First Comes Marriage (Aster Bay #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Sabrina had tried counting sheep. She’d tried doing yoga on the floor of the guest bedroom, focusing her gaze on the water of the bay rippling in the moonlight. She’d even tried reciting the state capitals to herself, but nothing had worked. It was after midnight, she was still wide awake, and now she couldn’t remember the capital of Missouri.

Tentatively, she reached her hand above her head and tapped against the wall behind her bed.

“What?” Sebastian’s gruff reply came as clearly as if he was in the room with her.

“Are you awake?” No answer. She let out a huff that sent the strands of hair hanging about her face fluttering. “I mean, obviously you’re awake since you spoke, but are you awake awake?”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. Are you half asleep, barely keeping your eyes open, or are you actually awake, like mind and body?”

There was a long pause, then, “I’m awake.”

Sabrina sat up in bed, leaning back against the wall that separated them and listening to the rustle of Sebastian’s movements on the other side of the wall. “Still having trouble sleeping?”

“My only trouble is you banging around in there. ”

“I was not banging around,” she said, trying not to laugh. Because really, what else could you call it when you accidentally fall out of tree pose and almost knock over everything on top of the dresser?

“Like you’re a goddamn crash test dummy.”

The laugh burst out of her, and she tucked her knees up against her chest, resting her chin on her folded hands. “I was doing yoga.”

She could practically hear his incredulous eyebrow raise from the other side of the wall.

“I always have trouble sleeping,” he said.

Something warm melted through her at the softness of his voice, the quiet admission, like he was sharing a secret with her. Sharing some hidden part of himself. And she suddenly felt compelled to do the same.

“Me too.”

“What’s keeping you up tonight?”

“The grumpy guy at the meeting tonight—with the flannel?”

“Norm.”

“That’s right. Norm. He asked me to join the Food and Wine Festival committee.”

“That’s how they get you.”

“Who?”

“This town. Ask Tessa.”

She liked the idea of the town ‘getting’ her, of them drawing her into their inner circles and keeping her there, of finally being claimed by this place the way she wanted to claim it.

“Are you going to do it?” he asked.

“I think I am.”

A few moments later, there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. She climbed out of bed and pulled open the door to find Sebastian leaning in the doorframe. He wore those gray sweatpants again, slung low on his hips and offering a teasing glimpse of the carved muscle of his Adonis belt. Her eyes snagged on his bare chest, the broad expanse of defined muscles with a smattering of dark, coarse hair between his pecs.

She met his eyes as all the filthy things they could do to sate her hunger flashed through her mind. From the way his lip quirked up, he knew exactly what she was thinking. The bastard.

“C’mon.” He tilted his head towards the kitchen and started down the hall.

In the kitchen, Baz set about retrieving bowls and spoons. “I ate the last of the ice cream this afternoon,” she confessed as she hopped up onto the kitchen island, the marble cool beneath her bare thighs.

Sebastian paused in his movements, his eyes raking over her, lingering on her legs with such focused attention that heat wound its way down her spine. He dragged his gaze back to her face, his eyes pools of black ringed with the thinnest band of ice blue. Without saying anything, he pulled open the freezer door and retrieved another container of ice cream that hadn’t been there earlier.

“I bought more,” he said, as he scooped ice cream into the bowls. “Black raspberry.”

He handed her a bowl and took up a place beside her, leaning against the island as they ate. He kept his attention focused on his bowl but shifted his weight so her dangling calf brushed against his thigh.

“What happened in Maine?” he asked, keeping his eyes focused on the melting ice cream.

She popped another spoonful into her mouth, letting it coat her tongue. She struggled to find the words to explain. How much did she want Sebastian to know about why she’d given up her life in Maine, really?

“It was time for a change.”

He exhaled through his nose, a sound she was coming to understand signaled his frustration. “You had a studio there. ”

It wasn’t a question, but she still found herself nodding.

“You sold it?”

“I let myself be bought out.”

“Why?”

She scraped her spoon against the edge of the bowl and let her calf swing back and forth enough to stroke his leg through his sweatpants. “I needed to start over. Somewhere new.”

“Aster Bay isn’t new for you.”

“Somewhere I wouldn’t feel like such a failure.”

He froze, every line and plane in his body going hard, as though he were bracing for a physical blow. Shit. I said that out loud.

After a long moment, he shifted a hair closer, the muscles of his body relaxing even if his jaw still ticked.

“You’re not a failure.” His voice was low and dark, and she could feel the vibration of it through the few inches where his hip was pressed against hers. She shrugged, scraping up the last bits of melted ice cream. “All those people tonight were hanging on your every word.”

"Tonight felt really good.” A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She thought for a minute and, though he didn’t say anything, she got the feeling that Sebastian was patiently waiting for her to continue, that he somehow knew she had more to say. “They wanted to hear my ideas,” she said softly, like giving voice to the thought might make it untrue.

