Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (12 page)

"Capable?" His brows furrowed.

"Swords, guns, nunchucks." She shook her head, her expression rueful. "Sometimes, I have trouble remembering that you're only twenty-nine. You're so skilled at so many things. It can be intimidating."

Well, what was he supposed to say to that? Most days, he felt decades older than he was. Only with her did he feel unburdened, younger than his experiences had made him.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"A while," he answered, looking away from her. He wasn't honestly sure how to answer the question. He'd always been interested in martial arts, but he'd only started learning after his parents died. He'd required an outlet for the way he felt, and martial arts had helped him work through the rage that had nearly torn him apart. Learning jujitsu and the Taiji Jian and Krav had giving him clarity and a small measure of peace when he'd needed it most. Even now, when he wanted to focus, he found himself turning to the forms he'd learned so long ago. Most days, he fought hard for every moment of silence with blood, sweat, and pure fucking desperation.

"Ah," she murmured, as if she'd guessed exactly what "a while" meant. She squeezed his fingers before stepping further into the room to examine a photograph of Jason, Zoë, John, and Katherine sitting on top of the bar. "Where was this taken?"

"Great Rocks. They were hiking."

"Oh." She peered at him, frowning. "You didn't go?"

He shook his head. "I was working a case." One not much different than the Vetrov case. Except instead of a nightclub, he'd been working the party scene after a bunch of rich kids began overdosing on meth brought in through a DJ with the help of a local gang.

The DJ was still in prison.

Tristan had helped put him there while the rest of his family hiked.

Lillian sighed and moved on without saying anything. He noticed the growing furrow between her brows though. He ached to reach out and trace it with a finger, to smooth it away and assure her that all the things he'd missed out on hadn't been a big deal. But he didn't want to lie to her, so he kept his silence, allowing her to prowl through the house and ask her questions.

She didn't ask many, but each question she did voice peeled away another later. The significant glances and little hums speared through him. So did the way she so easily picked out the items that meant the most to him. Without him saying a word, she went right to them, asking about the swords, the pictures…every item he'd placed here for safe keeping, she stopped in front of and asked a question.

He wanted to ask how she did that, how she knew which were important and which were simply there, but he didn't think she had an answer for him. She just knew him. From the very beginning, she'd been able to see through him, calling him out even when he tried to keep her at a distance. She shredded his armor without even trying. And God, he fucking
loved
knowing that he mattered to her enough for her to want to peel away those layers until she saw him. Not the person he pretended to be, but the man beneath.

As she wandered throughout the house, he realized that she had already peeled away more of those layers than he'd realized. Despite having shut her down time and again, she'd still managed to see more of him than anyone else ever had. And not only the things he'd willingly shared, but those he'd kept hidden away, scared to reveal to her. That realization gave him hope that voicing the shit he never talked about wouldn't be so awful. She'd make it hurt less. Hell, she had
already
made it hurt less.

"You should stay here more," she said as they made their way into the living room. She stopped in front of his guitar, and reached out to run a hand along the strings until they hummed beneath her fingers.

"I should," he agreed, wondering what she was thinking.

She didn't say anything else, merely ran her fingers over the strings of the guitar once more. He watched her, loving the way she fit here. He'd never brought a woman here before, had never wanted to share his private space with one, but with Lillian? Seeing her in his house sent that same twisting sensation through his chest. It was love, longing, hope…a mix of all three, he was coming to realize.

If his heart weren't already hers, he would have given it to her willingly for that, but she already had it. She had since the very beginning. And that no longer terrified him. He
could
love her like she deserved, like he wanted to, without getting her hurt.

Somehow, he would.

Chapter Eight

Lillian stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the penthouse, staring out into the night. The lights of Seattle reflected back at her like thousands of twinkling stars tossed at random into the obscuring dark, softening it. The resulting shimmer did nothing to calm the wild, wide-eyed look on her face. Fear lurked in her gaze as she scanned the city below, looking for something to ease her mind. Peace. Faith. A little bit of hope.

She wasn't sure what she sought, really.

In less than twenty-four hours, she was going inside
Teplo
without Tristan. Her skin crawled at the thought of walking through those doors without him by her side, but she wouldn't back out now. She couldn't. She
had
to do this, especially now that she knew for sure he'd be going for the lab when they raided.

A thousand frightening scenarios ran through her mind on a loop.

What if Jason's team didn't sweep everyone up before he went in?

What if something went wrong in the lab when he got in there?

What if, what if, what if
.

He kept ensuring her that he would be fine. In the hour and a half it had taken him and Jason to come up with a solid plan of action, "I'll be okay, beautiful," seemed to have become his mantra. He'd said it so often, trying to reassure her, that she'd memorized the cadence of his voice speaking those soft words. It hadn't really helped. Neither had the same assurance when he'd whispered it into her hair before going to shower.

