Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (5 page)

When the dust settled, they'd all still be there.
She
would still be there.

"Done," she said without hesitation.

Chapter Five

"You okay?" Tristan asked, reaching across the console to lace his fingers with Lillian's.

The gray sports car purred beneath her as they raced out of Seattle toward his uncle's home. She knew nothing about cars, but the Viper was little, pretty, and as Tristan proved when they made it outside the tangle of Friday evening traffic, really fast. The rare evening sun beamed brightly through the tinted windows, warming her bare legs.

For half an hour before they left, she'd vacillated between a dress and the restrictive pants she hated, the thought of his family seeing her scar making her stomach churn. But she couldn't change it, so why hide it? If his family held the gossip and lies against her, so be it.  Hiding the scar wouldn't change their minds.

"Beautiful?" he prompted, shooting her a worried glance. "What's wrong?"

"I'm okay. Just thinking," she said.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Your aunt and uncle."

"They'll love you," he promised, lifting her hand to his lips to brush his mouth across her knuckles. "Zoë is thrilled you're coming with me."

A soft smile curved her lips upward. "I like Zoë."

"She feels the same about you."

"Can I ask you a question?" Lillian shifted in her seat to face him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. They'd spent the day making love and watching movies in his massive bed, simply being together. She didn't want to ruin the easy peace between them now.

"Anything."

"You told me that you only live at the penthouse when you're working?" she prompted, hoping he'd explain without her flat out demanding to know where he lived when he wasn't working. Not knowing bothered her, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe because the penthouse was more glass cage than home. She hated the thought that he had no real home, no place where he could simply be Tristan.

"There's a cottage on the edge of my aunt and uncle's property," he responded after a brief hesitation. "I stay there sometimes."

"Oh. Do you stay there often?"

"No."

"Why not? I bet they love having you around."

He shrugged, not saying anything.

"Please tell me," she whispered, knowing he was holding something back, something he didn't want to share with her.

"It's not safe for them," he said as he flipped on the blinker and slowed. "I can't lose anyone else I care about, so I stay in the penthouse."

"But it's not home to you."

"No. I don't know where home is."

Her heart ached for him. The vulnerable longing in his voice made her eyes watery. "Do you ever get to just be yourself?" she asked as he turned onto a gravel lane close enough to still be considered Seattle, but far enough removed from the hustle and bustle to seem entirely apart.

"I do," he answered as the road expanded into a driveway. A massive house loomed into view, all natural wood and glass. The evening sunlight glinted off the upper floor, creating a prism of colors. Trees grew wild around the property, soaking up the brilliant glow.

He parked the car behind a dark Acadia and a red Mini and turned to face her.

"With you, I get to be Tristan."

Her stomach flip-flopped at his soft words and warm, reverent gaze.

God, she loved this man.

"I love that," she confessed. That he felt safe enough to be himself with her—that he trusted her enough to give her that piece of him—said more than any words ever could.

He smiled and brushed his lips across her knuckles once more. "Ready to meet my family?"

"I'm ready," she said, taking a deep breath.

Still grinning, he climbed out of the car before circling around to help her out. The Viper sat a little too low to the ground to make it easy, but Tristan was, as ever, one step ahead. He wrapped his hands around hers and took the brunt of her weight as he pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

"Steady?" he murmured in her ear as he tugged her into his arms.

"Yes," she said, her heartbeat speeding like it always did when he touched her.

He wound one arm around her waist and the other around her neck, tilting her face up to him. Burning blue captured her gaze, captivating her. His lips brushed across hers. She opened for him, her tongue darting out to glide languidly across his for a long, perfect moment. Heat and desire unwound low in her belly, licking up her spine and immersing her in him.

"You're too good at that, sweetheart," he whispered as he broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. His breath was as unsteady as her own, his eyes dilated with desire.

"So are you."

He groaned and shook his head.

"What?"

"I want you," he answered, pressing his body to hers until the hard ridge of his cock nudged her stomach, and then he stepped back to tuck her into his side. "Tonight is going to be torture. Not being able to touch you, or taste you. Not being able to lose myself in that sweet pussy…I'm going to explode before the night is over."

"It won't be that bad," she lied, another warm rush of heat waving through her at his charged confession. In truth, not being able to touch him would to be torture for her, too. They'd been in their own little bubble all day, just the two of them. Even though she wanted to meet his family, having to share him with anyone else made her ache.

"Liar," he said with a snort. "You want my cock inside you as much as I want it. I can see it in your eyes, beautiful. And there is no way Zoë and Aunt Katherine will let me keep you to myself tonight."

"Oh," she said, her face flushing at how easily he read her. They fell silent as they approached the house, her nerves kicking in full force. Her bottom lip found its way between her teeth. Her steps slowed.

When he noticed, he stopped walking, positioning himself between her and the house.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't get your uncle a gift," she hedged.

"Already taken care of. Do you know Gerard Dou?" he asked when she arched a brow, surprised.

"Um…no? Does he play football or something?"

He grinned, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Not quite. Dou was a Dutch artist in the 1600s. John has always enjoyed his work, so you and I bought him a line engraving of
Le Femme Hydropique
for his office. The painting was delivered yesterday and he loves it."

"Art?" she asked, not sure if she should argue about him making what sounded like a really expensive gift from both of them. She had plenty of money, but she didn't want his family to think she was trying to buy her way into their good graces.

"Art." He reached up to run his hand down her cheek in a soothing gesture. "They're going to love you, beautiful. Stop worrying."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered.

"Hey. Your dad's the former cop, remember? I survived talking to him."

