New York’s summer storms, Ethan commented. They arrive without warning. As if on cue, rain began lashing against the windows, the sky darkening to premature twilight.
Lightning flashed, illuminating Ethan’s face in stark relief. All sharp angles and intensity. We should head upstairs, he suggested, but neither moved, caught in the strange intimacy of the moment, surrounded by art that revealed more about Ethan Carter than words ever could.
Another flash of lightning followed by darkness as the power failed. Emergency lights activated seconds later, bathing them in soft blue illumination. Backup generator, Ethan explained, his voice sounding deeper in the dim light.
The main system will restart momentarily. Emma became acutely aware of how close they stood, of the electric tension between them that matched the storm outside. In the muted emergency lighting, his eyes appeared darker, more mysterious.
You haven’t asked about Liam, he said, unexpectedly, watching her face. The mention of her former fiancé should have hurt, but Emma realized with surprise that she’d barely thought of him all day. No, I haven’t.
Why not? She considered the question honestly. Because yesterday I thought I knew exactly what my life would be, and today nothing is as I expected. I’m still trying to understand the present before I look back at the past.
Ethan stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. And what do you understand about the present, Emma? Her heart hammered against her ribs. That there’s more to you than I ever realized.
That this arrangement between us might be more complicated than a simple business transaction. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. Much more complicated.
Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder that made Emma gasp and instinctively step forward. Her hands landed on Ethan’s chest, solid and warm beneath the fine fabric of his shirt. Instead of stepping away, his arms came around her, steadying her.
Time seemed suspended as they stood there, her hands splayed against his chest, his arms encircling her. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, accelerating to match her own. The scent of him, sandalwood, cedar, something uniquely male, enveloped her.
Emma, he murmured, her name a question and a plea. She looked up, meeting eyes dark with an emotion she wasn’t ready to name. The air between them seemed charged with the same electricity as the storm outside.
She should step away. She should remember this was a temporary arrangement, a marriage of convenience. She should remember she’d been about to marry his brother just yesterday.
Instead, she found herself rising on tiptoes, drawn to him like a magnet finding its pair. The lights flared back to life just as their lips were about to meet, breaking the spell. Emma stepped back, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at how easily she’d been swept away by the moment.
I should, she began, not quite meeting his eyes. Stay, Ethan interrupted, something raw in his voice. Please.
The plea, so unexpected from this commanding man, made her look up. What she saw in his face, desire mixed with vulnerability, hope edged with fear of rejection, stole her breath. Why did you really marry me, Ethan, she whispered.
The truth this time. He reached out slowly, giving her time to retreat, and brushed his fingers against her cheek. Because from the moment I saw your work at that small gallery in Brooklyn three years ago, I knew there was something extraordinary about Emma Thompson.
And when I finally met you, what, she pressed when he hesitated. His eyes held hers, all pretense falling away. I recognized something in you that matched something in me, something no one else has ever seen.
The honesty of the admission cracked something open inside her. Without overthinking, she stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. This time, when their lips met, there was no interruption.
The kiss began gently, a question being asked and answered, before deepening into something hungry and primal. His arms tightened around her, pulling her against the hard planes of his body as her hands slid up to tangle in his dark hair. She gasped when he backed her against the wall, his body pressing into hers, his mouth trailing fire down her neck.
This wasn’t the hesitant affection she’d known with Liam, but something altogether more powerful, consuming, demanding, exhilarating. We should stop, he murmured against her skin, even as his hands tightened on her waist. Should we? She challenged, pulling back to meet his gaze, finding his eyes dark with desire.
Before he could answer, his phone rang, the specific tone that made him tense immediately. Reluctantly, he stepped back, pulling the device from his pocket. I have to take this, he said, genuine regret in his voice.
It’s the Tokyo office. Emma nodded, using the moment to collect herself, to calm her racing heart and cool her flushed skin. What had just happened? How had she gone from resenting this arranged marriage to melting in Ethan’s arms in the span of a day? As he stepped away to take the call, speaking rabid-fire Japanese into the phone, Emma studied him with new eyes, the controlled power in his stance, the intensity of his focus, the unexpected passion beneath his cool exterior, all pieces of a man far more complex than she’d imagined, a man she was beginning to think she might not mind being married to, even if only for a year.
Outside, the storm began to abate, sunlight breaking through the clouds in golden shafts. Inside, Emma Thompson Carter wondered if the real storm was just beginning, not between the skies and the earth, but between her heart and her head. Chapter 4. Hidden Depths Pack for the weekend, Ethan said over breakfast three days later.
My lake house. We’ve been cooped up here long enough. Emma looked up from her coffee, feeling that familiar flutter in her stomach.
Since their near kiss in the art gallery, they’d circled each other cautiously, sharing meals but retreating to separate bedrooms, where Emma would lie awake, remembering the feel of his body pressed against hers. When do we leave, she asked, trying to sound casual. In an hour, the helicopter will take us.
Of course you have a helicopter, she teased. Do you have any transportation methods that don’t scream billionaire? A rare smile curved his lips. I have a 67 Mustang at the lake house.
A vintage Mustang is hardly normal, she laughed. His expression softened. You have a beautiful laugh.
You should use it more often. The compliment warmed her. You should give me more reasons to laugh then.
Something heated in his gaze. I’ll work on that. Two hours later, they soared above Manhattan in his sleek private helicopter.
Emma gripped the armrest tightly as they flew over forests and glittering lakes below. Nervous, Ethan asked, noticing her white knuckles. Just not used to helicopters, she admitted.
