Chapter 20 The Ice Man Melts
"If I told you it was love at first sight, would you believe me?"
The question hung between us as the traffic light bathed Ethan's face in crimson. I didn't believe him—not for a second. Men like Ethan Bennett, with their billions and empires, didn't experience love at first sight. They experienced acquisition opportunities.
"I'm curious," I deflected, "besides at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where else did you see me? Because after my birthday, I never went anywhere fancy."
I looked at him expectantly, my eyes wide with feigned innocence. Ethan's lips curved into that knowing half-smile as he reached over to ruffle my hair.
"If I wanted to see you, I had my ways."
Of course you did. What can't you do? I thought, but only offered a soft smile before turning to gaze out the window.
The light turned green, and Ethan guided the Bentley through Downtown LA until we reached a sleek high-rise. He pulled into an underground garage, the wheels making a satisfying purr against the polished concrete.
In the elevator, Ethan took my hand naturally, his grip firm but not painful—just enough pressure to make it clear that pulling away wasn't an option. I studied our reflection in the mirrored doors: him towering beside me, his tailored suit contrasting with my carefully chosen cocktail dress. We looked like a power couple from a magazine spread, except for the wariness in my eyes that I couldn't quite hide.
The elevator opened directly to a discreet entrance. The building's exterior was understated luxury—nothing flashy that screamed exclusivity, just the quiet confidence of old money.
"This is Alexander Fuller's members-only club," Ethan explained, his voice returning to that clipped tone I was learning meant business. "The bar next door belongs to Jackson Hayes. It's closed now—too early."
He pulled out his phone and made a call that lasted exactly two words: "Open up." Then he hung up without waiting for a response.
I noticed how different he was here—efficient, cold, commanding. Gone was the man who'd spoken paragraphs to me at Oakwood Estate. I couldn't help smiling at the realization.
"What's so amusing?" Ethan murmured, his fingers finding the small of my back, caressing the sensitive spot just above my tailbone.
"I always thought you were a man of few words," I said truthfully. "But you talk quite a bit with me."
After spending over a month with him, I'd labeled him cold and taciturn. Seeing him interact with others revealed that he spoke to me far more than was apparently normal for him.
His hand at my waist suddenly tightened. "You think I talk too much?"
Before I could answer, the door swung open. A man with a perpetual half-smile regarded us with raised eyebrows.
"Well, this is rare," he said, looking from Ethan to me with undisguised curiosity. "The great Ethan Bennett bringing someone to Horizon? Mark it on the calendar."
"Alexander," Ethan nodded curtly.
The interior took my breath away—marble floors that reflected soft lighting, priceless art adorning the walls, and a central courtyard with a water feature that created a soothing backdrop. Modern luxury blended seamlessly with old-world elegance.
As we entered the main hall, three men who'd been lounging in conversation immediately stood at attention. The transformation was fascinating—from relaxed to respectful in under a second, like soldiers spotting their commanding officer.
One of them—Jackson, I presumed from the way Alexander greeted him—gave me a curious glance, surprise flickering across his features before schooled politeness took over.
Alexander led us to a private room where several people were already gathered. A stylish woman in her mid-twenties approached, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"So the rumors are true," she said, looking me over. "They all said you were hiding a treasure at Oakwood, afraid someone might steal her away. So this is the precious gem you've been keeping from us."
My cheeks heated under her scrutiny.
Ethan's expression darkened instantly. "Who told you that, Tiffany?"
Alexander quickly intervened, pulling the woman—Tiffany—away. "Don't listen to her, Ethan. None of us said anything like that."
Tiffany's smile faltered when she met Ethan's glacial stare, and she wisely fell silent.
"We're playing a few rounds," Alexander announced, gesturing toward a table. "Care to join, Ethan?"
"Mahjong?" I heard someone suggest.
Ethan turned to me with unexpected gentleness. "Do you play?"
I shook my head. "Not really. Poker is easier for me."
"Don't worry," he said, his voice soft enough that only I could hear. "I'll teach you. And if you lose, your man can afford it."
Four of us sat at the table—Alexander, a man introduced as Nathan (Ethan's cousin), myself, and Tiffany(Alexander's cousin). Jackson declined to play, preferring to watch from the sidelines with a drink in hand.
"Brought enough money?" Nathan half-joked to Ethan. "We wouldn't want to bankrupt you."
I shifted uncomfortably, wanting to leave, but Ethan placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"We'll start with the simplest version," Ethan decided, and began explaining the rules.
The first game passed with Ethan quietly guiding my decisions, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered advice. To my surprise, I didn't lose—I won.
Looking up at him, I deliberately softened my expression, letting my eyes shine with manufactured admiration. "Thank you for teaching me," I said, my voice honey-sweet.
Something flickered in Ethan's expression—a momentary loss of composure. His Adam's apple bobbed visibly, and he seemed almost flustered as he turned my face away.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Alexander chuckling softly.
"Look who's fallen hard," he murmured, eyes twinkling. "Never thought I'd see the day."