I didn't know how long we stayed like that. My left hand around her waist, and right hand holding her wrist pinned to her side, and her free hand around my shoulder. It looked like a dance position. But I had no intention of playing salsa on the rooftop.

Well, at least not this close to the edge.

It was when she fisted my shirt into her hands that I found my equilibrium and blinked. She blinked too. But we didn't look away.

Shake it off, Cole. Don't scare her away.

"I am going to help you down now. Hold on." I said softly and let go of her wrist to grab her sides. Her waist was narrow. Narrow enough that when I picked her up, my fingertips brushed each other at her back.

Maeve sucked in a sharp breath when I hoisted her up as she weighed hardly anything. I bit back a groan when I felt her nails on my shoulder, digging in through the fabric, into my skin. That was definitely going to leave a mark.

When she was straight and steady on her feet, I pulled back but let my hand rest against her lower back. Just in case she decided to kiss the floor.

"You okay?"

She blinked, then slowly nodded. She didn't look that drunk anymore, but she was drunk. I kept a hand around her back to keep her upright. Heat crawled up my body when she leaned into me, her bare arms brushing against my chest through the unbuttoned shirt.

Good work, Chloe.

Chloe...

Shit. Chloe was alone down there. And although she could single handedly take down two guys, I had gloated to her of being the protective big brother, about keeping her safe and what not. I felt a sting to my pride.

I looked down at Maeve and her eyes were closed, head against my shoulder. Her hair was shielding her face from me, like the defense mechanism it was for her. My fingers twitched again, but this time, I reached up, brushing her hair off her face. She made a throaty noise, the kind that vibrated through one's body, down to the toes. My grip on her tightened.

I needed to get her out of here.

Away from me.

I took out my phone and dialed Chloe's number. The chances of her answering the phone while in a night club with blasting music was very less. As expected, she didn't.

I stuffed the phone back into my pocket and gently placed a palm across Maeve's cheek, making her face me. Her skin was warm. Flushed. And so fucking soft.

Focus Cole!

I cleared my throat and softly called her name. Surprisingly, she opened her eyes and looked at me. Obediently.

"Did you get here all by yourself?" She studied my face for a moment, looking utterly lost, then nodded. "Alright, let's get you home then." I stooped to pick her up because she was in no condition to walk straight down the stairs. But she pushed against my chest, stopping me, and mumbled something that didn't quite reach my ears. I brought my ears closer to her lips. "What was that?"

"My..." She pointed behind me.

I sighed. "Maeve, I'll buy you as many bottles of vodka as you want, as an apology. But not today. Not now." My voice suggested I was talking to a kid, trying to explain that Santa was not real.

"No," she shook her head and tilted her head again, motioning with her chin. "My shoes..."

Oh. Oh!

"Yeah, right. Let me get that for you." I kept a hand at her back and bent down to retrieve her shoe. As I straightened up, however, she eyed the shoe, then my face. And I hated why I knew what it meant. I blew out a breath.

I can do this.

"Lean against the wall." I removed my hand from her back and she did as I said, letting out a tired huff as her back met the concrete wall. She looked more exhausted than drunk.

I got down on one knee. And as I did, I recited all the prayers I could recall in that moment.

The slit of her dress ran all the way up. And I meant all the way, touching her hip bone. So, before me was her leg, from the joint of her hips to the tip of her toe. Pale, smooth skin covered in tiny gooseflesh. I recalled that time I had seen her in my brother's bedroom, standing in nothing but her lingerie. Seeing her legs from far across the hallway was definitely different from seeing it just a few inches away from my face.

I gulped hard and brought her shoe to her feet. With my right hand holding the stiletto, my left hand curled around her ankle, easing her foot into the shoe, intentionally ignoring how her toes curled before disappearing into it. When the shoe was in its place, I was supposed to get up.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Pushing up on my knee and standing up was suddenly too difficult. My eyes were refusing to look away from her flawless skin. And suddenly my senses registered a familiar scent that was just lingering around, waiting to be noticed.

Vanilla.

Her scent —as always— clouded my brain, knocking off my sense of perception.

Damn, pheromones.

She was so close. The glossy black stiletto vicious against her contrasting skin tone. I could just reach up and run my fingers up her feet. Lean forward and brush my nose against her thigh, inhale deeply and check for myself if all of her smelled so divine.

The sound of her sharp inhale pleasantly crawled into my ears, as I trailed my hand —which was already around her ankle— up her leg. Her skin was softer than it looked, warm and tight. Her calf flexed under my fingertips, and I tried but could not suppress the soft groan nor the words that broke through me.

