Page 79 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

His mouth is warm and a little uncertain at first, like he's still making sure I'm okay with it, and then I kiss him back. Something in him seems to give way completely, his hand sliding back into my hair. He tastes like the cheap beer everyone's drinking and yet still utterly delectable, and when he finally pulls back he looks as thrown as I feel, chest rising fast, staring at me like I’m new and old to him all at once.

"Right," he says, a little rough, in contrast to his thumb, soft on my jaw.

"Marcus..." I whisper, not sure what else to say. Not sure how I can move on from this moment.

He pulls his hand away and turns to face the dark of the backyard, the step still thudding with the EDM pounding through the whole neighbourhood. Then he drops his head, both hands gripping his hair, and I hear him say something to himself.

Then he leans back to me, kissing me again. Slower this time, deeper, both of us a little drunk on more than the drinks. Minutes go by, heartbeats, lifetimes. His forehead is dropping to mine between kisses like he needs a second to catch up with himself.

Finally he swallows and pulls away, his hand cupping my blazing cheek. "You're a perfect angel." The words come out whisper quiet. Reverent.

I try to say something back but my throat's too dry, or maybe there are just no words. I cough.

"I'll grab us something," he says eventually, breath still uneven, thumb brushing my cheekbone like he doesn't quite want to stop touching me even to stand up. "Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," I say.

He jumps to his feet, staring down at me. "I'll be right back," he promises.

"I'll be here," I promise right back.

But neither of us keep those promises.

He doesn't come back.

Not in five minutes, not in ten, and I tell myself he's got waylaid by someone he knows, the way that happens at parties, and I stay exactly where he left me because I said I would.

But half an hour later, and my dreams scattered like ashes at my feet, I get up and go inside just to make sure that he's okay.

I find him in the kitchen and I wish, more than almost anything else, that I hadn't gone looking.

He's got a different girl's back against the fridge, her hands fisted in his shirt, and he's kissing her. The same hand that had cupped my cheek is sliding up the hem of her shirt, slow, exploring, like he's got all night and nowhere better to be.

One hand comes up to grab my stomach, twisting and churning, like it's trying to purge the last hour from my body. The other comes up to my mouth, trying to wipe the memories away.

I don't make a sound. I don't think either of them even clock me standing there.

He says something against her mouth and she laughs, and he takes her hand and leads her toward the stairs.

I don't wait to see which room they choose. I just know that I will never again be anywhere waiting for Marcus Shaw.

TWENTY

Alexia

Present day

The display village has gone quiet by the time I turn back onto the street, agents' cars pulling out in twos and threes, lights switching off in the houses either side of Marcus's like the whole street's settling in for the night.

I press down harder on the accelerator, hoping Marcus hasn't left with everyone else. But his lights stay on, and relief floods me.

My car stops outside Marcus's site. When I turn the ignition off, my hands aren't quite steady on the wheel, and I sit there a second longer than I need to before making myself get out. With a grocery bag in each hand, I lock the car and head up the path to the beautiful house he built with his two hands. I've barely gotten two steps up the driveway before he's running down it towards me like the ground's on fire.

"You left!" he shouts, his voice dripping with panic.

I smile at him. "Just for a little bit. I went to pick up some things." I hold up the bags like I’m displaying evidence. "The shop up the road closes at eight. I wanted to bring you something to eat, since I watched you refuse every canapé Anna's servers brought round. I've never seen you go more than two hours without eating. You must be starving."

He stares at the bags in my hands. "You went to the shops," he says. I can't tell if it's an observation or an accusation based on his tone.