Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (25 page)

Lillian stood a good three feet from Tristan and the blonde before she realized she'd moved.

Her hands shook.

Her eyes burned.

How could she have been so stupid as to think for even a second that Tristan wanted anything more than a fling? Of course he didn't. She could barely remain on her feet most days. Why would he want anything significant from her?

She wished the ground would swallow her whole.

"You."

Lillian narrowed her eyes on the behemoth pointing at her from the doorway. The dilation drops were beginning to do their thing. Everything looked blurry, the bright light above the door seeming more like the sun than an ordinary bulb.

A beefy arm clamped down on her wrist.

"You're in," the guy said, pressing something into the back of her hand before letting it fall. The rope in front of the door disappeared, granting her access to the club.

Waves of music poured from the dark hallway awaiting her.

Lillian didn't hesitate before stepping forward, praying the loud music inside drowned out the humiliation coursing through her. Blood rushed in her ears. Her pulse pounded an angry rhythm inside her skull. She was overreacting, but she couldn't seem to block out the hurt and shame swarming her.

The worse part of the entire situation wasn't even that Tristan had wrapped his arms around the blonde and welcomed her kiss. Or that the woman looked like a model. Oh no. The most humiliating part was that some little voice in the back of Lillian's head had screamed "mine, mine, mine!" like a child the second the blonde touched him.

Ugh!

Tristan
wasn't
hers.

"Hey, gorgeous." A man appeared in front of her, blocking her path as she attempted to lose herself inside
Trinity
.

"Excuse me," she mumbled, not even looking up as she attempted to step around him.

"Aw, don't be like that, baby." He stayed with her, blocking her path. He smelled like beer and cheap cologne. A drunken frat boy.

Lovely.

"Excuse me," she tried again.

He stepped in front of her once more.

Why couldn't men ever take a hint?

"I said move, dammit!" she growled, snapping her gaze up to meet his. Her eyes watered so badly, she couldn't make out his face.

He immediately backed away from her though, his hands in the air. "Damn, no need to be a bitch."

"Whatever," she mumbled and hurried past him.

The hallway ended abruptly, widening into a massive room. Tristan's decision to bring her here, specifically, started to make sense. Multi-colored lights beamed across the club in rapid succession, casting the entire cavernous room into vibrant pulses of color. They blinked so fast at times, the crowd appeared to move in slow motion.

Lillian's eyes began to water in earnest, blinding her completely. She should have stopped right there, but she didn't. Stubborn determination and hurt kept her shuffling forward, away from the memory of the blonde kissing Tristan. They probably hadn't even noticed she'd left.

The further into the room she went, the worse her vision became. She inched forward, one tremulous step at time, terrified she'd trip over something and fall. By the time she put her hand on a low retaining wall around the dance floor, she couldn't see anything up close at all. When she glanced up, the lights made her head throb.

To her dismay, the music didn't help.

Some popular hip-hop song blared through the club, vibrating the floor beneath her feet and pounding in her chest. It hit her hard, her body screaming at her to move with the beat. After the day she'd had, she would have killed to dance out her frustration.

But she couldn't dance anymore, could she?

As always, the reminder slammed into her, almost knocking her breathless. Her heart raced. The air seemed squeezed from her lungs. Tears sprang to her already watery eyes.

She wasn't any more prepared for
Trinity
than she had been for
Teplo
.

Lillian stopped hobbling forward and started backing up, praying for an escape from the nausea engulfing her. Why had she even come in here alone? She knew better!

The music changed as she crept backwards, a new song pulsating just as hard as the last had. Harder even. The bass vibrated up from the floor in thumps that rattled the wall beneath the palm of her hand. For the thousandth time since Marc attacked her, she hated the way music touched her. She hated feeling such an overwhelming compulsion to dance out her emotions while being trapped in a body that no longer cooperated.

She tripped over something, and slammed into the wall.

"Watch where you're going!" someone snapped.

Someone else bumped into her. Stale smoke and alcohol rose in a cloud around her.

She cringed, pressing herself into the wall. Bricks tugged at the fibers of her halter top, clinging.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She gasped, sucking in air in big, hungry gulps.

"What a spaz," a woman laughed, her tone full of derision.

