Ruined (A Barnes Brothers novel) (10 page)

Semen jetted out of him and he groaned roughly, some of the tension draining out of him, just as the water washed the evidence of this vicious need straight down the drain. His hand fell slack to his side and he stood there a moment, eyes closed as the water beat at him.

“What the hell,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes.

Just in time to see Marin turning on her heel and disappearing.

***

Shit.

Marin stood in front of the freezer, the door open, hoping it would chill her very much overheated body.

Shit.

The phone lay on the counter behind her and she could only imagine what Denise might be thinking. She’d given Sebastien’s mother a weak,
“He’ll call you back”
after she’d gotten an eyeful of him in the shower.

Not just an eyeful, either.

But a few weeks—months—worth of fantasy material.

He’d stood there, back against the tiled wall, eyes closed. The shower enclosure was clear, the tiles at his back a smooth, dark brown. Water had jetted down on him and the glass had to have been treated because it did not fog, did nothing to obscure her gaze as he stroked his cock up, then down. Up, then down.

She’d stood there frozen for a good thirty seconds and she might have stood there forever, completely entranced—or at least until he noticed her—if it hadn’t been for Denise’s voice piercing the bubble of heat that had wrapped around her. “Marin? Is he too . . . busy?”

Marin took that to mean
drunk
now that she was thinking about it, but she’d hurried out into the hall before she’d answered. Her voice had been husky and rough. “He’s in the bathroom, I think. Taking a shower. I just got here after he was finishing a run.”

And I just watched him while he . . . he . . .
her mind went on a slow, spiraling meltdown as she contemplated what she might have said if Denise had pushed the issue.

Not that Denise did. She never
pushed
any issue. She just . . . waited. She waited things out until almost all five of her kids—plus the girls she’d all but adopted as her own during her years bringing Zach to and from a TV set—spilled their guts to her. Both Abigale and Marin adored Denise.

But Denise hadn’t pushed.

She’d just asked that Marin let Sebastien know she’d called.

Now Marin was trying to cool down.

Realizing she’d been freezing her lungs—and her arms and nipples—for nothing, she slammed the freezer door shut and spun around. With her hands braced on the island’s surface, she sucked in a breath.

She was still dying inside and desperate for more of Sebastien Barnes.

Her skin pricked, giving her a microscopic warning that he was approaching and it was Marin’s personal opinion that she deserved the award of a lifetime for how casually she handled his appearance in the kitchen.

Especially
when he came over and leaned against the island opposite her.

“Is everything . . . okay?” Sebastien studied her somberly and his voice held nothing but solicitousness.

His eyes, though . . .

Something about the way he watched her.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Marin gave him a chilly smile and straightened up, turning her back to him. “I wasn’t the one stomping around like a bear twenty minutes ago.”

Of course,
he
had the luxury of . . . of . . .

And just like that, whatever composure she’d regained shattered, falling to slivers around her.

She moved over the refrigerator and reached inside for the pitcher of water he always kept on hand. She hadn’t even managed to grab it when she sensed him coming up behind her. The heat of him was like a brand against her back, and although logically, she realized he probably wasn’t standing that close, she thought she could feel every nuance of him, every inch.

“I’m . . . I’m thirsty,” she said, steadying her voice. “Want to get some water. I won’t be here long. Just need a few minutes of you.”

The words popped out, lingering there and heat suffused her face as she realized what she’d said.

“Of me?” Sebastien’s words were spoken softly against her ear.

She snatched the water pitcher from the shelf with enough force to send some of it splattering. Spinning around, she gave him a smile so brittle, it felt like it might break. “Your time, of course. Just . . . well, something I thought we should talk about.”

She edged out from between him and the refrigerator, wondering what in the hell was wrong with her—with
him
.

He was standing there wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans and smelling like the sun and soap and Sebastien, and she wanted to grab him and just gobble him up.

And she might have.

If a memory hadn’t crept up on her.

The memory of another woman’s name on his lips.

***

Marin was actually going to stand there and act like she hadn’t been watching him.

Bemused and still so hard he could have hammered nails with his cock, he watched as she moved around his kitchen, her movements oddly jerky. Marin was elegance personified and to see her bumping into things, opening the wrong cabinets, and fumbling with the glasses would have been almost funny, if he’d had the ability to laugh.

But every instinct, every fiber of him was focused on her.

“Denise called.”

“Hmm?” Eyes on her ass, it took him a few seconds for the words to penetrate and that happened only when he managed to drag his gaze
away
from that perfect part of her anatomy.

“Your mom. Denise.”

Slanting his gaze up, he saw her shoot a look at him and realized he needed to focus on her upper body—particularly the parts above her neck or she was going to think he was still stuck in teenager hyper-sex-drive.

Which he was, when it came to her.

But he was going to at least
pretend
he had some level of maturity.

Her words did click, and he realized that the impossible really
was
possible.

His mother could be brought up in a conversation and his sex drive wouldn’t take a sudden plummet toward Earth.

“Okay.” Turning away from Marin, he lifted a shoulder. “I’ll call her back. I sent her a message earlier, asked if she and dad were doing anything. I’m . . . uh . . .” Self-conscious now, he gave Marin a quick look. “You asked earlier. Yeah, I’m thinking about driving down there.”

“Oh.”

For a few minutes, nothing was said and he busied himself with rummaging through his fridge for the makings of a sandwich. It was either that or focus on Marin and lose the fraying edges of his control completely.

There was a downside to it, though. Once he forced himself to focus on something that
wasn’t
Marin, he started thinking more about that upcoming trip to see his folks and he realized that there were shades of making the impossible possible—and now, like somebody had been dripping cool water down his spine, he could feel his balls shriveling and the hot pulse of lust fading as dread started to seep in.

