Page 4 of The Damaged Billionaire's Obsession

Sabrina had then said something about starting the procession, and I realized Ethan and I were engaging in a little stare-off.

Well if you could call it that, since all I could stare at was my own reflection.

I felt his gaze though. Literally. It reminded me of the tingly warmth Nan’s soothing menthol left on my skin those nights when I’d return home after being out for too long in the cold and rain.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there were infra-red beams emitting from those lenses. Weird.

Weirdo.

I avoided him the rest of the evening. But I was to get another dose of Ethan prior to the wedding ceremony.

It happened this morning when I came out of my friend’s hotel room, dressed in nothing but her fluffy white robe.

I’d run smack dab into a solid wall of muscle in the darkened hallway.

Strong arms had stopped me from falling on my butt, and upon looking up, I saw it was none other than Ethan, minus the glasses. It was too dark to see his eyes but I’d caught hisscent, a delicious mix of spicy cologne and male skin, the same I recognized from the previous evening.

I hardly noticed he was still holding me against him despite having got my balance because I was busy suppressing the sudden urge to bury my nose in his broad chest.

And failing apparently because I’d just taken a nice big whiff of him.Fuck he does smell good.

I’d kill for his perfume.

Jesus Bonnie! It’s Ethan fucking Hawthorne. Asshole. Remember?

Appalled by my insane reaction, I’d angrily shaken off his hands, suggesting that he find his eyes instead of fumbling around in the dark.

He’d cocked his head to one side, watching me for a few seconds as though trying to figure out a puzzle, then simply stepped around me, leaving me in the hallway without a word or a backward glance.

Somehow, that hurt worse than any scathing retort might have.

Like when no one else was around, Ethan couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me?

I shake off my gloomy thoughts and focus on processing what just happened over there.

The man with the disposition of a monk took a stupid piece of clothing off you, and for the first time in ten years, you got wet, is what happened.My mind unhelpfully explains.

I should really get laid. It’s been a couple of months at least because I’ve been busy with this last project. That must be it.

Maybe I ought to lower my standards and reconsider Maxwell.

Looking around, I see the man in question currently flirting with another wedding guest, who looks at him like she might tear his clothes off in two seconds flat.

Yeah, no, girl, you can have him; you seem way thirstier than me.

I scan the room frantically, looking for Sabrina, who I’ve named the root cause of this situation. I spot her across the room, practically in Jordan’s lap, his hand on her bare thigh thanks to the high slit in her dress.

Which reminds me of where Ethan’s hands were a few minutes ago. I drown that thought with a gulp of champagne, watching as Sabrina reaches for the bunch of grapes on their table and slowly starts feeding them to Jordan.

Gag.

Those two can be nauseating. I know their schedules are crazy, with Sabrina’s highly successful art gallery and Jordan straddling two multibillion-dollar companies. I get that they don’t see as much of each other as they would like, but still.

I decide to leave the lovebirds to fawn over each other and look around the room for my newly-made, and thankfullystill single, friend Brooke.

Brooke and I met yesterday at the rehearsal dinner while Jordan, Sabrina, and Ethan were busy with whatever bridesmaids and groomsmen did at wedding rehearsals.

I’d been feeling a bit left out and still smarting from the unpleasantness of meeting Ethan when I spotted Brooke also sitting by herself.