Iniquitous (The Marked #3)(48)

Easier with Dominic.

I needed to go to him.

I needed to go right now.

I bolted out of the living room and made a frantic run for the front door. The ground swayed and rippled under my feet, but it only made me move faster. I had to get the hell out of here. With one hand on the door knob and the other on the lock, I twisted it back and forth in complete hysteria.

“Open up, you stupid thing!” The lock clicked open and I turned the handle, yanking the door open. The cool, damp air hit my face like a prison escape.

“Where are you going?” Trace’s deep voice startled me from behind.

I whipped around and faced him. My eyes immediately doubled in size as a heated blush rippled across my cheeks. He was standing there without a shirt, and my brain clicked right off.

“Jemma?” he asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

“Huh?” My gaze dipped down to his abs and then to the jeans that were hanging loosely from his hip bone.

There were new grooves there, I noticed, new muscles that hadn’t been there the last time I checked. I’d know it. I memorized the layout like the back of my hand.

“Were you going somewhere?” he asked as he raised his hand and cupped the back of his neck again, making the delicate skin on his biceps stretch over the muscle.

“I, um…I was just getting some air.” Liar, liar, face on fire.

“That’s not a good idea,” he said as he took a cautious step towards me and then pushed the door shut. “You shouldn’t be out there on your own right now.”

“Right.” I swayed towards him as he leaned in and locked the door behind me. His forearm brushed against mine as he pulled back and I nearly toppled over from the rush of feeling his bare skin against mine again.

He straightened out and took a purposeful step back, apparently still needing that space between us. His eyes traveled down my body and then zipped back up to meet mine. “I’m gonna get myself a drink. You want one?”

I wiggled my head from side to side. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of Nikki’s bitch-bash. I had enough regrets under my belt, thank you very much. “I can come keep you company though.” My shoulders sagged a little when I added, “I mean, if you want me to.”

He didn’t say anything when he took a step back and then turned for the kitchen.

Without me.

I watched his bare back move further and further away from me as my heart swan-dived off a cliff.

“You coming?” he asked, over his shoulder.

A tiny slither of hope ignited in my heart. Maybe there was still hope for us after all. I rushed to catch up to him, following him past the living room and into the kitchen where he headed straight for the liquor cabinet. There was a vast collection of bottles in all different colors and sizes though I didn’t have enough drinking experience to recognize any of them.

He grabbed one of the dark ones and then a glass from the cupboard and set them both on the wooden island between us. Twisting the cap off, he poured himself a glass and took a big, long swig of it. I stared at him across the way, working hard to keep my eyes above his collarbone. All I wanted to do in that moment was somersault over the island and jump his bones. And I seriously contemplated it too. Not just because he was hot as hell, but because it may have served as exactly the kind of diversion we needed. After all, he couldn’t yell at me if I was busy kissing his lips off, right?

“Did you change your mind?” he asked, mistaking my ogling of his mouth with me wanting a sip of his drink.

Biting my lower lip, I shook my head.

His gaze dropped to my mouth, an obscure look flickering through his eyes.

“I think we should talk,” I finally said as he polished off the rest of his drink. And, apparently, sooner than later because it looked like he was about to get sloshed.

“I don’t want to talk.” He poured himself another glass and threw that one back just as quickly as the first one. I wasn’t sure if he was drinking to chase away the migraine, or the memories of what I’d done.

“Trace. Please. We need to finish our conversation.”

He flattened his palms on the counter and looked up at me under lidded eyes. “The only thing I want to finish right now is this bottle.”

“You hate me,” I realized as pain strangled my heart.

“No.” His eyes met mine and he shook his head softly, his hand wrapped firmly around his glass. But he didn’t pick it up this time. “I don’t hate you, Jemma. I could never hate you.”

His words gave me courage—a little more hope. “I didn’t have another choice, Trace.”

“I know that.”

“It was Engel or Dominic.”

His sad, cobalt eyes met mine again and my heart immediately sank. “I know that too,” he said, his voice filled with hurt as he snatched up the bottle and his glass and took off for the living room.

I followed, always ready to worship him like the god he was.

“Look, I get it, Jemma. I do. Doesn’t make it any easier though,” he said as he sat down on the couch and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs as the bottleneck hung between his fingers. He wasn’t making eye-contact now.

I felt as though gravity were pulling me down into the floorboards. “Doesn’t make what easier? Breaking up with me?” He’d never asked me to be his girlfriend officially, but it was pretty much implied. At least I thought it was.