Tristan smiled. I felt it all the way to my toes, almost looked away, but tried to hold his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
“Well, at least I know you won’t seduce me!” I opened the door and slammed it behind me then adjusted my dress, only to feel Tristan’s hands on my hips and his lips on my ear.
“I don’t believe I ever made that promise.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Come on,” I pleaded from the hospital bed. “It will make me feel better.”
“But it’s wrong.” She shook her head. “Tay, that’s so wrong. Why would I do that? To anyone!”
“I’m bored,” I huffed.
She hesitated, and I used that hesitation like a pro. I knew she would cave; she’d do my bidding. Eventually she nodded, and I told her the details of who the target was and how she was going to shame him — the video would go viral like my videos usually did, and I’d once again have the upper hand. I controlled her, and I needed her to remember that even though she weakened me, I still had control. And she was mine. Forever. She was mine. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
THE LIGHTS TURNED on automatically once we entered the house. It felt weird, bringing a woman home, since I typically didn’t do that type of thing — too afraid of the scandal it would cost the family. I’d always dated women my family approved of, women who ran in the same circles and knew how important image was. If we met, we met at hotels owned by my father. If we were going to the same room, I had a drink in the lobby while she took the elevator. Ten minutes later I’d follow, and we’d repeat a similar process the next time. My security tailed anyone suspicious, and it was an enjoyable time for everyone.
Nothing scandalous. Nothing improper. And less-than-stellar sex. After all, what’s so scandalous and arousing about planned sex and meetings? About hooking up with a woman I’d known since childhood?
Speaking of, I glanced down at my phone and grimaced. Seven missed calls. She could wait; he could wait; they could all wait. They knew I was taking a break, and that meant from everything, them included. I’d done my family duty by attending the benefit, and now… now I was going to try to pretend I didn’t have one of the sexiest women alive alone in my house.
“Wow.” Lisa performed a slow pirouette. “You have four floors?”
I nodded. “A view from each room.”
“Gabe would love this place.” She sighed out loud then ran her hand across the granite countertop leading into the kitchen. “He has a thing about houses.”
“I know.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Ever since the death of his fiancée and her obsession with living in Seattle.”
Lisa’s face froze, her fingers tapping against the counter. “How long have you known Gabe?” Her shoulders were tense.
“Not long,” I said quickly. “I’ve known Wes, however, my entire life.”
She turned and smiled weakly. “So that makes you safe?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “Probably not the safe you’re thinking about.” I circled around her. “Safe from any sort of harm? Absolutely. But safe? What is safety?” I grinned innocently. “And do you truly want to be safe all the time, or only in certain circumstances, ones where you know you don’t have the upper hand?”
“You’re a little too philosophical for my tastes.”
The light still wasn’t in her eyes. I felt like I needed to fix it, fix her, fix what had happened between us, even though I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’d told her she wasn’t mine, not my type of beautiful. Because I knew, damn but I knew, she’d been his. And taking her? Truly taking her? Right now? Seemed wrong. It was wrong. And suddenly I wasn’t okay with the plan I’d put into place. If I could go back in time and talk to myself, I’d probably shake some sense into the old me and get over it, maybe call her and ask her what happened, but I sure as hell
wouldn’t have hidden my identity, stalked her like a total freak, and then seduced her out of her mind.
Then again, that last part was a total accident.
One I wanted to repeat the more I was around her.
“Are you tired?” I exhaled and went over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, then followed it with cups from the cabinet. In my experience, women were more emotional if they were hungry or thirsty. I filled both cups with orange juice, slid one over to her, then put the carton back in the fridge. I pulled out some cut up grapes and apples and a few slices of gouda cheese.
When I had everything arranged the way I wanted, I moved the plate toward the middle of the breakfast bar and looked up, offering it to her with one raised eyebrow.
Lisa was watching me, her blue eyes flashing with amusement. “Do you label your underwear, too, or just the food containers?”
Heat blasted into my cheeks as I looked down at the container with cheese printed on the front, and the next that read grapes. With a chuckle and shake of my head, I scooted them away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Oh, I would. I’m seriously curious now. A bit OCD, are we?”