I must be choking him, my arms are wrapped around his neck so tightly. But I can’t stop. I want to be closer, under his skin, or maybe tuck him under mine where I can keep him as safe as I can. Sobs burst out of me, rapid fire.

Ethan’s arm wraps more snuggly around my waist, his big, warm hand on the back of my head. “You’re crying over the loss of my beard.” He doesn’t sound upset but as if he’s confirming a long-suspected belief.

And it breaks my heart. Somehow I manage to let him go enough to look up at his face. His eyes are solemn, sad, as if he hates seeing me cry but doesn’t know what to do about it.

His thumb brushes my wet cheeks, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets me look at his now-smooth face.

I cup one of his cheeks, press my palm against skin that’s warm and tight. “I’m crying because you thought this outer shell meant more to me than what’s inside of you.”

His big body jerks in surprise, but I cling, not letting him go. As if he’s too tired to keep his head up, he bends down and buries his face in the crook of my neck.

Gently, I stroke his head, his close-cropped hair bristly yet soft. “You think I kissed you that first time—that I wanted you—because of a beard? You couldn’t be more wrong. It was because you were a sexy-as-fuck, sly-as-all-hell charmer who grabbed my attention and held it.”

A muffled grunt blows into my hair.

“I mean, look at you,” I say, even though we’re still clutching each other and I can’t see anything. But my memory is just fine. I think of his solemn eyes and that mouth of his, that soft, wide, pouty mouth. “I’m in serious danger of having a young Marlon Brando Street-Car-Named-Desire moment here. I kind of want you to tear at your shirt and shout ‘Stella!’ Or I guess it should be ‘Fiona!””

Ethan snorts, but it sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. Still, tension vibrates along his strong body, and I know he remains upset.

When he finally answers, his voice is raw. “Rather hear you shout my name, Cherry.”

“So make me.”

He doesn’t move, only grows stiffer.

“Ethan, I loved your beard, but I love you more.”

He blinks down at me, then he swallows hard as if trying to clear his throat. “I love you too, Cherry.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Feels like I’ve loved you forever. I thought you knew that.”

There’s an accusation in his voice—soft but there all the same.

“I do, Ethan. You’ve been so good to me.”

His grip flexes on my hips. “Then why did you do it? Why did you take the money?”

Surprise freezes me to the spot. He stares down at me, no longer soft but completely hard, stark devastation and cold anger in his eyes.

Chapter Forty-Five

Fiona

Ethan has never looked at me in anger. It’s a horrible thing to see it now. “I can explain,” I say.

He scoffs. “Just the words a guy wants to hear after he’s been metaphorically kicked in the teeth by his woman.”

My breath pushes out in an anxious rush. “I’m not going to London.”

Not the best opener. Based on the sidelong look he gives me, Ethan clearly thinks so too.

“Okay. And that has to do with taking Bloom’s fuck-money how?”

Wincing, I try to touch his chest, but he backs away, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he goes. The fact that he no longer wants to touch me, that he’s putting physical distance between us, has my insides tumbling.

“I realized that going to London was just me running away—”

“No shit,” he cuts in, his voice flat, his gaze blazing with tamped anger. But it’s slowly starting to simmer. He looks so different without his beard, his head shaved close to his skull. His features are stern and unforgiving.

I clutch my skirt with cold fingers. “Right, so…thing is, I didn’t want to run any more. I demanded the money from Bloom because I knew that would end it.”

Another ugly snort leaves him, and he shakes his head. “Well, it certainly does end things—”

“No, Ethan,” I say, stepping forward. “Not like that. I’m giving the money to your charity. All one million. Ivy and I had a press conference. I said I was donating it on your behalf, because Bloom getting sleazy PR by exploiting your personal life should come to some good.”

He stills, his eyes narrowing. “You gave it to charity?”

“Of course. Did you really think I’d claim that disgusting prize for myself?” I swallow hard, trying not to be offended at the idea. I ought to have warned him.

Ethan’s shoulders bunch with tension. “No. But I didn’t know what to think, Fiona. I had some fucking linebacker laughing in my face, telling me my girl went for the money.”

“Baby…I’m so sorry.” I take a step forward.

But he backs away, his face closed off. Regret punches through me.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me,” he grinds out. “To hear it from someone else? Because, let me tell you, not a single fucking person on that field knew about you giving the money to charity. They looked at me like I was a massive dupe, a fucking joke.”

Shit. I didn’t consider the lag time between asking for the money and my interview, which should be airing right about now.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan. You’re right. I should have warned you. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted to set us free. I needed to take the wind from their sails. Taking that money and giving it to your charity? What can anyone say about us now?”

He expels a breath. “Okay, fine. But we should have done it together.”

I give a jerky nod, misery spreading. “I’m sorry.”

Ethan laughs without humor, tilting his head back to blink up at the ceiling. “God. You cut me off at the knees out there, Fi. I walked into that blind.”

“Ethan—”

“I know,” he says with a terse snarl. “You’re sorry. You didn’t mean it.” He glances at me, and there’s no joy in the look. “Believe me, I’m trying to get over it. But you were my safe harbor, Fi. The one person I’ve never had to worry about…”

He spits out a curse and turns away, as if he can’t look at me.

“You’re my safe harbor too,” I say, holding back a sob. “I messed up. I never wanted to hurt you. I didn’t think—”

“No,” he shouts, “you didn’t.”

Emotion punches into my chest, and I snap. “Damn it, Ethan. I’ve been hurting here too! It wasn’t your naked picture spread all over the Internet. You’re not the one being called a whore or having fucking creepers comment on your body!”

“You think I don’t know that?” He takes a step toward me as a deep flush works its way up his neck. “You think it doesn’t fucking gut me that I caused it? You know it does.”

“Then don’t rip into me for finally taking control of the situation! Because your whole ‘no comment’ stance wasn’t doing the fucking job.”

He freezes and frowns at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Shit, did you do it this way because you were pissed at me?”

All the air leaves my lungs. I practically choke as I stumble back. “Did you just say that? Did you just fucking accuse me? Fuck you, Ethan!”

His face twists. “Don’t get all righteous on me. I’m allowed to question this.”

“Then don’t you go getting all righteous on me,” I snap back, stabbing my finger in the air. “I get that I fucked up. I get that you’re mad. But you have no right to—”

“I’ve no right?” His expression is feral now, teeth bared, muscles bulging. “Because I’m calm, sensible Dex? The guy who takes a beating and gets back up without complaint? Well, too fucking bad. I am mad. And I’m sorry if that offends you, but I’m not going to suck this up. Not yet. Not fucking yet, Fiona!”

I hate the sound of my name on his lips—no longer reverent but a curse. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper.

His chin tilts up. “I know that. I know you didn’t mean it, but…shit.” He begins to pace, his hands going to his head to pull at his hair, which is no longer there. Agitation makes his steps jerky, his arms restless. “I know. I’m just. Fuck, it. I can’t—” He takes a deep breath and then another.