Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (19 page)

She hesitated, torn between agreeing and fleeing to the safety of her bedroom. Spending any more time with him would be madness. But… she wasn't tired and didn't relish the thought of hiding out in her room like she had last night.

"I'm going to change first," she said before she could change her mind.

Tristan eyed her up and down, his gaze lingering on her skirt. "Good plan," he said, clearing his throat.

She blushed and fled in search of something more comfortable.

Twenty minutes later, she found Tristan standing beside the television, examining the pictures hanging on the wall. Snapshots of her in practice and photographs of her on stage spread across the wall in a big collage alongside newspaper clippings, quotes, and more artful shots she'd taken in cities around the world.

She might not ever dance again, but she would never stop working toward it. The collage reminded her of what she fought for every day, and why she fought for it. It motivated her when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry, and those days came often.

When Tristan noticed her lurking behind him, he didn't comment on those preserved glimpses into her past or ask her for an explanation. She almost wished he would. Standing there with four graphic inches of her scar visible beneath the hem of her shorts and those damn memories hanging there for comparison made her feel awkward and graceless as hell suddenly.

To add insult to injury, she wasn't sure how to get herself seated comfortably without making a fool of herself. Her leg ached, and the chaise sat too low to the ground to allow her to get onto it with anything resembling grace or ease.

Why hadn't she thought of that before agreeing to a movie?

She didn't want Tristan watching her humiliating attempt to wriggle her way onto the chaise.

"Um…."

He held his hand out to her, smiling.

"I-" She hesitated beside the couch, looking at him. Hell, she wanted to send him out of the room until she got herself situated, but couldn't think of a single excuse to make that happen. She took a shaky breath.

He searched her face, his smile falling at what he found there. "What's wrong, beautiful?"

"Nothing," she mumbled, averting her gaze. She felt ridiculous. He'd had his hands all over her scar on more than one occasion, for God's sake.

"Beautiful," he said, his voice full of gentle rebuke.

"It's nothing." Lillian tried to smile, but it wobbled on her face.

He scrutinized her expression, his gaze softening.

"Come here," he said, holding his hand out to her again.

She took it this time, watching the play of emotion through those gorgeous blue eyes.

He drew her nearer, not stopping until she stood right in front of him. "Hi," he whispered then, squeezing her fingers.

"Hi," she whispered back, that one word trembling on her lips.

He flicked his gaze down her body and back up to her face. "Those shorts are going to be the death of me, Lillian."

She blushed, grateful for the teasing compliment as much as for the way his acceptance calmed her nerves. He didn't think less of her for the scar. Unlike so many she'd known before her accident, he wasn't the kind of person who thought less of someone because of physical limitations. He didn't judge her value as a person on whether or not she could dance.

"If I ask you to sit with me, will you?" he asked, her hand still clasped in his as they stood inches apart from one another, enveloped in warmth, heat, and soft, almost uncertain glances.

How did he manage to make her ache one minute, and feel like a teenager the next?

She glanced up at him through her lashes. "I…."

He seemed to take that breathless murmur for agreement and drew her around the couch to the chaise before seating himself. Then he guided her backward until her calves hit the edge of the low seat. He eased her down, her leg stretching without issue as he held her weight.

With sure hands, he scooted her backward until she rested between his legs. Her entire body melted into him at once, accepting the warmth and support he offered as if it were natural to do so. And God… he felt so good, all hard muscle and smooth skin.

Sweeping her hair off the side of her neck, he placed a kiss to the pulse thrumming there.

The scalding bubble of desire surrounding them tightened.

"I've wanted to do that all day," he murmured, settling back. He pulled her with him until her upper body draped across his. Her ass settled against a telling bulge in his pants.

An unwelcome protest fired somewhere in her mind, suspicion causing her to stiffen in his arms. She didn't want to retreat back into that uncomfortable haze of desire they danced around constantly. She liked this quiet peace between them.

"Shh," he said, trailing his fingertips down her arm, melting resistance and muscle into relaxation as quickly as her protest had made her tense. "Just sit with me, okay?"

She tilted her head to look at him, uncertain at his soft tone. He stared down at her, that same vulnerable, yearning look on his face – the one that had nothing to do with begging or games, and everything to do with something else. Something deeper, more intense, and somehow more honest. That look made her stomach flutter and her heart twist even though she didn't understand it.

What did he want from her?

She didn't know. But she allowed herself to relax anyway, watching that lost look wash from expression.

When it vanished, her heart felt a little lighter.