“Second-guessing that trip down there?”

He jerked his head up to see that Marin had eased in a little closer. She wasn’t
close
. Now that he thought about it, she had taken deliberate care to make sure she
wasn’t
close, and not just since he’d gotten out of the shower, either.

The distance had been between them for a few days at least. She hadn’t called or texted and she hadn’t given him the quick, easy hug that had become the norm for them. He’d come to expect those hugs—need them, even.

Something had changed between them, and although he knew when he’d noticed it, he couldn’t say what had caused it. It had started just before he’d seen her with Dash. The days when she hadn’t returned his calls.

She’d hardly called him since before he’d gotten wasted—
again
.

At least she’s talking to me now.

Although to be honest, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because Marin knew him like nobody else. She knew him even better than his brothers did these days, but that was probably his own fault. He’d pushed everybody away, save for her.

Marin . . . well.

He hadn’t been able to push Marin out for anything.

The thought that she might be pushing
him
away left him feeling like the ground was crumbling under him and he hated it.

“There you go . . . brooding again.” She tsked under her breath.

When he scowled at her, she laughed. “Scowl away. It didn’t work a few months ago, it’s not going to work now.” She hopped up on the counter and crossed her legs neatly, hands going to rest on her knees. “What’s the problem, Seb? You’ve been doing better. You’re actually dragging your ass out of bed before noon. You’re not drinking so much—if at all. You socialized at the wedding, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve actually been
shaving
. It seems to me that you’re ready to return to the land of the living. Visiting your parents is the next obvious step.”

“You know, these pep talks of yours would be fantastic—if I was still nine years old and getting ready to try out for my first national commercial,” he said sarcastically.

Marin lifted a shoulder. “Seems to me that you’re more nervous about visiting them than you were about that stupid commercial. You ate a bowl of cereal and if I remember correctly, you told me that any idiot could eat cereal—but it took a cute idiot to do it right on TV and
you
could do it just fine.”

Sebastien snorted. “Well, I
was
a cute idiot.”

“Sometimes, you still are.” Head tilted to the side, she continued to watch him. “Are you going to chicken out?”

“For fuck’s sake.” He tossed the knife he’d been using for mayonnaise down into the sink and stalked over to her.

That was the first mistake.

The second was bracing his hands next to her hips. Smooth . . . round . . . hips. His fingers wanted to curve around those hips until they dug into her backside, and then he’d pull her in closer . . . and closer . . .

Marin’s eyes widened on his.

“Sebastien.”

“Marin.”

The smell of her went straight to his head, carrying the same impact as if somebody had swung a two-by-four at him. It left him dazed and unsteady and he knew, just
knew
that if he touched her, kissed her . . . everything all turbulent and crazy would get better—feel steadier.

He knew it.

And yet . . .

Her hands went to his chest.

He could feel each imprint of each finger and he thought maybe, just maybe, if she stroked those hands up and pushed them into his hair, and maybe if she tilted her head back, it would be the signal he needed to kiss her.

And damn, did he want to kiss her.

More than he wanted his next breath.

He wanted a
real
kiss.

Not a stage kiss, not something done for publicity.

He wanted a kiss that was his—theirs.

Another one—

Another?

That thought settled uneasily in his head as she tipped her head back to stare at him.

“What are you . . .” Marin’s words trailed away as he eased his hand closer, close enough that he could stroke his thumb across her thigh.

A shuddering breath escaped her and her hands inched higher while her head fell back.

The heavy fringe of her lashes swept down and he could see only a thin rim of blue now. When she licked her lips, he knew he was a fucking goner.

Slowly, he lowered his head, still watching her. Watching, waiting, ready for her to pull away.

But she didn’t move.

Not at all.

Even when he slid his tongue across her lower lip.

She tasted like mangos and a fruit he’d never particularly cared for suddenly became one he couldn’t imagine living without. She tasted
exactly
the way he’d always dreamed she would—

Dumb-ass. You’ve kissed her before. On set, hundreds of times.

Except stage kisses weren’t like real kisses. Not even close. So why did this feel so familiar?

It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t care. Sebastien kissed her again, teasing the entrance of her mouth. When she opened on a sigh, he slid his arm around her lower waist and pulled her in closer.

Her thin top provided little barrier between them but it felt like too much. He would have stripped it away if he wasn’t certain that any wrong move might shatter this insane spell.

As it turned out, it wasn’t
movement
that caused it.

It was the damn phone.

“I’m going to get rid of it,” he muttered, moving his lips along her jawline, skimming his way up to catch her earlobe. He bit gently as the phone rang a second time.

Marin made a low, hungry sound in her throat and uncrossed her legs, wiggling in closer. By the time the phone rang a third time, she was hugging him with one knee on either side of his hips and Sebastien was ready to rip the damn phone out of the wall.

He laid his hands on Marin’s thighs, started to slide them up under the hem of that ridiculous temptation of a skirt, but the phone had gone to voice mail and he heard his own voice saying,
“It’s me. Go.
”

And then . . . Dash. “Hey . . . it’s Dash. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to get a drink or just . . . I dunno. We could take a drive or maybe go for a hike or something, like we used to do. It was good seeing you the other day. Your friends miss you. Gimme a call, man.”

The sound of
that
voice was a cold splash of reality.

Jerking back, he stared down at Marin.

She was doing the same, her expression going tight as she slowly eased her skirt back down.

Her eyes flicked in the direction of the phone before returning to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hand down his face. Guilt slammed into him and he spun away. Sebastien could be a selfish bastard—the past year proved that—but one thing he’d never been was a poacher. If a woman was involved with somebody, then that woman was off limits and he was about ready to put his hands all
over
Marin.

In fact, if Dash hadn’t called . . .

“How serious are you?” he demanded, staring at the floor.