Ruined (Barnes Brothers #4)(31)

“Fuck!” He twisted his wrist, jerking faster while his breaths came in harsher, broken pants.

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.