Without hesitation, he reached across and covered her hand with his. The simple touch sent warmth radiating up her arm. We’ll be on solid ground soon.
When they landed, Emma gasped at the sight. The lake house was a stunning modern structure of glass and stone that seemed to emerge organically from the hillside, overlooking a pristine lake that sparkled in the afternoon sun. You like it, Ethan asked, his hand lingering at the small of her back.
It’s incredible, she answered honestly. Did you design it? Yes, this is the one property I built entirely to my own taste. Inside was even more revealing.
Where the Manhattan penthouse was impeccably designed but somewhat impersonal, this space was unmistakably Ethan. Worn woods contrasted with cool stone. Art pieces were arranged not for show but for obvious pleasure.
No staff here, Ethan explained. Just us. The implications of those two simple words, just us, hung in the air between them.
After a lunch, Ethan prepared himself, surprising Emma with his culinary skills. He showed her the property, including a small artist’s studio nestled among the trees. Another she asked.
This one’s been here for years, he admitted. I come here sometimes to attempt my own artistic efforts. The confession stunned her.
You paint? Badly, he shrugged. But I find it freeing. Show me, she requested softly.
Hesitation crossed his face before he turned one canvas toward her. Emma caught her breath, not because the technique was perfect but because of the raw emotion captured in the abstract landscape. Bold slashes of midnight blue and black, shot through with unexpected veins of gold.
This is honest, powerful, she said, looking up at him with new understanding. You feel things deeply, don’t you? Behind that controlled exterior, something shifted in his eyes. Too deeply, some would say.
I don’t think that’s possible, she countered. Depth of feeling is what makes us human. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Storm coming, Ethan noted. We should head back. As if on cue, fat raindrops began pattering on the roof, quickly intensifying to a downpour.
Ethan grabbed a jacket hanging by the door and held it over them both. Ready to run, he asked, a boyish grin transforming his features. They raced through the deluge, laughing as they became soaked despite the jacket.
By the time they reached the house, they were both drenched, clothes clinging to their bodies. In the shelter of the covered porch, Emma couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of it. The powerful, controlled Ethan Carter looking like a drowned rat.
Is this funny to you? He asked, amusement dancing in his eyes. You look like you fell in the lake, she gasped between laughs. Do I? Something playful entered his expression, and you look perfectly presentable, I suppose.
Before she could react, he shook his head vigorously, spraying her with water. She shrieked in surprise, then retaliated by flicking water from her fingers at his face. Ethan caught her wrist, his laughter fading as their eyes locked.
The atmosphere shifted instantly from playful to charged. Water droplets clung to his dark eyelashes, his white shirt nearly transparent, molding to the muscled contours of his chest. We should go inside, he said, his voice rough, before you catch cold.
After hot showers and separate bathrooms, Emma found Ethan building a fire in the massive stone fireplace. He’d changed into faded jeans and a soft gray Henley, his dark hair still damp and tousled. He looked younger, more approachable, earthier than usual.
Much, she replied, settling onto the plush rug before the fire. I’m enjoying seeing this side of you. What side is that? The real Ethan Carter, not the billionaire businessman, not the perfect Carter heir.
She met his gaze directly. Just you, he joined her on the rug, firelight casting golden highlights across his strong features. As the storm intensified outside, something shifted between them, walls coming down, truths emerging.
My mother brought me here when I was a child, he confided, before the divorce, before Liam was born. It was the only place where my father’s expectations couldn’t reach us. And after she left, Emma asked softly, pain flickered in his eyes.
My father sold it. The day I made my first million, I bought it back. This personal revelation touched Emma deeply.
They continued talking for hours as night fell, sharing stories and discoveries, wine loosening their usual restraint. I should have known you were different from what Liam described, Emma said suddenly, that night at the gallery opening with my anonymous pieces. You were the only one who asked about the emotion behind the work, not the investment potential.
Ethan’s eyes held hers. I remembered you immediately. You were passionate, brilliant.
When Liam introduced us later, you were already falling for my charming brother. Lightning flashed, illuminating the room before plunging it back into firelit intimacy. Another storm, Ethan observed, his voice low.
Nature seems determined to trap us together. I don’t mind, Emma admitted. I’m enjoying getting to know the you.
His eyes darkened. Be careful what you wish for, Emma. The real me might not be what you expect.
I think that’s exactly what makes you interesting, she leaned forward. You’re deeper than you appear. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes as he set down his wine glass.
And what if that depth contains things that would disturb you? Like what? She challenged. Like the fact that I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you three years ago, he confessed, voice raw with emotion. Like the fact that watching you with my brother was its own special kind of hell? Like the fact that when he abandoned you, part of me, a part I’m not proud of, was glad.
Emma’s heart hammered against her ribs, shock mingling with exhilaration. Why didn’t you ever say anything, she whispered. What would I have said? That my brother had claimed something I wanted before I could act? That I noticed everything about you? How your eyes light up when you talk about art? How you twist your ring when you’re thinking? Then why this arrangement, she asked.
Why the contract, the separate bedrooms, the promise of divorce? Ethan’s expression softened. Because I didn’t want to be your consolation prize. I wanted you to see me, really see me, not as Liam’s replacement.
The honesty stole her breath. I’m seeing you now, she said softly. His voice was barely audible.
Instead of answering with words, Emma moved toward him on the firelit rug. Her fingers traced the strong line of his jaw, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble. I’m not thinking about Liam, she whispered.
I haven’t been for days. With a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep inside him, Ethan pulled her into his arms. His mouth found hers in a kiss unlike anything she’d ever experienced.