Face-Off at the Altar Read online

  But before he could move, she whispered, “Markus.”

  He could smell the whiskey on her breath, knew this wasn’t supposed to happen, but then she was moving and he couldn’t stop her. He didn’t have the willpower. Next thing he knew, her lips pressed to his—softly, God, so softly that his eyes fell shut as his body went hot and tight. She felt so damn good. Digging his fingers into the couch, he stayed as still as he could because if he moved, he wouldn’t stop. When her tongue came out, running along his bottom lip, he pulled away, shaking his head.

  “Mekena, you’re drunk.”

  “I don’t care. Come here,” she whispered, her fingers gliding along the back of his head. “I want you.”

  “Mekena, please,” he said, pulling fully away. As much as he hated it, he knew he had no choice. He couldn’t trust himself. He wanted her too much.

  Standing up, he went around the table and smacked his hands together, unable to look at her. “So, do you need help—”

  “Really? What is wrong? Am I that disgusting?”

  Looking up at her, he furrowed his brow as he looked down at her. “Disgusting? What?”

  “Me! You don’t want to kiss me. You didn’t want to fuck me. So you fucked my sister instead! What is wrong with me?” she yelled, struggling to stand, but she did. “Why aren’t I good enough?”

  “Mekena, it’s not that. Please don’t think that. You have to let me explain—”

  “No, Markus, your actions speak volumes!”

  She went to walk away, limping, but he stopped her. “Please give me a chance to explain.”

  “Because I want to hear how you don’t want me. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “I do want you, Mekena!”

  “Again, you have a funny way of showing it,” she yelled, ripping her arm from his as she limped back to her room.

  Rushing to catch up, he blocked the doorway as she glared up at him. “Give me a chance. Let me explain.”

  “What is there to explain?”

  “A lot! And if you give me a fucking chance, you’ll know what. Stop assuming shit and let me tell you the truth—when you’re not drunk.” She glared, her eyes filling with tears that he swore, if they fell, he’d be done for. “Please, Mekena. Meet me for breakfast tomorrow.”

  Shaking her head, she looked away. “I can’t. I’m going out to breakfast with my parents.”

  “Fine, lunch.”

  “I can’t. I have stuff for the wedding,” she said, looking back at him. “And tomorrow night, I have the rehearsal, so maybe after that. I don’t know.”

  “After the rehearsal sounds great. Wanna meet back here?”

  She shrugged, and he could tell she was having an internal battle. She didn’t want to want him, and he understood that. But maybe that meant something. Maybe it was meant to be, and she needed to stop fighting it. Taking a deep breath, she nodded her head. “I guess.”

  He nodded back even though his heart was in his throat. He wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to tell her everything tomorrow, but he’d figure it out. There was no way he was going to let her think it was because he didn’t want her. That was the furthest thing from the truth, and he was going to tell her just that.

  He leaned toward her, fully expecting her to flinch away, but she didn’t. She stood there completely still as he pressed his lips to her cheek. “Goodnight, Mekena.”

  Pulling back, she looked up at him and shook her head. “You better not make me regret this.”

  “I won’t,” he promised, and he hoped it was clear in his eyes that he meant it.

  At least, he hoped she wouldn’t. But hadn’t he thought that before?

  Meeeeeeeeeooooooooooowwwwwwww.

  “Ugh, no. Go away,” Mekena moaned, covering her eyes as she turned over. Her head was pounding, and automatically, she felt as if she was going to puke. Plus, her ankle was throbbing with pain. The last thing she wanted to do was get up and feed Mr. Right, but apparently, her sweet boy didn’t get that memo.

  Meeeeoooowwwwww.

  His cries, she could ignore, and he must have known that because soon he started to bat her in the back of the head with his paw. His nails dug into her head and caught her hair, pulling it. Hard.

  “Mister! No, sir! That hurts,” she complained, turning over to meet her cat full on. He didn’t seem impressed, nor did he seem to care as she glared back at him. “I don’t feel good. Go find a mouse and eat that.”

  That was apparently not an option, and he smacked her once more, his meowing coming out with more gusto than before.

  “You’re killing me,” she moaned, kicking the blankets off and reaching for the glass of water she had sitting on the table by her bed. As she drank, her head felt as if it was about to explode, and she wanted to die. But then pain shot up her leg, and she became convinced that dying was a good idea. As she reached down, rubbing her ankle, she noticed it was swollen but seemed okay.

  Meeeoooowww.

  “Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” she demanded, getting some aspirin and popping those. Closing her eyes, she moaned loudly as she stretched her arms up, wishing like hell she had skipped those last shots of whiskey with Jace and Avery. She wasn’t going to make it today. It was that simple. She had to have breakfast with her parents and then do a test shoot with Libby followed by the rehearsal tonight. Type-A Lucy had decided to have the rehearsal the day before the dinner since she wanted a whole day before the wedding to adjust in case everything didn’t go exactly as she wanted. Benji had just smiled and indulged her. Right now, Mekena was grateful it wouldn’t be another late night with free-flowing alcohol.

  Today was already going to be long, and being hungover while she did it was not the smartest move on her part.

  “Oh, crap,” she muttered because then she remembered she had agreed to talk to Markus after everything. “Fuck me,” she cried, falling back and covering her face as her memories came back to her at full force. The pain in her ankle now had an explanation, and crap, she'd kissed him. Like, really kissed him, and it felt so damn good.

  What an idiot!

  She was never drinking again.

  No, she’d be an overweight cat lady who ate lots of snacks and became completely unsociable. That would be her life because she was positively losing it. She had one goal—she had to steer clear of him, it was that simple—but somehow, she had not only not steered clear, she’d kissed him. Like a dipshit. How could she have agreed to speak to him? Though, as soon as she thought it, she knew why. She wanted to know what he had to say. She wanted to know what he meant last night when he said she still mattered.

  Did he still care for her? Did he want her back? Could she take him back? What the hell? Why was she thinking about any of this? He cheated! She wasn’t getting back with him. For the rest of their relationship, she would always fear he would cheat on her again. No, she would be setting them up for failure. It would be asinine of her.

  Yet she could still feel his lips.

  The thickness of them consuming her own as she held him, needing to drink from his amazing mouth.

  God, she was in trouble. So much trouble.

  Meeeeoooowww.

  “Fucking hell!” she complained, standing up and wobbling a bit on her way to get her bathrobe. Throwing it on, she glared at Mr. Right. “You are spoiled.”

  He just looked at her as though that wasn’t an untrue statement while she rolled her eyes, staggering out of the room to the kitchen to get her spoiled cat some food. But what she found wasn’t food, it was better. Markus at the stove, cooking bacon.

  Shirtless.

  “Oh, hey,” he said, wiping his hand on a towel, but that wasn’t what she was looking at. No, she was looking at the thick, rippling muscles of his chest and abs and the way his shorts hung low on his hips, showing the V of his groin. She had to make herself look away as he asked, “Am I in your way?”

  “No.” She went around him and grabbed a can of cat food out of the cabinet. “You should put a shirt on b