She wanted to believe him, but somewhere between exploring his home and arriving back at the penthouse, the uneasy voice in the back of her mind had grown louder and more disquieted. Seeing the parts of his life he had hidden away in the cottage made her want to cry. He was so incredible, and he didn't even realize it. He'd shut himself away from everyone, even keeping the mementos he cherished the most locked up far away from him. He punished himself by withholding the things he cared about and the people who made him vulnerable.

She had a feeling he'd been that way since his parents died, and that broke her heart. The tenuous, unguarded look she'd seen on his face as she explored his home had wrecked her. So had the flicker of hope burning in the depth of his blue eyes. He wanted so badly to reclaim the parts of his life he'd denied himself for so long.

Lillian was terrified something would happen to keep him from it. Something would go wrong, and Tristan would be trapped in the same hell he'd been in since he was a teenaged boy. He deserved peace and happiness, perhaps more than anyone. She could not express how much she did not want to be responsible for ruining that chance for him. During the drive back to the penthouse, the fear that she would do exactly that had grown exponentially.

Peace became more and more elusive the longer she waited for him to emerge from the shower. Resting her forehead on the cool glass, she admitted to herself how much she needed him. Being wrapped in his arms was the only thing that could keep her from falling apart. She doubted that would ever change, and that was okay with her, even if it did feel a little strange. Had anyone told her a month ago that she would be here now, so far in love she didn't ever want to find her way out, she wouldn't have believed them. But here she was. And truthfully, she couldn't really even pinpoint precisely when or where she'd fallen so hard for him he'd become vital to her.

He was the strength and safety that had been so fleeting since Marc attacked her on stage. For so long, she'd been afraid. Terrified that the few pieces of her former life she still clung to would be ripped away, and she'd end up as alone as she'd felt since that night. He hadn't simply destroyed her career. He'd destroyed
her
. He'd taken her sense of self, and left her cowering in Oregon.

Those she'd thought were her friends had shown their true colors and abandoned her, all save Jennie and Tony. The Company had distanced themselves long before she'd been discharged from the hospital. They hadn't wanted the scandal she had suddenly become because of
him
. The endorsements vanished in a puff of smoke, with lawyers acting as if she should have been grateful they were merely releasing her from her contracts instead of suing her for a breach she hadn't caused.

And then she'd been alone, unable to dance to the music calling to her. Unable to defend herself against the lies they spread about her, and the pain those lies brought her. Trapped in a body as unfamiliar to her as everything else had suddenly become. She'd been desperate when she walked into
Teplo
, dying to find even a little piece of the person she used to be. She'd wanted to prove that she wasn't the pathetic thing they'd tried to turn her into, but someone stronger, braver, and more powerful. She didn't want to be broken anymore.

But she had been.

Until Tristan swooped in to claim her.

He had been breaking down her walls since the first time he touched her, wriggling his way into her heart like he belonged there. It'd been only a matter of time before every defense she had against him ruptured and she fell. And dear God, had she fallen. A few short weeks had changed so much, sweeping her along in a whirlwind. And she'd do it all over in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, question, or reservation.

She would never perform again. Because of Tristan, that truth no longer shattered her heart. He'd shown her that there was life after ballet. There was passion and love and hope and so many things she'd thought were forever beyond her reach. They weren't. Not any longer. And if something happened to jeopardize that, to take Tristan away, she wouldn't survive.

"Hey," he murmured, his fingertips brushing across her shoulder.

She jumped, lifting her head and catching his reflection in the window. His hair was a damp riot on his head, standing up every which way. His jaw was scruffy where he'd forgone shaving. She swallowed as her eyes traveled down his body, taking in his bare torso, the dark sweats resting low on his hips, and his bare feet.

God, he was gorgeous, all soft, olive skin over hard, defined muscle. Her fingers twitched on the glass with the compulsive urge to reach out and trace the contours of his abs and the V right below. He was hard everywhere, a perfect representation of male strength.

"Hi," she said. Even through the window, the heat burning in his blue eyes captured her gaze, holding her hostage. His expression was so gentle, and so hungry. So much emotion roiled in his eyes, it took her breath away. She didn't know if he would ever say the words, if he could ever love her like she loved him, but the look in his eyes made it clear that he belonged to her as thoroughly as she belonged to him.

He stepped closer, the heat of his body beckoning to her. She leaned into him, her body melting into the strength and security he offered. His hand slipped down her shoulder to encircle her waist. He dipped his head to press a soft kiss to the side of her neck, never once breaking eye contact in the glass.

"I missed you," she said.

"You could have joined me." He slid his other arm around her body to rub soft circles across her stomach.