He took her bowl from her and set it alongside his on the counter. In one fluid motion, he boxed her in against the counter, his hands flat on the marble beside her hips, as he leaned down so they were eye to eye.

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked.

“Most people don’t want to hear what I think.”

“Meaning your parents.”

She nodded.

“And some asshole in Maine who bought you out of your own business?”

She nodded again.

“You know what I think?”

She shook her head, suddenly finding it incredibly challenging to speak when he was looking at her with such intensity, when the heat from his bare chest was radiating off him.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Fuck ‘em.”

A surprised laugh bubbled past her lips and she thought she saw something like satisfaction flicker through Sebastian’s eyes. “Is that what you’ll say when my parents are awful this weekend?”

All humor fell from his face and one of his hands slid from the counter up over her hip, resting on the curve of her waist. She felt that touch everywhere, the heat of it burning through her thin t-shirt and pulsing low in her abdomen.

“Why would they be awful?”

“Because I’m not like my sister.”

His gaze darted across her face like he was memorizing her, until finally he met her eyes, studied her like he could hunt out her secrets if he looked at her closely enough. Maybe she wanted him to.

“Do you want to be?”

“Sometimes.”

“Would it help if I told you that I’m glad you’re not like her?”

“Only if you meant it.”

His other hand slid into her hair, curling around the nape of her neck and tilting her chin up to meet his eyes as he stepped closer. Her thighs parted for him and he stepped between them without hesitation as she rested her own hands on the bare skin at his sides.

“I mean it.”

She wasn’t sure who leaned in first, and she didn’t suppose it mattered. All that mattered was the movement of his lips over hers, the way his hand bunched in the fabric of her t-shirt while the other used his hold in her hair to bring her face closer, to angle her the way he wanted. His tongue teased at her lips and she parted for him eagerly, welcoming him closer as she slipped her hands around his back and pulled him against her.

He kissed deeply, with his whole body. How had she not noticed that the last time he’d kissed her?

Because you were drunk.

But they weren’t drunk now.

He held her still, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he loosened his grip on her, and she loved it—the idea that he wanted to keep her close, the way he molded himself against her, the push and pull of it. She loved it all.

His lips pressed to the delicate spot on the underside of her jaw, trailed down her throat and across her collarbone.

“These goddamn freckles,” he rumbled against her skin, his tongue darting out to flick at the offending marks.

She laughed, the bubbly sound dissolving into a moan as he dragged his teeth over the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder. “I’ve always hated my freckles.”

He nipped at her again, harder this time, and she yelped in surprise. “I fucking love them,” he growled.

She was lightheaded, whether from the lack of oxygen—that happened when you breathed too hard, right?—or from his words, his cardamom scent surrounding her, she wasn’t sure. And she didn’t care. He loved her freckles. Sebastian Graham loved her freckles.

His lips returned to hers, and the hand on her waist slid around to her lower back. He guided her back, his weight pressing her down over the marble countertop as though he’d crawl on top of her right then and there. She wrapped her legs around his hips, locking her ankles behind him. It was all happening too fast and not nearly fast enough, and the marble was cold but Sebastian was delightfully warm. He rocked against her and swallowed her moan as the rigid length of his erection ground between her thighs.

A loud crash cut through the haze of her thoughts and they pulled apart, breathing hard. Sebastian scrubbed his hand over his kiss-swollen lips and stepped back until he was leaning against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. On the floor beside the island where Sabrina sat trying to catch her breath were the shattered remnants of their bowls.

“Shit. Where’s the broom?” she asked, sliding off the island.

He shook his head, his eyes locked on the mess on the floor. “I’ve got it.”

“I can help. If you tell me—”

“I’ve got it.”

She took a step towards him, but stopped short when he looked like he’d plaster himself against the wall to preserve the distance between them. Cold fingers of dread wrapped around her throat. “Sebastian?”

He shook his head again, almost as though he were clearing it. “We shouldn’t…” He met her eyes for a moment, a wild, haunted look that she didn’t recognize greeting her. “It’s not a good idea.”

All the air rushed from her lungs at the rejection, the finality of it. “Why not?”

“Sabrina.” The word was half plea, half chastisement.

She blinked back the stinging in her nose and turned away from him, determined not to let him see how badly he’d hurt her.

“I’ll find the broom.” Her voice broke on the last word as she turned the corner out of the kitchen.

He called after her but she didn’t stop. As her name echoed in the dark apartment, she abandoned any intention of finding the broom, and instead slipped back into the guest room, leaning against the door as soon as it closed. She heard his footsteps in the hall, heard them stop in front of her door, and she held her breath, but it only took a moment for him to move on, the footsteps retreating back towards the kitchen.

Sebastian Graham may have loved her freckles, but he didn’t love her . A small, but important distinction she needed to remember.