Reason demanded he argue. Tristan always argued. Just because Matt directed everything behind the scenes at TD didn’t mean he knew jack about dealing with women outside of the bedroom. His many failed relationships proved that.
But then again, so did Tristan’s. And he was desperate.
He’d finally tasted Caity. How was he supposed to forget that?
Tristan closed his eyes and blew out a breath. When he opened them again, Matthew’s gaze was still fixed on his. “Tell me the plan.”
Chapter 4
He was a genius. And his quarry was signed, sealed, and delivered.
Well, she wasn’t signed, sealed, and delivered yet. But she would be within the next ninety minutes, all listening gods of sex willing.
Matthew snapped the black leather gloves in place and peered out the frosty windshield at Mercer Salon. Somewhere inside, Cait was getting prettified, though why she bothered he didn’t know. She was already gorgeous. Maybe she’d gotten a manicure or pedicure to go with her new hairdo. He was never sure what exactly went on in women’s salons. Regardless, soon she’d be coming outside to walk the two blocks back to their office.
And he’d be waiting.
Tristan had needed a lot of convincing to go along with this plan, and that had been the sanitized version. Matt had said he’d “get” Cait up to his cabin, but he hadn’t specified how. If he had, Tristan would’ve said no way and likely knocked him unconscious to boot.
A smile tipped up Matt's mouth as he eyed the salon. It was a risky move, granted. Bold. Possibly primed to fail. But at least they were doing something. For too long they’d sat around pining, and for what? They needed to proceed to the next step. Fast.
For the past week, since Cait had discovered Matt and Tris in bed, she’d avoided them both. Other than the heated convo with him in his bedroom and that kiss with Tris the morning after, she’d steered clear of them entirely. Making his move before their relationship fractured any more was the only logical decision.
In a perfect world, the three of them would’ve been able to talk this out in a calm, rational fashion, but Cait and Tris weren’t prone to being calm. And he loved them both without reservation, so what the hell did that say about him?
Love made most men into fools. That one of the people he loved was another guy didn’t mitigate that fact in the slightest.
Besides, he knew he was doing the right thing. The only thing. Despite her apparent horror at the suggestion, Cait would come around. And when she did, she’d already be naked and preferably bound, a very good thing for all of them.
She’d told him about her recurring dream of being kidnapped and tied up more than once, always ascribing it to watching too many pirate movies with damsels in distress. But he suspected there was more to it. He’d seen the heat in her eyes and heard the undercurrent in her voice when she'd described those dreams, though she'd been careful to leave out any sexual details. That was all right by him. They’d fill in their own sexual details tonight.
Even if Tris had known about her dreams—hell, they were damn near fantasies with as often as she’d had them—he still would have balked at doing this. For an instant, maybe more, Cait would be afraid. There could be no avoiding that. And that instant, even if it soon turned to arousal, would be more than Tristan could stand.
Matt took the broader view. True, she’d be scared, but briefly. If he was right, that would only make the edge of desire that followed that much sweeter.
If he wasn’t, she’d help Tris lop off his nuts.
Matt climbed down from his truck and pulled up his hooded sweatshirt. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and blew out an impatient breath as he headed toward the back of the SUV. A mixture of nerves and excitement fueled his pacing, but he tried not to attract any attention or make much noise. There weren’t many people around at dinnertime on a Friday night the week before Christmas. Most people tended to congregate in the shopping district. Mercer Street offered mostly offices with the occasional salon and eye-care place thrown in.
Quite fortuitous that the salon had an alley next to it. Another bit of luck was that the snow showers predicted in the mountains overnight hadn't shifted down this way. Not that he minded the snow, but the road up to the cabin could be treacherous when the temperature dipped below freezing. He had precious cargo to de
liver.
Precious, probably wiggling, screaming cargo. That was where the blindfold and gag came in.
Yeah, the probability she’d hate him was high. But the higher the odds, the more worthwhile the rewards. That was true in both business and life.
Cait, he suspected, would take worthwhile to a whole new level.
A few minutes later, she emerged from the salon, her long golden hair shimmering in the beam of light spilling out from inside. His blood humming, he watched her lift her face to the gently falling snow—his luck had broken there—and lick the flakes off her lips. Smiling, she took her first step toward the alley. He waited until she’d walked past the SUV and then sprang, grabbing her neatly around the waist with one arm while he used his other hand to cover her mouth.
“Don’t fight. You’re safe. I won't hurt you.” He repeated the phrases against her ear as she clawed and kicked and…bit. “Jesus,” he ground out, not letting her go in spite of his burning palm. She’d ruined his glove. Worth it, but still.
“Dammit, Cait, it’s me,” he muttered when she continued to struggle like a wild thing in his arms. So much for trying to add a little mystery. The scenario hadn’t quite accounted for her stark-raving terror. Which he might have underestimated. Significantly. “It’s Matt, Cait. Your best friend?” Used to be anyway. “Stop it, Cait,” he panted, turning her around and pinning her against his SUV when a woman hurried past them, her attention centered on the ground.
Cait stared at him, her eyes huge and dark in her starkly pale face. Tears squeezed between her lashes and tracked down her cheeks, shattering his heart in two.
Christ, what had he done?