Moonlight Kin 4: Tristan (10 page)

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Isabel’s mouth opened then closed. “I don’t
know. I just couldn’t stop myself.”

That was the truth. Tristan didn’t need his
wolf to know it. “If you keep touching me like that, you’re going
to end up flat on your back in that bed,” he said.

Isabel yanked her hand back as if she’d been
burned.

Tristan told himself that he wasn’t
disappointed, but the damn ache in the middle of his chest told a
different story.

* * * * *

Izzy had managed to distract him—and herself.
She had no idea how long it would last. Tristan struck her as the
tenacious type. Why had she touched him?

Sure, when he wasn’t scowling, Tristan was
quite handsome in a god-like way. Not all women went for that type
of guy. She glanced at his bare chest and wide shoulders. Okay,
only someone blind wouldn’t notice all those muscles.

When he’d cornered her, she hadn’t been able
to see anything but his beautiful chest. With the heat pouring off
him and his muscles right in front of her face, she just couldn’t
resist.

Once she touched him, Izzy hadn’t been able
to pull her hand away. His skin was smooth like marble but hot to
the touch. When he’d trembled beneath her fingertips, she’d thought
she had imagined it. Izzy had touched him again to be sure.

The second time, he’d quivered and that rich
spicy aroma of his skin had increased. She’d actually grown dizzy.
Or maybe she’d just forgotten to breathe.

Izzy had gone on dates with good-looking men,
but none had anything on Tristan. He was in a category all his
own.

Tristan may not care for humans, but some
part of him was attracted to her. If Izzy had needed any more
proof, her doubts evaporated when she caught sight of the towel
around his waist. There was no denying the hard ridge of arousal
lifting the front of it.

It took every fiber of her being to tear her
gaze away, but not before she saw Tristan’s pained expression.
“I’ll give you some privacy to get dressed,” she said.

He nodded and waited for her to leave.

Izzy stepped out onto the front porch and
pressed a hand to her head. It had been so long since she’d touched
anyone in a sexual way.

Mindy thought she was wild and slept around,
but Izzy hadn’t done that since her late teens. Even then, it had
been out of rebellion and self-loathing.

Those days were long behind her, but that
didn’t mean she was dead inside. Even though she didn’t want to,
Izzy found herself responding to Tristan. Her physical reaction to
his nearness had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with
primal need.

How could you hate someone and want them at
the same time?

She didn’t know, but Izzy couldn’t deny the
truth any longer. She may not like Tristan, but part of her wanted
him. A part of her that she hadn’t allowed to surface for a long
time.

Izzy glanced at the closed screen door but
didn’t spot Tristan. She hoped they didn’t have to spend too much
time here. She had no idea what would happen if they did.

Scratch that. Izzy knew exactly what would
happen if they were trapped together for too long. It was the same
thing that almost happened a minute ago.

They might hate each other and themselves
afterwards, but they’d eventually give in to the physical
attraction simmering between them.

Izzy thought about the hard ridge under that
towel and felt her body moisten. He’d been so big and so
beautifully formed. Such a waste.

She closed her eyes and sent up a silent
prayer that Stone found her before she and Tristan did something
they’d both regret.

* * * * *

Tristan’s hands shook as he pulled on a shirt
and a pair of shorts. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to
taking her. He decided to back off from his line of questioning, at
least until he had himself together. Tristan walked into the small
kitchenette and opened the cupboard.

Cans of various items filled the shelves,
along with flour and everything else needed for baking. He pulled
items out and placed them on the small counter.

“What are you doing?” Isabel asked as she
came in from outside.

“Making an early dinner,” he said.

She frowned.

“What?” Tristan asked.

Isabel shrugged. “I just never imagined you
in a kitchen cooking.”

Tristan laughed. “Why? Because I’m a
guy?”

She came closer. “No, that’s not it. I just
thought...”

His brow arched. “Thought what?”

“That you’d become fuzzy and go out and catch
a rabbit or something,” she said.

