Damaged Beauties (Romanced by the Damaged Millionaire (Erotic Romance)) by Aphrodite Hunt Read Free Book Online

from her way of dressing that she was a high-class hooker.”
    I wonder if this is the hooker who disappeared. The hairs on my arms prickle.
    “I examined the girl and asked her what happened. She remained mum. Wouldn’t tell me a thing, other than she walked into a glass door. I knew that was bullshit, pardon the expression. Meanwhile, Ethan Greene paced out there in the waiting room like an anxious, expectant father. The girl had rope burns on her wrists and ankles. Her ass had new bruises, as if she’s been caned repeatedly. Her private parts had been invaded, no doubt, and roughly. She had even been sodomized.
    “But she still wouldn’t say anything. And so I decided to question Ethan Greene.”
    I suck in my breath. Ethan? I can tell immediately by the storyline that the doctor suspects Ethan of sexually assaulting the hooker.
    “What did he say?” I ask, as if I’m not personally affected by the answer. As if we are talking about a case that happened in a newspaper report.
    And I shouldn’t be personally affected. Why should I, right? I’m writing an article on this. I shouldn’t be personally affected by any of my subjects. Curious, yes, but not emotionally involved.
    “He very politely told me that he’d picked her up from the street. Someone had hurt her, and he was being a good Samaritan.”
    There’s that term again. A good Samaritan.
    The doctor continues:
    “‘You have to make a police report,’ I tell him.
    “‘I will, later,’ he says to appease me. But I know that he won’t.
    “I tried to get the girl, whose name was Marla Sanchez, I remember now, to make a police report. But she refused. She was keeping mum for a reason, and I don’t know what that reason is. But I reckon Ethan Greene is wrapped up in this whole thing. Maybe he’s paying her off. Maybe she’s not some random hooker to him. I don’t know.”
    “I see,” I say, my mind churning with possibilities. I just cannot reconcile the Ethan Greene I just spent the whole morning with against this image of . . . well, the doctor is making assumptions, so what happened is anybody’s guess.
    Still, there’s the troubled diary etching of:
    I can’t contain him anymore. I can’t predict what the triggers are. All I know is that he is becoming more powerful.
     
    *
     
    I say goodbye to the doctor, who makes me promise to come back if I experience any dizziness or headaches. She’s a good sort, and if I were her, I’d be making the same assumptions about Ethan Greene.
    Those assumptions trouble me.
    As do Ethan’s diary entries.
    I dial Ethan’s cellphone, and fifteen minutes later, he arrives to pick me up. As soon as I see his calm, beautiful face, my heart soars despite me telling myself over and over to get over my fan-girly crush.
    Maybe it’s not a fan-girly crush anymore. Maybe I really do enjoy being with the adult and current persona of Ethan Greene.
    I get into his car – a black Mercedes S-class with tinted windows.
    “Hi,” he says.
    “Hi.”
    “So how was your visit? Everything clear?”
    I’m tempted to tell him the truth, but I want a reason to linger around him a while longer. “I’m not totally in the clear yet. There’s still some residual giddiness and headaches I have to be aware of. Once I’m clear, I can start preparing to get back to civilization.”
    “You can stay as long as you like, until you get better,” he offers, as I knew he would. And immediately, he looks uncomfortable, as if he has said something he shouldn’t have.
    “I don’t want to impose.”
    “You’re not imposing.” He does not glance at me. He seems torn between good manners and asking me to do what he really wants me to do – leave.
    “Ethan,” I say hesitantly, “are you all right?”
    “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Did someone say . . . something?”
    “No. I just wondered.”
    “Ah well.” He appears relieved.
    “Ethan.” Out of impulse, I lay my hand on his arm.
    He looks down at it, and then at