Marek (Cold Fury Hockey #11)(13)

I quietly pour another two fingers of bourbon and swish it suavely around my glass. It spills over the top and onto my hand.

“Shit,” I mutter as I turn back around to look at her. She’s digging back into the pie, thoroughly ignoring me.

I don’t like being ignored.

Walking around the island counter, I come to stop beside her and set my drink down. My gaze drops and I see she’s eating a cherry pie. Christ, that’s sexy. I’m pretty sure there’s some rock song out there about a half-naked woman eating cherry pie.

“You’re drunk,” she says quietly, pushing her fork back down into the pie. It comes up with a single cherry on it. I watch fascinated as her pink tongue darts out for a tiny taste before it disappears into her mouth.

“What makes you think I’m drunk?” I ask, my tongue feeling very thick and heavy from the alcohol.

“You’re lurching all over the place and you smell like a distillery,” she says in a bland voice, which leads me to believe she’s not offended by it.

“You shouldn’t be walking around the house dressed like that.” My eyes rake down the side of her body. I can’t tell if her nipples are still hard, because her arms are in the way, but the curve of her ass is stunning.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she returns in a bored voice, and I realize in this moment she doesn’t care one bit if I still find her attractive. She’s not affected by me the way I am over her, and that chafes just a bit.

Gracen covers the pie, which tells me this conversation is fast winding down. But the alcohol in me doesn’t want this little encounter in a dark kitchen to end. Especially when I just spent the last several hours at a party being absolutely tempted by no one because they weren’t Gracen Moore.

My hand wraps around her wrist and I pull her arm away from her body. She’s forced to turn and face me, and her expression reveals nothing. From the glow of the light from the stove, she looks like I could be getting ready to discuss a grocery list with her.

I take her other wrist in my free hand and slowly stretch both her arms outward and away from her body. My eyes sweep down her, wanting to stay pinned on those nipples, which are indeed quite visible against the thin cotton of her T-shirt, but I let my gaze continue.

Down past the short edge of her tee, which reveals the smooth skin of her lower abdomen, right to the pristine, virginal white panties covering her pussy.

My mouth waters at the sweetness I know rests just beneath that material. God, I used to love going down on Gracen. I could seriously fuck her with my tongue for hours on end and be quite satisfied with just her moans and cries. Of course, I seem to remember she was equally as generous with her mouth, and that does nothing to dissuade my hard-on.

I sweep my eyes back up until they lock with hers. Her impassivity is gone, and in its place is wariness.

“Done looking?” she asks quietly.

Never.

“What’s a man to do?” I taunt her, and I hate that my words are slurring slightly. “You walk around dressed like that, I’m going to look.”

“I didn’t realize you’d come home,” she says by way of excusing herself.

“And here I am.” I step in a little closer to her, and I’m drunk, but still with enough wits that I notice her sudden intake of breath.

I stare down at her. Face so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at it sometimes. I’ve dreamed of that face. Just her face. Sometimes just her nose. Or her lips.

Gracen has never faded from my memory no matter how much I’d wished she had over the years. She was my first real love.

My only, for that matter.

What if…what if I just kissed her? Just once. A small taste. I can blame it on my drunkenness, which is forgivable, right?

I zero in on her lips, both full and generous, with the lower slightly plumper than the upper. I’ve bitten that lip countless times, and she always loved it.

I pull on her wrists, make her take a step closer to me. She’s pliant with no hesitation. Her tongue swipes her bottom lip, and fuck…is that an invitation?

She’s practically stepped into my arms, and she’s licking her lips and half naked. Yeah, she wants this too.

My head dips without any thought, tilting to the side for the perfect angle.

Just one fucking taste.

I’m close enough I can feel her breath on my mouth.

“I kept your daughter a secret from you,” Gracen says, her voice laced with bitterness. “You hate me. Remember?”

I jerk back from her and notice her hands are curled inward so she could dig her nails down into my skin.

Trying to get me to release her.

I drop my grip suddenly and stagger back a step as her words finally penetrate. She didn’t want that kiss. Her words were a reminder to me that I don’t like Gracen anymore. And while I don’t hate her—could never hate the mother of my child—I despise so much of what she’s done to me.

I can’t fucking reconcile that with this attraction that’s still seeded deep within me.

“I’m going to back to bed,” Gracen says softly, dropping her face. She starts to push past me, but my hand locks on her wrist again so she has no choice but to stop in place.

She refuses to look at me, though.

“I don’t hate you, Gracie,” I tell her truthfully. Because when you’re drunk and your inhibitions are lowered, you speak the truth.