When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 31

Amelia

I shut the bathroom door with a soft click, my hands a little shaky as I loosened the tie on my robe. It slipped off my shoulders, and I caught sight of myself in the mirror—my skin looked like a messed-up art project, splotched with fresh bruises in shades of purple, blue, and yellow. Each mark was a souvenir from tonight’s so-called “training” with Ethan.

I ran my fingers over a nasty bruise on my ribs, wincing as it pulsed under my touch.

Yeah, it hurt, but that wasn’t what had me rattled. It was what came after the sparring—the split second when our lips brushed.

My face heated up just thinking about it. I could still feel the warmth of his breath, the quick press of his mouth before we both jerked back like we’d been shocked.

“Get a grip, Amelia,” I muttered to my reflection, shaking my head to shake off the weird buzz still humming through me. “This is just a fake marriage. Nothing else.”

I started digging through the bathroom cabinets for the anti-inflammatory spray I’d brought from my place in Brooklyn. Nada. Of course, I’d used the last of it after our last session and forgot to grab more. Guess these bruises were just gonna have to tough it out.

A sharp knock on the bedroom door made me jump. I yanked my silk nightgown over my head and tied my robe tight before opening it.

Ethan was standing there in the hallway, his face a blank slate, like that moment in the gym never happened. His eyes gave nothing away as he held out a small paper bag.

“You’ll need this,” he said, his tone flat. “Can’t let training injuries fester.”

I peeked inside—anti-inflammatory spray and bruise cream, exactly what I needed.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for it. Our fingers brushed for half a second, and that weird jolt from earlier hit me again, like a static shock I couldn’t name. I pulled my hand back fast, pretending to fix my hair to cover up whatever the hell that was.

“There’s a bruise on your neck,” he said, his gaze dipping to my collarbone where the robe had slipped a bit. “I need to make sure I didn’t do any real damage.”

I stepped back. “I’m good, thanks. I’m a doctor, remember? I’ve got this.”

But Ethan was already walking past me into the room, his eyes scanning the things I’d brought from home to make this guest room feel less like a hotel—the music box, a stack of medical journals, and a few art supplies.

“You might wanna take a look at these scratches on my back,” he said out of nowhere, peeling off his shirt in one smooth move. “Since you’re the one who put ‘em there.”

I froze, totally thrown by the sight of his bare torso—muscular, broad-shouldered, and marked with three angry red scratches across his back from when I’d fought back during our sparring.

“They’re just surface scratches,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady and professional, even though I couldn’t help noticing the way his muscles moved under his skin. “No need for anything special. They’ll heal fine.”

He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing with a kind of curiosity that made me uneasy. “Where’d you learn to fight like that, anyway? Most OB-GYNs aren’t throwing punches like a pro.”

Before I could come up with an answer, my phone buzzed with a text. I grabbed it off the nightstand, thankful for the distraction.

It was from Noah Randall: [You free for lunch tomorrow? Black Rose Restaurant at noon. I’d like to get to know you better.]

I felt Ethan step closer, his breath warm on my neck as he leaned in to read over my shoulder. His brows pulled together in a slight frown.

“Noah’s pretty into you, huh?”There was a sharpness in his voice I couldn’t quite figure out.

“It’s just networking,” I said, setting the phone down. As I moved back, the hem of my robe caught under my foot, and I stumbled.

Ethan’s arm shot out faster than I could blink, catching me and pulling me against his bare chest. My hand landed flat on his skin, and I could feel his heart pounding under my palm.

Everything seemed to stop. The heat from his body, the faint smell of his cologne mixed with clean sweat—it hit me all at once. His breathing changed, getting quicker, deeper, and I could sense something shift in the way he held me. I suddenly realized how dangerous this closeness was.

I pushed against him, hyper-aware of every spot where we touched, trying to get some space.

Just as quickly as he’d grabbed me, Ethan let go and stepped back, his face snapping back to that cold, unreadable mask.

“Sorry. That was out of line,” he said, his voice flat again.

“You’ve been acting off lately,” I said before I could stop myself. “First, you’re all about these training sessions, and now—”

“I’m coming with you to meet Randall tomorrow,” he cut in, his tone icy.

“You don’t get to butt into my social life,” I fired back. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“As your husband—on paper, at least—I’ve got a duty to make sure you’re safe,” he said, heading for the door. He glanced back. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

After I slapped some of the cream on my bruises, I climbed into bed, but sleep wasn’t happening. I kept replaying Ethan’s weird behavior in my head. He was watching me like a hawk lately, way too interested in who I was talking to.

Why did he care so much about Noah? And why was he dead-set on tagging along? The training, that accidental kiss, the way he’d caught me just now—none of it matched the distant, all-business guy I’d signed up for this fake marriage with.

As I finally started to drift off, I couldn’t help but wonder what Ethan Black was really up to.

Whatever game he was playing, I had a feeling the rules had shifted—and no one had clued me in.