Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (37 page)

He shook his head.

"Oh." Lillian paused. "Can I say something?"

"Yeah."

"I know I'll never be an agent or be able to do a tenth of what you do, but I'm not a child either. I'm not going to run and hide under the bed if I hear something I don't like. But when you don't say it…." She swallowed hard. "I thought you'd changed your mind. That I pushed you too far last night and you were going to-"

"Beautiful, no," he whispered, turning her until she sat facing him. "I don't want you to go. I know that's messed up, but I want you to stay with me. I…."

"You what?" she asked when he fell silent, not sure how to say
I'm falling in love with you.

"Really don't want you to go," he said instead. "I – ah, Christ, Lillian. I'd probably do just about anything to keep you here and keep you safe. Don't you know that already, sweetheart?" He pressed his forehead to hers, unable to deny the truth, even if it did damn them both. "Don't you realize how utterly incapable I am of letting you walk away now?"

She shook her head, looking dazed. "I don't think I could walk away, Tristan," she finally whispered.

He drew a deep breath and kissed her hard.

"You aren't just a ballerina, you know." He settled back against the wall. "You're fucking amazing."

"So are you," she responded.

He snorted. "I'm a pain in the ass, beautiful. I have no clue what I'm doing when it comes to you, and I seem to fuck it up more often than not."

"I don't know what I'm doing either," she murmured. "I've never really been in a relationship either."

"Yeah?"

Lillian nodded.

"We'll figure it out together," he promised, tilting her head toward his for a kiss.

She kissed him back freely, her hands in his hair holding his face to hers.

When he reached for her top, she groaned.

"We have to go soon," she reminded him.

He shook his head, denying her. "We're staying right here tonight," he whispered, brushing his lips across hers again before reaching for the hem of her shirt, fire in his eyes. "Right here."

She didn't argue further.

When the phone rang early the following morning, Lillian groaned in protest and rolled toward the sound, too blissed out and exhausted to lift her head from the pillows Tristan had placed beneath her at some point during the night. She had no idea when he'd done so.

The last thing she remembered was his forehead pressed to hers and his eyes locked on hers as he sent her flying apart in the middle of the night. The pillows hadn't been beneath her head then. His hand had been, protecting her head from the headboard as he thrust into her slowly. So, so slowly.

She shivered, remembering the way he'd looked at her as he took her. All night long, he'd taken his time with her, demanding she keep her eyes open even when she was sure they were going to roll back in her head and stay there.

"Good morning," he groaned as she reached over him, trying to find her phone. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her up against him.

"Mm," she mumbled in response, warmth spreading through her at every place their bodies met. "Morning." She stretched a little further over him and still couldn't reach the phone on the table. She had no clue how she'd ended up on his side of the bed, either. Another mystery.

"Lay down, beautiful," he whispered when she grumbled as the phone rang again. "I'll get it."

She flopped back down gratefully as he stretched to grab her phone from the table. He was warm. Blissfully warm. She sighed in contentment and burrowed back down into the pillows, already on the verge of sleep again.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the phone as he brushed his lips across her shoulder blade. "Ah… good morning, Mr. Maddox."

Lillian's eyes flew open.

"Yes, sir," Tristan mumbled, shooting her an apologetic look. "She's right here."

Oh, crap!

She took the phone reluctantly when he held it out to her with a mouthed apology.

"Hello?" she whispered.

"Lil, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"Um…." She blinked over at Tristan, cursing herself for having avoided telling her father anything about him. Bad plan, obviously.

"Who is he, Lillian Elise?" Ah, crap. There was no way he'd believe her if she made something up now. He had that tone, the one he pulled out when he wanted answers. Plus, he'd used her middle name.

"Tristan Riley," she finally mumbled. "His name is Tristan Riley."

Her father huffed out a breath and then another. "Are you dating?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

She sighed, not sure if they were really counting from three weeks ago, from
Trinity
a week ago, from when they'd decided on a label two days ago or if they should be counting from some other defining moment.

Were all relationships so complicated?

"Lillian?"

"Three weeks."

Tristan sat up against the headboard and dragged her up until she was between his legs with her head against his chest.

"He treats you okay?" her dad asked.

"Yeah, dad. He's… amazing," she answered.

Tristan pressed his lips to her crown.

