Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (13 page)

Chapter Ten

"I'm never drinking again," Lillian muttered to herself, stumbling toward the incessant knocking on her front door. Her head throbbed. Her eyes were gritty. Her stomach churned. She just wanted to burrow under the blankets and stay there permanently.

Despite her hangover, trying to drink away the reminder of Tristan's hands on her body and the look in his eyes when he'd all but ran from her the night before had worked surprisingly well. She'd managed to convince herself that he hadn't
really
said he wanted her. He hadn't run his hands all over her ass or had her nipples in his mouth. There hadn't been any breathless whispers or grinding. And she most definitely hadn't stood there, letting him do what he wanted to her body while she reveled in the sensations he'd brought roaring to life inside her.

Right up until she'd gone to sleep, she'd convinced herself it had never happened, and then the dreams had started. He hadn't dragged himself away from her or stopped in her dreams. He hadn't fled like a coward, either. He'd taken her against the wall, hard and fast and deep, until she'd screamed his name and shattered. The ache of desire still burning low in her belly pissed her off.

She didn't
want
to want him.

He'd apologized for being an ass, true enough, but that didn't change anything. He'd still used her, still dragged her into the middle of something that terrified her, and then walked away. She hated how much that hurt.

"Just a minute," she yelled when the knock on the door came again. With thick, uncoordinated fingers, she unthreaded the chain on her door, and then twisted the deadbolt, pulling the door open.

Her heart flipped in her chest, dove, and then flipped again.

Tristan leaned against the doorframe, propped up with one muscular arm, a tight smile stretched across his face. Just like the night before, the smile didn't reflect in his eyes. An almost grave determination and something a little too like guilt blazed there. He looked like hell, with dark shadows under his eyes and stubble along his jaw. His hair was a hot mess, sticking up every which way. A tight t-shirt stretched across his body, showing off those muscles that made her crazy.

"You," she said, the only thing she could think of as he stared at her… the same exact thing she said when the same events had unfolded the night before. Him. Tristan. With his beautiful eyes, wicked words, and killer body.

Desire flared deep within her stomach, burning white hot as he stared at her, his gaze flickering up and down her body. Familiar heat reappeared in a warm flood, tightening her nipples. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Good morning, Lillian," he said, his voice soft. Too soft, in fact.

Where was the heat?

The frustration?

And why did he look like he hadn't slept all night?

"May I come in?"

Lillian, stupid, hung-over and lusting woman that she was, stared at him for a long minute before stepping to the side to let him enter. And then she armed the security system and locked the door – deadbolt, knob, and chain all three. Her hands trembled, causing the chain to rattle and clink against the slider.

"You don't need all of that right now," he said from somewhere behind her, his voice soft and velvety. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Yeah, well, as you reminded me last night, I'm not living across the street from the Cleavers, am I?" She laughed abruptly and blew out a shaky breath, refusing to give in to the little thrill that went through her at his statement. She hadn't asked for his protection, and she damn sure didn't want it. "What exactly
am
I living across the street from? You accused me of being a drug dealer, a whore, and a murderer… the drugs are self-explanatory. But prostitution?
Murder
?" She took another uneven breath, looking everywhere but at the man standing behind her, too
there
to be ignored.

Already, she tottered on the edge of mental, physical, and emotional exhaustion.

Tristan.
Teplo
. Jason Ames. Tristan.
Teplo.
Tristan. Tristan, Tristan, Tristan. 'Round and 'round the freaking mulberry bush.

Not even that bottle of wine had shut the weasel up for long.

"How far do I need to run? Oregon? Canada?" Her voice shook, though she wasn't sure if
Teplo
or Tristan caused the tremor. She wasn't even sure which she referred to. One was just as bad as the other so far as she could see. The things happening at
Teplo
might kill her. But Tristan… if she was ever stupid enough to let him in again, he would tear her fragile world apart.

"Lillian." He shifted closer to her.

The electricity crackling between them intensified, causing the fine hairs on her arms to stand at attention.

"Don't." She shook her head and backed up a step. "Please, just don't." If he touched her, she'd cry or throw herself at him, and neither appealed to her at the moment. He owed her answers, and she didn't want him walking away before she got them.

He sighed, but didn't try to come any closer. "If you'll get dressed and come with me, I'll answer all of your questions." The words seemed forced, as if he spoke them against his will.

"Where?" She traced the grain of the new door with her gaze, ran her finger over a faint swirl in the heavy slab, and waited.

Her heart beat loudly in the silence stretching between them. One loud, steady throb after another. And then another. She gritted her teeth, her patience wearing thin.

"Headquarters," he finally answered. "I need to take you to the office." He sounded like he didn't want to do that either. And how irritating was that?

She turned to face him, took in his rigid stance, tense jaw and cautious, almost angry expression. "You don't want me to agree to go with you, do you? You'd rather I tell you to go to hell again," she guessed.

His jaw flexed, but he didn't open his mouth. It was confirmation enough. Even now, he didn't want to give her the answers she deserved.

