Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (16 page)

She stared at him for a long, silent minute. A parade of emotion crossed her face, flickering too quickly for him to separate one from the next. "Tell me you don't need my help," she finally said, holding his gaze. "Tell me you want me to tell Jason I changed my mind, and I will."

"Would you?" He swallowed hard. "You'd walk away right now if I asked?"

"Yeah, I would."

"Why?"

Why did what he wanted matter so much to her?

"Because that would make it easier, wouldn't it?" She waved her hand around to indicate the two of them facing off in her foyer. "Being around you drives me crazy, and I'm not so sure it's any different for you. Walking away right now would be better than putting us through more of this same argument."

Well, that was true enough, wasn't it? Letting her go would be better than this… except he couldn't do it. He didn't really want to, even if that meant damning them both. Which he'd already done. So why fight it?

"I'm sorry," he said, apologizing for the things he couldn't put to words. "I wish I could tell you not to do this, but I can't. That probably makes me a complete prick, since you'd be safer if you'd said no, but I wanted you to agree."

"Why?" Her question barely carried across the foyer to him, but sounded no less probing for it. "Tell me that much, Tristan."

A thousand different answers flitted through his mind, a thousand different ways to tell her that she captivated him, drove him insane, and made him want to keep her safe. All true, but none nowhere near descriptive enough to answer her question. He chose to show her instead. No stopping, regretting, or doubting. Just, for once, quelling those doubts running through her pretty little head, and answering her questions, truth for truth. His and hers. Theirs. Why they were standing here, fighting each other so hard. Why he wanted to keep standing here fighting her in the days to come… and why she'd let him.

He waited until her questioning gaze sought him out, and then he made his move. Two steps and he stood in front of her, dragging her into his arms. Two sharp breaths, one from him and one from her – both full of relief, surprise, and desire – as soft met hard, and then his mouth covered hers.

She didn't fight him, question him, or tell him to stop.

Winding her arms around his neck, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth to him with a little sigh of surrender. Their hands slipped, slid, grasped, and tugged until they melted together. Sparks turned to electric, liquid flame as their tongues twined together – teasing, tasting, pressing, pulling, and stroking. Both frantic, desperate… needing more from the other. Both honest, quiet, and relieved. Both acknowledging that this was why. Why she'd said yes, and why he wouldn't ask her to change her mind now. Why they fought, why they drove one another crazy… why they both wanted to do this.

Tristan groaned into her mouth and tugged her closer, needing to feel her beautiful little body moving against his. She didn't disappoint. As he held her to him with one hand at her nape and the other on the small of her back, her breasts met his chest. She circled her hips with his, bringing her pussy close to the hard ridge of his cock in her search for friction and relief and him.

With her in his arms, it was easy to say what he hadn't earlier.

"Christ, beautiful, I want you. I wanted you to say yes, because I'm bastard enough to want to keep you here like this. You… fuck, I want
this
, Lillian." His mouth landed on hers.

"Tristan," she groaned, her body shuddering. "Please."

One word, one
please
, and all thoughts of stopping vanished, melting away as if they hadn't been there at all. For all he knew, they hadn't. They were just smoke and mirrors. Bullshit lines he fed himself because the truth scared him. He released her nape, his hand traveling down her back and onto her ass. He cupped, squeezed… and groaned again when she whispered another little plea into his mouth.

"Where's your bedroom, baby?" he demanded. Their tongues still danced with one another in an erotic promise. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and tugged with his teeth before pulling back and pressing his erection into her through her skirt. "I need you naked. Now."

Lillian froze as soon as the frantic confession left his mouth.

"No," she said, no longer pulling him close but pushing him away. "No, Tristan. Let me go."

"Shit." Heat gave way to ice in an instant.

His arms slipped from around her as soon as her feet were on the ground. She stumbled and then righted herself, one hand pressed to her mouth and her eyes wide and wary in her flushed face.

Tristan cursed at that look. "Lillian, I'm-"

"No." She shook her head, her hand still pressed to her swollen lips. Her expression hardened. "You don't get to kiss me like that, Tristan. You don't get to rile me up and then walk out. I won't-" She gulped, practically babbling. "You can't just…. Not again."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, looking down at her. "I'm not going to-"

"Not going to what?" Her eyes flashed, daring him to answer that question.

"I'm not-" He wanted to tell her he wouldn't walk away, but he wasn't so sure that was true. He wanted her, but he wouldn't fuck her when she'd only regret it, and she would regret it if he took her now. "It's not you," he told her instead, wishing he could take back the ill-advised words the moment they left his mouth.

Lillian flinched as if he'd struck her, her face paling beneath the flush in her cheeks. "Not me?" She laughed, the sound jagged and harsh, angry. "Right."

Way to go, you moron
, he cursed himself.

"I want you, Lillian. That hasn't changed." He blew out a breath, frustrated that he couldn't seem to think straight around her, let alone find words to explain why he kept walking away from her. "I just-"

"You want me, just not enough." Her wide, angry eyes met his, held for a moment, and then darted away. She ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching in snarls he'd helped cause. "Fine. What happens now?" The faint tremble in her voice screamed that he'd hurt her.

"I want you more than I did the first night," he said, ignoring her question. They weren't doing that shit, avoiding the issue until one or the other of them snapped. Christ, his blood still boiled. His mind was clouded by her scent, her taste. And yet again, she got it all wrong, assumed he didn't want her enough when the problem was that he wanted her too much. But he didn't want her to hate him, and he certainly didn't want her to regret what he'd do to her when she finally gave in to him.

