Chanting his name and loving how it sounded on her tongue, she rippled and constricted around him again. His fingers dented into her flesh hard enough to bruise as he jerked her against him one final time…and left her. Cool air circulated over her overheated flesh in his absence. He growled several curses as he came on her back. Exhausted, whimpering, she collapsed fully to the mattress. He followed, seemingly mindless of the mess between them, and she welcomed his weight on her. His breath gusted against her ear. His heart galloped against her back, and he trembled as hard as she did.

She didn’t think she ever wanted to move again. Mmm, yes, she could stay like this from now on.

“You’re just going to leave me too,” he said, the words practically a hiss in her ear, but laced with so much despair that shock reverberated through her.

“Seth, I’m not—” He rolled off her and left the bed. Somehow she found the strength to lift her head and watch him stalk toward the bathroom, hitching up his jeans as he went. “Listen to me.”

He didn’t. Any further words tangled in her throat and ice settled where the ashes of her heart had been as he slammed the door.

Bastard. Dirty effing unbelievable bastard.

Fucking stupid, stupid. Ghost was even more pissed at his wayward dick than the woman out there in the bed. Goddamn, his head hurt, and the bathroom light was like a knife slicing deeper into his brain with every thought. He didn’t know how he’d had enough blood in his nether regions to sustain wood; every drop seemed to be converged right behind his eyes. It throbbed with every beat of his heart, which had yet to slow. But instead of exertion, it now pounded in fury. At himself. At everything.

A glance at the mirror revealed he looked like hammered shit. Macy hadn’t really been able to see what she was f**king or she might have shoved him off. He looked wasted. He guessed he still was. Staring at his reflection, he wanted to put a fist through it, watch his own face shatter like everything else in his f**king life.

Sighing, he spared the mirror and his knuckles, splashed cold water on his face and contemplated a shower. Her warm, sugary vanilla scent was still all over him, and if he didn’t get it off, he might tear into that room and have a repeat. Shit. He’d gone raw in her too. Fucking drunken sex-fogged brain. At least he’d had the presence of mind to pull out; now he’d just hope to hell it was enough. He wasn’t worried about diseases—she took care of herself and so did he—but after the catastrophe with Raina, he’d vowed never to let that sneak up on him again.

Macy had felt so good the mere thought of her wrapped around him was enough to stir interest despite everything they’d just done. So wet, so soft, so perfect.

He really needed to get out of here before he made a colossal ass of himself, even more so than he had already. He’d been an idiot for coming back and not going somewhere else to get trashed. Now he was trapped in the bathroom with no escape that didn’t involve facing her down.

Smooth move, ass**le. Now what?

That shower might be a good stalling technique. Cold. He’d never have thought he would need a cold shower after such furious sex. After that display, he needed an ice pack. He was sore, raw. Any other time, he’d be damn proud of himself.

Discarding his jeans, he realized his cell phone was in the pocket. The time read 5:07 a.m. Brian had tried to call once and had texted only a couple hours ago. Yeah, he’d unloaded on Brian right after the fight; he’d had so much furious energy he hadn’t known where to channel it. Dude, Candace didn’t know anything about this, either. I think you’re overreacting. Call if you need me, I don’t care what time.

Ghost smirked as he left the phone on the counter and cranked on the water in the shower. Brian always texted with perfect grammar. What would his best friend think if he told him he’d just had the best bang of his life, and he was hiding out in the bathroom like a virgin on prom night?

And maybe he was overreacting, but hell. Jared f**king Stanton sounded like a prize catch for someone like her. She should go ride off into the sunset with her cowboy and forget all about him. Here he’d been trying to urge her back into racing…and he’d only pushed her toward her waiting ex. Yeah, you’re welcome, ass**le. He vaguely remembered getting a look at the guy’s face, seeing and hearing enough to know he was a cocky prick.

She might’ve blown the guy off this time, but there was always next time.

Clear your head. That was all he needed to do. He’d woken up with anger and grief warring inside his fuzzy head and an intense hard-on…and Macy’s soft, sweet body nestled beside him. A catastrophic combination. For the first few minutes, he’d thought he was having the hottest damn wet dream of his life.

In the end, it didn’t matter whether he was overreacting or not. This was only proof that he needed to quit thinking with his dick, get his ass back to Oklahoma and keep it there as long as he needed to. Get her out of his head.

The shower spray hit him, but it didn’t bring clarity. It didn’t make the decision he’d just come to any easier to swallow. He stood with his hands braced against the wall, letting the water stream down his back. When the shower curtain flung open, he really wasn’t surprised—what did shock the hell out of him was the lack of a verbal lashing from the fuming girl on the other side. Macy stepped into the tub with him without a single word, her hair pinned sloppily atop her head, her face and chest flushed blotchy red.

He moved out of her way. Without meeting his eyes, without behaving as if he were there at all, she soaped up and rinsed, while he clenched both fists, repressing the need to put her against the wall and get some words out of that delectable mouth. Even something Raina-esque, like I hate you, you vile motherfucker would have made him feel better than her icy silence. But he didn’t deserve to feel better.

She slapped him in the chest with her washcloth and stepped out.

Oh, f**k this. He opened his mouth to speak, to call her back, to get her to curse his name, anything…and his phone buzzed to ringing life on the counter. Macy walked out, shutting the door behind her as he damn near broke his neck getting to his phone.

Stephanie. God knew the last time he’d gotten a call from her at this hour, it hadn’t been good news.

“Steph?” he answered—more like croaked.

The briefest silence…and then his sister’s sniveling voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m—fuck, Stephanie, what is it?”

“The hospital just called. Nana had another stroke.” She took a shuddering breath. “Seth…we lost her.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Macy? Are you all right?”

Macy snapped to attention, realizing she’d been staring blindly at her keyboard for the past several minutes. If she didn’t stop slacking off at work, her own parents were going to fire her.

She looked up and smiled at Carla, who stood in the doorway of her office. “Fine, thanks. Just a little preoccupied. Come in.”

Carla went over inventory with her, all business as usual, but she kept giving her odd looks. Damn. She had to snap out of this funk. It had been three weeks already since her and Seth’s disastrous getaway, three weeks since he’d emerged from the bathroom, told her in a shaking voice his grandmother was gone…and then pretty much ignored all her consolation efforts as he shoved clothes in his bag and stalked out.