I pull her back, capture her mouth again, and she responds immediately. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and I can feel the urgency in her touch, the same restless energy that's been eating at me all week. My other hand finds the bare skin whereher sweater has slipped off her shoulder, and I swear under my breath because she feels even better than I imagined.
She gasps into the kiss, and I'm about to do something I'll probably regret later when the front door slams open.
“What the fuck is this?” Ben stands in the doorway, and he takes in the scene in one long look. Sharon practically in my lap, her hair mussed from my hands, her sweater pushed half off one shoulder, my hand on her bare skin.
The moment shatters.
Sharon goes rigid like I've shocked her. She scrambles backward on the couch, straightening her sweater with shaking hands. I don't move for a moment, just watch my brother watching us, feeling the anger radiating off him like a physical thing.
"What the hell is going on?" Ben's voice is ice, each word sharp enough to cut.
Sharon stands up, putting distance between us. Her face is flushed, a combination of embarrassment and something that looks like fear. She won't meet my eyes.
"I was just—" she starts.
"Fucking the wedding planner?" Ben finishes, his tone dripping with contempt. "Real professional, Cassian."
"She's not—" I start, anger flaring through me at how he's talking about her.
"I should go," Sharon says, and her voice is small, apologetic in a way that makes me want to do something violent to my brother. She grabs her purse with shaking hands.
I stand, reaching for her arm. "Don't—"
"We really need to stop doing this," she says softly, pulling away from me. The withdrawal hurts more than I want to admit. "This was a mistake."
Ben is still standing in the entryway, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to feel guilty for wanting something that felt more right than anything I've done in months.
"None of your business," I say.
7
SHARON
"So, this is why none of the wedding is going according to plan!" Ben shouts, accusing me of crap, and I can feel Cassian tense beside me, his whole body going rigid. “It’s because you're too busy getting it on with my brothers!"
Ben's pointing at me, his face flushed purple with rage, and I'm scrambling to pull my sweater up over my shoulder because suddenly being half-naked in front of my ex feels like the worst possible thing that could happen in this moment.
Cassian stands in one fluid motion, and I watch him move between me and Ben like a shield. His shoulders are back, his chest expanded, and there's something dangerous in the way he's holding himself.
"You need to calm the fuck down and apologize to Sharon," Cassian says, his voice dropping into something that sounds like controlled fury. "Don't talk to her like that. It's not her fault that your wedding is going to be a disaster.”
Ben's jaw clenches. He takes another step forward, and Cassian doesn't move, doesn't flinch, just stands there like he's made of concrete and won't be budged.
Why do we keep getting caught?
I don’t have an active sex life, and all of a sudden, I keep getting busy with one of the Burnside brothers, and someone always catches us. It’s like I have a satellite radar saying, I’m getting busy here, so come and find me.
What’s up with that?
Ben has aged. I never noticed it before, then again since I’ve been in town, this is the first time I’ve seen him. It’s as if he’s lived a hard life, and as if I’ve seen him twenty years ago, and not just five. His dark hair, the hair I remember him taking so much pride in, is mostly grey now. Not distinguished grey. Tired grey. The kind that comes from stress and sleeplessness and things catching up with you. Wrinkles spider-web across his face, deep grooves carved around his mouth like he's been scowling for years. His skin has a greyish tint to it, almost translucent, like he's not sleeping, not eating right, not taking care of himself in any way that matters.
But that's not what makes me stare.
There's something around his left eye. A tattoo. A thick black line forming a perfect patch around his eye socket, like an old-fashioned pirate's eye patch permanently inked into his skin. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, and I can't look away from it.