"Do you trust me, Lillian?" he asked instead of trying to explain.

She took another shaky breath and then cursed and squared her shoulders. Her expression firmed into one of cool resolve. "No, I don't trust you. And I'm not sure I even like you."

He nodded once, refusing to give in to the little ripple of hurt threatening to shoot through him at her answer. It wasn't like he hadn't expected that truth. Hell, wasn't like he didn't deserve it, either. "I want you, Lillian. I want you against that fucking wall." He jerked his chin in the direction of the wall in question. "I want you bent over the table by the door. On the floor. In your bed. In mine. Across the street in the middle of the dance floor. Anywhere you'll let me and every way you'll let me." He looked at her, letting her see exactly how much he meant that.

She swallowed, her wide-eyed gaze darkening, held captive by his own.

He took a step toward her, reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sparks sizzled and popped where his skin met hers. He let his arm drop slowly, dragging his fingertips down her cheek and onto her neck before shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Pitching his voice low, he killed them both with words and one long, heated looked. "I want you panting, moaning, and screaming until you can't move, baby. But I'm not going to fuck you when you'd just regret it later. When I take you to bed – and I do mean when, Lillian, not if.
When
I take you, you're not going to regret sleeping with me. You're going to know
exactly
how much I want you, and you're going to beg for it."

He fucking meant that too. When she begged him, told him she believed him, he'd fuck her until she couldn't move and her voice went hoarse from screaming his name. For days, if she'd let him. But not until, even if keeping his hands to himself did kill him.

"No. I won't." She shook her head, almost as if trying to deny to herself that she'd give in to him. She would though. They both knew she would.

He chuckled at the outraged, excited look on her face. "You will, Lillian. You'll want it as badly as I do, and you'll beg for it, sweetheart." A wicked smile curved his lips upward as he imagined her spread beneath him, pleading for more. "Or maybe you won't." He forced himself to shrug. "Either way, I won't fuck you until you beg me to."

He waited for her response, waited for the inevitable explosion.

She didn't blow up though. Instead, she shocked the hell out of him by ignoring his little barb. "The case, Tristan," she said, arching a brow as if unaffected by him.

He wanted to gnash his teeth in frustration at that response. He wanted… something. A
fuck you,
a glare, a derisive laugh, for her to seduce him, slap him. But Lillian wasn't that simple. She challenged him by ignoring it altogether… and that made him want to wrap her legs around his waist all that much more.

If she didn't cave sooner rather than later, he wouldn't survive the coming weeks.

"You drive me insane, beautiful."

"Welcome to the club." She turned on her heel and limped further into the house, a breathless hitch in her voice. "You've been driving me crazy since I met you, and you know what's really messed up about it?"

"Hmm?"

"I said yes to Jason anyway."

Lillian wound her way through the living room, Tristan following behind her. He came to a dead stop in the center of the room, trying to take it in. She'd decorate the room simply, and he had a feeling it wasn't what she would have picked given a real choice. Aside from one deep chaise, the furniture was functional, and looked uncomfortable as hell. Pieces designed for ease of use rather than comfort. The tables beside the couch and chair were bracketed to the wall as if to help provide support. A collage of ballet photographs spread across the wall above the couch, Lillian's past screaming a warning at him.

Christ.

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, feeling like a bastard. If he hadn't known before how hard things were for her, standing in the middle of her living room illustrated the depth and breadth of her injuries in a painful, blatant way. She struggled just to make it through the day, and he planned to drag her into the middle of a war.

"Don't you dare, Tristan Riley," she whispered from across the room.

He popped his eyes open to find her glaring daggers at him, her back as straight as it'd been when she'd stormed away from him half an hour before. "Don't you feel sorry for me, or pity me, or
say
anything." She turned around and shuffled away without another word.

Pity her?

Tristan eyed the wall-to-wall shelves of books and DVDs, the uncomfortable looking furniture, the photographs spread across the wall, and saw nothing but her determination and persistence, and his own selfishness.

Following after her, he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen when he found her propped against the island, her head thrown back with her eyes fixed on the ceiling and the long line of her neck exposed. He fought the urge to put his lips to the pulse he knew raced there.

He didn't pity her, not even close.

"Most people who've been through what you've dealt with would have run screaming from
Teplo
and from me." He waited until she tilted her head forward to look at him before continuing. "They would have run and they wouldn't have looked back, but you didn't. You came back here after what I did, and you told me to go to hell."

"Still haven't changed my mind about that," she muttered.

Tristan ignored the little barb. "You had every reason in the world to tell Jason no today, but you didn't. You looked him in the eye and you told him that you'd do this. Even if you have to put up with me to do it, and even with that limp you try so hard to hide, you agreed to walk in there, knowing exactly what you risk by doing so. So no, Lillian, I don't pity you or feel sorry for you. I admire the hell out of you."

She swallowed hard, but didn't break eye contact. "You wouldn't do the same?"

"I'd rip your partner's balls off for hurting you," he answered, moving closer to her. "And then I'd tell me and Jason to fuck off for even asking for help after the things I said to you." He held her gaze, groaning aloud when her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wet the bottom before disappearing back into her lovely mouth.

He was so very fucked… and he wasn't stupid enough to try to pretend he wasn't.

Please, let her cave soon
, he pleaded to whichever God still listened to people like him.

"I, uh, still haven't ruled that out." Lillian took a hurried step away, though not quite fast enough to hide the shiver that raced through her when his arm grazed hers.