His touch made her ache to shed her clothing and feel his hands upon her bare skin. She relaxed further into his embrace as desire unfurled low in her belly. "I needed a minute," she said, turning her head to brush her lips across his jaw. Instantly, they warmed, heated by the feel of his skin beneath them. She always felt that way with him. Even when he couldn't quiet the storm entirely, he took away the chill it left behind, replacing the icy cold with aching, driving desire.

His expression morphed into one full of worry as she watched his reflection.

"What's wrong, beautiful?" he whispered the question against her ear, sending another wave of warmth rushing through her.

She bit her lip, knowing they had to have this conversation before anything else happened between them tonight. "If I ask you a question, will you be honest with me?"

"Always," he promised, hugging her a little tighter.

She turned herself in his arms until they were chest to chest. His eyes were so captivating this close. How had she ever been unable to read him? Right then, she could read his every raw emotion in those eyes. Worry, desire, fear, self-doubt…adoration.

"Why?" she asked.

He sighed as if he'd expected the question and knew exactly what she meant, his breath fanning across her face. "What do you see when you close your eyes?"

"What?"

"What do you see when you close your eyes?" he repeated, lifting a hand from her waist to gently close her eyes for her. "Tell me," he encouraged when she stood there, not speaking.

"I see dancing," she answered, not sure what he wanted her to say. "Some I've seen, some I've performed." Before him, she'd seen the night it all came crashing down, too. It had replayed over and over in her nightmares, never changing.

"What else?"

"You."

His lips pressed briefly to her forehead as if in gratitude for that answer before he pulled back, letting her go. She opened her eyes to find him staring out the window, his hands in loose fists at his side, his head bowed.

"When I close my eyes, I see death, Lillian. I see my parents and the bullet holes and blood in my father's SUV. I see Elizabeth James and Emma Buford and every single person I've ever visited in a morgue. I see the film of death covering their eyes, and their gray, lifeless skin." He sounded so sad, so defeated. "I remember everything about them; their names, ages, where they were killed, how they were killed, and how it could have been prevented—how
I
could have prevented it. I know the names of their children if they had children." He raked a hand through his hair before lifting his head, his gaze so somber and mournful. "It's not something I can forget. And every time someone else dies on one of my cases, the list of people I see grows. When I close my eyes at night, I see them. At random moments during the day, I see them. For years, I've seen them."

"Oh, Tristan," she breathed sadly, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of what that had to be like for him. He cared
so
much. To see those people every day, to feel responsible for so much death and destruction…she could not even imagine what that had to be like for him.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on as tight as she could. He stood tense for several seconds before his body relaxed and he wrapped his arms around her, holding on to her as tightly as she held him. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear. She was certain her own was cracking, fracturing apart for him.

"I'm so sorry," she said.

"Me too, beautiful, but the thing is…" He trailed off, his entire body moving as he expelled a pent up breath. "The thing is, it's always been that way for me. I got used to it. I accepted it. I dealt with it. Hell, I sought those details out." He laughed humorlessly, making her cringe. That's what he'd been doing at the morgue last night, burning Emma Buford's death into his subconscious.

"And then there was you," he whispered.

"Me?"

"You." A small smile ghosted across his lips when she gaped at him. "When you touch me, it all flies away. My mind is quiet." Wonder filled his eyes, giving him a faraway look, like a little boy who'd just won his heart's desire. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "Even the worst of the memories disappear when you're near me."

"It's the same for me," she confessed, oddly grateful that they were matched tit for tat in this way as well. That's how it always was with them, she was quickly coming to realize. Her inner scars were comparable his. His fears were the same as hers. Maybe it came about in different ways, through different means for each of them, but they fit together like interlocking puzzle pieces displaying parts of the same scene. You couldn't see the entire picture looking at one piece, but when you put them together you knew instantly what sat before you. And you knew those pieces belonged together, even if you couldn't see it when looking at them individually.

"I thought so," he murmured and gave her another small smile. "You were made for me, Lillian. And being with you made me realize that life doesn't have to be so fucking hard anymore," he continued, rubbing distracted circles on her back where his hands were looped together around her waist. "I don't
want
to see an endless parade of victims anymore. I don't
want
to keep punishing myself for what happened to my parents. When I'm with you, all I see is
you
. And I want that. I want a future and happiness. You give me…" he trailed off, searching for words.

"Hope," she finished for him, knowing exactly what he struggled to say.

"Hope," he agreed and leaned forward to kiss her. His lips were gentle on hers, warm and giving and so good. Always, his kisses were perfection. "I want that," he continued when he pulled back to meet her gaze, slightly breathless. "I want you and peace and dinners with my aunt and uncle and stupid arguments with Zo and Rachel, or target practice with Jordan. I've done this shit for so long because torturing myself with memories of people I couldn't save is what I felt like I deserved. But last night–"

"Last night?" she prompted when he fell silent without finishing the thought.