"If he's not-"

"He is, I promise."

Her dad huffed into the phone again. "I'd like to speak with him."

"Dad."

"Just hand the boy the phone, Lillian."

"Fine, but you'd better be nice to him," she muttered, knowing full well that he'd brush off her warning if he felt like it. She held the phone out to Tristan, mouthing an apology.

He brushed a hand down her cheek, offering her a reassuring smile, before taking the phone from her. "Hello, sir."

Lillian burrowed back down onto his chest, refusing to stress over this. It was too late to panic now, and her dad hadn't exactly sounded angry. Besides, it wasn't like he would shoot Tristan for answering her phone at – she glanced toward the clock on the bedside table – ugh, not quite eight o'clock in the morning.

If he tried, she'd just have to tell him that he couldn't shoot a DEA agent.

Ah, hell.

He really would shoot Tristan if she told him that part. He'd been a cop for a long time. The last thing he'd want was for her to get tied up with one, especially if he ever found out what Tristan really did for the DEA.

Please, don't start poking around
, she prayed silently, knowing full well her father would do exactly that if his conversation with Tristan didn't satisfy him.

"Yes, sir," Tristan murmured into the phone. "No, sir. Very much, sir."

Lillian could just imagine the questions her dad was asking him. Are you employed? Are you involved in any sort of criminal enterprise? Do you care about my daughter?

"Of course, sir," Tristan answered, his chest rumbling beneath her ear as he spoke in that low, velvety way of his, not in the least fazed by her father or his inquisition. "Mr. Maddox," he said, "she deserves nothing less."

Lillian snuggled closer, sighing when he started rubbing lazy circles against her cheek.

"Yes, sir," he laughed abruptly and hung up.

She exhaled deeply. "Was it bad?"

"No," he murmured as he sat the phone back down on the table. "He worries about you."

She grimaced. "I should have told him about you already."

Tristan scooted around until they were curled up together again. "Why didn't you?"

"I hate lying to him," she confessed, peeking up at him.

"Would it help if he knew the truth?"

"Hell no. He's… protective since everything happened with Marc." She could just imagine how he father would react if she told him that Tristan was a DEA agent and she was helping him try to stop a group of drug dealers from hooking up with a drug cartel. He'd be on her doorstep in a matter of hours, and nothing she said would stop him from dragging her back to Oregon.

"I gathered as much," Tristan said. "He wants you to call him later."

She cringed again and then nodded. "He's going to want to meet you, you know."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Lillian lifted her head only to find his eyes closed, not a hint of worry to be found on his face. "That doesn't bother you?"

"Are you kidding?" He cracked one eye open and looked at her in disbelief. "He's your father. It scares the shit out of me."

"You don't seem very worried."

He huffed and opened his other eye. "He's your father. Even if he hates me, and I really hope he doesn't, he probably won't shoot me because it'd upset you."

"You think?" she asked hopefully.

"That he won't shoot me or that it'd upset you if he did?"

"Both?"

He grinned at her lazily and closed his eyes again. "Go back to sleep, beautiful. He's not going to shoot me."

Yeah, he was probably right about that. At least, she thought he was.

"You worry about the strangest things," he muttered as she settled back against him again with another little sigh.

"And you don't?" she challenged.

"Nope. I have a bulletproof vest."

"Oh God," she groaned at his lame attempt at a joke. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're exhausted. Stop stressing about it and go back to sleep." He brushed his lips across her shoulder again. "We have shit to do later and you didn't sleep last night."

"I wonder why," she muttered, her tone rife with sarcasm.

"Easy," Tristan snorted. "You're insatiable."

"So are you," she mumbled around a yawn, not even bothering to deny that charge. With him, she was insatiable.

"Only for you," he said before his lips brushed across her shoulder again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

No matter how many times Lillian stepped through the doors to
Teplo
, the lights always caught her off guard. There was nothing subtle about the way they bounced around the club. It wasn't a ripple effect starting at one side and weaving its way to the other, but a series of bright, colorful pulses.

One here.

Another there.

On and on in random patterns all across the massive room.

When her eyes finally adjusted, she always felt exactly as if she'd stepped from one world into another. Each flash of light illuminated smiling faces and barely clothed bodies. They caught on seemingly disembodied hands clutching pills, vials, and wrinkled bills. The bright colors were spotlights beating down on those contorting to the music rippling through the club.

