And when he dipped his head to kiss her cheek, like he’d done a hundred times before, she held herself stiffly.
Just a few days before, she would have hugged him. Kissed him back. Said something about how he needed a haircut or if he didn’t shave soon, she would do it while he slept.
The scent of her rushed up and clouded his head as he slowly pulled back.
“I . . .” Words dried up in his throat. Sebastien was rarely at a loss for words, but as he stood there holding her eyes, he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say to her. “I called you a couple of times.”
“I know. I was going to give you a call tomorrow. I’ve just been busy.” The polite response, her voice, everything about her was perfectly . . . polite. The same way it would be if she was talking to a stranger.
She glanced past him to smile at Dash and that was a real smile. He had the insane urge to grab her and haul her close, force her to look at him, to see him.
I’ve lost my mind.
“We were going to head up to a place I know on the coast, get some dinner.” Dash’s lips quirked. “I’ve been wanting to ask Marin out for a while, finally worked up the nerve and she took pity on me. And here I am . . . going to show how much I value our friendship, Sebastien. You’re not really dressed for the place I had in mind, but we can try something else if you want to come along. Marin said yes once. I can always try again.”
It was pathetic, how close he came to saying yes.
“Nah, man. Playing third wheel isn’t my thing.”
Dash protested while Marin averted her eyes. “It’s not third wheel, Seb. It’s three friends going out for a meal.” Dash wagged his brows and added a lascivious smile. “You know I’m all about those threesomes.”
“Yeah, and you know how I’m . . . not.” Sebastien snorted, shoving Dash’s shoulder as the man leered at him playfully.
Tabloids had made Dash out to be something of a sexual pervert, a hedonistic mess, although Sebastien knew the truth of it. For several years, his friend had been involved in a steady relationship with two others, a man and a woman. It sounded like things had fallen apart if he was looking to get involved with Marin, but Dash had never made any attempt to hide the fact that he was bisexual.
He had teasingly made a few plays at Sebastien the first time they’d worked together and Sebastien had come to realize it was just how Dash was. More than once, Dash had done the same with other guys and reactions varied from confusion to interest and disinterest to over-the-top rage.
The flirtation was every bit as much as Dash’s way of gauging somebody’s inner asshole as it was anything else.
Jingling his keys, Sebastien met Marin’s gaze, fight for a way to fill the awkward silence as some strange tension choked the easy relationship they’d shared. “I’ll talk to you soon?”
“Of course.” She glanced past him, brushing her hair back. “I actually have something to discuss with you anyway. I’ll call you.”
***
Marin kept seeing the look in his eyes.
Even as Dash pulled out all the stops and showed just why plenty of women in Hollywood—and outside of it—considered him to be one hell of a catch despite his somewhat alternative leanings, Marin was thinking of Sebastien.
She kept dragging her attention back to Dash and to his credit, when they weren’t being interrupted by a server, or by another patron, he managed to keep up a steady flow of conversation that wasn’t boring.
But all it took was for him to let the ball drop for a few seconds and her mind would slip back to Sebastien’s intense gaze and how it had gone so curiously blank as he looked from her to Dash, then back. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he seemed hurt.
She was pondering that alone at the table. Dash had excused himself to the restroom and while she tried not to think about Sebastien, he kept slipping inside her thoughts like a phantom.
“You look like you are a million miles away.”
She jolted at Dash’s unexpected voice and looked up. He was back in his seat and she hadn’t even noticed that he’d returned. “Ah . . . sorry. I was . . .” She gestured to the sun as it sank deeper and deeper into the ocean, the sky above it painted a panorama of colors. “Just admiring.”
“Then why do you look sad?”
“Do I?” It took no effort to smile. It took no effort to reach for the glass of wine she’d ordered to go with her dessert and she sipped from it, holding Dash’s eyes easily. “I can’t imagine why I’d look sad.”
“Well, hopefully it’s not my company.” The teasing grin on Dash’s mouth invited her to smile with him.
“The company is absolutely wonderful.” Tipping her glass to him, she took another sip before lowering it to the table. “The company, the food, the atmosphere. This place is a gem. I can’t believe I hadn’t heard of it.”
Dash winked. “It’s a secret. If too many people know about it, it won’t stay all unique and wonderful and gem-like.”
“I can see that.”
Leaning back in his chair, Dash tapped his finger against his lips. “You know, I think I know why you look sad. You’re thinking about Sebastien.”
“I’m not—I already told you, I’m not sad.”
“No.” Dash wagged a finger at her. “You told me you don’t know why you’d look sad. That’s not the same as not being sad. And bullshit you don’t know why you’re sad. Before we saw him, you were just . . . you. Now it seems like you are the Marin I would see in an interview. You’re wearing a mask. You put that mask on when you want to show the world what they expect to see.” Now he leaned forward and reached out, closing his hand over hers. “For the record, the Marin I am interested in is the real one. No masks.”
She would have argued. She wasn’t wearing a mask. Marin didn’t pull that fake routine. She was who she was.
But then . . .
