But he stood so close, it wasn’t hard to imagine the or I part.
The warmth of him seared her through her robe and the pitiful excuse for underwear and she wanted to pull him even closer, but this—they had to figure it out first. “Why weren’t you there when I woke up?” he asked, his lips grazing her neck. “I remember waking up. I remember feeling . . . right. It was the first time I’d felt right in a long time and I had the damnedest feeling that . . . well, I knew I wasn’t going to be alone. But you weren’t there. Why weren’t you there, baby?”
Marin hitched up a shoulder and wished she could have shriveled inside herself. “I . . . look, haven’t we . . .”
“Marin.” There was a warning in his voice now.
It was enough to have her back up, but she knew it was time they got all of this out. They had to.
Chapter Sixteen
The look Marin gave him from under her lashes made his gut tie itself into about a dozen slippery, ugly knots.
And here he just started to breathe somewhat normally, too.
“What?” he asked, hardly letting himself breathe now.
When she didn’t answer, he backed away and sucked in a breath. “Marin, I didn’t . . . Did I hurt you?”
“No.” A smile wobbled on her lips for a few seconds before firming and he wasn’t even sure if he could believe it.
She didn’t seem to want to look at him and that made it hard for him to really get a good feel for anything she was saying.
It was possible she was being straight with him.
But at the same time . . .
“Marin, what—”
“You called me Monica’s name.” She shoved past him and strode down the trailer to her bedroom, leaving him staring behind her.
He went after her. “What in the hell are you talking about? There’s no way I would have—”
“You can’t tell me what you would have done or not done,” Marin said, her voice pithy. “You were drunk. So drunk you don’t even remember that day!”
“I might have been drunk, but calling her name when I’ve been in love with you for years . . .”
The rest of the words died and Sebastien stood there, staring at her.
Marin blinked at him, looking confused for a moment. Then she shook her head. “That’s . . . Okay, that’s bullshit. You said you had a thing for me—whatever that means, but you asked Monica to marry you.”
“I was twenty-two years old! It was a lifetime ago and I’m not the same guy I was.” Stalking closer to her, he crowded in through the door, lowering his face until his lips were right against her ear. “And even when I was with her, I dreamed about you. I looked for you. Even after she broke my heart, I dreamed about you. I looked for you. I’ve done that since I was sixteen years old, Marin.”
“You said her name,” she said again, but the murmur was softer, weaker even.
Sebastien had no idea what to tell her. Other than . . . “I’m sorry. I . . . Hell, Marin. I’ve had nightmares about that last day ever since. Maybe I was . . .”
A knock interrupted them.
“Go away!” Sebastien shouted.
“I don’t think so, pretty boy!” It was Sojo out there.
The director. And you can’t exactly ignore the director.
Sebastien wanted to punch something, hit something.
But Marin edged around him and moved to the door before he even had a chance to decide.
***
“Makeup. Now.” Sojo had pointed a finger at Marin and sent her packing.
She could imagine why. She probably looked like a nightmare. She felt like an automaton, moving through each motion mechanically and while makeup was never her favorite aspect of the job, she figured it wasn’t a bad thing that she was going to sit her ass in a chair for the next little bit.
She’d use it to get her focus back.
I’ve been in love with you.
Sebastien had said he was in love with her.
Or had been.
Was he still?
Did it matter?
Her heart jeered at her. Does it matter . . . The nagging bit of flesh practically blew a raspberry and rolled imaginary eyes at her stupid question. Did it matter if he was in love—had been in love?
Absently, she slid her hand down and rubbed at her belly, ignored the hands glopping something on her face and the nagging whine of the makeup tech working on her. What were you doing, peeling onions?
That would have been more pleasant, less destructive.
And . . . less fulfilling.
Sebastien had said he was in love with her.
If he was . . .
“So.”
Marin opened her eyes.
“Don’t move your face!” Geneva smacked at Marin’s arm.
Marin glared at her. “Watch it, Gen.”
Gen huffed, sulking a little but she lapsed into silence as Sojo took the empty chair next to Marin’s. “You are causing me a headache today, Marin.”
“Well, I could be like some of the other people you work with.” Marin gave her a look of mock innocence. “I only give you a headache on occasion. Some make it their fulltime occupation.”