Frenetic energy hit her like a fist when she stepped through the doors, but the strange lights made the people appear to move slower. At times, they seemed otherworldly, something far outside of anything she knew. Music didn't create something new and beautiful at
Teplo
. It helped hide the harsh, ugly things that made her chest ache. And her chest
did
ache. Every time she saw what the people within did to themselves, a piece of her heart broke.

This wasn't some ballet acted out on stage. In this world, addiction ruled and the things that waited at the end of the night were life changing. Unprotected sex with strangers. Track marks. Death. This was the reality Tristan lived. It wasn't dressed up in pretty costumes and flowery music. It was pulsing lights, pounding beats, underdressed women, and unwashed men, all haunting
Teplo
like wraiths.

And she didn't get to just forget this world when she stepped outside. She carried it with her now. The scents lingered on her skin and clothes. The sounds whispered in the back of her mind. When she closed her eyes, lights still flashed behind her lids as if branded there.

It made her want to cry.

It made her want to scream.

It made her want to wrap her arms around Tristan and hold on tight.

But something was different this time. The ache in her chest more pronounced. The cold fingers of fear were stronger. Everything in her screamed at her to leave. To take Tristan by the hand and lead him back outside to safety. As he led her through the club, she looked left and right, trying to pinpoint the source of her unease. Nothing had changed inside.

When juxtaposed with the discontent rushing through her, the business-as-usual feel seemed too normal. As if a bright neon sign hung above the crowd. One that said, "Welcome to Pleasantville" or "Meet the Joneses". Both were wrong. Misleading.

She glanced over her shoulder, checking to ensure no one followed them.

No one did.

Tristan pulled her closer as they neared the far side of the club. "You okay?"

She wanted to tell him no, that something felt different, but she didn't know how to explain it, or if there was even a reason to explain. Since talking with her father she felt… off. Guilty. Hiding the truth from him didn't sit well with her, but she'd lied anyway.

Is that why coming here tonight seemed so wrong? Because it felt different now that she'd lied outright to her father?

"Beautiful?"

"I'm fine," she said, unsure how true that was.

Something was wrong… she just didn't know what.

Tristan examined her face, his expression full of concern, but he nodded, accepting her lie. "Dance with me," he murmured in her ear.

She let him lead her to the dance floor, knots of fear twisting in her stomach.

Lillian shook her hips, gyrating with Tristan like she always did, but her movements were stiff, tense. Her wide-eyed gaze darted around the club, focusing here and there before moving on. Whatever had her on edge had Tristan wound up like a spring. The longer she danced with him, refusing or unable to relax, the more tightly coiled he became. Her unease fed his until he felt ready to explode into fine pieces.

"What are you looking for, beautiful?" he asked, his lips at her ear.

She shook her head, not answering. Her gaze still bounced around the room, constantly moving.

Unable to stand it any longer, he stilled her hips before leading her from the dance floor, back to the far corner where nothing but seclusion and brick waited. She leaned against the wall, her breath coming in shallow inhalations and sharp exhalations. Her body shook, a faint tremble winding its way through her.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

She opened her eyes, focusing on him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, stroking his fingertips along the sides of her throat.

"Something isn't right." Her eyes bounced around the crowd again.

"What isn't right?"

"I don't know." She shook her head, frustrated, her worried gaze flickering back to him. "You don't feel it?"

"Feel what?"

"I don't know. It just feels wrong."

"How so?"

She frowned. "It feels like something's happening, something's missing. I don't know. I just-" She broke off, her frown deepening.

"Talk to me, Lillian," he urged her, ready to tear his hair out.

She scanned the crowd. Once, twice. A third time. "They aren't here anymore," she muttered suddenly, clutching his arm.

"
Who
isn't here?" Tristan fought the urge to swear, trying to let her go at her own pace, to understand her instincts, and trust them. Instinct guided every facet of his life, and he wasn't stupid enough to ignore hers. But goddamn, it was driving him crazy to see her like this, so uncertain and fearful.

"Anton Vetrov's people," she said. "They aren't here, Tristan."

"What?" He blinked.

"They aren't here anymore," she said again. "I've only seen Hannah and Stephan for the last hour. Where are the rest of them?"

