Chapter 9 When He Touched Me
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Ethan set aside his documents. Walter gave a quick bow and disappeared, leaving us standing awkwardly at the entrance of the dining room.
"Sit." Ethan commanded, his eyes finally lifting to acknowledge our presence.
We hurried to our seats, Blake pulling out my chair before taking his own. The only sounds were the clink of silverware against fine china as Ethan ate with mechanical precision.
I stared at my plate, pushing eggs around with my fork, too nervous to eat. The atmosphere was suffocating—more like attending a funeral than breakfast.
After what felt like eternity, Ethan wiped his mouth with crisp precision, folded his napkin, and slid his wheelchair back from the table. Without a word, he turned and headed toward the door.
Blake immediately jumped up, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast to follow his uncle. "Uncle Ethan," he called, rushing to help with the wheelchair. "Would it be alright if I start at the company tomorrow instead? I was hoping to—"
"You have other plans today?" Ethan interrupted, his tone neutral but somehow threatening.
Blake glanced back at me. "I wanted to take Olivia to my place, maybe spend the day with her."
Ethan's gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. "That won't be possible. Miss Reed promised to stay and take care of the kittens she rescued last night."
What?
I stood up abruptly. "I never—"
"You don't remember our conversation?" Ethan's eyes narrowed dangerously.
Blake turned to me, confusion evident on his face.
"I..." My voice faltered as Ethan's piercing gaze held mine.
"What exactly did I say last night, Miss Reed? Have you forgotten?" Ethan cut me off, his voice silky smooth but edged with steel. "If you have, I have video footage I could show Blake."
Video? My heart stopped. Had he recorded me sitting on his lap? With Blake's hero worship of his uncle, he'd never believe Ethan had pulled me onto his lap—he'd think I was trying to seduce his uncle.
I gripped my fork tightly, my face burning with humiliation. "I remember," I choked out. "Mr. Bennett said I have a gentle touch with animals and offered to pay me generously to care for his cats."
Blake's face fell. "Why didn't you mention this yesterday?"
I avoided his eyes. "I wasn't sure if he was serious or joking, so I didn't say anything."
Ethan's mouth curled into the ghost of a smile. "Your memory serves you well, Miss Reed."
"Go to work," Ethan said coldly when Blake offered to help. "Don't be late on your first day."
Blake's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I'll go, then. Uncle Ethan, please look after Olivia for me."
Ethan nodded curtly. "Of course."
I watched helplessly as Blake left, taking my escape route with him. As soon as the front door closed, tears welled in my eyes.
"I understand what you're doing," I said, my voice trembling. "I'll leave Blake alone if that's what you want. Just let me go."
Ethan wheeled himself directly in front of me, so close our knees almost touched. He reached up and tilted my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him.
I froze. For a fleeting second, I thought I saw something almost tender in his normally cold expression. Was my vision blurred by tears?
The moment passed, and I blinked in shock as his thumb brushed across my lower lip.
I couldn't process what was happening. Was Ethan Bennett—the man Blake worshipped, the powerful figure everyone feared—actually flirting with me? It seemed absurd, unthinkable.
The morning stretched endlessly as I tried to avoid Ethan. I wandered through the mansion, pretending to look for the kittens whenever I heard the soft whir of his wheelchair approaching. Like a rabbit trapped in a wolf's den, I darted from room to room, seeking safe corners.
By noon, my nerves were frayed. I'd found a sunroom where the mother cat and her kittens were napping, giving me legitimate reason to hide there.
"Miss Reed." Walter's voice made me jump. "Mr. Bennett requests your presence for lunch."
My stomach knotted. "I'm not hungry."
"Mr. Bennett insists."
Lunch was excruciating. I sat as far from Ethan as possible, dabbing my sweaty palms with my napkin between bites.
"You need the fish knife for that dish," Ethan said, passing me a silver utensil.
My hand trembled so badly that I dropped it, the clatter making me wince.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bennett," I mumbled, mortified.
His eyebrow arched. "Just Ethan will do."
"What time does Blake usually finish work?" I asked, desperate to break the silence.
"Missing him already?" Ethan's voice held a note of amusement.
The truth was, I hadn't been thinking about Blake at all before today. I'd been trying to figure out how to make him lose interest in me. But I nodded shyly, hoping this might discourage any inappropriate interest from Ethan.
He lowered his gaze to his plate. "He's working late tonight. He won't be back until much later."
At five-thirty, the familiar sound of his wheelchair alerted me to his presence in the living room. I was sitting with one of the kittens in my lap and stood quickly.
"Mr. Bennett," I greeted cautiously.
"Sit down," he commanded, maneuvering directly in front of me.
I perched on the edge of the sofa, back rigid.
Ethan reached out to stroke the kitten. "Have you ever had cats before?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Neither have I."
The conversation died. His hand withdrew from the kitten to brush against my leg.
I flinched, a strange tingling sensation running up my thigh. I looked up in shock, meeting his intense gaze.
Ethan adjusted his position, opening his legs wider. His right knee pressed against my thigh while his left leg stretched out, blocking my path. The formal presence he'd maintained suddenly shifted into something more dangerous.
My face burned as I turned away. He moved his left leg slightly, his heel touching my slipper, the fabric of his pants brushing against my ankle.
I retreated further into the sofa, gripping the edge with white knuckles. My body was taut as a bowstring, heart thundering in my ears.
He continued petting the kitten, his muscular arm occasionally grazing my leg—contact so subtle it could have been accidental, except I knew it wasn't.
My breathing grew shallow, and heat spread from my face down to my neck, turning my skin a traitorous pink.
"Mr. Bennett," I finally gasped, grabbing his hand to stop its movement. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
