“You don’t what?” Marin stared at him challengingly.
“I killed a man. And it was all for nothing, because I didn’t save her,” he said hoarsely. “And now . . . hell, Marin. Look at me. I’m nothing now. And do you see how they talk about her? What did she do?”
He threw out his arms as he said, his voice scathing, “How did Monica push that fabulous artist over the edge? Where did she go wrong? They blame her!” he shouted.
“And . . .” His voice hitched. “Sometimes I do, too. Because if she hadn’t left me . . . Fuck. If she hadn’t left me, she’d be alive. And I wouldn’t have killed him. I wouldn’t know what it was like to have blood on my hands. Sometimes, I wish he had been the one to win that fight.”
“No.” The urgency in her voice was echoed in her eyes and Marin leaned in. She was a tall woman and in the shoes she wore, she was almost level with him.
If he hadn’t been so drunk, he might have realized what she was going to do and he could have pulled back, because it was something that would snap his fragile control.
But if he hadn’t been so drunk, none of this would have happened to begin with.
Marin’s hand slid to the back of his neck and she tugged him closer. At the same time, she pressed her lips to his, speaking softly. “No,” she said again. “Don’t you ever say that.”
The second her mouth touched his, Sebastien’s thoughts faded . . . stopped . . . died.
Say what?
Her mouth was on his.
Marin was kissing him.
It wasn’t in front of a camera.
It wasn’t for a publicity shoot.
She was kissing him.
It was one of those friendly little pecks—the kind one friend might give another. It will be okay . . . That’s all the kiss meant and he knew it.
At least, that’s all it meant to her.
But for him . . .
In the span of a second, it seemed a million thoughts rolled through his mind. He wanted to grab her, pull her against him, and deepen the kiss.
He wanted to take her to the floor, spread her thighs, and come inside her—although he’d need to get her naked first.
He wanted to tear away from her and get distance between them—possibly consider a move to the Arctic because that might be far enough away to keep from throwing himself at her and demanding why in the hell she wouldn’t give him a chance.
Instead, he pulled back. “Don’t,” he said quietly.
In a startling second of sobriety, he realized he needed to get away from her before he did something really, really stupid.
“Sebastien . . .” Marin’s hand slid from his neck back to his cheek.
He went to pull away and this time; she was the one who caught his arms. Through the faded cotton of his old T-shirt, he could feel each finger, like she was imprinting herself on his skin and his blood began to pulse hot and fast in his veins.
Lowering his head, he focused on the gleaming tiles under his feet while Marin continued to speak. His blood was roaring too loudly for him to understand even a fucking word and his cock was now pulsing in time with his heart. When her hands stroked down his arms, he finally twisted away from her and paced a few feet away. She started to approach and he spun around, bracing his hands against the refrigerator. It lit up under his touch, the opaque glass going clear, revealing the recently stocked contents but he didn’t see anything. He’d shut his eyes tightly and was focusing on breathing.
His head was a little more clear.
“Sebastien, would you talk to me?” Marin said.
He opened his eyes, stared ahead.
Inside the glass-fronted fridge, he saw a bottle. “I don’t think talking is a good idea, Marin,” he said raggedly.
It was a bottle of vodka. He’d forgotten it was in there.
As Marin started yet again to reach out to him—he didn’t need therapy from her—he all but ripped the refrigerator door open and snagged the bottle, striding toward the deck that faced out over the ocean.
He had the lid off the bottle and had already downed a quarter off it by the time she caught up with him.
“Damn it, we just dumped out your entire liquor cabinet,” she said, going to tear the bottle away from him.
Sebastien shrugged away. “Don’t worry. I’m not buying any more once this is gone. I just . . . I really need it right now.” If he got drunk enough, his cock wouldn’t work. Since Marin wasn’t going away, he figured that was his next best option.
She tried again to get the bottle. “You stupid ass. Why are you doing this?”
He fumbled with the lock to the deck door a few times before he managed to open it and squinted up at the bright light of the sun as he stepped through. The treated glass of his windows left him unprepared for the dazzling brightness.
He took another swig from the bottle, felt a comfortable numbing haze settle around his brain, and thought maybe he could relax a little.
Maybe.