When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 14

Amelia

The whiskey burned in my chest as we pulled away from Blue Note. I slumped against the soft leather seat of the car, my head spinning a little, though I was still holding onto a shred of control. Through the window, Manhattan’s late-night lights blurred into streaks of color as Michael weaved through traffic.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Ethan’s voice sliced through the warm fog in my head, sharp and laced with sarcasm. I wrestled with the urge to bite back or keep up the drunk act. My mind felt like it was wading through mud, torn between the two.

The car took a hard turn, and I slid across the seat, crashing into Ethan’s side. Part of it was the booze, part of it was me testing the waters.

His body was solid, warm through the fabric of his fancy suit, and I caught a whiff of something woody—cedar, maybe—and distinctly him. It messed with my head, making me feel oddly safe when I shouldn’t.

He draped his jacket over my shoulders, the warmth from his body still clinging to it. That scent hit me harder, and my head spun in a way that had nothing to do with the drinks.

“I’m not drunk…” The words almost slipped out, but I bit them back, sticking to this half-real, half-fake drunken charade.

The whiskey had me feeling reckless, braver than I’d ever been. I let my head drop onto Ethan’s shoulder—partly ‘cause I couldn’t hold it up, partly to see what he’d do. It was solid, steady, and way too comfortable. A small, sober part of me screamed to pull away, horrified that I didn’t want to.

“Ethan…” I dragged his name out, slurring it on purpose to gauge his reaction. My voice came out softer, more personal than I meant, thanks to the alcohol loosening me up.

“What?” His tone was tight, like he was holding something back. I felt him tense under me.

“Why’d you… come get me?” I tilted my head up, peering at him through heavy eyelids, using the drunk act as an excuse to ask what I’d been wondering all night.

“Just a coincidence.” His reply was cold, clipped, like he didn’t want to talk about it.

“That’s it?” I leaned in closer, noticing how his breathing shifted. “Or do you… actually give a damn about me?”

His fingers brushed some stray hair off my cheek, the touch so gentle it didn’t match the hard-edged Ethan I knew. “You’ve had too much to drink,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“I haven’t…” I lifted a hand to touch his face, but it hovered awkwardly in the air. “Your skin looks… real nice to touch.”

He grabbed my wrist, stopping me cold. “Amelia, hush.” There was no real bite in his words, just a tired kind of warmth I wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“Didn’t think you’d hold your liquor this well,” he added, a faint smirk in his tone. I almost argued, but caught myself—I was supposed to be wasted.

“Are you actually complimentin’ me?” I squinted at him, putting on a whiny, pouty voice. “Ethan never says nice stuff…”

The car’s heat was getting to me. I shrugged off his jacket and kicked off my heels, my movements sloppy from the real buzz I was feeling.

Deep down, I was scrambling to come up with a story for why I was at the bar, why I was near James, but the whiskey made my thoughts sluggish, like they were stuck in quicksand.

When the car stopped, Ethan got out without a word. I heard Michael’s voice from the front seat, glancing at me through the rearview. “Boss, looks like Miss Amelia ain’t gonna make it upstairs on her own.”

Ethan came back, opened the door, and tugged me out of the seat before scooping me up in his arms like it was nothing.

The sudden lift made my breath catch. His warmth, his scent—it was everywhere, sending a shiver through me I couldn’t control.

“Why’s he doin’ this? This ain’t like him…” My thoughts were slow, sticky, the alcohol making it impossible to figure out what was behind his actions.

In a haze, I felt him carry me through the sleek marble lobby, into a private elevator, and finally set me down on a fancy leather couch in what must’ve been his penthouse.

As he started to pull away, my arms—moving on their own—looped around his neck. My fingers brushed the warm skin at the back of his neck.

“Amelia, let go.” His voice was low, right by my ear, with a mix of restraint and something softer I couldn’t place.

The booze had torn down every wall I had left, and a stupid, wild thought popped into my head—I wanted to know what his lips felt like. Once it was there, I couldn’t shake it.

In a split-second of insanity, I tugged him down by the neck. Our lips brushed—just a graze—and it was like a jolt of electricity shot through me, snapping me halfway sober.

Panic and embarrassment hit me like a freight train. I jerked my head away, squeezed my eyes shut, and pretended to pass out.

I let go of his neck, rolling over to face away from him, faking deep, drunken sleep. My heart was hammering so loud I swore he could hear it. I forced my breathing to stay slow and even, fighting the urge to touch my lips, which still buzzed with the memory of his.

Through barely-open eyes, I saw Ethan straighten up, his fingers brushing the corner of his mouth. My heart skipped again at the sight.

He stood there for what felt like forever, staring down at me with a look I couldn’t read—confusion? Annoyance? Something more? I couldn’t tell, so I kept up the act.

When his bedroom door finally clicked shut, I was alone with my racing thoughts, the feel of that kiss refusing to fade. I told myself the alcohol was my get-out-of-jail-free card—maybe Ethan would chalk it up to me being drunk and out of it, and we’d never talk about it again.

That thought calmed me for a second, but a nagging voice in the back of my mind wouldn’t shut up: Was it really just the booze that made me kiss him?

Exhausted from the whiskey and the whirlwind of everything, I collapsed deeper into the couch, my body and mind completely spent.

Right before sleep pulled me under, I vaguely felt a blanket settle over me, but I was too far gone to know if it was real or just a dream.