Lines of Defense

Ch. 19

ETHAN COLE

As I step out of the car, I see her—Amelia, seated in front of my door, arms hugging her knees, her head resting on her thighs. She lifts her face at the sound of my door shutting, her eyes catching mine, and I freeze, breath slipping from my chest.

She stands slowly, and my eyes follows every inch, every curve beneath the slinky silk dress that clings to her in all the right places. The fabric is delicate, thin, almost like liquid draped over her skin. And as she moves closer, I catch the outline of her nipples, hard against the fabric, visible enough to make my pulse spike. What the hell?

She crosses her arms, looking at me with a casual coolness that feels far too practiced. "I was driving by the area," she says, her voice a little softer than usual, "and realized I still had your key. Figured I'd return it since we're no longer...sharing space."

She hands it over, fingers brushing mine as I take it, feeling the weight of the small metal piece between us. I'm about to thank her and let her go when she glances at the door behind me and raises a brow, feigning innocence. "So... you're not going to invite me in? Thought you were 'sorry' about that little chat in the car." Her lips curl in a challenge, and the memory of that morning, my words, hangs between us, unresolved.

I grit my teeth, slipping the key into the lock and turning it, watching as she steps in ahead of me, hips swaying in a way that makes the silk shift and cling, highlighting every dip and curve. My breath is a steady burn as I follow her inside, that subtle movement having more effect than I care to admit. Amelia and I have always been at odds—oil and water—but now... it's as if the line between dislike and something else is blurring. It's maddening.

Inside, she settles onto the couch like she owns the place, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back,  glancing over the room lazily. "Got a drink?" she asks, casting me a sidelong look. "I've had a long day and could use something to unwind."

I stiffen. Since when does she decide to unwind here, in my space? But I don't question her out loud, instead grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the bar and pouring a glass, wondering why she isn't going home to unwind instead. She takes the glass from me and knocks it back in a single gulp, raising her brows in a silent dare as she extends it back for more. I can't ignore how her body curves beneath the fabric of her dress, the silk clinging to every inch. I can't keep my eyes off her—especially when I catch the outline of her nipples pressing against the delicate material.

"Easy," I say, pouring another but slower this time. "You'll get drunk before you can blink if you keep that up."

She laughs, a low, almost throaty sound that makes something spark in me. "I handle my alcohol fine," she murmurs, taking the glass again. I hesitate, feeling her eyes on me as she lifts it to her lips, watching me with those sharp, daring eyes that have always made me feel like I'm being read like a book. She downs the second glass just as quickly, her cheeks blooming with a hint of a flush. Then, she sighs, leaning back with an air of relaxation I rarely see in her.

"I'm going to shower," I say, trying to get a grip on myself. "Be back in a bit."

I retreat to my room, stripping off my suit and stepping into the shower, cold water pouring down my skin, doing little to cool the fire in my veins. I can't shake the image of her—those nipples, teasing against that damn dress, practically begging for my touch. Every inch of her tonight feels deliberate, as if she's playing a game and I'm barely keeping up. I scrub my skin, trying to cleanse myself of the thoughts, but every one of them seem to spiral back to her, to how close she is just on the other side of the door.

When I return, dressed in a black tee and joggers, the sight of her nearly floors me. The whiskey bottle sits nearly half-empty on the table, and she's draped across the couch, eyes hazy, her cheeks tinted a rosy pink, lips parted just enough to make me wonder what they'd taste like. She looks up at me, a lazy, satisfied smile stretching across her face as she leans forward, her neckline dipping just enough for me to catch a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts.