The Hot September Nights

(continuation)

Had she been the rebellious type herself, she supposed she would have found Ethan's defiance of authority terribly attractive. And she had in a safe. Jeans Dean teenage fantasy sort of way. But her parents pampered and protected their children. Their girls, especially. She had been sheltered all her life from people who lacked manners and breeding and, being a good and dutiful daughter, she had avoided him like the proverbial plague long before he had been declared persona non grata at the Blackwood estate. Even after Ethan and Jackson had hooked up again in college, she had found herself avoiding him.

Not that their paths had crossed often. Until she had arrived at her brother's that evening, she hadn't seen Ethan since his and Jackson's college graduation. And then, only at a distance. The most exposure she'd had to him was to hear his name in connection with the astonishing growth of his company and, occasionally, to hear her mother complain that Jackson had taken off with him yet again to risk his neck in pursuit of an adrenaline high.

She crossed her legs once more, her foot slowly swaying as she nursed her chardonnay. She had the distinct feeling that Ethan and her brother's mutual love of adventure was why they had remained such good friends despite the temporary banned from each other in their youth. Jackson climbed mountains simply because they were there. He sailed, scuba dived and flew his own plane. If there was a force to be conquered, he met the challenge head-on. More often than not, according to her mom, Ethan was the one who introduced the challenge in the first place.

Still stewing about her day, she rather wished she had that sort of nerve herself. Make that guts, she thought, unladylike as the word sounded. She rather wished she had such guts herself.

She would never admit such a thing aloud, of course. it wouldn't be dignified and heaven knew she needed to be that. At that moment, though, feeling constrained by her parents, her life and her own inability to buck the tide, she couldn't help thinking that she would love to abandon the conventions she lived with and lose herself in something that made her feel truly... free.

She finished the last of her wine. Vaguely aware of its effects draining the tension from her muscles, she also decided it was time she stopped letting Ethan Kensington III get to her. Years had passed. People changed. As she had already reminded herself, she was twenty-eight, not an impression able eighteen. More importantly, not letting him intimidate her would at least return some control to her day.

By the time she decided she wouldn't be able to work on her little self-improvement project without seeking Ethan out something she hadn't quite worked up the nerve to do, she had retrieved the bottle of wine from the refrigerator. Twilight had settled deeply over the tranquil view and she had polished off a second glass. Feeling quite relaxed, and certain she would soon feel brave enough to venture inside, she poured another splash simply because sitting
there sipping it was the most pleasant thing she'd done all day.

She sank back in her chair.

Across the wide inlet, the trees had turned black agains the last light of day. An occasional pinpoint of white indicated a house as isolated as the one her brother had chosen for his escape. Water lapped against the dock. Her brother's sailboat, its sails furled and masts bare, rocked gently with the incoming tide.

It was peaceful here. Something that surprised her. She wouldn't have thought Jackson could stand all this lovely quiet, Ten minutes and another splash of wine later, the rumble of the door put an end to tranquility.

Her strappy red sandal slipped from her toes. It hit the deck as she glanced up hoping to see her brother standing there.

Ethan leaned against the doorjamb.

He didn't bother to turn on the porch light, but even in the low glow of the lamps coming from farther inside, she could easily see that he had showered and changed. He'd combed his damp hair straight back from the angular lines of his face. A loose V-neck sweater hung casually over com- fortably worn jeans. She couldn't tell the sweater's color. She could tell only that it was pale and that it clung rather impressively to his broad shoulders.

The clothing covered him commendably. It didn't do a thing, however, to disguise the power in his big body. Or, maybe, she thought as he crossed his arms, that power was just the latent tension that surrounded him like a force field.

"Jackson just called."

Reminding herself that she wasn't going to react to him any differently than she would any other guy, she toed at her shoe. She succeeded only in pushing it farther away. "I didn't hear the phone."

"You probably couldn't hear it through the door," he replied, his face shadowed in the deep dusk. "He won't be back until tomorrow."

Aurélienne glanced up. "What time is it now?"

"About seven-thirty."

She'd been there since six-fifteen.

"He knew I was coming. I left a message on his cell phone."

"I don't know anything about that."

"Did he say why he wouldn't be here?"

"I think her name is Charllotte"

Give Jack a choice between a good time and responsibility and responsibility lost nearly every time.

"Great," she muttered, and set her goblet down with a clink beside her purse and the manila envelope beneath it. She didn't feel relaxed anymore. The drive had been a total waste.

"Tell me," she said, leaning forward again to see if she could see her sandal, "is he really playing tonight, or is he just doing what he tends to do when it comes to his family and avoiding me?"

"He didn't say what he was doing."

Liar, she thought. He and Jackson were as thick as thieves "Tell me where he is and I'll take the papers to him. All I need is two minutes."

"He didn't say where he'd be."

Exasperation threatened to surface. Years of biting back anything that might sound less than agreeable kept it from her tone. "You don't have to protect him from me," she assured him, drawn by his loyalty as much as she was annoyed by it. As a Blackwood, it wasn't easy knowing who to trust. Jackson could obviously trust Ethan, though. "I'm not asking him to donate an organ. I just want his signature."

He'd probably give you the organ."

"Then, tell him I need a lung and that I'm on my way The corner of his mouth crooked, the expression dangeously close to a smile. "For some reason, I think he might not believe that." With lazy masculine grace, he pushed himself away from the door. "Leave me the papers. I'll see that he gets them."

"I can't leave them with you." Still probing for her shoe she barely noticed the way Ethan came to a halt at her flat refusal. "I know my brother. He'll let them sit around until I have to come back for them. Or he'll lose them," she decided, hearing boards creak as Ethan resumed his stride.

To be continued.....

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