"Maybe, but he was in another state, and he doesn't know we're living together either," she pointed out.

Tristan laughed as he laced his hand through hers once more. "I love being able to hold you at night. And believe me, even if they didn't know the truth, they aren't going to judge you for the fact that we're shacking up together."

"Shacking up together?" A voice chimed from behind him. "Seriously, Tristan?"

Lillian jumped, her gaze darting to the front door. Zoë leaned against the door frame, smiling at them, her blue eyes bright with amusement. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt with the ends of her blonde hair blown out, she still appeared elegant and gorgeous.

"Jesus, Zoë," Tristan said and rolled his eyes before turning around to face her. "Hasn't Jason taught you not to eavesdrop yet?"

"Actually, he taught me how to do it without getting caught," she retorted with a dismissive wave of her hand before turning her grin on Lillian. "It's so nice to see you again, Lillian."

"You as well." Lillian couldn't help but smile back at the petite woman.

"He better not have taught you how to eavesdrop," Tristan grumbled and helped her climb the few stairs to the porch. He leaned down and dropped a kiss atop his cousin's head. "And you suck at it, by the way. I heard you as soon as the door opened."

"Whatever. You're just scared I'll tap your phones."

"You mean you haven't already tapped my phones? Restraint. Wow," he teased dryly.

"Why does she get to tap your phones but I can't?" a guy demanded. He looked exactly like Jason—crew cut blond hair, broad shoulders, and rugged good looks—only much bigger and less severe. Younger. He glanced at Lillian and grinned. "You must be Lillian."

Before she could confirm her identity, he had her off her feet, swinging her around in a hug.

"Jordan, put her down," Tristan growled.

"No, she's prettier than you are."

"Now, Jordan," he demanded.

"Fine," Jordan said and glanced down at her, winking. "He's no fun."

"No fun at all," she agreed solemnly when he eased her back to her feet. Glancing at Tristan she raised a brow, silently asking for an introduction. She'd heard very little about Jordan and his wife, Rachel, from Tristan.

"Lillian, this is Jordan, Jason's younger brother and Zoë's best friend since college. Jordan, meet Lillian." Tristan stepped up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist, nestling her into his side. "Now can you two please let us actually get in the front door before attacking her? Jesus." He shook his head and squeezed her waist. "Ignore them, beautiful. They were wicked children and were forced to sleep in the woods as punishment. It messed with their heads."

"Tristan!" A very pregnant brunette appeared in the doorway, scowling at him. "Stop lying to her. She'll never come back. I'm Rachel, by the way," she added. "Jordan's wife."

"Nice to meet you," Lillian murmured politely.

Rachel's eyes flicked up and down Lillian's body in quick assessment, her green eyes lingering on the way Tristan tucked her protectively into his side, his hand splayed across her hip. "I see you've tamed the big, bad beast," she said with a smirk.

"Rachel," he warned.

"What?" She rolled her eyes at him, still smirking. "We both know it's true."

He muttered something under his breath but didn't dispute her claim. Zoë and Jordan both remained quiet, watching the back and forth as if they'd seen it a thousand times and still found it amusing.

Lillian snuggled a little deeper into Tristan, slipping her arm around his waist to make her allegiance clear. "I wasn't aware the beast needed taming," she said, her voice level.

Rachel's brow shot up.

"You simply have to be smart enough to know not to poke him with sticks," she continued, getting the distinct impression Rachel needled Tristan at every opportunity. She wasn't sure why that bothered her so much, but it did. He had enough to deal with.

Rachel's smile widened. "I like you."

"Good to know," she replied. "Are we done taunting Tristan now?"

"Yeah," Rachel laughed and held up her hands. "We're done."

"Come on," Tristan encouraged, tugging her toward the door.

"Are they always like this?" she asked under her breath.

"You'll get used to them," he promised, letting her go to close and lock the door once everyone trooped inside. He turned and pulled her into his arms as soon as the door latched behind them. His mouth trailed along her cheek to her ear. His teeth closed lightly over her skin. "I told you they'd like you," he breathed in her ear, causing little fires to spread throughout her body. "And I really, really don't want to share you tonight."

"Tristan," she whimpered, her head falling back to grant him access as he nipped her throat.

His tongue traced the path his mouth had just taken.

"Oh," she moaned quietly.

"You do know we're standing right here, right?" Jordan asked, laughing.

"Yeah," Zoë chimed in. "You've had her to yourself for weeks already, Tristan. Let her go so we can get to know her."

He grumbled against her neck as her cheeks heated in embarrassment. She'd forgotten they weren't alone. "If we ignore them, they'll go away," he whispered.

"Zoë, stop harassing your cousin," a masculine voice interrupted.

Lillian flicked her eyes in the man's direction, her eyes widening. He had to be close to fifty, but he was as good looking as Tristan and Zoë. He and Tristan shared the same olive skin, dark hair, and bright eyes. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, he put her at ease almost immediately, as if an aura of calm surrounded him.

Tristan reluctantly released her before turning to face his uncle. "John."

"Good to see you, son," John said before stepping forward and holding out a hand to Lillian. "And you must be Lillian. I'm John, Tristan's uncle. It's lovely to meet you."

"Hello, Dr. Angelo." She smiled politely and held out her hand. He clasped it in his. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you. And for the engraving as well. It's magnificent." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he released her. "Call me John, and please don't take the kids too seriously, Lillian. It's not often they're all together like this, and they tend to rile one another up when they are. You'll get used to it," he said as if it were a foregone conclusion that she'd be around long enough to get used to it. She found that oddly comforting.