Heat spread across Emily’s face and she stumbled to explain. “Well, what I mean to say is…”
Isaac quickly covered for her. “Curtis is brilliant, and he has the client list to prove it, but as far as socializing…well, he’s not really one of us, you understand.”
She certainly did, and she had to resist the urge to grab the pumpkin out of Isaac’s hand and dump the contents over his head. Lucky for her and for them, the Underwoods spotted another group of snotty elitists over by the bar and excused themselves. Why did Ethan want to be a part of this world? she wondered, heading inside the house. She scanned the room looking for him, expecting to find him in the center of a group of wealthy people who were looking for free advice, but he wasn’t there. She sidled up to one of the waitstaff. “Have you seen Mr. Curtis?”
“I think he’s in the kitchen.”
“Alone?”
“No, there’s a full kitchen staff in there, Ms. Kelley.”
“I mean, was he with anyone? A guest?” she asked tightly. Like maybe a Tiffany—one F, two Ys?
The man shook his head. “Not that I saw.”
As she walked toward the kitchen, the sound of clanging pots and hustling staff was interspersed with a shrill, critical voice that Mary instantly recognized as her grandmother’s.
The door opened and as a mortified-looking waitress rushed out with a plate of food, Mary heard the older woman’s voice again. “You can take my family’s company, hire my granddaughter to act as your wife at parties and invite the top shelf as your guests, but that will never make you one of us.”
Interrupting the conversation didn’t sound like a good plan. She didn’t want to embarrass Ethan any further. So Mary watched through a crack in the door. The room was busy with waitstaff, chefs and to Mary’s horror, not only her grandmother, but two of her grandmother’s closest friends. Grace Harrington stood a few feet from Ethan, who had his back to the sleek Wolf range, her friends behind her like a scene from one of those movies about exclusive high school cliques.
“Breeding cannot be bought,” Grace continued, her tone spiteful and cruel. “Where and who you come from is in every movement you make. Make no mistake about it, Mr. Curtis, you wear your trailer-park upbringing like a second skin.”
The room stilled. The chefs stopped chopping, the waitstaff looked horrified as they tried to stare at anything but Ethan.
White-hot fury burned in Ethan’s eyes. “I know exactly where I come from, Mrs. Harrington, and I’m proud of it.”
“Is that so? Then why try so hard to impress us all?”
“My work makes enough of an impression to satisfy me. These events are a way to gain more clients. After all,” he said with a slow smile, “before I came along, Harrington Corp. was not only hemorrhaging money but about to lose seventy percent of their client base as well.”
Grace’s jaw dropped, and she looked as though she couldn’t breathe. Ditto with the geriatric sentinels behind her. Mary had never seen her grandmother bested before, and she felt oddly sorry for her, but knew the older woman had it coming to her. Grace Harrington could dish it out, and maybe now she would learn to take it.
Mary watched Ethan grab a beer from the counter and tip it toward the three some. “Good afternoon, ladies. I have every confidence that you can find the front door from here.”
And then he was coming her way, in ten seconds he’d bump right into her. Mary dropped back into a small alcove off the hallway and waited for him to leave the kitchen and pass by her. His jaw tight, his stride purposeful, he walked past her and in the opposite direction of the party. After waiting a moment for her grandmother and her friends to leave, Mary followed Ethan. She had a good idea where he’d be.
She climbed the stairs and walked down the hall, unsure of what she was going to say to him when she found him. The door to the nursery was closed, but that didn’t dissuade her.
Without knocking, she entered the room. Ethan was lying on his back on the floor, staring out the enormous bay window. Sunlight splashed over his handsome face, illuminating his pensive expression.
Mary sat beside him. Maybe he’d been right that day in his office, after their musicless dance, maybe they were becoming friends. God only knew why, after their history. But the fact was she understood him a little better now, understood what drove him. Her mother had felt some of the same feelings of not being good enough, not knowing where she belonged or who really cared about her for herself and not how much money she had.
“She’s right.”
Ethan’s words jarred her, brought her back to the present. “Who’s right?”
“Your grandmother. I’m not worth much more than the trailer I was born in.”
“That’s not exactly what she said.” Mary knew that she sounded as though she were defending Grace, when that’s not what she was trying to do at all. She knew her grandmother had been cold and cruel, but Ethan could be that way as well.
“That’s what she said, Mary. I’ve heard versions of that diatribe many times. From my ex-wife, from my own mother. Doesn’t seem to matter how hard I work.” He shrugged. “I’ll never escape it.”
“This self-pitying thing has to stop, Ethan.”
He sat up, stared at her with cold eyes. “What?”
“Why do you care?” she demanded.
“What?”
“Why do you care what any of them think?”
The anger dropped away, and he shook his head. Just kept shaking his head. “I have no idea.”
“Why can’t you be satisfied with the life you’ve created?”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on either of them, and in that moment, Mary knew it was just a matter of time before she confessed the truth about her pregnancy. She didn’t want to care about him. He’d forced her to make some abominable decisions…and yet…
She put a hand on his shoulder, and in less than an instant he covered it with his own. “Under that layer of pride and arrogance,” she said softly, “is a pretty decent guy. I can’t help but believe that.”
He leaned in until his forehead touched hers. “Even with everything that’s happened?”
“Yes.”
He tipped her chin up and with a soft groan his mouth found hers in a slow, drugging kiss. Mary opened to him, even suckled his bottom lip until he uttered her name and pulled her closer, his tongue mating with hers.
She protested when he pulled away from her, whispering a barely audible no.
With his face still so close to her own, he regarded her intently. “Are you pitying me, Mary?”
She wanted his mouth, his tongue, his skin against hers and no more questions. “Does it matter?” she uttered huskily.
A long moment of silence passed, and then Ethan groaned, a frustrated, animal-like sound. “No,” he muttered, closing his eyes, nuzzling her cheek until he found her mouth again.
Despite the open window, the air in the room had become stiflingly warm. Mary’s limbs felt heavy, and she clung to Ethan for support. His mouth was hard on hers, his breath sweet and intoxicating. For a moment she wondered if she was drunk, but then realized she had been sipping seltzer water all morning. Mouth slanting, Ethan unleashed the full strength of his need, his tongue against hers, caressing the tip until Mary was breathless and limp. Whatever he wanted to do, she was a willing participant.
Without