She didn’t show the world everything she was, either.
That could be suicide in this business. It wasn’t about lying. It was about self-preservation. Showing them who you were meant exposing weaknesses as well as strengths, disappointments as well as achievements, and as far as the media went, doing that was like offering yourself up to the vultures—before you were already dead.
“I just worry about him.” She managed a weak smile. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him the past year. He’s had a rough time of it.”
“He’s made it rougher than he needed to.” Dash held up a staying hand at her hard look. “I’m not saying that he hasn’t had a bad deal. He did and frankly it sucks. Who knows, I might’ve just put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger if life had sucker-punched me like it did him. But he went and shut everybody out. Everybody . . . except for you.”
She flushed. “I was just more persistent. I don’t live that far away from him and it was easy for me to swing by and nag him into eating something or getting outside for a while, as long as I wasn’t working.” She didn’t mention that she’d curtailed her traveling just so she could stay close. “Look, it’s not like his parents can drive over there three or four times a week, with them living as far away as they do. Not to mention that his brothers don’t even live in the state.”
“But he’s pretty tight with his family. And he shoved all them out.” Dash shrugged. “I’m pretty good friends with Zach. We’ve talked a bit about him, Sebastien. Zach was talking like it might take a sledgehammer to get in, and then it turns out you’ve been out there visiting him all along.” Stroking his hand down his jaw, Dash said, “I think he was a bit miffed, darling.”
“What kind of guy uses the word miffed?” Maren rolled her eyes. “Zach probably tried to use a sledgehammer on Sebastien. Save for Zane, none of them would recognize subtlety if it bit them on the ass. Sometimes you need a softer touch.”
At that, a smile spread across Dash’s face. “I’ve always been
a fan of softer touches myself. Soft touches. Hard touches. I like them all. Shall I demonstrate?”
“Pervert.” Laughing, she shook her head at him and reached for her fork. The dessert in front of her was calling her name and she needed to focus on the man who actually liked being with her.
Not the man who called her another’s woman name in his sleep.
Chapter Nine
“Take your hair down.” That hair . . . fuck, he loved that hair.
“Please . . .” Marin moved against him and her breasts, so perfect and delicate, pressed against his hands.
He wanted to taste her nipples, suck on them until she was gasping.
So he did.
She licked her lips and slid her hand down, freed him from his jeans. He moved into her touch, certain this was all just a fantasy. Marin . . . she was touching him.
Marin. She was here.
She teased him until he thought his cock would explode, and then he grabbed her, lifting her up. “No more. I want to feel you wrapped around me. Now.”
“Sebastien . . .”
It was the best damn thing he’d ever felt in his life—she was the best damn thing. He’d always loved her. Always . . .
“Open,” he rasped against her mouth. “Let me taste you.”
Her tongue tangled with his, while her pussy squeezed around him and the need tried to drive him insane.
“Damn it, you . . .” She swore when he stopped, but all he wanted was to have her stretched out under him. Like he’d dreamed.
The couch was under them and he came down on her, opening her completely. On his knees, he pushed inside her, staring into haunting, beautiful eyes.
“More.” Everything . . .
Marin moaned and grabbed at his arms, her nails scoring him, marking him, branding him. But hell . . . she’d already done that.
She owned him. Completely.
Driving into her, he fisted his hand in her hair, tugging her head back until their eyes met. Marin stared at him and said his name. Then as she reached up to touch his cheek, she said, “More . . . Sebastien, please . . .”
Sebastien lay in bed, the sheets long since kicked off, one hand fisted around his cock, eyes closed as he tried to hold on to a dream that was already fading.
Marin . . .
Her name was a song in his head and he could almost feel her lips on his, the echo of her taste dancing on his lips.
It was all just a dream.
One hell of a dream, too.
His balls were drawn tight against him and he was this close to climax already.
A hard shudder wracked him as he dragged his hand back up, arching into the rough stroke. The thick vein on the underside of his penis throbbed as he twisted his wrist, all but mindless with need.
Please . . .
The word danced through his mind, more like memory than dream.
Please . . .
It was insane, this obsession he had with her.
Insane . . . but he’d never give it up.
Fuck trying to burn this need out with another woman. It wouldn’t work. He knew it. Fist pumping up and down, eyes locked on images he knew couldn’t be real, he worked his cock, breath coming in harsh pants.
“Marin . . .” He muttered her name as the need to come raced ever closer. When the climax finally tore out of him, he arched his neck. Swearing, he jerked his cock harder while semen jetted out of him and splashed up his belly, across his fingers.
Bit by bit, the tension drained away and after a while, he opened his eyes.
The low breath that escaped through his teeth did little to express his amazement.
Sebastien had been dreaming about Marin for most of his adult—and quite a bit of his teenaged—life.
The one time when he hadn’t . . . well, even then he had . . . but the dreams had been quieter when he’d been with Monica. He had loved her, he knew that. Guilt made him look back at things in a different light and sometimes he wondered if maybe he loved her for the wrong reason. He’d been looking for somebody, wanting to fill the old void inside him. Granted, he’d been mooning over Marin ever since he was . . . Well, when did forever start? He wasn’t sure.