Well, screw him.

"I'll be ready in twenty minutes." She stepped to the side and started to move around him, her own jaw clenched with anger.

"Lillian, wait." His hand landed on her arm, his knuckles bruised as if he'd hit something.

Her stomach flipped. That slow burn low in her belly spread in time to the heat pulsing from his touch.

She counted to ten in her head… and he still didn't say anything.

"Either talk or let me go, Tristan," she sighed, too tired to fight with him now.

"I…." he trailed off and cursed.

"Exactly," she muttered.

"It's not what you think."

"You have
no
idea what I think." She met his gaze head on, daring him to suggest otherwise. "Would you like me to tell you or would you rather tell me the truth?" she added, her tone falsely sweet.

Bastard.

"I'll wait out here."

She wasn't in the least surprised when he dropped his hand from her arm and stepped back.

God, she should have stayed with Tony and Jennie. At least they'd only been killing her with kindness.

Having only met Jason Ames once, Lillian didn't know what to expect when she and Tristan arrived downtown an hour later, but the fourth-floor corner office wasn't what she'd imagined. Jason's office was huge for one thing, and looked more like it belonged in a high rise with a lot of powerful attorneys for another. Dark woods, deep blues, and row upon row of books scrunched between windows stood behind the heavy wooden door. Family photos and historical figure bobble-heads lined the shelves scattered around the room.

Far more interesting to her than any of that, though, was Jason's rumpled appearance. He looked a whole lot less intimidating with his tie hanging loose around his neck and his sleeves rolled up his arms. A dark purple bruise showed through the blond stubble on his jaw.

Lillian stared at that bruise for a long moment, a sick feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach. Her gaze drifted between his jaw and Tristan's hand. "You hit him," she said when the pieces finally clicked. Her shocked gaze flew to Tristan. "
Why
?"

He shrugged and then pulled the door closed without offering an explanation.

Obviously, that wasn't one of the questions he planned to answer for her today.

Jerk.

"Not undeserved, Miss Maddox," Jason assured her, wincing when he touched the bruise. Giving her a tight smile when he noticed her watching him, he motioned toward the simple chair across from his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Lillian looked at Tristan again, only to find him staring out a large window into the street below, his back to her and his stance tight and rigid. She narrowed her eyes on him and then lowered herself into the chair across from his boss, refusing to let his attitude bother her when he'd been exactly the same way through the entire forty-five minute drive here.

Agent Ames waited until she stopped fidgeting to speak. "I realize you probably don't want to be here, so we'll get on with it." He grabbed a case file from the stack on his desk before sliding out a single sheet of paper. "Do you know what Form SF-312 is, Miss Maddox?"

"No?" She looked at him, confused.

He held the paper out to her, his expression even.

Tristan made a soft noise behind her, half grunt, half curse.

She ignored him and took the paper from between Jason's fingers, looked at it, blinked, and then looked closer. "A non-disclosure agreement?" she asked, her eyes widening.

"Because of the nature of the ongoing investigation into
Teplo
, certain information does not leave this room," Jason explained, his tone cool. "You'll need to sign the form before we provide you any details. If you disclose any information revealed to you after signing this form, you can and will be prosecuted under the laws of the United States." He paused, as if realizing how harsh he sounded. "If you'd rather not have Tristan witness, I can have Janet come in and do so, or I can have one of our other notaries come up. It's your decision."

"I…." Lillian stared at the document, at a loss for words. For some reason, she'd expected this to be easy. For Tristan to sit her down, for her to say "talk", and for him to start talking. This wasn't anything close to that. This was a binding agreement between her and the government of the United States to keep her mouth shut.

Sweet Jesus.

What had she gotten herself into?

"Miss Maddox," Jason said, his voice quiet and grave, but almost gentle this time. "I wouldn't ask if I weren't required to do so. If you'd rather not sign the form, we'll give you what information we can and do what we can to ensure you aren't in danger."

"Am I?" she asked, looking at him. "In danger, I mean?"

He didn't answer.

Tristan made another sound in the back of his throat.

"Right," she muttered and reached for a pen. "Sign first, ask questions later."

"Will Tristan suffice as a witness, Miss Maddox?" Jason asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. It didn't matter to her one way or another who witnessed. Who was she supposed to talk to about any of this anyway? Her parents would flip out, and so would Jen and Tony. She wasn't close enough to anyone else to bother trying to explain the chaos her life had become since she'd walked through the doors at
Teplo
in search of a little hope.

Tristan's boss waited as she filled out the requisite information with shaking hands, and then slid the paper back across the desk to him. He looked it over and lifted his head, seemingly satisfied.

"Tristan?" he called, glancing up from the form. "I need your signature."

Tristan didn't move, and didn't answer. He continued to stare out the window as if he hadn't heard his boss speak at all. Lillian knew he had though. Those little sounds of disgust he made indicated he heard more than he seemed willing to admit. His lack of cooperation was nothing more than an irritating attempt at being an ass.