Sebastian stands alone several feet away. Midnight eyes burn with unbridled rage, which happens to be directed exclusively at me. Pebbles begin raining onto the surface of my still pool.

I stand up, wobbling a bit. No more whiskey. Vera grabs my hand to steady me.

“Bast?” I ask, and my voice sounds strange. Young and scared.

The rage is gone in a blink. “Do you know where your boyfriend is right now?” He might as well be asking for a check on the weather.

I nod, forcing my mouth into a smile. “Sure do. Thanks.”

Sebastian glances at Vera; I can’t see her face, but when he looks back at me, there’s a hard glint in his eyes. He reaches out his hand.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“What? No! I’m having fun.”

“You’re slurring, your tits are spilling out of that ridiculous dress, and from the lack of underwear lines, you’ve probably given half these people a peepshow. Get your ass over here or I’m dragging you out.”

I flinch, and keep flinching, as his words penetrate my drunken fog. Aghast, I tug on Vera’s hand until she looks up at me. From her expression, I surmise he’s exaggerating. But then I’m not so sure. Her eyes are worried, yet oddly resigned.

In moments such as this, a part of me wishes we were more enabling in our friendship. Less respectful of each other’s emotional boundaries. I need someone to save me right now—someone who isn’t Sebastian.

“I’m counting to three,” he growls. “One. Two—”

“Fine,” I snap, and Vera releases my hand.

I make it through the cluster of patio furniture without falling. When Sebastian is before me, I plant my hands on my hips and glare up at him. “I get it. I’m going home. You can cut the protective big brother crap. And for your information, I’m wearing fucking underwear!”

His eyes flash. I jerk back but he grabs my arm, pulling me forward and against his side. By the time I start struggling, he’s already walking us toward an exit at the back of the patio. To the wandering eye, nothing looks amiss. His arm is around my shoulders, his face masked with indifference.

I consider screaming, but training overrides the impulse. Sebastian Bellizzi dragging a screaming, drunk me across a nightclub’s patio wouldn’t be good press for either of us.

A bouncer opens the gate for us, revealing a private parking lot behind the club. When I see where Sebastian’s taking me, I try to pull away. He just holds me tighter.

“Bast, no fucking way. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He keeps a hand on my arm, holding me in place, while he lifts his motorcycle jacket from the back of his Harley. It comes around my shoulders, and he stuffs my arms into the sleeves. I shiver, only cold now that warmth surrounds me.

A helmet is tugged onto my head and snapped into place. I seem to have lost the ability to resist. The surface of the pool inside me is now dangerously choppy. When Sebastian swings his leg over the back and sits, I do the same. My arms come dutifully around his middle. So warm.

The bike roars to life beneath us.

“Hold on,” he says.

I nod against his muscled back and close my eyes tightly. The trip to Malibu is an unpleasant blur. All my focus is on not throwing up every turn we make.

Just as my body’s demand reaches critical level, Sebastian pulls into my driveway. The Harley rolls to a stop and I lurch off, tearing off the helmet. I make it to the grass before collapsing to my hands and knees. Shaking my head like a dog, I fight the urge to expel my guts.

“I stand corrected,” he says from behind me. “Nice thong.”

Groaning in misery, I lift a middle finger over my head. He chuckles, his footsteps crunching over the grass. Lowering to a squat beside me, he strokes a warm, soothing hand down my back.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs. “It’ll pass. You’re good Irish stock. Iron stomach.”

I spit on the ground. “You can go now.”

“Not until you’re safely inside.”

I stagger to my feet and stumble toward the planter box beside the front door. Digging through the loose soil, I unearth a small box. It takes a few tries to get the combination right, but I finally free my backup house key.

I make it inside, turn off the alarm, and navigate a dark hallway to my bedroom. I only run into the wall twice. Three more steps. You can make it. Yes!

I flop with relief onto my bed. My next indrawn breath brings Robert’s cologne into my nostrils. The urge to puke returns a thousandfold. Bile rises to the back of my throat.

I jump up, run for the bathroom, and almost make it to the toilet. Almost. At the last second, I veer toward the sink and lose dinner, drinks, and the remains of my dignity.

“Motherfucker,” I wheeze.

I’m still wearing Sebastian’s jacket, the cuff of which is now decorated with the contents of my stomach. Collapsing like my strings have been cut, I crawl the rest of the way to the toilet as another wave of nausea roars over me. At least this time I make it.

When there’s nothing left in me, I fall onto my side and close my eyes. Gentle waves rock me. The tide pulls in, pulls out…

I come to as I’m being lifted by Sebastian. Too hammered to be surprised, I merely groan in feeble protest. He sets me on my feet and pulls off the jacket, tossing it on the floor. I belatedly notice that the shower is running.

“Your jacket,” I croak. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck the jacket,” he says softly, then frowns. His hands turn my shoulders right, then left. “How the hell does this dress come off?” I turn around so he can see the zipper. He snorts. “That’s subtle.”

“It’s not mine,” I mumble.

He drags the zipper down until it stops just above the curve of my ass. Holding my arms to my bare chest, I turn and look up at him. He gazes back at me, no discernible expression on his face. His eyes are equally hard to read.

“I’m fine now, Bast. Go home. I’m not going to have sex with you.”

His eyes spark with humor, crinkling at the edges. “Frankly, Candy, I’m not in the mood. You stink like vomit.”

I flush hotly and he laughs—his real laugh, deep and infectious. It loosens a knot inside me and I smile, then giggle, and finally laugh hard.

“I’m a mess, aren't I?” I ask, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes.

His smile softens, eyes growing serious. “You’re only a mess because you don’t belong here. Los Angeles isn’t your home.”

My laughter winks out. “Yes, it is.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true. You know exactly where you belong. A place with cool breezes and old trees. Where the night sky is alive with stars and you can walk barefoot over the earth.”

I stare, unblinking and dumbstruck. I know without a shadow of a doubt what he’s describing.

“You followed me?” I breathe.

“Not initially, no. I used to wander the property at night, too, when the walls felt like they were closing in.”

“I had no idea,” I whisper.

His lips curve with an emotion darker than humor—it makes my blood run hot and fast. He murmurs, “My fiery little nemesis, sneaking out of the big house to roam the forest in her transparent nightgown. How I wished you were coming to me, to give me the burn of your touch instead of your viper’s mouth.”

I’m falling into his endless midnight eyes, seeing myself as he saw me, young and fey, wandering under the stars. I can almost feel damp soil between my toes.

You’re drunk, Candace.

I find my voice. “I was fourteen, Bast.” But I don’t sound angry at all. I sound awestruck.

His lips twitch. “And I was almost eighteen. I won’t apologize. You had the body of a woman. Don’t imagine I didn’t notice.”

My chest hurts; I rub a hand over my heart. “But… I was so horrible to you.”

A veil drops over his eyes. The sensation of falling ceases—I sway a little but find balance.

Sebastian glances past me. “Take a shower before the water runs cold.”

As he turns to go, I blurt, “Are you leaving?”

He looks back—he’s distant now, here but not. Watchful and guarded. What is he thinking?

“I’ll wait until you’re finished so you can lock the front door.” Then he’s gone.