Before she chased after him, she hurried downstairs to her desk. Music. She needed music. Anything to drown out the voice in her head.
She brought up a Christmas music station online and turned up the volume. Carols would put her in the right frame of mind.
Focus on something else.
Christmas. That worked.
They still needed to get a tree for the office. They’d been so incredibly busy for the last few months that none of them had even had a chance to think of decorating, though that was usually Matt’s job anyway. He got a kick out of stringing garland all over the place and putting up gel clings of angels and snowflakes in the windows. She and Tris always teased him it was obvious he’d missed out on the design gene completely, because anyone with an artistic eye would reject that stuff on sight.
Last Christmas she’d been seeing Gary. So that was around when this had started between them.
Deep in the heart of winter, they’d turned to each other. One night Matt had just reached for Tristan’s zipper and said what the hell and gone to town.
Here, probably. In this very office.
Which of them had taken the other’s cock in his mouth that first night? All that hard, needy flesh, just begging to be licked and stroked. Deep throated. Swallowed.
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against her monitor, unable to erase the pictures forming behind her eyes. God, she was losing it. In a minute, she’d spontaneously orgasm, and then she’d be incapable of denying the truth.
Tristan and Matt being lovers fascinated her.
She wanted to watch them. Wanted to be a part of them.
“Normally you leave fingerprints on the monitor. Now forehead prints? Cripes, Caity, that machine cost over two grand.”
She jolted backward at Tristan’s irritated voice. He stood in the kitchenette, wearing a crisp white Oxford shirt and black dress pants. Though it was still a little wet, his dark hair skimmed his shoulders in perfect waves. As rugged as Matt’s looks were, Tristan’s were classic. He looked like a movie star between takes, with just enough edge to make things interesting. More edge than she’d ever guessed. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a rough lover, but last night had proven her wrong on a lot of scores.
Forest green eyes met hers, then glanced pointedly at the floor. “Who broke your mug?” he asked, his tone immediately softening. “Aww, honey, I’m sorry.”
All at once, the previous evening rushed back, and she hurried into the kitchen.
Wile E. Coyote’s head lay in fat pieces on the hardwood floor. She stared as Tris cleaned up the mess. He swore colorfully while he did it, but he didn’t hesitate.
Her sweet, unselfish friend.
Okay, that wasn’t true. He could often be selfish. But he wasn’t with her.
Never with her.
“Tris,” she whispered, crouching to brush her hand over his hair. Just one quick, illicit touch.
He turned his head, his gorgeous eyes radiating compassion. “I know that was your favorite. I’ll buy you a new one. Where’d you get it again?”
“A shop in California.”
“Oh. Well, they must have a website, right?”
She didn’t think. Her brain threw up a “currently on vacation” sign, and she was left with pure instinct. That instinct made her slide her palm over Tristan’s jaw, still damp from his morning shave, and pull him closer until his eyes were level with hers.
“I want to kiss you,” she murmured, shocked to hear the truth fall from her lips.
Surprise registered on his face, but not only surprise. Anticipation. Desire. Another amazing trio.
“Do you usually ask?”
She stroked his cheek, her gaze darting between the path of her fingers and his soft, expectant mouth. “When it’s you, yeah,” she said, drawing her hand away when all she wanted to do was hold on.
He dropped the paper towels on the floor and shifted to frame her face in his hands. Hands she’d envisioned on her body so many times.