Page 51 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“Pheebs?” he said with a wooziness to the syllable.
“Sorry, I was thinking about”—do not say orifice trains—“getting cleaned up,” she managed.
“Right, good thinking,” he stammered, then gently pulled out.
She sat up and adjusted the baby doll negligee. “About the kissing critique thing—did you get enough data?”
He pulled up his pants. “You passed the assessment. Five stars. Highly recommend.” He shook his head like he was trying to activate more brain cells. “What I mean is you’re proficient in that area of personal development and we can revisit this facet of your program if the need arises.”
“Okay, that’s helpful information, I think,” she said, not even trying to decipher the Sebastian-sized helping of word salad he’d doled out. She slid off the table. “I should shower . . . in the bathroom . . . where the shower is located.”
“I believe most showers are located in that room,” he agreed. “Unless it’s an outdoor shower—like at the beach.” He cringed.
If there had been an awkward meter installed in her apartment, the thing would have blown a gasket.
She clamped her mouth shut to prevent any further word carnage, then padded across her apartment and slipped into the bathroom. The coolness of the room’s bright white tile floor sent a shiver through her—or was that just her body reconciling with her head—or her heart—over what had happened? She closed the door, then caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Bracing herself on the sink, she studied the face of a woman she didn’t quite recognize.
A lump formed in her throat. “Phoebe Gale, what have you done?”
Chapter10
SEBASTIAN
Sebastian Cress, what have you done?
From the second Phoebe had bolted into her bathroom, that question had been stuck on repeat in his brain like a broken record. It seemed unreal—something akin to a dream. But there was no denying what had happened between them. He could still taste her kisses and feel the warmth of her soft curves as she raked her fingers through his hair. He inhaled and swore he could smell the scent of sex, spicy and fragrant, fused into his pores and blanketing his body in a sultry embrace.
Stop!
There could be no more thoughts of embraces—sultry or otherwise.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel of Phoebe’s Jeep and stared ahead into the inky darkness as they traversed the mountain road headed toward Glenn Pines Lodge. Due to the kissing assessment evolving into a session of sex-fueled revelry, they’d left later than he’d planned. He’d hoped to arrive at the lodge a few hours early and have a chance to settle in and unpack. Now, they’d be lucky if they got there two minutes before the LETIS happy hour kicked off.
Noting the time, they’d decided to make the drive in their cocktail attire. He tried to focus on the purr of the engine and the steady grind of rubber meeting the road.
It was a useless endeavor.
He couldn’t get the gorgeous mute woman sitting beside him, dressed to kill in a beaded midnight blue dress, out of his head. A pair of hot pink stilettos, currently resting on the floor beside her bare feet because she hadn’t mastered the art of walking in them, perfectly complemented the sexy yet sophisticated garment.
When she’d emerged from her room holding the heels in one hand, she’d looked like a barefoot man-eating femme fatale. Right then and there, he’d made a mental note to create another ten posts promoting Mara and Janelle’s shop. The women had curated one hell of a wardrobe for his friend. It took everything he had not to suggest an additional round oflet’s defile another flat surface.
Alas, there was no escape from the torment—no way to get around one inextricable truth.
He’d crossed a line.
He’d banged his best friend on her kitchen table.
No, that wasn’t quite it. He’d hadsexwith Phoebe Gale.
No, that wasn’t it, either. It wasn’tjustsex.
He’d had plenty ofjust sexin his life. As far as sex went, there was absolutely nothing wrong withjust sex. He’d sustained himself on the staple exclusively for the last six months. An exchange of mingled breaths and sweaty thrusts,just sexhad served as a useful distraction.
But what he’d shared with his best friend wasn’t a distraction. It wasn’t a casual hookup. It wasn’t a quick fuck in the loo. It had been mind-blowing, life-altering, smokin’ hot sex with his best friend.
His Phoebe.
Every wild revolution of that fact whipping around in his mind rendered him more gob-smacked by the second. He couldn’t stop picturing the scene. He couldn’t stop imagining her dark hair fanned out in a chestnut halo, dusting her bare shoulders. He squeezed the steering wheel even harder, hoping that would shut off his brain. But it couldn’t stop him from contemplating the contrast between her creamy skin and the blush of lingerie wrapping her in silky pink sexiness. When she’d slipped the trench from her shoulders and he’d drunk in her ripe, round breasts and come-hither expression, he’d nearly exploded with pent-up desire.
