Trophy Wives by Jan Colley Page B

diplomacy.
    â€œTom?” A little scared now, she registered that Ethan was pushing toward her, only a few feet away.
    â€œYes, Tom.” The tone was now openly belligerent. “I know he’s here. I saw his car.”
    Perhaps emboldened by rescue at hand, she tugged sharply to free herself.
    â€œHey!” She heard Ethan’s voice crack through the din of the crowd. The man checked.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she hissed.
    He glanced quickly over his shoulder then his fingers dug deep into her arm, so hard that tears of pain and outrage sprang into her eyes. He shoved his face very close. “Tell him I’m looking for him.” With that, he gave her a small but quite rough push.
    A little dazed and off balance, she heard a louder “Hey!” close now, right in front of her, and then the tang of Ethan’s aftershave blitzed the smell of alcohol and malice away. Her head cleared. He came level with her, moving determinedly in the direction of the departing man. Without thinking, Lucy raised her hand quickly. “Leave it!” She slapped her hand quite forcefully on his chest.
    His wide chest.
    His hard chest.
    His heart beat strongly under her flat palm. He looked down at it, possibly surprised at the force she’d used or perhaps it was the commanding tone of voice. Then he looked at her face.
    She stared back, trying to think of something to say. Her train of thought was completely attuned to the rhythm of his heart under her hand. And the warmth of his skin under the shirt invited each of her fingers to flex and flatten out, pressing fractionally closer.
    â€œYou okay? What did he…?”
    Lucy gingerly took control of herself, lifting her hand off his chest. “He was just being vulgar.” She started to walk in the direction he’d come from. “Come on, they’ll be wondering.”
    Ethan’s hand landed on her arm, the same arm. His grip was gentle, but his voice was not. “Lucy.”
    She tensed, inhaling deeply. This had to be handled with a light touch. She had no idea what that man had wanted with Tom, but her gut feeling was it had something to do with money.
    Turning slowly to face him, she looked pointedly at his hand on her arm. “Gosh, it’s my week for being manhandled.” With satisfaction, she saw his eyes narrow at the coolness she’d imparted.
    There were people everywhere, pushing impatiently to get to their seats. Ethan guided her determinedly to the side of the thoroughfare. When her back was against the wall, he leaned in close. His hands were on the wall on either side of her, cutting off her escape, but he did not touch her.
    â€œWhat was that about?” His voice was low and tense.
    Lucy quailed when she saw how tightly reined he was; his jaw was clamped, his eyes flashing. Why he was angry with her? “It was nothing.”
    His breath puffed over her face. “Ex-boyfriend?”
    She shuddered. “No.”
    â€œHis hands were on you.”
    She saw then it was not her he was angry with. God help Joseph Dunn if Ethan stumbled across him tonight. “As were yours, yesterday morning,” she said carefully.
    As a distraction, it worked. He shifted slightly, leaning on his arms, and his eyes slid down to her lips. A breathless shiver of excitement fizzed through her. Her fingers curled in remembrance of his heartbeat.
    He was thinking of their morning kiss, as she was.
    â€œDid I bully you yesterday morning?” he asked softly, and brought his eyes back to hers.
    Smouldering voice. Smouldering eyes. Desire, not just excitement or anticipation but hot, flowing, knee-trembling desire rolled through every cell of her. And he saw it, recognized it. She saw his pupils dilate, his lips part slightly, and Lucy had to fight not to sag against him, helpless with longing.
    And then the stadium erupted. Loudspeakers, applause, music rushed into the vacuum between them and sanity returned. Lucy