold on,” Jillian laughed, unable to contain her delight at his offer. “You haven’t even seen my work!”

“Yes, I have,” Ethan said as he reached over to an empty seat and pulled out the copy of
InStyle
magazine that featured Maisy York’s home.

“How’d you find out?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I have my sources, and I’ve watched the show,” he said.

“Have you?” Jillian asked, arching a teasing brow. “What happened on the last episode?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted before quickly adding, “but I want a version of that woman’s bathroom, just not so, uh, girly.”

“Tell you what.” Jillian leaned in and felt her insides turn to mush when he mirrored her movements, “I’ll give you a bathroom that’s a hundred times better, but you have to let me get rid of those battery-operated candles.”

“You’re the boss when it comes to decorating,” he said as he signaled to a waiter. “But I’m the boss at this place, and I’m ordering for you. I hope you’re hungry.”

Jillian settled back into her chair as Ethan took control of the rest of their evening.

****

Jillian balanced the white box that contained their desserts on her lap as Ethan expertly maneuvered her Subaru (thankfully, not the black Ferrari) down the quiet streets of downtown Los Angeles.

“You must think I’m a huge cliché,” Ethan said. “Divorced guy, restaurant investor, empty loft in what my realtor promised me is an ‘emerging and dynamic’ area.”

“Please don’t ask for a hot tub or I’ll lose all respect for you,” Jillian teased.

“How about a walk-in steam shower?” He smiled at her. “Or is that cheesy?”

“Hardly,” Jillian said, settling back into the buttery leather seat. “I love steam showers.”

“I could never trust a woman who didn’t,” he said and gave her shoulder a playful nudge.

Ethan turned into the underground parking lot of his building and smoothly came to a stop in a marked parking space. He quickly got out to open her door, knowing Jillian— unused to the gesture—would try to beat him to it.

“Thanks,” Jillian said as her eyes were drawn to the front of his jeans. She felt her cheeks flush and stood up so quickly that he had to step aside so she wouldn’t bump into him. “So, uh, this is where you live?”

“Upstairs, fifth floor, facing away from the freeway.” Ethan crooked his arm. Jillian slipped her hand into it. “I looked at a couple of other places, but this loft reminded me the most of Manhattan.”

Ethan kept up a steady stream of soothing chatter as he led her to the brand new elevator. Jillian felt a wave of gratitude and something a bit more delicious for his small gestures in trying to make her feel comfortable.

She already knew about his former life back East, his easy if distant relationship with his parents, how he got the small scar on his chin (horsing around at the community pool when he was 10). Jillian had felt comfortable enough to share her frustrations about having her work credit taken away from her by Maisy York, but that she loved her job so much she wouldn’t quit even though part of her wanted to.

They’d talked mattress firmness (medium for her, softer for him, but he would give whatever she suggested a try) and agreed that decorative bed pillows should never outnumber the occupants of the bed. They’d even agreed on a color palette (warm creams, grays with pops of color from his art and useful, not merely decorative, accessories). When Jillian had brought up his budget, he’d simply handed her his American Express Black Card.

Jillian forced herself to focus on the practical matters: the size of the elevator, whether large trucks would have to park on the street or had the clearance to pull into the underground parking.

“Am I boring you?” he asked as he held out his arm to make sure the doors didn’t shut on her when they got to the fifth floor.

“No, no, I’m just thinking about stuff that would probably bore you.” Jillian reached into her purse for a small notebook and pen, along with her tape measure. “I hope it’s not too weird for me to come over and take measurements this late.”

Ethan pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Nah. Makes sense that you want to take measurements. We can make the most of our weekend this way.”

Jillian nodded, lest she admit that her motives were not entirely professional. She was curious to see where and how Ethan lived and if what she already knew about him matched the real, unguarded him. He’d told her his place was mostly empty, but her years of thinking about how people related to the most mundane of objects had made her a pretty good judge of character based on what they surrounded themselves with.

Ethan walked down a bare hallway. Jillian looked around and noticed there were only two doors on the floor, with the other much farther down the corridor.

 “Promise to be nice,” he said as he unlocked and pushed open the large door.

“How about if I promise not to be mean?” she joked as she stepped inside.

“Fair enough.”

