When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 138

Ethan

The picnic was winding down as sunset painted the hotel grounds in shades of amber. I watched as Daniel escorted Amelia and the kids back toward the hotel, his protective posture impossible to miss. Sophie trailed behind them, entertaining Ella with some animated story that had my daughter giggling.

"So, Ethan," Noah sidled up beside me, that familiar mischievous glint in his eye. "Heading back to your suite?"

"That was the plan," I replied, gathering the remains of my barely-eaten steak. With my injured hand, dining had been a challenge until Amelia stepped in to help.

"Great! I'll join you." Noah fell into step beside me. "We've got things to discuss."

I shot him a sideways glance. "What things?"

"Important things. Friend things." His vague answer only deepened my suspicion.

As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed a bellhop wheeling what looked suspiciously like Noah's luggage toward the elevators.

"Noah," I said evenly, "why is your luggage being taken to my floor?"

His grin widened. "Funny story. My home had a... plumbing issue. The hotel's completely booked."

"And this concerns me because...?"

"Because you're my best friend and your presidential suite has that amazing spare bedroom that's just sitting there empty." He clapped my uninjured shoulder. "It'll be like college again. Minus the cheap beer and final exams."

When we reached my suite, I wasn't surprised to find Noah's three designer suitcases already waiting outside my door. The man moved fast—I had to give him that.

"No," I said firmly, unlocking the door.

Noah's playful demeanor shifted subtly. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times before holding it up. "Remember this group chat with James from three years ago?"

My stomach dropped as I recognized the conversation. It was from early in my investigation, when I was still convincing myself that marrying Amelia was purely strategic.

"Let's see," Noah scrolled theatrically. "'I'll never fall for someone like Amelia Thompson. I don't do gold-diggers,'" he read aloud. "Strong words from a man who now can't keep his eyes off her for five seconds."

"You wouldn't," I growled.

"I would." His finger hovered threateningly over the screen. "Unless you let me crash here for a night or two."

I sighed in defeat, pushing the door open. "Fine. But you're sleeping on the couch."

"The spare bedroom has a king-sized bed!" he protested, following me inside.

"Couch," I repeated firmly.

My phone rang as Noah was settling in, making himself entirely too comfortable on said couch. I glanced at the screen: Daniel Astor.

"Interesting timing," I muttered, answering the call.

"Mr. Black," Daniel's voice was formal but not unfriendly. "I was wondering if you'd care for a game of chess? And I've brought some excellent wine you might appreciate."

I hesitated, recognizing the invitation for what it was—another test. "I'd be happy to join you."

After hanging up, I turned to Noah. "I need to go. Daniel wants to play chess."

Noah's eyebrows shot up. "Chess? With the guy who looks at you like he's measuring you for a coffin? Brave man."

"Your concern is touching," I said dryly, heading back toward the door.

Daniel's suite was immense, with a private terrace overlooking Central Park. A chess board was already set up on a small table, two glasses of red wine waiting beside it.

"Black or white?" he asked without preamble.

"Your choice," I replied, taking the seat he indicated.

He gave me white, the first move. As we played, our conversation remained superficially pleasant—discussing business, New York real estate, even wine vintages. But beneath each exchange lay unspoken questions and evaluations.

Two hours and three glasses of wine later, neither of us had gained a decisive advantage on the board.

"You play well," Daniel commented, studying the position. "Most people are too impatient."

"Patience is a virtue in chess and in life," I replied, moving my knight to block his advancing bishop.

Daniel nodded, looking pleased. "Want a smoke?"

I shook my head. "I quit."

He raised an eyebrow. "You stopped smoking when she returned, right?"

I nodded again. "I noticed Amelia quit it and doesn't like the smell, so..."

Daniel looked surprised. "She smoked too?"

I nodded. "Especially under stress, it was her way to relax."

Daniel sighed, his expression turning serious. "I really don’t know how she managed when her mom and grandfather left."

Daniel sipped his wine. "I'm leaving New York after I finish the project here. Going back to Boston."

I nodded, wondering where this was going.

"Before I go, I need to ask something of you." His expression grew serious. "I need to know how much you really understand about her death."

"I started looking into it three years ago," I admitted. "But when I discovered her mother wasn't involved in the money laundering, I left the FBI. The trail went cold."

Daniel's eyes widened slightly. "And now?"

"I might have a lead—one of the chefs at my restaurant could know something about her mother. But it's been years, and he's not eager to talk." I hesitated, then added, "If I find anything, I'll contact you immediately."

"Good." Daniel leaned back.

As we finished our game in a draw, Daniel escorted me to the door. "You're good for her," he said finally. "Better than I expected."

Coming from him, it was high praise.

In the hallway, I paused briefly, glancing at the door to Amelia's suite further down the corridor. I was tempted to knock, to see her one more time before turning in, but decided against it. She was likely busy with the children, and after the long day, probably tired.

Back in my suite, Noah was sprawled on the couch watching a basketball game, surrounded by room service dishes.

"How'd it go with the interrogator?" he asked without looking away from the TV.

"Better than expected," I admitted, heading to my bedroom. "We played chess."

"Boring," Noah called after me. "I ordered steak. Yours is in the fridge."

I closed my bedroom door, shutting out Noah's commentary.

Staring out the window, my mind still on Amelia, I hesitated but finally picked up my phone against my better judgment.

[Goodnight.] I texted.

I set the phone down, not expecting a response. I was reaching for the bedside lamp when my phone buzzed with a notification. I picked it up, surprised to see Amelia's name on the screen.

Amelia: [Have you showered yet?]

I stared at the message, a wide smile spreading across my face.

My mind was racing, trying to figure out how to get Noah out of this apartment temporarily.