Taking a deep breath, I fight to get myself under control, but it’s useless. She’s ruined me.
Heat pulses between us. I tilt her chin, and with my other hand, give my balls a warning squeeze beneath the blankets. It does fuck all to cool me off.
Wolfie wouldn’t care that Maren was the one who came on to me. He’d only know that I betrayed him. And that’s what this would be. Despite how right it feels—and believe me, right now it feels really fucking right—it would be a complete and utter betrayal of twenty years of friendship.
Desire rips the air from my lungs. I’m not easily shaken, but this . . .
I struggle to stay in control, knowing I should leave. Flee the bed, the room, the lake house, and put as much distance as possible between Maren and me.
Instead, I completely give in. Nothing matters now except for getting inside her. Her breath catches, and she makes another desire-filled sound.
Indecision paralyzes me, a sharp ache inside my chest.
Leave. Stop this now, my brain begs.
The thought of having to look Wolfie in the eye and tell him I defiled his sister is the only thing that can curb the desire ripping me apart like a bomb. I can’t. Won’t.
She straddles me, and the contact of her warmth pressed over my hard cock is heaven.
Oh fuck. Maybe just for a few minutes more.
What the actual hell, Hayes?
“Dove,” I rasp out, breathless and rock hard. “Hold up.”
She pulls back to meet my eyes in the glow of pale moonlight filling the room.
“We can’t.”
With a nod and her chin tucked to her chest, Maren makes a noise of agreement. “I know. I’m sorry.” She moves from my lap.
“It’s just . . .”
“I understand.” Her expression incredibly sad, she slips from the bed and disappears out of my room and into the hall.
She might say she understands, but her expression says otherwise. She’s hurt, and I’m the one who caused it.
I can’t erase from my brain the look in her eyes when I told her we couldn’t.
Shit.
Maren didn’t understand anything. She thought I was rejecting her, but the opposite is true. I was protecting her.
And now I have no choice but to go after her.
10
MAREN
It takes every ounce of resolve left in me not to cry.
I steady myself against the door, staring at the wall between Hayes’s room and mine—well, Holly’s. Her little performance—the thumping and moaning—has stopped, but she’s claimed her territory.
Besides, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, least of all Holly. My lips are swollen, my panties are soaked, and my heart? It’s pounding so loudly, I’m surprised no one can hear it but me. My throat aches with emotion, and I squeeze my eyes closed and command my shaking body to focus on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
But as soon as I close my eyes, I can feel Hayes’s lips on mine. Warm and insistent, pushing and pulling against my mouth with a passion I’ve never experienced before, until suddenly his lips were gone. Until I took things too far and he asked me to leave. Talk about embarrassing.
A hot shiver creeps over my skin. God, what did I expect? That after twenty years of treating me like a little sister, Hayes would suddenly see me as some sexpot and take me to bed? Life just doesn’t work that way. Not for me, anyway. Years of watching Hayes leave parties with different girls, and then later, leaving bars with different women, should have cemented that into my brain.
I’m not his type. Period. End of story.
I don’t want to face Holly right now, but what choice do I have? I’m just considering sneaking to the kitchen for something strong and potent to drink away my shame when the door to Hayes’s room opens, and his deep voice rumbles out my name.
“Maren.”
Hope blooms in my chest, curling inside me, sliding lower. I take another deep breath to steady myself. God, I ache for him.
When I turn to face him, his eyes are dark and conflicted. The promise of hot sex and power radiates from him in waves. He tilts his head, still waiting. I have no idea what to say.
I drop my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. I can’t take more of his rejection, especially not now, here in the light of the hallway where I have to watch his dark gaze moving over my exposed skin. Where I can feel the desire radiating between us.
He’s infuriating. And intoxicating.
Finally, my eyes meet his, and heat bolts through me.
He steps closer, his fingers press beneath my chin, and he lifts my face toward his. His sensual mouth presses into a firm line, and my stomach squeezes.
“Come back to my room.” It’s less of a request than it is a demand, and I can’t tame the hot desire that twists through me once again. “Please,” he adds, his voice tight.
When I dare to meet his gaze again, his eyes have softened. They remind me of rye whiskey, which is oddly relevant to my escape plan to drink myself to sleep. It’s the only way to quiet this ache.
“We don’t need to have this conversation. You made yourself clear,” I choke out, saddened by how pathetic and broken I sound. A single tear slips down my cheek, threatening to turn into a full-on breakdown. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. It’s my fault.”
“No, no, dove,” he murmurs, wiping the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “Believe me, pushing you away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Is he patronizing me? He seems so sincere, but pity can be sincere. Very much so.
I take a shaky breath, checking over my shoulder. This scene would be suspicious to anyone getting out of bed for