Jillian walked to the center of the loft. A bank of large, metal-frame-paned windows encompassed the glittering view of the sparkly buildings of downtown Los Angeles at night. The walls were a standard contractor white and bare. The wide planks of the wood floor, original to the building that would have cost a small fortune to try to replicate, gleamed in the reflected light from the city outside.

The kitchen was off to the side and obviously the only part of the loft that either he or the contractor had put any effort into. The appliances were high end, the counters smooth poured concrete, and a good-sized marble-topped island offered seating and separation from the rest of the open space.

“Nice kitchen,” she said. “Good. It’ll save a lot of time.”

“Score one point for me.” Ethan’s hand went to her waist. “Not sure how well I’ll do once you get a look at the rest of the place.”

“The infamous couch,” Jillian said as she walked toward it. “It’s brown
and
corduroy.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He hung his head in mock shame. She had to restrain herself from reaching out and running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I got it right after my divorce. I was very fragile and need something comfortable. If anything, you should feel sorry for me.”

“Oh, I do,” she said softly, finally giving into the feelings she’d been trying to suppress since she’d first met him. “But that doesn’t mean your luck isn’t about to change.”

At the tone of her voice, Ethan looked up. His face was serious, jaw set, but his eyes searched her face, almost hopeful that she would say something so he could close the distance between them.

Instead of speaking, Jillian moved toward him. She pressed herself against his lean, muscular body. Her hands reached up and dug into his hair as she pulled his lips toward hers. He groaned into her mouth as his arms went around her waist and lifted her easily into a hot, yearning kiss.

Jillian pressed herself into his chest as she reached for his tie to pull it off, eager to feel his warm skin against her taut nipples. Sensing her need, Ethan set her easily on the arm of the couch and swiftly pulled off his shirt and tie, leaving himself naked from the waist up for her eyes and touch.

Jillian ran her hands down his muscled chest, feeling the smooth ridges of his sculpted torso. She brought her hands back up to his neck, then to his jaw, the pads of her fingers rubbing against his slight stubble.

“You’re killing me here,” he groaned. Jillian smiled, knowing he was holding himself back. She licked her bottom lip, which elicited another groan from him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I want you,” she said as she let one of her hands run down to his waistband. He was already hard, his cock straining the front of his pants. “But I refuse to let you have me on this awful couch.”

Ethan threw back his head and laughed, then swiftly scooped her up and carried her to his bed.

****

Jillian rolled over on to her stomach. The smooth feel of the sheets under her naked body made her smile in the filtered light of the morning.

“Frette,” she murmured sleepily.

“How do you know that?” Ethan asked as he nudged her over so she was in the crook of his arm.

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s thread count, and nothing compares to Frette sheets,” she said as she snuggled up into him.

“That’s two things,” he said. He ran his hand down her bare back until it settled comfortably on her rump, where he traced small circles with the tip of his finger. “I think.”

“And I think today is the day you get a proper bed.” Jillian raised her head and reached over him to grab his watch off the unpacked moving box he was using as a nightstand. “We better get going. Lots to do.”

“First you insult my couch and now my bed?” Ethan put a hand to his bare chest. “I have a feeling I should be offended.”

“Offended? No. Embarrassed? Definitely. I have no problem with your mattress, but a mattress on the floor, even if it’s a handmade McRoskey, is not a bed.” Jillian lifted Ethan’s left arm to fasten his watch onto his wrist. “It’s an insult to the fine craftsmanship that went into making it.”

“I got it in San Francisco and met the people who made it. I think they’d find what we did on it last night anything but insulting.” Ethan moved a muscular thigh in between her legs as he rolled Jillian over onto her back. “You like my mattress and my sheets, but I’m sure you won’t be as kind when it comes to my drapes.”

“Sheets tacked over a window aren’t drapes. Which is why we should…” Jillian’s hands went to his shoulders as his lips made their way from her neck, to breasts, down her flat belly and then lower. “Why… we really should… should…”

“Exactly,” Ethan breathed into her belly. “Exactly.”

Five

Jillian walked a step or two behind Ethan as he circled the bed frame and headboard she’d suggested. After getting a pleasantly late start to their day of shopping, she’d nixed a few stores off her list. Instead she brought him to Room & Board, one of her favorite places to get pieces she could build around. After they’d made love in the morning, Ethan had hinted that he’d be happy to go again. But Jillian, her mind buzzing with everything that needed to be done, had told him that, if wanted his place finished before the year was out, they had to get out of bed.