Addicted

Book 2: Ethan Frost

by Tracy Wolff

Genres: Billionaires Romance; Contemporary Romance; Workplace Romance

Synopsis

Ethan Frost is everything a woman could want in a man. He's rich, gorgeous, powerful, and one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. But that's not why I'm with him.



I love Ethan for all the things no one else gets to see: his innate kindness, his reckless spontaneity, his unwavering determination to use his brilliance for good. I love the way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes me forget the wreckage of my past and the twisted fear that still lives inside me.



But sometimes it terrifies me how much I crave him, how much I need him just to breathe. I always thought it would be my past that ruined us, but there's a darkness in Ethan I never dreamed existed. Can we survive as his secrets surface-threatening to unravel us both?

Contains mature themes.

Release date: July 15, 2014

Publisher: Loveswept

Print pages: 280

Sample

Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.

His name is pounding in my blood, a mantra in my soul.

Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.

All that work. All those hours and days of trying to move on. All those assurances to myself that I had this, that I could do it. All of it blown out of the water in one fell swoop.

Ethan. Ethan. Ethan.

He’s here, right here in front of me. And despite everything, it’s all I can do not to fall straight into him.

I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to act. There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to run across the room and throw myself into his lap. To bury my face in his neck and beg him to never let me go. To pretend that the last two weeks never happened and that, somehow, someway, all the pain, all the agony, was nothing but a nightmare gone awry.

But there’s another part—equally as big and equally as important—that wants to run away. Or at least dive behind the nearest chair and not come out until he’s gone. Until he’s no longer looking at me like he saw a ghost.
Or worse.

Of the two choices, the second is definitely the smarter one. Humiliating, yes. Unprofessional, absolutely. But still so much better than standing here remembering what it feels like to be held by him.

To be loved by him.

And yet, even knowing what a terrible idea it is, I can’t stop myself from taking a step toward him, then another and another. In seconds, I’m standing right in front of him, close enough to touch his soft hair and smoothly shaven cheeks. Close enough to register the uneven rise and fall of his chest beneath the navy silk of his shirt. More than close enough to feel his heartbeat if I just reach out and stroke my hands down his chest as I’m longing to do.

“Ethan.” His name is a tortured sound ripped from me, half whisper, half sob, but I can see by the way his eyes narrow and his fists clench that he hears me. Can tell by the way he looks at me that he understands all the things I don’t have the words to say.

He doesn’t react for a long time, doesn’t so much as move a muscle. Then, suddenly, he’s leaning forward in his chair, and I think that he’s going to be the one to do it, to break the oh-so-fragile understanding between us. To touch me the way I’ve been longing to be touched from the moment I left him in that parking lot.