Ruined (Barnes Brothers #4)(19)

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 f*cking 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.

Making his way over to the railing, he leaned against it.

Reflexes already slowed, he didn’t move fast enough when Marin made another go for the bottle. He managed to get it away, but he also managed to drop it, and the cold liquid splashed all over his bare feet.

Glaring at her, he pointed at the boards of the deck, now soaked with vodka. “You spilled it!”

Her eyes sparked, hard and angry. “You spilled it. Are you trying to drink yourself unconscious?”

“Yes!” Exasperated, he shoved a hand through his hair, almost poking himself in the eye when he misjudged where his hair was in conjunction to his face. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

Her face softened and Marin took another step toward him.

He couldn’t back away because the railing of the deck was at his back. Also, everything was starting to spin around like a f*cking Tilt-A-Whirl.

“That’s not going to make it all better. Everything will still be the same when you wake up. You need to deal with the problems, Seb.”

“I have.” Setting his jaw, he glared past her shoulder and tried to think about something other than the problem: a need for her that had become soul deep.

“You haven’t. You’ve hidden away from it for the past year—”

She stopped speaking.

She’d gone to brush his hair back and he caught her wrist, slanting a gaze at her.

She must have seen something on his face.

Marin swallowed.

Sebastien told himself to let her go and just head inside, lock himself in his room. If he got horizontal, he’d pass out. It would be for the best.

“You think . . .” He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. When he looked back at her, she was no longer swimming in and out of focus, although his head sure as hell was. “I was drinking earlier to drown things out, yeah. But this time? I just want to get so wasted I can stop wanting what I can’t have, Marin. If you want to help, maybe you should just leave.”

***

Sebastien Barnes was a rather befuddling drunk.

He swayed between carrying on a perfectly logical explanation to sullen silence, and although he’d stumbled a time or two, for the most part, if it wasn’t for the very clear lack of focus in his eyes, if Marin didn’t know him—and know him well—she might not have realized he was completely plowed.

But he spoke too slowly, thought things through a little too long and moved with too much precision. He was so arrogant that even when he was plastered, he didn’t want to look like an idiot. It was like it was coded into his DNA that he couldn’t be seen looking like a mortal.