Seeking Her by Cora Carmack Page B

guilty about any of this.
    “Women love a mystery. But only if we think we can figure it out. Are you going to let me figure you out, Hunt?”
    She couldn’t. Not ever.
    I gripped the edge of her stool and leaned down to her ear. Her skin smelled salty and sweet. “That’s a two-way street, princess.”
    And God did I want to figure her out, even though I couldn’t return the favor. Not just her personality or her past. Every part of her. I wanted to know her like the back of my hand.
    I was two seconds away from beginning that process, my eyes trained on her collarbone, the first place I wanted to taste. Then Jenny popped up right next to us.
    “We’re going back in the bath, you two coming?”
    I pulled away. Damn it, I had to keep pulling away. That was too close. I took advantage of Jenny’s distraction to place my drink on the bar, out of range.
    Kelsey held up a glass that was still almost full and said, “We’re still working on these. You guys go. Have fun.”
    After Jenny left, Kelsey took a sip of her drink, fixing her eyes on me.
    It didn’t take Kelsey long to notice the absence of my glass. “You’ve not touched your drink. I know it looks a little girlie, but I swear you’ll like it.”
    I sat on the stool next to hers. “I’m okay. Really.”
    “Oh, come on.” She jumped off her stool, and leaned her flat stomach against my bare knee. “Try mine.”
    I didn’t know where to look. Her face, that glass—neither was safe.
    “I’m fine.”
    “You’re so serious. Loosen up a little. Have some fun.”
    She took another drink, and her tongue trailed her bottom lip again. The ache rose up in my chest—for her, for all of it. “Just try it. For me?”
    She slid between my knees, and I settled my hands on her waist. To push her away. To pull her close. I didn’t know.
    I stared at her lips, imagining the sweetness of her mouth paired with the strong edge of alcohol.
    I could stay in control for her.
    One drink wouldn’t kill me. And knowing I needed to watch out for her would help me keep it in check.
    One drink.
    One sip.
    Just once.
    I said, “If you’ll answer a question for me.”
    She tilted her head to the side, and I reached out to trail a thumb along the slant of her neck.
    “Deal.” She smiled.
    She took one more drink, and then slid the glass into my hand.
    It seemed tiny. It was maybe half full. Nothing that would do me any harm. I looked back at her smile. Quickly, I pulled the glass up and took a short sip before holding it out to her. She gave me a look. I could have brushed it off. But really, the drink hadn’t been that strong. Like lemonade, but a bit more sour.
    I brought the glass up and took a longer drink this time. When I gave it back, there was nothing but ice left.
    She smiled, her lips close to mine.
    “My turn,” I said. “The other night . . . what did you mean when you said you were tired of being?”
    She froze. Maybe I was pushing too far, but I needed a change of subject. I needed to know something of worth because the guilt was already crawling across my skin. And a voice at the back of my mind was asking again and again, What have you done?
    She said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    She looked away, but I used a finger on her jaw to bring her eyes back to mine. “It’s just . . . I look at you, and I see a beautiful woman in the prime of her life, traveling to exotic places, with the world at her fingertips. But I think that’s just what you want people to see. And maybe I love a mystery too, because I can’t seem to make myself stop thinking about what’s underneath all that, what you don’t let people see.”
    I brought my other hand up, cradling her face. Concentrating on her instead of the monumental mistake I’d just made, instead of everything I’d just thrown away.
    It didn’t work. She pushed my hands off and pulled out of my reach.
    “I told you . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was wasted.