Free Yours to Keep by Serena Bell

body were sleek and obvious. Above the neckline, Ethan could see the topmost curve of her breasts. The shirt clung to her arms and narrow waist, flared over her hips. He wanted to put his hands right there, where narrow swerved to flare, and draw her close. Instead, he touched her arm. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric, warmth that crept over his own skin and surged through his body. “Please stay.”
    Her eyes met his, wide with surprise and something else, an echo of his feelings.
    “Okay.” She smiled again, not her whole-face sparkling smile but a sweet closemouthed one that pursed her lips and made him want to lean in and touch his mouth to hers.
    She watched Ethan’s face when he put the first bite of habichuelas into his mouth. She sawsurprise—that would be the cilantro—and pleasure. “Mmm,” he said, and her pulse sped up. She’d underestimated how much she’d enjoy feeding him.
    His shoulder was six inches from hers, emanating heat.
    Across the table, Theo grinned. “It’s good. I didn’t think I liked beans. But I like this.”
    “Thank you.”
    She was glad to be here with them, but she was unsure about what the hell she was doing. Ethan had almost kissed her the other day. The look on his face when he touched her arm earlier had been unmistakably, gloriously covetous. It had sent a thrill all through her. But that was dumb and crazy, right? She had excellent—the very best—reasons not to let anything happen between them. And yet she was here.
    Ethan ate gravely, giving her meal its full due. She bet that was the way he did everything.
    She bet that was the way he made love.
    Where had that thought come from?
    Oh, she knew. From the depths of her sex-deprived brain, egged on by the vibrations he seemed to set up in the air all around her.
    She put a cool palm to her cheek, willing herself to calm down.
    “Is this something you cook at home?” Ethan gestured at the plate with his fork.
    “It’s my mother’s recipe.”
    “Do you live with your mother?” Theo asked.
    Her stomach clenched, as it always did when she thought of her mother.
    “Theo,” cautioned Ethan. He shot her a worried glance.
    “My mother’s dead,” Ana said.
    “Mine, too,” Theo said earnestly.
    She’d known that, but hearing it said aloud filled her with fresh grief, for the younger Theo and for herself. “How old were you when your mom died?” she asked him. She sneaked a look at Ethan, who gave her a tight nod.
    “Seven. She had lymphoma. I don’t remember her very well. I remember some things, like her tucking me into bed, and some games she used to play with me before she got sick.”
    “I was eight when my mom died,” she said. “I remember her pretty well. She was very sick the last year, though.”
    “Mine, too,” Theo said. “I don’t really remember that part, though.”
    Ethan made a tiny, startled noise. Ana’s eyes sought his, saw a mirror of her pain there. He gave her a lopsided smile.
    “Do you have kids?” Theo asked her.
    “Theo,” his father said again.
    Theo made her want to laugh. He reminded her so much of Marco. There was an adult quality to his ease with small talk. It made a fine contrast with his childlike ignorance of what was appropriate conversation.
    Theo’s eyes had narrowed at his father’s intervention. “What?”
    “It’s not a polite question.”
    “You’re too worried about being polite.”
    Anger flared in the green of Ethan’s eyes, and the lines at the bridge of his nose deepened.
    “Your dad’s got a point. Some people want kids and can’t have them, so it hurts when they have to answer a question like that. But I don’t mind that you asked. I don’t have kids, but I have a niece and two nephews. I live with them. With my niece, my nephews, my brother, and my sister.” She hadn’t exactly meant to spill all that, but there it was.
    “That’s a lot of people,” Theo said. “All in one house?”
    She felt Ethan shift beside