:


    58


    Chase’s hand tightened around my arm. He stood a little straighter, his spine stiffening like someone had reced it with a metal rod. “We should go,” he whispered, tugging me slightly. The nervousness in his voice was palpable, like a child who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.


    I ignored him and looked directly at Ethan. “He made a bet with me,” I said, nodding toward Chase. “He bet that I couldn’t touch your face and still walk away in one piece.”


    Chase’s grip on my arm loosened in shock. “What the-” he sputtered, his eyes wide with panic. A bead of sweat formed at his temple, and he swallowed hard enough that I could hear the click in his throat.


    Ethan’s eyebrow arched, his lips quirking up slightly at one corner. The subtle change transformed his face, bringing a warmth to his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Is that so?” His voice was low and smooth, like expensive whiskey.


    “And what were the stakes of this bet?”


    “We hadn’t decided yet,” I replied with a casual shrug, as if we were discussing the weather rather than potentially


    touching the face of one of New York’s most intimidating businessmen.


    “If I were to… cooperate,” Ethan said, his eyes never leaving mine, “would that raise the stakes?” There was


    something almost yful in his tone now.


    A murmur rippled through the crowd around us, the soft gasps and whispers creating a soundtrack to our little drama. Women in designer gowns leaned into each other, lips moving rapidly behind manicured hands. Men adjusted


    their bow ties and watches, trying to appear disinterested while straining to hear every word.


    Chase had gonepletely still beside me, like a rabbit caught in headlights. The color had drained from his face, leaving him pale against the rich burgundy of his suit.


    Ethan leaned down, bringing his face inches from mine. The movement was smooth, deliberate, almost predatory. “Which side would you prefer to touch?” he asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper that seemed to caress my


    skin.


    I looked up at him, studying the nes of his face. This close, I could see flecks of gold in his green eyes, smell the subtle notes of his cologne–sandalwood and something darker, moreplex.


    Connor shifted nervously behind Ethan, ncing around at the gathering crowd of onlookers. His perfectly pressed suit couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders as he tugged discreetly at Ethan’s sleeve. “Boss,” he murmured under his breath, “maybe tone it down? Everyone’s watching.”


    The room had indeed fallen silent. The sudden change was jarring–moments ago, there had been the gentle hum of conversation, the clink of sses, soft music. Now there was nothing but the collective held breath of dozens of Manhattan’s elite, all eyes focused on our little tableau.


    Chase had released my arm entirely, taking a small step back as if to distance himself from whatever was about to happen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed again, eyes darting between Ethan and me like he was watching a tennis match where the ball might explode at any moment.


    …


    :


    Across the room, I caught a glimpse of Henry Astor’s face. He stood with Walter Morrison and Philip Thornton, all three men watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of surprise. Henry’s expression was particrly interesting–a mixture of calction and approval. His eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted in consideration.


    58


    Edward and Julian Sheldon had also noticed the silence spreading through the room. They turned from their conversation, eyes widening at the sight of Ethan Haxton–notorious for his aloofness–bent down so close to me it almost looked like he was about to kiss me. Julian elbowed his brother, whispering something that made Edward


    frown.


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