Chapter 22

Ethan’s home, a sprawling masterpiece built in the early nineties, was a sight to behold. As I stepped out of the pickup, the scent of freshly mowed grass and the heady perfume of honeysuckle filled my nostrils. The landscape designer had done an exceptional job, and I couldn't help but admire the layout of the home.

After entering Ethan’s home, our attention was quickly diverted as a commotion erupted in another room. I turned towards the noise, my eyes widening in surprise. A flash of gray and white streaked through the doorway, and came barrelling across the room, catching my gaze. It was a puppy, or at least what I thought was a puppy, as I focused on the mass of hair that came towards us.

The puppy's paws struggled to find traction on the slick hardwood floor, causing him to slip and slide like a skater on ice. In an instant, chaos ensued. I gasped as I watched the puppy's rear-end pass his head, his balance lost. He crashed down onto the floor, splayed out in an awkward position.

Desperately trying to regain his footing, the puppy scrambled across the slippery surface, but his efforts were in vain. Just as he seemed to be finding his balance, one of his enormous back paws caught a throw rug, sending him hurtling towards us. It dawned on both Ethan and me simultaneously that we were in the puppy's path.

In a comical attempt to dodge the incoming pup, we lunged in the same direction, colliding with each other like characters in a Laurel and Hardy skit. The collision only served to make matters worse as the puppy crashed into us, knocking us to the floor like bowling pins.

We lay there, dazed and motionless, until Ethan's voice broke the silence. He asked if I was alright, if anything besides my head hurt. Despite his concern, he made no attempt to free himself from beneath me, where I had landed with my breasts inadvertently pressed against his face. Flushing with embarrassment, I tried to sit up but stopped when I felt a stinging sensation on my scalp.

Carefully readjusting my position, I shifted so that my breasts now rested on Ethan's chest instead. It was then that I realized the puppy was keeping me trapped against him, and I pushed at the pup in frustration. However, my clumsy attempts did little to dislodge him as he lay partly on top of me, partly entangled in my hair. "You big oaf, get off me!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with exasperation as I continued to push at the pup.

A silky chuckle issued from Ethan, the sound like a velvety whisper in the air, before he reached out a hand, his fingertips grazing my cheek with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, and a rush of desire surged through me, causing my breath to hitch and my heart to quicken. I could feel my body responding, my breasts swelling and my nipples hardening, mirroring the arousal I sensed radiating from him. The heat between us intensified, and I knew I needed to create some distance, for the temptation to give in to our desires was becoming overwhelming. I couldn't risk exposing Ember to the raw, passionate display that was on the verge of happening right there on the floor.

In a swift motion, I tugged at my hair and pushed at the pup, attempting to create a physical barrier between us. But Ethan's hands halted my movements, his touch firm yet gentle. I looked up and found myself captivated by his warm, whiskey-colored eyes, their depths filled with a mixture of longing and restraint. Adjusting his position, Ethan spread his thighs to accommodate my body, his growing arousal pressing against me. The slow, rocking motion he initiated sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, propelling me closer to the edge of blissful release.

Just as I was teetering on the precipice of ecstasy, the sound of Ember's voice shattered the moment, piercing through the haze of desire. Frustration welled up within me, and Ethan let out a curse, his own disappointment evident. Reluctantly, he released his hold on me, swiftly grabbing the pup and rolling away. I sprang to my feet, a flush of guilt staining my cheeks, and I became acutely aware of the dampness between my thighs, a reminder of the intensity of our shared desire.

With hurried steps, I made my way towards the bathroom, seeking solace and sanctuary. As I closed the door behind me, the familiar scent of lavender filled my nostrils, mingling with the rapid thumping of my heart. I stood there, momentarily lost in my thoughts, my surroundings fading into insignificance. The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears, reminiscent of the adrenaline-fueled moment I first laid eyes on Ethan. I had left behind the bustling streets of Los Angeles, seeking a fresh start and a chance at a new life. The brush with death had opened my eyes to the preciousness of each day, igniting within me a burning desire for a family, for children, and the opportunity to witness the joys of generations to come. It was a chance that had nearly slipped through my fingers when a murder suspect, desperate to escape, had taken aim and fired, the bullet tearing through my body before finding its way out. But fate had smiled upon me, for while the bullet had briefly stopped my heart on the operating table, it had ended the life of my partner, Shane Kennedy, instantly.



My physical wounds had healed, but the scars on my mind remained raw, bleeding. The nightmares, a tangled web of the shooting and my dad's murder, were suffocating me. They became almost debilitating, consuming my thoughts and paralyzing me with fear. It was then that my psychologist suggested a fresh start, a place where I could leave behind the haunting memories. Within six months, I had quit my job, packed up my belongings, and left the crime-ridden streets of Los Angeles behind. But even the miles couldn't distance me from the haunting memories. Losing Shane had shattered me. He wasn't just my partner or my best friend – he was my brother in every way that mattered. We knew each other inside out, always having each other's backs. We had shared our dreams, our preferences, our lives. When he died, I felt like I had failed him. I couldn't even attend his funeral, trapped in the hospital. It tortured me not being able to say goodbye, to pay my respects. For weeks, I would find myself on my knees, tears streaming down my face as I vomited my anguish into the toilet. Some days, I couldn't even find the strength to get out of bed. The guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders, replaying every moment, searching for a way I could have changed the outcome. Nightmares and flashbacks consumed my every waking moment, leaving me feeling helpless and terrified. That's when I followed my psychologist's advice and sought refuge in my grandmother's home – the only place where I had ever truly felt peace, love, and security for a long time.

I’d stared at the portraits of the missing or kidnapped faces pinned on the corkboard. As I had, I’d felt something within me shift—come back to life. A feeling I’d never thought I’d desire again—a need to return to what I did the best—to help control crime within the public. When I’d lost Shane, I’d lost my way. Forgot my promise the day they had lowered him into the ground.

When I’d left the break-room that day, I’d known it was time I returned to the FBI.