When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 107

Amelia

Seeing the awkward vibe, I quickly shifted the topic.

"This needs to be cleaned properly," I said, reaching for the first aid kit I kept in my nightstand. "The wound isn't deep enough to need stitches, but it could still get infected."

Ethan sat quietly on the edge of my bed, still in that ridiculous dress with the wig slightly askew, watching me intently as I prepared the antiseptic solution. His gaze followed my every movement, making my skin tingle with awareness.

"This will sting," I warned, dabbing the betadine-soaked cotton ball around the edges of the cut.

He didn't flinch, just kept those intense blue eyes fixed on my face. "I've had worse."

"I'm sure you have." I focused on cleaning the wound, grateful for something to occupy my hands. The familiar routine of medical care provided a welcome distraction from the absurdity of the situation – my ex-husband sitting in my bedroom in a woman's dress with a stab wound I'd inflicted.

As I leaned closer to inspect the cleaned cut, I caught the scent of his cologne mingling with the floral perfume he must have used as part of his disguise. The contradictory smells somehow perfectly encapsulated the moment – masculine and feminine, familiar and strange, intimate and awkward.

"You still have a surgeon's touch," he murmured as I began wrapping gauze around his chest. "Steady and sure."

I ignored the compliment, concentrating on creating a neat, secure bandage. My fingers occasionally brushed against his warm skin, and each contact sent unwelcome sparks through my nervous system. I worked methodically, trying to maintain my professional demeanor despite the bizarre circumstances.

When I finished, I couldn't resist adding a small, perfectly tied butterfly knot to secure the bandage. "There. Your wound is officially the prettiest in Manhattan."

"Very fitting with your current look," I added, gesturing at his dress.

I stepped back, suppressing a laugh at the ridiculous sight he presented – muscular chest wrapped in white gauze, expensive black dress bunched around his waist, long-haired wig sitting slightly crooked on his head. "I'm surprised you didn't complete the look with heels."

"I considered it, but scaling the building seemed challenging enough in these." He pointed to the white sneakers he wore.

I packed away the medical supplies, feeling the tension between us shift into something lighter. "You can take all that off now. The disguise, I mean."

"Trying to get me naked, Dr. Thompson?" His voice held a teasing tone I hadn't heard in years.

"In your dreams, Mr. Black." I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at my lips. "I meant you should probably get rid of the wig and dress before you leave. Walking through the apartment like that might attract exactly the kind of attention you were trying to avoid."

"That's true." He reached up to adjust the wig but didn't remove it. "I was just trying to avoid your watchdog."

"My watchdog?"

"The bodyguard. He's been following you for weeks. Very professional, very persistent."

I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed, maintaining a careful distance between us. "That would be Daniel's doing."

Ethan seemed unsurprised, as if he had already anticipated it. "The Astors?" he asked.

"Yes, Benjamin Astor is my mother's brother – my uncle. Daniel is my cousin. He assigned the security detail to protect me from... well, from you," I explained.

"I didn't realize you were so well-connected."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Ethan." I shrugged, suddenly tired of all the secrets and misunderstandings between us.

Without warning, he reached out and pulled me into his arms. The move caught me completely off guard. His embrace was firm but gentle, his chin resting on top of my head.

"Let me hold you for a minute," he whispered against my hair. "Just a minute. Then I'll go."

I stood frozen, torn between pushing him away and melting into the familiar comfort of his arms. My brain screamed at me to maintain boundaries, but my traitorous body remembered how it felt to be held by him. So I remained still, neither returning the embrace nor breaking free.

"Chasing you has been harder than any Wall Street takeover I've ever handled," he murmured softly.

Despite myself, I felt a smile forming. "That's because companies can't stab you when you break into their offices."

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter, the vibration traveling through me like a tuning fork. I became acutely aware of how long it had been since anyone had held me like this – not as a mother, not as a doctor, just as a woman.

The moment stretched between us, comfortable yet charged with unspoken emotions, until finally I stepped back, suddenly conscious of how late it was. "You should go. It's past midnight."

He nodded reluctantly. "Will you at least unblock me? Judge Thompson vs. Black has been in session for three years now. Don't you think the sentence has been served?"

I narrowed my eyes, considering his request. "On one condition."

"Name it," he replied immediately.

With a mischievous smile, I held up my phone. "I get to take a picture of you in that outfit. Opportunities like this don't come around often."

His face fell. "You're kidding."

"Not even a little bit."

"Fine." He sighed dramatically. "But that photo doesn't get shown to anyone. Especially not Olivia."

"Deal." I quickly snapped several photos before he could change his mind, capturing his absurd appearance – designer dress, bandaged chest, crooked wig and all. Then I showed him my phone screen as I unblocked his number. "Satisfied?"

"Getting there," he answered with a small smile that made my stomach flutter.

He stood to leave, pulling the dress back up over his bandaged chest with a wince. At the balcony door, he paused. "Thank you for not calling security on me."

"Don't make me regret it," I warned, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Goodnight, Amelia." He gave me a long, meaningful look, then turned and quietly closed the door behind him.

Alone in my bedroom, I found sleep impossible. I scrolled through the photos I'd taken, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of Wall Street titan Ethan Black in a dress and wig. What kind of man would go to such lengths? The Ethan I remembered was too proud, too concerned with appearances to ever consider something so undignified.

It seemed like he had truly changed, and somehow, I felt his love for me had grown even deeper.