Swept Away 2 (3 page)

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he nods. “I get it.”

“But you did scare me. What he said—it was him reacting…to…to what’s going on between you and me.” I swallow, then add, “You got violent. That wasn’t necessary.”

“I don’t make a habit of shoving people around. I just…” He shrugs. “I snapped. I was so fucking pissed at him in that moment. I don’t know if I could have stopped it if I’d tried. But I didn’t even want to try.” He sounds as bemused as I am about it. “I still don’t.”

We sit in silence for a long moment as I wonder why his words give me a secret thrill. What the hell? I should be at least a little troubled that he was about to get violent with Kyle. But…I’m just
not
. A part of me is smitten, not in spite of him shoving Kyle, but
because
he shoved Kyle.

I am
so
messed up.

“What did he say to you that got you both so upset?” he asks quietly.

“He didn’t tell you?” My voice is guarded.

“No. We didn’t speak at all for the rest of my watch.”

I wonder how much to tell him. Kyle’s revelations were private—between him and me. No matter what’s happened, he’s still my friend, and I’m not going to betray his trust by telling Ethan or anyone what was said. But I don’t want to lie to Ethan either.

Better to stick to what’s safe. What Ethan already knows. “Just…Kyle is…he’s…” I look at Ethan helplessly and shrug. “He’s just confused.”

“About Nalani?”

“Yes. About Nalani. About…everything.”

Ethan narrows his eyes at me. “Tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

“All of it,” he commands. When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “It’s about us, isn’t it?”

I nod, feeling a little sick.

“What, exactly, does he know about our relationship?”

I inhale shakily. “Too much.”

“You told him about our arrangement?”

My eyes go wide, and I scramble up to a seated position, facing him on the bed. “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that—that’s nobody’s business but ours.”

“It seems like he knew. The way he said I’d abandon you in LA…” Ethan winces.

“He was just guessing,” I assure him. “But…” My teeth run over my lower lip.

“But what?”

“He saw us. Together.”

“When?” His question is sharp and hard.

“Night before last.”

“Shit,” Ethan spits out.

I grab my pillow and hug it tight against my chest. “You were right about worrying that people would come out there,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He closes his eyes and then opens them again, and when he does, his expression has softened. “I loved every minute, Tara. I’ll never regret it.”

“I loved every minute too,” I say breathlessly. “But knowing he was…he was watching us. It just ruins it.”

“He’s jealous.”

“Ahhhh…I don’t know why he’d be jealous,” I hedge. And is that the right word for what Kyle’s feeling right now? I honestly don’t know.

“Because he’s in love with you.”

The words hit me like a slap. “Oh God,” I whisper. Is this some kind of warped nightmare? “How did… Did he tell you that?”

Ethan gives a short, harsh laugh. “No. But I know he is.”

“No,” I groan, all about denial because I can’t face this right now. “Kyle is confused. He isn’t in love with me. He just—”

“He’s been in love with you for a while.” His eyes flicker away from me, back to my cabin door again. “At least since that first day I saw the two of you together. Nalani has sensed it too. She’s having a big problem with it.”

My jaw drops. If he knew, if Nalani knew, how could I have missed this for so long? What were the signs? Am I really this naïve?

Yes. I’m clearly ridiculously sheltered and incredibly naïve. Otherwise, I would have realized my best friend’s fallen in love with me at some point in the past year and a half. I would have somehow seen it—done something about it before it reached this point.

Ethan heaves in a breath, and when he looks at me again, the ring of blue around his eyes is black in the dim light of the cabin. His spine has straightened, and his shoulders go square.

“Is there any chance that you might reciprocate his feelings?” He means the question to be emotionless, but there’s a sharp edge to it, a razor blade of feeling he’s trying to hide.

His expression is also calm, also emotionless, but his gaze is so direct, so intense, it’s as if he’s peeling me open like an orange, determined to see if the fruit inside is sweet or sour.

I shake my head and tell him the truth. “No. He’s my friend. My close
friend
.”

“You know each other well.”

“Yes.”

“You’re very physical with each other.”