"Christ, what I could do to you, Maeve."

"Ian..." It was the first time she had said my name since I ran six floors up the building for her. But somehow, I was more breathless now than I was back then.

She was everywhere. Filling my lungs, drowning my subconscious, and making my skin prickle with her proximity. It was way too long since I had felt this way for anyone. And that couldn't even compare to this.

I dropped my forehead against her knee, and huffed out a difficult breath.

What am I doing? This was wrong. It felt so good, but God, was it wrong.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any more difficult, her fingers slipped into my hair, sharp nails caressing my scalp. I let out another impatient sound and reached up, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. It wasn't to stop her. I didn't know why I did it. Maybe just to touch her. Maybe to hold her to me. Her fingers flexed in my hair and she did it again. Nails grazing my scalp and–

I pushed away from her knee and tilted my face up. She was bent forward, fingers still buried in my hair and face twisted as if in pain. Only, I could tell this pain was both ways.

She was feeling it too. This spark. This dangerous flame licking up the heat between us. I could just see it in her beautiful eyes.

Slowly, I dropped my hand to her feet and made to stand, dragging my fingers up her leg while doing so. Her ankle, calf, thigh, and stopped right at her hip bone, where the slit ended. By the time I made it up to my feet, she was breathing raggedly. Her hand slid down from my hair to the back of my neck.

When our eyes met again, the first thing I noticed was the dark look spreading across her eyes. Her gaze flickered from my face, to my mouth, and rested there. Mine did the same.

Somewhere at the back of my head, a thought tried to push up through the haze of emotions and the dizziness of her scent. But I was too lost watching the way her lips parted invitingly for me.

Her fingers locked around my nape, and she began to pull me down, bringing my face closer to hers. My hands found their way around her waist. And as the distance lessened, her warm breath mingled with mine. I could taste her at the tip of my tongue. I could taste the soft mint amidst the strong vodka.

The vodka...

My subconscious kicked in, breaking through the restrains of the dizziness and screamed in my head, SHE IS DRUNK!

My eyes, which I didn't realize were closed, snapped open.

I grabbed Maeve by the shoulders, loosening her grip around my neck and stepped back, creating distance between us anew. She opened her eyes, read something on my face and instantly her brows furrowed.

What was I going to do? Kiss a drunk woman? A drunk woman. Not any woman. The woman I wanted to kiss and remember it as me, as something special. Not a drunk mistake.

I let out a breath through my teeth. I had no idea if I was angry because I was carried away by my emotions, or the fact that her lips were so close and I still couldn't kiss her. Either way, I needed to get out of here.

Get her out of here.

I reached down and got a hold of her wrist and began walking towards the door I had barged in through. Chloe was down there and I hadn't been able to get in touch with her. I sincerely hoped she didn't get drunk at the first opportunity she found. Because there was no way in hell I could handle two drunk women.

"What are you doing?" Maeve asked, and although I was dragging her behind me, I could hear the frown in her voice.

"I'm taking you home."

We made it to the door, but Maeve stopped abruptly, making me halt with her. When I turned around, she was watching...no, she was glaring at me.

"You were going to kiss me." She hissed.

I was half taken aback and half confused by her proclamation. Either she was really angry about what was going to happen, or really upset about what didn't happen. I was betting on the first one.

Taking a deep breath, I took her hand in both of mine. For some stupid reasons, I was feeling guilty towards what happened, and a really strong need to apologize.

"Maeve, I'm sorry about that. I know that wasn't supposed to happen and I..." didn't intend to take advantage of you. The words didn't come out of my mouth. I was ashamed to even say that. "I'm sor—"

"Why did you stop?"

My eyes locked with hers again, and this time I saw only confusion.

"I..." What does that mean?

"You were going to kiss me. Why did you stop?"

"Because you're drunk." I blurted out, still a bit confused.

Her jaws set tight, and she swallowed, as if trying to hold back something.

We both knew that wasn't entirely the truth. But I dreaded hearing it from her. Because I didn't want to accept it.

My hand was still wrapped around one of her wrists, as she stepped forward, and placed the palm of her free hand against the open patch of skin on my chest. A shock ran through me when our skins touched, and my jaws clenched.

"Kiss me." She said, gaze switching between my mouth and eyes.

I groaned. "Maeve..."

"Kiss me, Ian." Her voice lowered, laced with need. "Or do you not want me either?"

"Not want you?" My grip tightened on her wrist. "Believe me, sweetheart, you have no idea how much I want you." She was driving me crazy in all the good ways.

