Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,32

been in no position to show any self-restraint.

Shame washed over me.

But not deep enough, strong enough to wash away the need. The desperate need thrumming over my skin.

Zeke felt it too. His eyes glowed with fire, with hunger. Veins in his neck pulsed. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Go home, Bridget.”

It wasn’t a command. Nor was it a rejection. It felt like a warning. A last chance.

If I didn’t leave, he’d take me. I saw that, clear as day. It would be rough. Dark. Brutal. Exquisite.

But wrong.

And I’d hate myself for it.

I’d hate him for it.

It would be tonight, then it would be nothing more than a memory.

I turned my back and walked away without a word.

I had enough memories following me around, taunting me. I didn’t need this one.

“Me and Geoff broke up,” Alexis said as I sipped my morning coffee.

It was my third.

For once, I had been up before her.

Only because I hadn’t slept. Like, at all.

I hadn’t slept for the past year, not without drugs or alcohol, and even then it was only a couple hours before the sun would come up.

But at least I got some respite. A couple hours.

Last night? Nothing.

I’d crept into a dark house, like some kind of burglar, trying not to trip any alarms that would scream the past at me. No matter how much I scrubbed at my face, brushed my teeth, I couldn’t get his taste from my lips.

I’d tossed and turned, the sheets too heavy, the bed too soft, Zeke’s proximity far too close.

At dawn, I’d given up trying to find peace in oblivion and gotten up. Did laundry. Cleaned. Did more laundry. Made coffee. Cried a little. Hated myself. Drank more coffee. Hated myself some more.

So, all in all, a healthy morning.

I’d managed to pull myself together enough to not look like the wreck I was by the time Alexis made it downstairs in her workout gear, headphones slung around her neck.

Her eyes bulged when she saw me, fully dressed in white slacks, a slouchy tee and various gold necklaces slung around my neck. I almost looked like the old me, which was the point. I was trying to resemble the woman who was loyal and faithful to her husband and didn’t make out with dark, dangerous men who scared the crap out of her.

“You’re awake. And dressed,” she said, walking into the kitchen with far too much spring in her step for an uncaffeinated person at seven in the morning. Her eyes flickered over my outfit. “Dressed in adult clothes.”

“I’m trying something,” I said.

She poured herself some coffee. “I like it.”

“Everything end up okay last night?” she asked after a beat of silence. Her gaze flickered toward the French doors I’d opened to let the morning breeze in. Not because I was sitting out there on the patio, sipping my first coffee and staring at the house yet to wake up, wondering if Zeke slept naked.

“Sure,” I said against my coffee cup.

Alexis’ eyes narrowed with knowing. “You stayed a while. Luna was that upset?”

I tried to delay my answer by taking a large gulp of my coffee while Alexis waited.

“No, she handled everything great. She’s tough,” I replied. “I, um, stayed a little longer to have a drink with Zeke and talk about things.”

“Zeke?” she repeated. “He’s Zeke now?”

I scowled. “That’s his name, Alexis.”

She was not bothered by my tone; she’d heard much worse from me. “It is his name,” she agreed. “It’s a good name.”

I sighed. “It is a good name.”

“Did you have sex?” she asked conversationally.

I damn near choked on my coffee. My sister watched me blandly until I got myself under control. “Did you just ask me that?”

“I sure did,” she said cheerfully.

“Of course I didn’t sleep with him,” I hissed. “I would never do that.”

“Why? He’s hot as balls, unlikely to be an axe murderer, and I bet you could wash clothes on this abs.”

I blinked at her, hating my sister for making me think about Zeke’s abs. I’d just managed to get them out of my head.

I thought of all of the responses I could give Alexis. All the lies. That I wasn’t even thinking about having sex with someone that wasn’t David. That I was far too grief ridden for my libido to be craving anything. That I was focusing on my boys, nurturing them, and figuring out how to make sure they weren’t majorly fucked up by their father’s death. I wasn’t about