And Monica was just there. Beautiful and sweet and she understood him.
But if he’d met her now, he knew he’d have liked her—and he never would have made a move on her. He didn’t love her the way he should have. Maybe that was why she’d been looking for something else and ended up falling in love—or convincing herself that she had fallen in love—with Smith.
Sebastien knew he had never looked at her the way he saw his dad look at his mom. Had never looked at her the way Zach looked at Abby, the way Zane looked at Keelie, or how Trey looked at Ressa.
Monica hadn’t been his world.
He’d only wished she could have been and the guilt over that—and the guilt over not being able to save her had haunted him.
Marin, though . . .
She wasn’t just his world.
She was more, and she didn’t get it.
“Fuck,” he muttered as the grim mood settled over him. He slanted a look at the grand palladium window that spilled sunlight over his bed. He needed to get up. Go for a run. Anything to get rid of the darkness trying to creep back in on him.
Rolling to a sitting position, he grabbed the discarded shirt from the past day and used it to wipe his belly off.
Then he grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom for a quick shower.
A few minutes later, he was heading out the door for his run.
He didn’t do five miles.
He pushed himself harder and did eight. He might have gone for ten but it was getting hot and he had gotten a late start, so he didn’t push it. Sweat was dripping from his body and his muscles were lax, heavy as cement blocks as he dragged himself up the steps to his deck.
He was feeling decent, too.
As long as he got up and worked out hard enough, read long enough, then worked out more, he tended to do just fine.
Sooner or later, he’d exhaust all the books in his library, but that was the thing about books.
There were always more.
But he was thinking about taking a shower and driving down to see his parents. He hadn’t made it the last time, thanks to crashing into the internet and discovering the sobfest the media was throwing for Smith.
He’d be smarter this time and just call the woman who used to handle all his travel arrangements, see if she’d get him a place booked.
He felt steadier the past few days and thought maybe he was ready to see them.
If he got nervous on the drive to San Francisco, then he’d bypass it and head to Tucson instead. Maybe he’d nag Zach or Zane into making the trip with him. It would be easier if he wasn’t alone the first time, and he missed his brothers. He missed his folks, too, but it was easier to deal with being an asshole if he was around his brothers—they could be assholes, too, after all.
There were a lot of things he’d neglected while he busted his ass working and even more things he’d neglected during his year of self-pity. Now that his career was over, he needed to take care of those things and maybe enjoy all the stuff he’d never had time for.
As he hauled himself up the steps, legs shaking, he told himself he’d make the decision in the shower. Unlike the last time he’d thought about going to see his folks, he wouldn’t get distracted. No more time in front of the computer—he was about ready to throw it out. He could get another one when his mood was more stable.
It was time he stopped living in the past and moved on.
“I sound like a self-help book,” he muttered.
But he was determined, so if the pep talk was working? He’d pep talk all the fucking day.
One thing he hadn’t factored into his plans was the long, slim
blonde who sat on his deck, her legs stretched out from under the hem of a short, skinny skirt, a pair of sparkly sandals wrapped around the most elegant ankles he’d ever seen on a woman. Even though her face was buried in a book, he knew who it was.
After all, Marin had the kind of legs he’d know from a mile away.
He started to itch—not in the I need to scratch way, but in the I need to touch way. His hands itched. His mouth buzzed. He felt like if he didn’t put his hands on her, he just might die.
She peeked at him over the top of her book.
“You going to come on up or stand there sweating to death?”
“I’m trying to decide when you became so comfortable at my place that you felt like you could just come and go.”
Lowering the book to her lap, she pursed her lips. “Hmm . . . well, that would be about, oh . . . twenty years ago.”
“I didn’t live here twenty years ago.”
“No.” She shrugged. “But I’m about as comfortable around the Barnes family as I am around my own. Besides, if I stayed at the gate in my car, I’d be recognized. Why are you such a grizzly this morning?”
He opened his mouth, closed it. He didn’t have any answer other than the fact that his nice, mellow mood was replaced by one that was anything but nice and mellow. To be specific, he felt jumped up and horny, to the point that he felt like crawling all over her, flattening that lounge chair out and then pushing her skirt up.
It was crazy. He was used to this gut-wrenching need for her—or so he thought. He’d gotten it under control but now he felt like everything inside him was screaming mine, mine . . . she’s mine.
And everything was telling him he had the right to go crawl over her, touch her, strip her. Fuck her.
Her cheeks flushed and she shifted on the chair. “What are you staring at?”
“You.” He shrugged it off. “You’re looking like a spring day and I look like I just ran a marathon.”
“Did you?”
It took him a moment to process that. “No. Eight miles.” Sighing, he cut a wide path around the deck, keeping his distance and focusing on the doors that led inside. “Look, Marin. I’m hot, I’m hungry, and I need a shower.” Wanna join me? “After I deal with the hot and the shower parts, I’m grabbing a sandwich, and then I might drive down to San Francisco. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”
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