“Are we?” I try to act unaffected by his observation, but then it hits me. Oh God, he’s right. Kyle and I
are
more physical with each other than normal friends. We’re more physical than brothers and sisters. We hug and we lean on each other, and sometimes, when we’re watching a movie at home, we lie pressed against each other under a comfortable blanket. But it’s never, ever been sexual.

Not for me, at least.

Was I unwittingly giving him hints that it was? Did all that comfortable closeness translate to me leading him on?

“Yes, Tara. The two of you are very physical.”

“I…” I push out a breath through my closed lips. “Yes. But it wasn’t
that kind
of physical.”

“But you
could
fall in love with him.” Ethan’s words come out tight and biting. The force of his stare prickles under my skin. “It could happen.”

All this sudden emotional intensity must have something to do with him being jealous of Kyle, like Kyle seems to be jealous of him. I’m considering this when he throws my assumption out the window by saying, “You should.”

“Should what?”

“Love him.” Ethan is dead serious, but his words don’t compute. They don’t make any
sense
.

“What do you mean?”

“He would be good for you. He’ll protect you. He loves you.”

He doesn’t say it flat out, but his words imply it.
I won’t protect you. I don’t love you.

“What about you?” I whisper.

He shrugs, but it’s not the casual movement I think he intended it to be—it’s a tense, tight raising and lowering of his shoulders.

“I can’t,” he says through flat, white lips. “I told you before—I can’t—won’t—do long-term relationships. And you deserve one. You deserve someone who can love you in the way you should be loved. Someone who—”

He breaks off suddenly. Something flickers in his eyes as if he’s lying, or as if he’s cut himself off from telling me something he doesn’t want me to know. If we were in a poker game, I’d call his bluff and go all in.

But maybe he isn’t lying. He’s probably being completely honest with me, again, and I’m reading something that I want to be there but just isn’t.

“I can’t give any of that to you,” he says quietly. “It’s impossible.”

The hurt that slams into me feels like it’s crushing my windpipe. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare at the opposite wall of my cabin, trying to find my breath. He touches my shoulder, and as much as I don’t want him to see the emotions that must be written all over my face, I turn back to him anyway. I’m evidently incapable of telling my body not to react to Ethan’s touch.

When he sees my expression, his softens. His voice gentles. “Tara…”

The tears I hold at bay blur my vision.

“I want to be all these things to you,” he murmurs. “But as much as I want to, I’ve told you I can’t. He can, though. Kyle can be everything to you.”

“No,” I rasp out.

“Yes. He
loves
you.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s…he’s…he’s not
you
. You’re the one I can’t stop thinking about. You’re the one I want…the one I
need
—”

Ethan rears back, a stunned expression on his face. It’s like I’ve slapped him. Slowly, he shakes his head at me. “Don’t,” he whispers.

“Don’t what? Don’t fall for you? It’s too late—you know, you
know
I already have.”

“It can’t last.”

My teeth gnash together, hard. I am so
tired
of hearing him say that. “I
know
.”

“I don’t want you to miss your chance with him if you choose me over him now. You shouldn’t do it. You should make the right choice and—”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not!” His palm slams down on the built-in chest of drawers beside my bed. His face is alight with some kind of emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. Is it anger? Frustration? Anguish?

I clutch my pillow to me like a shield.

“I just know Kyle is better for you.” He grinds out the words as if it’s physically painful for him to say this to me.

Good.
Because it’s physically painful for me to hear him saying it.

“Kyle isn’t
you
,” I repeat firmly, because it’s true. There’s only one man who can bring me happiness right now, and that isn’t Kyle. It’s the man sitting on my bed, trying to convince me to fall in love with someone else.

A part of me agrees with him completely. He’s absolutely, one hundred percent right. Kyle has never treated me as flippantly as he does his “bedmates,” and I know he’d never, ever hurt me. He’s an open book. He’s the safe choice. I know exactly what I’d be getting from him.

I’d be getting…a lot. All of him. For Kyle to say he loves me… God. I know for a fact he’s never said that to anyone else. A new kind of hurt swamps me, threatening to drag me under into darkness. What am I doing to him? To my best friend in the world? Why can’t I just love him back?

