Page 16 of The Bargain (Dalton Family #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Sofia

T he sunshine is warm, but the heat between me and Ethan is scorching.

The short walk to the area where his car and driver are waiting for us is eternal, and the silence between us far more comfortable than the heat of our hands pressed together.

I’m going to burn alive by the time we’re finally alone.

Of course, I’m not surprised that he’s using a car service.

Ethan’s a busy, powerful man, and I squash any thought of how different our lives are at this point.

I can’t become a major success if I don’t believe I belong in the realm of that possibility.

Once we’re outside the black SUV that is now our limo, a forty-something man in jeans and a colored shirt opens our door for us.

Paul is tall and fit and has an Army vibe that has me thinking he’s a driver and bodyguard, but I don’t ask.

Not now, when I’m climbing in the backseat with Ethan right behind me.

By the time I’m settled in, Ethan is beside me, his hand settling on my thigh while the door slams shut.

“Always traveling in style,” I say, teasing him a bit.

“Yes, we are ,” he assures me. “And you should get used to it. You don’t just have me by your side, demanding the best for you; you have Zoey. And Zoey is you. You’re going to be a star, sweetheart. Watch and see.”

Zoey is me. Only, she is my mother, and that’s a huge reason for me to make this brand a star.

I’d say as much, but Paul is already joining us.

Besides, my cellphone rings with my distributor’s number and I end up going through our upcoming orders with him, a bit concerned about overordering.

I whisper an explanation of my call to Ethan, who is not only completely understanding, he pulls out his MacBook, and dives into some work of his own.

I’m finally off my call, and Ethan has put away his computer but taken a call of his own, and I know immediately it’s either his father or his brother.

“That’s not happening,” he says and listens a moment, his jaw clenched so hard I think it might buckle.

“No. If that’s what you want, I’m out.” Another second passes and turns into a good twenty before Ethan says, “I’m okay with that.

That’s what you don’t seem to understand.

I’ve hit my limit.” A beat, and then, “Try me.”

Whoever he’s speaking with must hang up because Ethan lowers his phone and slips it inside his jacket pocket, and while he might appear cool and calm on the outside, I can feel the hurricane inside him.

I reach over and dare to press my hand to his thigh.

He doesn’t look at me, but he covers my hand with his and eases lower in his seat, letting his head rest on the cushion behind him, his eyes shut.

He’s not just affected by that conversation; he’s coming out of his skin affected.

I am certain that this man, who is all about control, would be pacing if he were outside this vehicle.

I wish I knew what had happened, but more so I wish beyond words that I could say or do something to help, but we’re not alone.

He drapes his arm around me and pulls me close, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “It was my father, one of the only people in this world that can fuck with my head.”

My fingers press to his jaw, and I ease back to study him, the shadows in his stare thick with history. “Do you need—”

“You?” He leans in again, his hand pressed against my waist, his breath warm on my neck and lobe. “Very much,” he adds.

And as incredible as it would have seemed to me in Hawaii, I believe him.

I also believe that it’s as real and incredible to him as it is to me.

I don’t know what is happening between us, as I’ve never experienced this kind of connection with anyone.

I’m not sure it has him, either. In some things, our experiences are different. In this…

It’s in that moment that the car pulls to a halt at the front door of a building I assume to be the passport office. Ethan releases me and straightens. “We’ll likely be in there at least an hour,” he says. “And we’ll need to return this evening or early tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay close,” Paul replies and reaches for the door.

“We’re fine. Stay put. Feel free to go grab a bite, and I can call you when we’re finishing up.” Ethan opens the door and speaks to me. “You can leave your briefcase. Paul will keep it safe.” He steps out of the vehicle and then offers me his aid.

I press my palm to his, and when his fingers close around mine, I feel as if my hand belongs in his, which is likely romantic and silly, me being over the top into this man.

I’m going to get hurt , I try to warn myself, but then he’s wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me against his hard body, and I’m fine with tears and heartache in exchange for moments like these.

He eases me to my feet, and I want to ask him about the call, but my gut says not now.

Instead, I let him shut the door, and when we go to walk inside, I step in front of him.

“Did you know Zoey was my mother?”

“I did.”

“Then you know I have to make Zoey famous.”

He strokes my hair behind my ear, tenderness in his eyes that defies the cold-hearted businessman I know he can be when necessary.

“And you will, which means we need to get you to Paris.” He slips the fingers of one of his hands into mine and guides me toward the door.

Once we’re in line, going through the motions of checking in followed by sitting in one of any rows of steel chairs, it really hits me that this moment is so far from a hot one-night stand.

And yet, he’s still here with me. He’s still right by my side, eager to take me to Paris. I’m not in Hawaii anymore.

This is no longer a fling. He said it. Now I actually feel it.