He balked and went back to organizing the
gumbo ingredients to make sure he had everything he needed. “Would
you prefer to eat rabbit?”

His wolf rose in an instant, eager to get her
what she wanted. Shocked by its behavior, Tristan shoved the beast
back down.

Isabel leaned against the table. “No.”

Tristan went back to prepping. It bothered
him that she had such bad impressions of his kind, of him. Sure, he
hadn’t helped change her views, but given her experiences
throughout life, she should’ve known better.

He opened the refrigerator to find it fully
stocked like the cabinets. Tristan pulled out chicken, green
peppers, onions, and carrots, then found a cutting board. He made
quick work of dicing the chicken.

“Do you need any help?” Isabel asked.

Tristan glanced at her but kept cutting. She
thought he was such a wild beast that he’d simply shift into his
other form and go catch fresh meat. Why should he let her help?

Helping may loosen her tongue.

“Do you know how to make biscuits?” he
asked.

Isabel shook her head. “I’m not really much
of a cook,” she said.

“Check the drawers to see if there’s a
peeler. If you find one, then start in on the carrots,” he
said.

She did as he asked. A moment later, she
found a peeler and picked up the bundle of carrots. Isabel grabbed
a paper towel then went and sat at the table. There she peeled the
carrots.

Together they worked in silence until
everything was prepared, then Isabel stepped back as Tristan
browned the chicken in a pot. Once he finished, he tossed in the
diced onion, peppers, and carrots. He found chicken broth and Cajun
seasoning in the cupboard and added them to the mix.

“This needs to cook for a while,” he said.
“Thanks for your help.”

He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a
beer. “Want one?” he asked. Thanks to his fast metabolism, Tristan
couldn’t get drunk, but he did like the taste.

Izzy nodded. A beer sounded good.

Tristan grabbed another bottle and placed it
on the table in front of her. Before she touched it, he twisted off
the cap.

“Thanks,” she said. This whole thing struck
her as surreal, especially seeing him in a vintage rock T-shirt and
shorts.

Izzy had never imagined Tristan dressed so
casually or cooking anything. The act was so...so...
normal
.
It was another reminder of how little she knew about him. She
picked up the beer and tipped it into her mouth. It wasn’t her
beverage of choice, but at least it was cold and wet.

“Where did you learn how to cook?” she asked
when he took a seat across from her.

Tristan stared at her.

For a minute, Izzy didn’t think he was going
to answer.

He took a drink of his beer then set the
bottle down. “Mom taught me and my brother, when we were
young.”

Why she was surprised that he had a mom and a
brother, Izzy didn’t know. It wasn’t like monsters were hatched
from eggs. She guessed she’d never given their origins much
thought.

“How old is your brother?” she asked.

Tristan’s expression darkened. “Who were you
speaking with earlier, Isabel?”

The change in subject gave her mental
whiplash. If Tristan didn’t want to talk about his family, then he
shouldn’t have brought the subject up.

“I told you. I was talking to myself,” she
said and glanced away.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said. Before she
responded, he added, “I have to stir the gumbo.”

Izzy took another strong pull off her beer.
This time the taste didn’t burn as bad. She waited for Tristan to
return to the table, but he didn’t. Instead, he put the spoon down
next to the pot and walked out the front door.

She sighed. It was only late afternoon. There
was no way they were going to make it all night if they kept going
like this. Izzy pushed the chair back and followed him.

She shouldered screen door and stepped out
onto the porch. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Tristan didn’t look at her. “I’m making sure
our location hasn’t been compromised.”

Izzy tensed then forced herself to relax. “I
doubt anyone could find us here. Wherever here is,” she said.

His sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. “Not
without help anyway.”

She put her bottle down, so he wouldn’t see
her hands tremble. “Are you from around here?”

Tristan slowly pulled his gaze away from her
and went back to scanning the woods. “No, but I come here often
enough to be familiar with the area.”

“Pierre called you an Enforcer,” she said.
“What does that mean exactly?”

