When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 118

Ethan

I remained seated on the sofa as Amelia disappeared into the bathroom for her shower. The sound of running water filled the quiet apartment while I stared out at the Manhattan skyline, city lights twinkling against the darkness. My thoughts kept returning to that kiss we'd shared—unexpected but not unwelcome. It had been too long since I'd felt her lips against mine.

When she finally emerged, wrapped in a silk robe with her hair still damp, I could sense her hesitation.

"Feel better?" I asked without turning around.

"It's late, Ethan." She paused, her voice carrying a hint of dismissal. "You should go home and get some proper rest."

I turned to face her. "I'm staying."

"What?" Her eyes widened slightly.

"I'm staying here tonight. On the couch." I kept my tone firm, leaving no room for debate. "Until we catch whoever threatened you and the kids, I'm not leaving you alone."

I watched her internal struggle play across her face. Good—at least she wasn't completely rejecting the idea. After everything that had happened—Mrs. Garcia's death, Mrs. Wilson and Frank in the hospital, that threatening photo—she needed protection, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

"Fine," she finally sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "There are extra blankets in the hall closet. Good night, Ethan."

She retreated to her bedroom, closing the door behind her. I remained on the couch, listening to the soft sounds of her moving around her room before silence fell. Only then did I pull off my tie and shoes, making myself as comfortable as possible on her plush sofa.

The damn thing was too soft. I'd always preferred a firmer mattress, something with proper support. I shifted, trying to find a position that wouldn't leave my back aching in the morning. It was going to be a long night, but worth it to know she was safe.

---

A soft whimpering sound jolted me awake. I sat up instantly, years of training kicking in as I scanned the darkened apartment for threats. The sound came again—from Amelia's bedroom. Not an intruder, then.

I moved silently to her door and knocked gently. "Amelia?" No response, just more distressed noises from within.

Cautiously, I pushed the door open. In the dim light filtering through her curtains, I could see her thrashing beneath the covers, her face contorted in fear. A nightmare.

"Mom!" she cried out, though it was barely more than a whisper.

I crossed to her bed in three strides. "Amelia," I called, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Amelia, wake up."

When she didn't respond, I carefully gathered her into my arms. She was shaking violently, her nightgown damp with sweat.

"You're safe," I whispered against her hair. "It was just a dream."

Her eyes flew open, wild and disoriented. I could feel her heart racing as I held her against my chest, one hand making slow circles on her back the way I used to when we were married.

"I heard you crying," I explained softly. "I knocked, but you didn't answer."

I expected her to push me away, to reestablish the boundaries she'd been so careful to maintain since our divorce. Instead, she leaned into me, her breathing gradually slowing as she took comfort in my presence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

She shook her head against my chest. "Just the usual. Nothing new."

My hand paused on her back. "This happens often?"

Her silence told me everything I needed to know. I continued holding her until her breathing deepened and she relaxed against me. Only when I was certain she was asleep did I allow myself to lie back on the bed beside her, still cradling her protectively.

I pulled out my phone and, keeping the brightness low, searched for information on PTSD and recurring nightmares. I made a mental note of several top trauma specialists in New York. Amelia needed help, whether she was ready to admit it or not.

---

I woke to sunlight warming my face and the weight of Amelia attempting to slip out from under my arm. Half-asleep, I instinctively tightened my grip, pulling her back.

"Going somewhere?" I asked without opening my eyes, my voice rough from sleep.

"I need to get ready for work," she replied, trying again to get up.

I released her this time, propping myself up on one elbow as she sat on the edge of the bed. In the morning light, with her hair tousled from sleep and her guard momentarily lowered, she looked achingly beautiful.

"How long have you been having these nightmares?" I asked directly.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Since my mother died. They come and go. Usually when I'm stressed."

I nodded, considering how to approach this. "Have you considered talking to someone? A professional, I mean. I know a few excellent therapists specializing in PTSD—"

"I don't have PTSD," she interrupted quickly. "It's just nightmares. They've gotten worse since seeing Frank bleeding in the hospital. It... it reminded me of finding my mother."

My chest tightened at the vulnerability in her voice. I reached out, my fingertips brushing her cheek gently. "I'm sorry, Amelia. For everything you've been through."

I meant it. Despite our complicated history, I'd never wanted her to suffer. Seeing her pain now made me more determined than ever to protect her.

I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to make sure you're safe. All of you. I promise."

A knock at the front door interrupted the moment. Perhaps that was for the best—I was getting dangerously close to crossing lines I wasn't sure we were ready to cross.

"That's probably Michael with breakfast," I said, standing up and straightening my rumpled clothes. "I asked him to bring something over, along with a change of clothes for me."

Twenty minutes later, we'd both showered and changed. I watched Amelia pick at a croissant while I drank my coffee black. The comfortable intimacy we'd shared in her bedroom had been replaced by a careful distance, both of us retreating behind our respective walls.

"I can drive you to the hospital," I offered, checking my watch and calculating how to rearrange my morning meetings.

"That's not necessary. I have my car." She gathered her medical bag and keys. "I need to get back to my routine, Ethan. Some normalcy would be nice."

I nodded, though I wasn't happy about it. "At least let Michael follow you, just to make sure you arrive safely."

I could see she wanted to argue but was too tired for another battle. "Fine. Just until I get to the hospital."

At the door, I hesitated, suddenly reluctant to leave her. "I'll call you later."

She nodded, an awkward silence stretching between us. "Thank you... for last night. For staying."

I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my mouth. "Anytime, Dr. Thompson."

As she drove away with Michael following discreetly behind, I pulled out my phone to reschedule my morning appointments. The company could wait. Right now, keeping Amelia safe was my top priority—and not just because of my promise to her grandfather or my obligations as a father.

I was still in love with her. I'd never stopped. And this time, I wasn't going to let her go without a fight.