Ethan by Rian Kelley Page A

that.
    “You should get out on the water more often,” she said.
    “What makes you think I don’t?”
    “This is the first I’ve seen you relaxed.”
    “Have I been a tough task master?”
    “You’ve been a little cyborg,” she confirmed. He’d been determined to work through the truth, to face it and work it out of his system. And he’d set a rigorous pace for them.
    “Half-robot, half-man?”
    She shrugged. “I think it’s computer, but that rigid—yes.”
    He stopped their forward progress and turned to her. “I’m all man,” he told her. “I come with a lot of mistakes but a lot of good intentions , too.”
    He was warning her and she nodded to let him know she understood.
    Ethan felt that something more, too. She’d seen a glimpse of that awareness in his eyes when they were on the water. He had looked at her briefly with emotion rather than arousal. And then he had taken refuge in the physical.
    He was still on the run, and that was fine, because , she reminded herself, she wasn’t on the chase.
    The shack was a small white house converted into a restaurant. It was nestled in the hills with a stunning view of the Pacific. Indoor seating was limited but the deck was expansive and Sha e chose a table with Adirondack chairs so that they could sit back and sip those margaritas while the sun completed its cycle and stars began to make their appearance.
    Ethan brought a platter of rolled tac os and warm tortillas, bowls of rice and beans, and mesquite-smoked chicken to the table. Their drinks arrived in tall plastic cups, frosted and salted and garnished with a wedge of lime. The bar tender placed a separate shot of tequila beside each of their cups and Shae raised a questioning eyebrow.
    Ethan shrugged. “A chaser,” he explained.
    “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
    “Do I need to?”
    No. She was going to have sex with Ethan. Tonight. The alcohol would take the edge off,  loosen any initial shyness she felt with him, but had nothing to do with her decision.
    She shook her head and leaned across the table to grab a chip and dip it into the salsa, but she held his gaze.
    “Just so we’re clear on this,” she began, “I’m going to have sex with you tonight, Ethan, because I want to. Not because the drink is telling me to.”
    “And even though we are at very different places in our lives?” he pressed.
    “Different how?”
    “I can’t give you what you want,” he told her. “The relationship. The baby—“
    “Of course not,” she agreed. “In a few days, I’m leaving here.”
    He didn’t like her response. His brows drew together in a frown and his eyes grew dark.
    “I’m not trying to run you off.”
    “Aren’t you?” she challenged, but didn’t let him dangle from the hook long. “Don’t worry, Ethan, I won’t leave before we’re done,” she promised. “Or if I have to go for a few days, I’ll come back.”
    “Why would you have to leave for a few days?”
    “I have a doctor’s appointment. In San Francisco.”
    “When?”
    “Next Thursday.”
    Six days away. It would be her second at the clinic and she would have to come prepared—having chosen the “father” of her child so that all things were in a holding pattern as they waited for her cycle to present its most opportune moment for implantation. She hated all the clinical terminology and felt her lips twist with her distaste for it. But the end result would be a dream come true, and she needed to keep that foremost in her mind.
    “For the baby?”
    “Yes.”
    He considered that and nodded but didn’t follow up with any more questions. And Shae understood that. It was weird talking about her plans, but the reason for her presence in Ethan’s life opened a door to a level of intimacy that was not usually so quickly forthcoming—dissecting the anatomy of his marriage. She’d grown closer to Ethan and he to her through that sharing. She’d encountered a lot of raw emotion in the screenplay, acts of