Convincing Lillian to sit with him, Tristan decided as the movie started, just might have been his best idea ever. The expression on her face when she'd entered the room, like it shamed her to stand there in front of him, was so close to that haunted, humiliated look in her eyes when he'd met her at
Teplo,
his chest physically ached. He'd just wanted to get rid of it, bring back the feisty temptress who made his thoughts run in exhausted circles. But the way her body molded to his?

He liked it more than he probably should.

And not just because he wanted her, but because being that close to her calmed and excited him at once. Frustration vanished when his skin touched hers, leaving an abiding silence. The sense of peace that inner quiet sent rushing through him was worth every bit of sexual frustration.

For every ache she sent soaring within him, being around her soothed two more into oblivion. He'd felt it in the kitchen, something relaxing or shifting when he touched her. And as soon as he moved away, he'd felt stretched thin, like a junkie coming down. He'd also felt… something else tonight. Something soft and gentle, as if she'd woken some part of him he'd thought lost long ago. The part that wasn't soiled by the shadows of his life. The part that still laughed freely.

The same easy feeling kept cropping up. He felt lighter around her, less burdened. And even though he knew he should run from that feeling, get as far away as he possibly could, he didn't. He liked the person he got to be around her.

"
Lord of the Rings
?" she murmured, tilting her head to look back at him. A small smile hovered on her lips, whatever shame she'd felt earlier long gone from her gaze.

He shrugged a shoulder. Truthfully, he'd picked the first thing that didn't scream sex, not even paying attention to what he'd pick. "We can watch something else."

"No." She smiled wider. "I like this. The elf is a hottie."

A smirk settled on his lips at her ridiculous, teasing response.

What was it with the female population and that damn elf?

Lillian settled, her eyes already back on the screen.

His gaze, however, strayed to her far more often than they did to the movie. He found her shifting expressions captivating. She seemed wholly aware of him, but at the same time, completely absorbed in the movie. Her eyes never left the screen, but every time he prepared to shift, she was a step ahead, easing the ache in his groin without even realizing she did it.

Did she feel that same dichotic pull? The one that turned her body into a bundle of sensation even while shutting out the trauma she'd endured? He had a feeling it'd be a combination of both that eventually led her to his bed… and he was dying to get her there, to make sense of the way he reacted to her.

It had to be physical, right?

Fuck, it had to be. Because when this was over, when the Vetrov family went to jail and he resumed his life, Lillian Maddox wouldn't be part of it. She couldn't. Women like her didn't belong in his world. It was dark, brutal, full of violence and cruelty. It was everything she wasn't, everything he wanted to protect her from.

Lillian cried out suddenly, the sound full of pain.

"Beautiful?" He sat up a little straighter, pulling her with him as her elbow dug into his side.

"Sorry. Muscle spasm." She leaned forward to massage at her thigh. When the muscle cramped again, she whimpered in pain.

Tristan wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her backward onto his chest, hating that sound. "Here," he murmured when she glanced back at him, "let me." He tugged her hand away from her thigh and replaced it with his own.

She opened her mouth and then groaned as his fingers dug lightly into the muscle jerking all around her scar. He couldn't be certain with so much scar tissue and the metal plate in the way, but the entire area felt wrong as the muscle twitched beneath his fingertips.

"How bad was it, sweetheart?" he asked, massaging tight circles with the tips of his fingers.

She hesitated a minute and then sighed, her body tense in his arms. "The bone splintered when it broke, and pieces of it sliced through the ligament and nerves. When the surgeon went in, he had to cut through the muscle and nerve to get to some of the bone fragments before he could piece everything back together. He did what he could, but the damage was extensive."

"Will it ever heal entirely?"

She sighed again, which was answer enough.

"Christ, I'm sorry." His fingers stilled on her leg for a minute.

"Me too," she whispered.

And who the fuck could blame her?

Tristan practiced jiu-jitsu or ran every day. He thrived on physical activity and exertion, and couldn't imagine being unable to do so for the rest of his life. Couldn't imagine that part of his life being forever out of reach. From everything he'd learned about Lillian, dancing hadn't just been part of her life though. It had been her
entire
life, something she'd sacrificed and worked for every day since she was a toddler. And she wouldn't ever do it again. Would likely never walk without a limp, either.

"The worst part is not knowing why he did it," she said, regret and sorrow heavy in her voice. "I know he was angry with me, but I don't understand why he hated me so much. What did I ever do to him to deserve this?"

Tristan resumed massaging her leg, at a loss for words.

Fucking Marc Rivera.

He really wanted to kill the bastard. He'd seen people do some screwed up shit in his life, both while high and in search of their next hit. He lived with the consequences of some of those decisions running through his mind in a macabre dance every night. It bothered him that she lived with the same demons, and the same questions. Worse, they didn't just haunt her.