Why do so many women choose the man who’s the worst for them? The most dangerous choice? The choice most likely to hurt them? The one who refuses to give them the long-term happiness they yearn for?

Of
course
I choose that one. The bigger risk. The man I know very little about. The man who’s almost guaranteed me that he’ll do nothing but hurt me. That’s the one I want.

What the
hell
is wrong with me?

I dig around in my head, trying to conjure some feeling for Kyle, but all I can come up with is that sisterly, bestie love that I’ve always felt for him. But maybe…if I tried…

There’s so much good to see in Kyle. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. He’s gorgeous. He’s fun, and he makes me laugh.

I think of walking with him on the beach. We’ve walked on the beach together a lot, but this time, we’d be holding hands. Kyle would be wearing his wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips. Drops would sparkle over his tanned chest and on the wave tattoo on his arm. Our heads would be tilted toward each other, and we’d be laughing.

It’s not an unpleasant image. At all.

“Kyle can make you happy,” Ethan tells me softly.

I look up at him, and all thoughts of being with Kyle vanish, wiped away by the image of Ethan as he stares at me as if trying to convince me what he’s saying is true. As if he’s pretending he really wants me to agree with him, but deep inside, he can hardly bear to lie to me like this.

His straight blade of a nose. His slashing black brows. His high cheekbones and cheeks with their persistent dark stubble. His soft, kissable lips. His hot gaze. The way his lips feel on mine, and the way his body feels against mine. The way he holds me and talks to me and touches me…

“I can’t help it,” I say softly. “You’re the one I want. Nothing can change that.”

He releases a long, harsh breath. “Fuck.”

And then he plucks the pillow out of my arms. His arms wrap around me, and he jerks me toward him. His mouth crashes against mine, hot and hard and possessive. His tongue dips into my mouth, and I capitulate with a little gasp, letting him in, my body opening like a blooming flower ready for more. Wanting more.

His lips move from my mouth and travel hungrily up the side of my face. His hand splays over my lower back, then pushes up my spine until my nape is in his palm and his fingers are digging up into the roots of my hair. I press harder against him, and his steely erection pushes against my stomach.

“I know it was the right thing. I know I had to do it,” he murmurs as he kisses me. He licks my lower lip, then sucks it into his mouth. “Try to convince you.” His lips move over my cheek, over my hairline and into my hair. “But the thought of you with him…with anyone… I’m too damn selfish, Tara …
Fuck
. I don’t know what’s happening, but I can’t stop it.”

A shudder that seems to come from deep in his bones makes his body vibrate against mine. He holds me steady by the back of my neck as his lips move to my eyebrows. They press over my closed lids and down my nose and then across my other cheek. It’s as if he’s marking every inch of my face, claiming my skin as his own. And I let him. I want him to claim me as his. I can’t remember ever wanting anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my cheekbone.

I just groan, because I don’t want to talk. I don’t want his apologies. I just want him to keep kissing me.

“He’s better for you. I should have convinced you.”

“No,” I growl out, pressing myself tighter to his erection, shifting so I can feel that bit of friction as he moves against me, “you couldn’t have. Nothing could convince me.”

He shudders again. I’ve never seen him so uncontrolled, so
open
. His whisper is rough, erotic, and full of emotion. “I’m done. I’m done trying to convince you. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” I say simply.

Pulling back, he gazes at me for a long moment, and I stare at him, feeling mussed and thoroughly kissed, knowing my lips are glossy and my eyes are shining.

“I’m going to try,” he promises me. “I’m going to try my damndest not to hurt you.”

I give a small nod.

This time when he kisses me, it’s slower, gentler, and I fall into a slowly rising tide of passion. We kiss for long, sensual, bone-tingling minutes until warmth seeps through me and I release every breath in a soft sigh. Languid pleasure melts my tense muscles and infuses my bones. Finally, he pulls away. He places my pillow in position at the head of the bed and lays me gently upon it.

Then he gives me a single, soft kiss to my lips. He pulls back, stroking my cheek with his knuckles.