Maeve gulped. "Then kiss me."

"I can't."

Her face fell, and her hand slid down my chest, falling to her side. But her eyes remained locked with mine.

"You don't want me either." It wasn't a question. She stated it like a fact.

First, I frowned in confusion. Then realization dawned.

Michael...

"Am I not enough?" The pain in her voice stung at my heart. Oh God, this topic would have to go through a whole therapy session. I needed more than just a few minutes and a rightly functioning brain to explain to her how she was more than enough. And anyone who said otherwise was a despicable moron.

But I had to tell her at least something right now.

I reached forward and took both of her hands in mine, urging her to look at me. She did.

"You don't decide your worth depending on who does not kiss or fuck you, Maeve."

She blinked. I blinked. Okay, I may or may not have gone overboard with my choice of words. But by the look on her face, it seemed she got a hold of the point...somewhat. As I opened my mouth to clarify, she spoke.

"What does that make them?"

Hmm...

Someone who have had such a beautiful, alluring wife, and didn't even...ahem, fuck her once in all those years, although she clearly wanted it. That would make them...

"Asshole." I said, as genuine as I could manage to. And I did not care that I was calling my best friend of years an asshole, for this girl that I knew for hardly a few weeks. In that moment, reassuring her was more important than something my best friend (who kissed my sister) wouldn't even know I said.

As I waited for a reaction, the corners of her lips twitched, and a smile ghosted her lips.

And then, she slapped me across my face...with her hair.

Maeve walked past me, flicking her hair back over her shoulder, and I heard her mumble. "Such an asshole."

"Where the hell have you been?" Chloe yelled over the music, as we approached the table she was sitting around. There were some faces I recognized. Of course, she invited her friends. It would have been odd with just me, since I didn't remember the last time, I stepped into a club. "Is that Maeve?"

Chloe jumped from her place around the table, and reached behind me to grab Maeve. They briefly hugged, and murmured something in each other's ears.

I was surprised how they were both completely normal. How Maeve had absolutely no look of grudge or irritation whatsoever. She was lazily smiling at Chloe. She looked so upset that day when Chloe and Michael had their moment.

A frown crawled up my face as a thought rose at the back of my head.

Maybe she wasn't upset because Michael kissed Chloe. She was upset because Michael had showed another woman physical affection, when he didn't touch his own wife...for five years.

Damn, the self-control that bastard has.

That thought should have made me feel sorry for Maeve, but like the asshole —as Maeve politely addressed— that I was, the idea of Maeve being untouched by Michael was feeding a hungry side of my brain. I liked it. I shouldn't. But I did.

"Ian..." A low, husky voice whispered beside my ear, and a hand crawled around my shoulder, circling my neck and turning me around. I sucked in my breath when hers, a little minty and little alcoholish, fanned my mouth. "How pleasant to see you here."

The blonde head purred, her breasts pushing up against my chest as she reached up and kissed both of my cheeks, in a manner that was beyond simple greeting.

"Hello Katelyn." My voice was clipped, void of any edge that would give away how bothersome her forced proximity was.

"Kate." Her teeth bared into her full bottom lip. All white against bloody red.

"Right. Kate." Her hand was still around my neck as someone cleared their throat behind me. Katelyn released me with a wink. And I let out that awful breath I was holding.

God, this woman.

When I turned around, Maeve was eyeing (glaring?) Katelyn, the hard look enough to melt iron. Chloe was watching Maeve with an amused expression.

I cleared my throat and reached forward to whisper in Chloe's ears. "I need to take Maeve home. Let's go."

She looked over at Maeve and nodded. "You go ahead. These people are all here because I invited them. I can't leave. It'll be rude."

I glanced around the table full of Chloe's college friends, and thought for a moment.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Kate will drive me."

I pressed a kiss against her hair. "Okay." As I turned around, Maeve was chugging down a whole bottle of water.

Wait, that was not—

I grabbed the vodka bottle from her hand and shoved it aside to the nearest table. A skimpy blonde guy seated nearby glared my way as I pushed through the crowd to get Maeve away.

"You've had enough for the night." I said, circling a hand around her shoulder. "Come-on, I'm taking you home."

We barely moved a step ahead, because Maeve crashed into my chest, making me stumble back onto a nearby seat. When I clumsily stabled myself, however, Maeve was over me, in my lap, hands fisting the collar of my shirt, and mumbling some incoherent words (curses?).

Blood rushed to my ears, as I looked down at her and her flickering eyelids. A lazy smile drew on her perfect lips, and her head fell back, with a chuckle as she muttered, "Asshole."