Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (24 page)

Why make that any harder than it had to be?

Tristan held her gaze for a long, tense minute, looking for all the world like he wanted to deny the truth. "You're right," he finally muttered, wiping his mouth and then tossing his napkin onto the table. "You're absolutely right."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" She pushed her chair back from the table, needing to put distance between them before she said or did something she would regret.

"That's exactly the fucking problem, beautiful," he said so softly she wasn't really sure he meant her to hear the words at all. "It matters more than it should."

Yeah. She knew how that felt, but… "How I feel about you hasn't changed, Tristan," she said. "And I prefer to keep it that way. I'll help you because I said I would, but I don't want anything else from you. Not after what you did to me."

Liar.

God, she was such a liar.

She wanted him to call her out on that lie, tell her that he knew what she wanted, and wasn't going to let her hide from it like a coward. She wanted him to tell her that he wanted the same thing she wanted, that she wasn't crazy, and they could give in and no one would get hurt.

But he didn't.

"Fine," he muttered, dashing that hope just as she'd known he would.

Chapter Seventeen

By the time early evening faded into night, Tristan felt wired, jittery, and desperate at the same time. Lillian hadn't emerged from her room all day, the closed door standing like a mountain between them. He tried to focus on the case, but spent more time staring at her door, trying to figure out how to apologize for being a prick.

The more he thought about what she'd said about being a toy to him, the worst he felt. She'd lied to him this morning, and he knew she had. That was his fault. He desperately wanted to fix things between them, tell her he was an idiot, and beg her to stop shutting him out. Another part of him wanted to beg her to keep shutting him out. Because when she stopped?

God help them both.

No one else had ever gotten under his skin like she had. No one else had ever mattered so much to him. When he invited a woman into his bed, they knew nothing more would come of it. He'd never before wanted anything to come of it. He didn't want to know about the things that haunted them, or their hopes and dreams and fears. He'd never cared if they trusted him or liked the person he was.

Lillian was different. He wanted to protect her,
know
her. What she thought of him mattered to him. And the thought of walking away from her when all was said and done bothered him a whole hell of a lot more than he was prepared to deal with.

She deserved so much more than he could offer her, but some part of him wanted to offer it to her anyway. What the fuck was he supposed to do about that?

What
could
he do?

He tapped on her door, feeling like a teenage boy waiting for his first date.

The nervous pounding of his heart ratcheted up a notch when she opened the door.

She wore some kind of halter that showed enough skin to make him salivate. It was pure black, and dipped low between her breasts, taunting him to follow the fall of the fabric with his mouth. Her white skirt ended about four inches above the knee and half an inch below her scar, somehow appearing innocent and indecent at once. The way she'd twisted her hair into a bun exposed the soft skin of her throat and the faint marks he'd left there. Little curls danced around her face, making those big, brown eyes seem so much wider and softer.

Jesus.

Waves of desire hit him like a fist. And like the Lillian junkie he'd become, the way that energized him was exactly the fix he needed. The hard knot of frustration in his stomach vanished. The way he felt ready to crawl out of his skin evaporated. For the first time in hours, he felt like he could breathe fully.

What in the hell was she doing to him?

"Hi," she murmured, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She didn't meet his gaze. Her bottom lip went between her teeth, momentarily biting into the fleshy pink before she caught herself.

He cleared his throat, not sure what to say. "You ready?"

"Yeah." She reached around the door and emerged with a tiny black bag clutched in her hands. "Ready."

Tristan stepped aside, letting her lead the way into the kitchen. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, his eyes widening when she moved in front of him.

She really
was
trying to kill him. Her top was held together with nothing more than thin strings around her neck and waist, revealing every creamy inch of her skin to his hungry gaze.

If she heard his choked groan, she didn't react. She stopped beside the kitchen table, hesitated, and then picked up the two bottles of eye drops.

With a determination borne out of sheer desperation, he instructed her on how to use the first set of drops, and then watched when she tilted her head back and did as instructed, dropping them into first one eye and then the other.

Her hands were steady.

His wouldn't have been. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want
her
to have to do this.

"If those haven't caused you to dilate by the time we get to
Trinity
, we'll add the tropicamide," he said anyway, resolving not to let her out of his sight tonight.

"Okay."

Neither said anything else as he escorted her to the Rover. A thousand unspoken words hung in the awkward silence between them. He had a feeling anything he tried to say right then would end with more yelling and closed doors between them, so he kept his mouth shut and drove.

She sat completely still beside him. Whenever he glanced over at her, he found her staring out the window, her expression smooth, unreadable.

"Do you mind if I look through the case file tomorrow?" she blurted as they made the final turn onto Yesler Street twenty minutes later. "I want to make sure I remember their faces," she explained when he glanced at her, surprised by the question.

"Ah, yeah. We'll go over it tomorrow," he promised.

"Thanks."

They both fell silent.

"My eyes didn't dilate," she said, flipping the mirror open to take a look as he parked the car.

He sighed and held out the other bottle for her. "Start with one drop in each eye."

She took a deep breath and plucked the bottle from his hand.

He had to curl his hands into fists around the steering wheel to keep from snatching it back.