Lillian squeezed her eyes closed, trying to keep it together.

The music rattled in her chest harder.

She started to shake.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she breathed in through her mouth and out through her nose. Perfume clouded each breath. Cracks of laughter and shouted conversation floated around her, disembodied and far too close. Club-goers bumped into her, their arms skimming across her arms… the backs of her hands… her shoulders.

Her stomach churned.

Tears made silent tracks down her cheeks.

"Lillian!"

Her eyes flew open and landed on Tristan's hazy, familiar form stalking toward her.

"Tristan!" she nearly sobbed, relief blooming in her chest.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he demanded, reaching out to drag her toward him.

Up close, his face seemed even hazier. She tried to focus on him, searching for his eyes, but doing so made her feel worse. She took a deep breath in through her mouth, trying to fight back the nausea.

"Christ, Lillian. You scared the hell out of me."

The blonde popped into her mind again.

She leaned away from Tristan.

"Beautiful-" His tone changed, alarm creeping in. His hand came up towards her face in another distorted blur. "What happened? Why are you so upset? Did someone do something to you?" The last question came as little more than a menacing growl.

"N-nothing. Please, I want to g-go home." Even she heard the desperate tremor in her voice. Her stomach heaved. She jerked away from Tristan before he reached for her once more, scared she'd throw up on him. Refusing to look at him, she squeezed her eyes closed… trying to convince herself she had no reason to be upset. None at all.

He could kiss whoever he wanted.

He didn't owe her anything.

"Lillian-"

The music rattled in her chest, stronger than before.

"Please just take me home. I can't be here right now." She shook her head, fighting the pull of the music. The gravitational tug she felt toward Tristan. The painful ache in her chest. Even closed, her eyes still watered and burned. "It's too much."

"Okay," he said softly. "I'll take you home, sweetheart."

This time, she let him take her arm.

Chapter Eighteen

"Lillian, wait." Tristan reached out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to halt in the foyer when she tried to hurry by him without a word. She hadn't spoken since he'd promised to bring her home. Hadn't looked at him either. When he'd grabbed his phone to let Jayme know all was well, Lillian had fidgeted once. Tremors wracked her body every few minutes, but otherwise, she'd sat still beside him on the drive, seemingly deflated.

"How are your eyes?" he asked.

"Fine. Better now that I'm out of the lights." She exhaled, still avoiding his gaze.

"Good. It's been about an hour and a half since you put them in. The side effects should start wearing off soon."

"Okay." She nodded, still not looking at him, and tugged at his hold on her arm. "I'm going to bed."

"What happened, beautiful?" he asked, refusing to let her go that easily. She'd been on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when he'd found her, just like she had been when he first saw her at
Teplo
. He wanted – no, he
needed
– answers.

"Nothing. The lights were-"

"Why are you shutting me out?" he asked, frustrated when she didn't bother to finish her weak lie. They both knew it was bullshit anyway. He'd seen the terror in her expression. She hadn't been that scared because of the lights.

"I made a mistake. I shouldn't have gone in there by myself. I was…." She trailed off.

His frustration grew.

"You were what?"

"Just forget it, okay? It was stupid." She tugged on her arm again. "Let me go. I'm tired."

"Bullshit." He let go of her arm as requested, but placed himself in front of her, blocking her path. No way was he letting her walk away from him again, not after what she'd said before Jayme interrupted.

"Excuse me?" She actually looked at him this time, her dilated gaze meeting his for a brief moment before darting away. The pulse in her throat fluttered like a hummingbird's wings.

"You're not tired. You're running away." He crossed his arms over his chest, planting his feet. "I want to know why."

"I'm not running away, Tristan."

"No? You sure as hell aren't waiting around for anything either, are you? Just like you didn't wait for me out there. You just took off without a word. Christ, sweetheart, do you have any idea how badly that could have ended for you?"

"I think I've already made it clear that you aren't my keeper," she snapped, her posture stiffening as soon as the endearment passed his lips. "What I do or don't do is my choice, not yours."

Narrowing his eyes on her, he inhaled, trying to fight back the anger rising in a cloud. That's exactly what she wanted, and he wasn't playing that game this time. No fucking way did she get to storm out on this conversation like she had earlier. He was done with dancing around the subject and retreating into teasing comments and frustrated silence.

