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“So how will we pass the time? Wanna make out?” He flashed a grin and Maggie darted under his arm.
“There you go, sweetheart. Let me know what you like.” “I like you,” Maggie blurted and, instantly, he froze. As in he didn’t move. At all. No more kisses or wandering hands, just the heavy weight of him and she wondered for a split second if maybe he was a robot and she’d said the emergency kill code that made him power down because Ethan was completely, utterly motionless until . . . The head came up. And she watched him morph into an Ethan she’d never seen before, boyish charm mixed with lethal intensity as he said, “Finally.”
“We barely know each other.” “Yes.” He took a small step forward. “We do.” “But . . . But . . . We hate each other.” “No.” Another step. “We don’t.”
“You said you looked like a Victorian street urchin.” She let out a silent laugh. “How did I really look?” But Ethan grew serious, thinking . . . remembering . . . deciding. “I thought you looked like forever.”
“You know, if mankind has one universal superpower, it’s gaslighting women into thinking they’re the problem.”
Then they locked Ethan and me in the greenhouse—” “Ethan and I,” Rupert snarled, sounding snide. “Screw you, Rupert. And she’s right; it’s ‘me.’ Go on, baby.”
“How did you even . . . How?” “It’s an anagram of Eleanor Ashley.” He gave her a look that said give me some credit. But then, just as quickly, he stopped smiling, and Ethan Freaking Wyatt seemed almost embarrassed to admit, “Besides, I’d know your voice anywhere. You’re my Eleanor.” “Oh.” She straightened the collar of his shirt even though it didn’t need it. “You keep saying things like that and I’m going to get a little crush on you.” “Promise?” ’