Heads turned in Lillian's direction as Tristan lead her toward the entrance of
Trinity
. The bastards eyed her up and down, leering at her. Their girlfriends narrowed their eyes at her, jealousy stamped across their made-up faces. Tristan glared, silently daring anyone to approach her. The mood he was in, he'd be more than happy to physically force them to back the hell off.

One cocky blond bastard winked at her.

She didn't even notice, but Tristan growled, shoving his hands deep into his pockets… though he wasn't sure if he meant to keep himself from going for the man's throat or keep himself from putting
his
hands all over Lillian. He wanted to kiss her like he had in
Teplo
. Everyone would know who she belonged to then.

Christ, what was he thinking?

She didn't belong to him.

Bullshit.

She did. Even if she didn't want to admit it, she'd been his for two weeks already… ever since she'd smiled up at him on the dance floor and set his world to spinning.

He reached out and clamped his hand around her wrist, forcing her to halt. She met his gaze. Her eyes weren't dilated just yet but her pupils were wide and watery. Her bottom lip quivered like it had the first night he'd seen her at
Teplo
.

"We can't do this," he said, shaking his head at the weary question in her eyes. "You can't go in there like this."

"Tristan, it'll be fine." Her half-hearted smile wobbled and fell.

"No, it won't."

"You chose this," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, I shouldn't have. It's a bad plan."

"It's the only plan we have."

"Then we'll make another one." He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to demand she agree. He had no right to demand anything of her. And he highly doubted she'd let him tell her what to do anyway. Zoë had been right on that account. His courageous ballerina didn't take kindly to anyone telling her what she could and couldn't do, especially not him.

She examined his face, her expression softening as if whatever she saw on his face gave her pause. And then she nodded. "Okay, we'll do it another way."

Relief whispered through him, soothing places rubbed raw by the thought of sending her into
Teplo
vulnerable.

She took a deep breath as they hovered on the fringes of the group awaiting entrance to the club. "I'm sorry about this morning," she blurted. "What I said wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't true." She took another deep breath. "I forgave you days ago, but you confuse the hell out of me sometimes, and that scares me. I don't know what you want from me, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry for that."

"That isn't your fa-"

"How I feel has changed, Tristan," she said, cutting him off.

Oh,
Christ.

"Maybe it hasn't for you, but I like you and I can't keep-" she huffed, frustrated misery stamped across her face. She looked defeated. Completely fucking spent. "I can't keep fighting you every step of the way. It's exhausting. I don't know what you want from me, but I'm tired of fighting it. Just please don't…." she trailed off.

"Shh." He reeled her in with one hand upon her wrist, unable to stop the buoyant hum setting up shop in his chest. It was something he'd never felt before. Something he didn't have a name for, but it felt good. Different. "Lillian, I-"

"Tristan! Love!"

Lillian's head snapped up, her eyes scanning the crowd for the woman shouting his name.

His gaze followed.

"Oh, fuck me," slipped from his lips when he caught sight of the tall blonde weaving her way toward him in stilettos, a big smile on her face and her breasts spilling from her low cut top.

Jayme Cordova.

Son of a bitch!

Lillian stiffened when she caught sight of Jayme, her arm falling from Tristan's slackened hold. Before Tristan could dodge Jayme or warn Lillian, the exuberant blonde descended on them like a freight train, pulling him into a tight hug. His arms went around her, trying to keep them both on their feet as she nearly bowled him over.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" she cried.

Her bright red lips landed on his mouth, kissing him hard before he had a chance to turn away. Lillian made an indistinguishable sound, but he couldn't see her around Jayme's mass of curled hair.

"You haven't called me in weeks. Janet said you were busy, but damn!" She gave him a mock glare, her arms still around him. "You could call and say hello once in a while. I miss you."

"Jayme," he murmured, trying to shake her loose. "I'd like you to meet-" He turned to introduce her to Lillian, but the beautiful ballerina no longer stood beside him. He scanned the crowd for her, but couldn't see her among the milling throng ahead.

"Jayme, where did she go?" he demanded, cutting through her inane chatter.

"The pretty brunette?" Jayme glanced around and shrugged. "She was here a second ago."

Tristan wanted to ask why she'd decided to throw herself at him with Lillian standing right there, but didn't bother. Jayme had shitty timing, but she didn't mean any harm. She simply acted a good two minutes before she thought things through.

"I have to find her," he said, focusing on the important issue.

"She'll be fine, Tristan. This isn't one of your normal haunts. No naughty business here."

Yeah, bullshit.

"Her eyes are chemically dilated and she has a bad leg." And the way those bastards leered at her… She'd be surrounded by idiots pushing drinks and telephone numbers in her direction before she knew it. When the drops kicked in, she'd be blind. It'd take all of two seconds for some twisted motherfucker to shuffle her off into a corner or drop something into her drink.

"Oh." Jayme's blue eyes widened with genuine alarm. "Tristan, I'm sorry! I didn't know."

"Yeah, I know." He exhaled, trying not to think about Lillian being dragged off by some drunken idiot. "But I need to find her. Now."

Jayme's mouth fell open, her eyes narrowing on him as if noticing something for the first time. She tilted her head to the side, surprise stamped across her face. "Are you-"

"Don't," he warned her, not wanting to hear the question about to fall from her ruby red lips or think about the answer. "Just don't."

Wisely, Jayme let it go, choosing instead to spin on her heel. "I'll ask Oscar to let you in."