Tristan’s shoulders tensed. “I’m sort of like
a cop,” he said. “I hunt people who break the law.”

“Hunt?” she asked. “Like a bounty
hunter?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But there are no
bounties involved.”

“So you take them to jail?” she asked. Izzy
didn’t know werewolves had a prison.

This time Tristan did look at her, and he
slowly shook his head. “No jail.”

“Then what—” Izzy’s eyes widened. “You kill
them? All of them?”

“I am an Enforcer for my people. It is my job
to protect them from exposure and threats,” he said. “I am very
good at my job.”

He’d insinuated that he was going to kill the
Darkling, but Izzy hadn’t really believed him. Deep down she didn’t
want to because that would mean that the person she was attracted
to was a heartless killer.

“It sounds like you’re an assassin, not a
cop,” she said quietly. Please let her have misunderstood.

“There is not a distinction between the two
with the Moonlight Kin,” he said, then turned his back on her.

Tristan hated seeing that disappointed look
in her eyes. He’d never lied to Isabel about what he was. She’d
known from the start he hunted the Darkling. But seeing the
disbelief, the disillusionment, then eventual acceptance of the
truth shattered something inside him.

He wasn’t ashamed of what he did. His job was
important, even if she didn’t fully understand their ways. Tristan
stared at the woods, unseeing. He still smelled her, but her sweet,
delicious aroma had soured.

It’s for the best
, he told
himself.

Tristan surveyed the area one last time then
walked past her. He didn’t look at Isabel. He couldn’t. Tristan
didn’t need to in order to know what she thought. To her, he was,
and always would be, an uncaring, unfeeling monster.

* * * * *

They ate dinner in tense silence. The second
she finished her bowl, Isabel jumped to her feet. “I’m going to get
ready for bed.”

She took her bowl to the sink and rushed off
to the bathroom before Tristan could respond. A moment later, he
heard the shower come on.

Tristan finished his meal then walked into
the kitchen to clean up. As he washed the dishes and put the
leftover gumbo in the fridge, he heard splashing.

Despite his best efforts, Tristan couldn’t
help but picture Isabel standing naked under the spray. Her firm
breasts and supple thighs covered in water. Her wild blond hair
with purple highlights slicked back. Would her skin still hold the
warm musky scent that perfumed the air every time he drew near?

Tristan felt his body harden again. It had
been doing that a lot around her. He needed to figure out a way to
stop it, especially after their last conversation. Isabel would
never understand him or his people. She was too human.

Another sound came from the bathroom. His
ears perked. Was she singing?

Before he knew what he was doing, Tristan
moved closer to the bathroom door. He listened to the off-key
warbling and couldn’t help but smile.

Did Isabel always sing in the shower? He’d
like to think that she did. He pictured her using her hand as a
microphone as she wailed out the latest pop song. It
was...cute.

The singing stopped and the shower ended.
Tristan hurried back over to the sink. He wasn’t about to be caught
lurking outside the bathroom door. Even he knew that was creepy. He
went back to cleaning the last of the dishes.

Five minutes later, the bathroom door opened
and a cloud of steam came out. Isabel followed, wearing nothing but
a long T-shirt. The shirt left her firm thighs and pink painted
toes visible. It also left little to his already strained
imagination. As he watched, her nipples crinkled. He could see the
rosy outline through the front of her white shirt.

He’d been right when he’d guessed that the
baggy clothes she wore hid some serious curves. Isabel was built
like a wet dream. She was soft where she needed to be soft and full
where it counted.

The plate in his hand cracked under the force
of his grip. “You aren’t going to wear that, are you?”

Isabel glanced down at the front of her
shirt, then back at him. “Everything is covered.”

Not everything. Not nearly enough.

“Don’t you have sweats or something you can
put on?” he asked.

She put her hand on her hip, which only
emphasized her trim waist. “Don’t know if you noticed, but there’s
no air-conditioning here. It’s too hot to wear sweats,” she said.
“If you don’t like what I’m wearing, you don’t have to look.”