"You've lost your mind if you think you can take care of yourself in a place like that," he said. "You were on your own for half an hour, and you damn near had a panic attack."

"Like I said, you aren't my keeper," she muttered, stepping to the side in another attempt to slide around him.

He stepped with her, refusing to let her get away. "Then what am I to you, Lillian?" he asked, his voice soft. "Less than two hours ago, you said you didn't want to fight anymore, and now you do? You can't have it both ways."

"I don't want to fight," she answered, shifting like a nervous little rabbit trying to find a way to safety.

Yeah, fuck that.

"I'm not sleeping with Jayme Cordova."

She jerked, and he knew he'd hit on at least part of what had her acting so damned cagey. "That's none of my business," she muttered. "I don't care who you sleep with."

"No?"

She shook her head.

Tristan swore, his patience wearing thin. "You're a liar."

"What?"

"You're a liar," he repeated.

"And you aren't?" She laughed, disbelief stamped across her lovely face.

"Maybe, but I'm not the one running."

"Why shouldn't I?" she demanded. "I tried to talk to you, and look where it got me."

"You didn't give me a chance to say anything! You just fucking ran away."

"Right. And you would have said what, exactly, if she hadn't interrupted?" Lillian crossed her arms to glare at him with those dilated pupils.

Wasn't that the million dollar question?

He had no clue what he would have said to her. He wanted to tell her that things had changed for him the minute he saw her. That she mattered a whole hell of a lot more than she should, and he was really fucking tired of fighting with her. But he couldn't tell her that because she deserved better than anything he could give her, and he hated that. And yet… he'd been on the verge of telling her exactly that anyway.

She was his. He just didn't know what to do about it.

She took a step closer to him when he didn't answer, her eyes flashing. Her face flushed, a deep red blooming in her cheeks. This time, he was the one who retreated, backing away from her as if driven by the force of her anger.

"What would you have said?" she asked. "That you want me to beg so you don't have to feel bad about dragging me into this crap with you? That I'm a means to an end for you so you don't have to feel guilty if someone else dies because you messed up?"

"Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, staring at her. That she thought so little of him hurt, and yet he knew she was right, too. He'd been a prick. Why would she trust him? Why
should
she?

Jesus.

"I shouldn't have said that," she whispered after a moment.

"It's the truth though, isn't it?" He frowned, feeling sick. "No wonder you hate me."

"I don't hate you." She shook her head vehemently. "I've never hated you, Tristan."

"Maybe you should." He blew out a breath… raked his hands through his hair. Sighed. He wanted to hit something.

"I don't."

"You'd be better off if you did. At least then you wouldn't feel trapped into following through with this damn plan." He laughed again. "Hell, maybe that's what I deserve for getting you mixed up in this. For the Vetrov family to walk away and those murders to stay on my conscience. At least then everyone will know how much of a fuck-up I really am, right?"

Her shoulders slumped. "God, I'm sorry, Tristan. I didn't mean that."

They stood in silence for a long moment, the way her feet shuffled across the floor the only sound between them. He ached to wrap his arms around her – to wipe that horrified, regretful look off her face. But every time he touched her, anything he wanted to say to her went right out the window, forgotten by the way the feel of her skin beneath his palms made his heart race.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I really didn't mean any of that."

"Then talk to me, beautiful." He wasn't interested in her apologies but in the truth. In her letting him in before he really did go mad. "Why are you so angry with me?"

She hesitated and then straightened, her shoulders going back on a deep breath. "You keep telling me to let you in, but you won't give me the same thing in return. One minute you want me, and the next, you're being an ass. I don't know what you want from me, and I don't know how to deal with that."

Tristan struggled to come up with a response, but Lillian wasn't finished.

She bit her lip and inhaled deeply before continuing, "I don't want to stand here and argue with you anymore. Every time we get close to a real conversation, we end up fighting or you start in with that begging crap, and I am so tired of fighting with you, Tristan. It's exhausting."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, hanging his head. He didn't want to fight with her either, but he didn't know what to say any more than she did. "What do you want from me, sweetheart?"