Tristan turned toward the crowd, his eyes narrowed. He scanned the room, taking in the frenzied crowd beneath the pulsing lights. Stephan and Hannah lingered near the door to the storage room, watching the crowd. He'd been so focused on Lillian, he'd missed it, but she was right. The rest of the Vetrov guards were nowhere to be seen.

"Walk with me," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist.

They made another slow circuit around the club. Tristan looked every which way as they walked, trying to find the rest of Anton's people in the crowd. Hannah and Stephan still hovered near the storage room, but the others were nowhere to be found.

Tristan started another circuit, trying to make sure he hadn't missed the others. Lillian stayed right beside him, the expression on her face intent as she searched, too.

Halfway around the room, he stopped, excitement firing through him. Hannah and Stephan were no longer near the door.

He spun around, searching the crowd, and found them elbowing their way across the far edge of the dance floor, away from the storage room.

Lillian gasped, her body jerking beside him.

Tristan glanced at her to find her eyes trained on something at the front of the club.

"Fuck," he swore, his eyes widening when he followed her gaze.

Brett Warner stood in front of the doors, his bulk blocking the entrance to the club.

And Hannah and Stephan were headed right for him.

Lillian's heart pounded as she watched Officer Warner slip through
Teplo's
wide double doors. Even from a distance, she saw the badge hanging from a chain around his neck. The lights seemed to glint off of the metal, reflecting it back into the room like a spotlight shining on the Holy Grail.

"Tristan?" she whispered, fear rushing through her as Hannah and Stephan closed in on the portly officer, fake smiles plastered across their faces.

"What's he doing?" Tristan muttered.

Lillian stood rooted to the spot, watching as Hannah reached out to shake Officer Warner's hand. She couldn't make out what the woman said to him, or what he said in return, but Stephan pointed toward the bar. The three moved in that direction. Warner stepped to the side as a girl in a tube top and stilettos stumbled, the drink in her hand close to tipping over.

"Beautiful." Tristan turned back to Lillian, his grip on her waist tightening. His eyes burned an intense, excited blue. "I want you to do something for me."

Her stomach clenched, and not in a good way. She knew what he wanted to do before the words ever left his mouth.

"Go wait outside for me," he whispered.

"Tristan, no." She shook her head, her heart in her throat.

He brushed his hand down her cheek. "So long as he's with them, there's no one guarding the door. This may be our only shot, sweetheart."

Her stomach threatened to rebel. "Let me go with you."

"No," he said, his tone decisive, final. The hard look in his eyes made it clear he wouldn't budge. "I'll be out before they even realize I went in. But I can't take you in there with me."

He was right, she knew he was. She'd done her part. Now she had to let him do his.

"Promise me you'll be safe," she demanded, terror pounding through her like a drum.

"I swear to you that I'll be fine, baby. Nothing's going to happen to me."

She searched his face, looking for a single sign of hesitation and found none.

He was certain of that promise.

"Okay." She swallowed hard, nodded.

Tristan pressed his lips to hers hard before stepping back. "Go, beautiful."

She turned and walked away before she lost the nerve. Her heart hammered an erratic rhythm. Her eyes and throat burned. She ached to look back, but didn't dare. "He'll be okay," she chanted to herself under her breath as she neared the doors.

God, if something happened to him….

No.
Nothing would happen.
He'd get in, and get back out before Hannah and Stephan finished with Officer Warner.

"Dude, did you hear? Some chick died last night!"

Lillian jerked to a halt as another group spilled into the club, shouting to one another.

"No way!"

"Seriously! I was standing right there when the pig showed the little chick at the door the photo. Said he needed to speak to the dudes in charge about the dead girl," a guy with a Mohawk yelled to his friend as they pushed past Lillian, not paying her any attention whatsoever.

"Damn. That sucks," his friend yelled back.

"I know, right?"

Lillian reached out and grabbed the first guy's arm. He looked down at her hand on his arm, and then at her, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"Did the cop say her name?" she demanded.

"Who's name?"

"The dead girl's."

"Oh." He narrowed his eyes, seeming to think. "Emma Bradford? Emma Buford?" He shrugged, and then looked at her again. "Who cares? Wanna dance?"

Emma.

The young girl who'd stopped her days ago flashed in her mind.