“You crossed a line.”
She watched, dumbstruck, as he stripped off the clown pajama pants. Right. In. Front. Of. Her. Good God, the man was gorgeous in a pair of boxer briefs.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not sure for what, but I’m sorry I upset you.”
He yanked on his jeans. Not gently, either, other than to tuck left. When he fastened his top button, her gaze landed on the ridge of his abs, then worked their way up past the broad chest and rather impressive set of shoulders she’d admired since she’d first seen him. When he tugged his damp shirt over his head, causing all that muscle to ripple in new ways, she may have forgotten to breathe. At least until she saw his face.
“I want to help you,” he said, his voice broken. “I really do. But my family is all about me moving on, and I’m not ready.”
He made a beeline up the stairs, and she stepped back to let him pass. “Moving on from what?”
“Like I told you, your mother hasn’t cornered the market on guilt. Thanks for the water,” he said without looking back. He let himself out through the front door, leaving her bewildered.
She watched him until he was out of sight, her chest hollow at the sudden loss. It didn’t matter she’d known him less than an hour. He’d been on her side, and that warmed her head to toes. Or it had until she’d sent him almost literally running from her house.
After shutting the door against the summer heat, she picked up her phone and Googled him. The search returned a thousand hits on his name, so she switched tactics and pulled up the list of committee members for the Von Adler gala. Alice was the only Chase on that list, so Rue searched her name in tandem with Ethan’s.
The first result was Fusion Air, a family-owned HVAC business serving New York City for almost as long as conditioned air had been a thing.
The second was an obituary. She read through, her heart sinking. Ethan had lost his wife, and Rue had just claimed to be dating him. On the anniversary of his wife’s death.
What had she done?
Chapter Two
Ethan paused on the porch just long enough to yank his wet shoes onto his feet. He felt like a jerk, but Rue shouldn’t have used his name. He’d told her his mother was on the committee of the Von Adler charity. He and his brothers were always involved. Even if he never saw Rue again, there was no way news of his reemergence in the dating pool wouldn’t get back, most likely to his mother. The woman would be thrilled. Right up until he shut her down. No matter how quickly he set her straight, he knew he’d disappoint her. But he meant what he said to Rue.
He wasn’t ready.
Amy had been gone three years. Long, horrible years, but she was still so close. There were mornings he still half-expected to see her sleepy grin across rumpled sheets. The scent of her perfume lingered, forever a part of him, even though he no longer lived in the house they’d once shared, or with any of her things. The memory of her smile haunted him as much as it brought him comfort.
He looked at his arm where Rue had touched it. Still, the feeling of her soft skin against him burned. He’d been so stunned by the contact that he hadn’t realized until now how very long it had been since anyone had touched him, at least like she had. Guilt slammed into him, taking his breath.
Get a grip. It’s no different than a handshake. Only it was. Because in three years, no handshake had made him feel like that. He still carried the heat of Rue’s gaze. The utter appreciation in it. No one had looked at him like that for a long time, either—at least not that he noticed. He was poor Ethan, the widower. Almost everyone these days looked at him with pity.
Like Rue had as he’d fled.
His steps slowed when he realized he was back at the main road. He turned and stared down his old street, the world he’d once known and loved basking in the cruel sunshine. Small lawns, some brown, most green. Kids living the exuberance of summer. Heat coming off the pavement in waves. The chime of an ice cream truck in the distance. Details most people seldom noticed, but they’d been his life.
And he’d lost it. He’d lost everything. Nothing could ever change that.
Not even a bombshell brunette with a kick-ass car and the softest hands he’d ever touched.