She muttered wordlessly, shifting beside him. "I want you to say that I'm not the only one who feels so out of control. That I'm not seeing things between us where they don't exist. That you're tired of fighting what's between us, too. That I don't need to beg you. I don't know what I want you to say or do. I just want to know that I'm not in this alone. Not knowing what you want… I hate it. I hate it so much."

Ah, Christ.

She was killing him, one sad little word at a time.

"That you're not the only one who feels what, beautiful? The way my heart fucking aches when I look at you?" he asked when she fell silent, lifting his head to look at her. His heart responded to her immediately, aching just like he'd told her it did. "The way my skin crawls when I can't touch you? The way I can't shut my mind off because every fucking thought belongs to you these days? I had no right to touch you, but I dragged you into this bullshit because I couldn't stop myself, Lillian. I wanted you. I
still
want you. I want to possess you. I want you as fucking crazy as you make me. But I don't have that right, not after everything I said to you, and not after putting you in danger. Does knowing that make it better for you? Does that make it easier for you? It certainly doesn't for me."

He stepped up beside her, and ran his hand down her cheek. "I'm dying to be inside you, beautiful," he whispered. "You're all I think about anymore, but I'm not good for you and it kills me that I can't have you."

The rest of the fight went out of her right before his eyes. It drained from her entirely, leaving her eyes wide and watery and her arms wrapped around herself as if she tried to physically hold herself together. She looked so much smaller suddenly, so much more fragile than the woman who'd given him hell for the last few days.

"That's not your decision to make," she mouthed, nuzzling her cheek into the palm of his hand. "It's mine."

"No, it's not." He shook his head, his resolve wavering, slipping away as she looked up at him, pleading silently with those watery, dilated eyes for exactly what he wanted to give her. "You deserve more than anything I can offer you. Christ, beautiful, all I've done since the beginning is put you in danger. Is that really the kind of guy you want to give yourself to?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "I just want you. God, I want you so much I can't think straight when you touch me." A tear slipped down her cheek, wrecking him.

"Lillian, please don't-"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "But I can't do this anymore. I tried so hard to just take things between us as they came and I can't. It's been two days since you moved in, and I already feel insane. I just… can't. 
We
 can't. I don't know why you make me feel like this, but you do. I don't know what to do, Tristan, and I am so tired of trying to figure it out. I'm just done. I'll tell Jason that I changed my mind. I'll…." she trailed off, another tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry." She sounded so fucking devastated as she whispered that apology, like she was letting him down and regretted it more than anything.

His chest ached again.

"How do I make you feel, beautiful?" He swiped at her tears, hating that he'd made her cry. Hating that she'd reached her limit somewhere in that club and was ready to walk away now when she hadn't been earlier.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," he argued softly. "It matters to me."

She shook her head, trying to deny him that truth.

"Tell me, beautiful. Please."

Lillian sighed and gave in, her bottom lip trembling though she tried so hard to hide it. "You make me feel like I need you. Like not having you may kill me. Like… like you might consume me if I let you. Like I want to let you. I don't know." She shook her head, her frustration one he understood completely. "You scare me, Tristan. I'm not the woman who lets strangers practically screw her on the dance floor, but when you're around, I want to be that woman. That scares the shit out of me, and I don't know how to stop it. I don't 
want
 to stop it."

She felt it too, that consuming thirst. The clawing addiction and burning desperation. Knowing that, he couldn't just let go. He couldn't just let 
her
 go. Fuck. He was so fucked.

"I'll call him-" Once again, she sounded defeated, torn. Like she already regretted making that decision.

"No." Tristan shook his head, his decision made. It'd been made two weeks ago when he'd dragged her onto the dance floor. They both knew that, too. "Don't. I can't-" He curled his hand around her nape, dragging her closer when words failed. He shook his head, a frantic edge to his voice. "I don't want you to go."

She groaned, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Lillian…." Whatever he meant to say to keep her right there with him was lost to him the moment her body grazed his. Heat exploded between them, raging like an inferno. The breath left his lungs in a rush as relief at touching her eased every frustration and fear that'd run rampant through his mind when she'd vanished inside
Trinity
. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead to hers.