Chapter 9
nine
“ E ver,” Tristan’s soothing voice enticed. “Ever,” he murmured again when I didn’t respond.
My fingers pressed into the firm muscles of his back as a shudder rocked through me. I was afraid to speak, the images still too fresh and raw in my head. I needed another few moments in the protective shield of his arms.
Inhaling, I drew in more than air and his sinful scent. His strength gave me courage. The steadfastness of his arms held me up when I wanted to crumble. I wasn’t ready to let either go.
“You’re all right,” he assured, his warm voice chasing the chill that had imprisoned my body as his fingers ran gently up and down my spine. “I got you.”
And he did.
Which made no sense...and yet made perfect sense at the same time at least to my body.
He didn’t say things like it was just a nightmare or it wasn’t real because Tristan knew damn well what haunted my dreams. And it had been very real that night six months ago.
“Tristan,” I whispered, the horrors in my dreams slowly receding. Part of my brain couldn’t fathom he was in my bed holding me.
It had been weeks since I had a proper nightmare of that night. They never really went away, but the vivid memories were less frequent now. I hated the fear that gripped me, clawing inside me like a terrorized beast trying to get out. I thought I had conquered the nightmares, but every now and then, when I felt vulnerable or overly emotional, my defenses dropped, and the memories slipped in like an unwanted, dark ghost.
My face buried into Tristan’s neck. I didn’t want to move because, the moment I did, his arms would drop away, and I’d lose his safety and warmth. I wasn’t ready to be alone—to let go of this feeling.
Tristan kept me in his arms, not saying anything until my breathing evened out. It was as if he’d done this before.
Hadn’t he?
Another time. Another place.
I barely remembered the days—weeks —after that night.
Another minute passed, and my common sense came back along with a dose of shame. Pulling my head back, I blinked at a shirtless Tristan. Making the mistake of glancing over him, I bit my lower lip. How the fuck did I find myself alone in a bed with Tristan again ? At least he was wearing shorts this time and wasn’t naked. “What are you doing in here? In my room?” My voice came out sharper than intended, and I blamed his damn abs.
He tilted his head to the side, a dark strand of hair falling across his forehead. “I heard you crying.”
My cheeks and ears burned. Thank God, it was dark. I didn’t want him to see my embarrassment, not that Tristan hadn’t heard me cry before. He’d seen me at my worst, the lowest point in my life. But it had been Tristan, and I hadn’t cared then. I certainly shouldn’t give a shit now what Tristan thought of me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologized. Had I woken anyone else in the house?
There were six rooms total in Thorn Hall, meaning three other people could have potentially heard my whimpers. Fucking wonderful. I was going to be known as the screaming freak on the third floor. I didn’t want to think about it.
The hand on my back continued to make comforting circles around my spine. “You didn’t. Wake me, that is. I was already up,” he confessed. What was it that was keeping Tristan up? Probably the redhead from earlier if I had to guess.
I averted my eyes. “Oh.” Why was this so awkward?
His finger hooked under my chin, tipping up my face. Hesitantly, I lifted my gaze, unsure what I’d find when I looked at him. Pity? Scorn? Kindness? None of those emotions were present, and a whoosh of relief left my chest. “How long has it been?” he asked, staring so deep into my eyes as if he searched for the answer himself.
Our faces were too close. I was more or less in his lap. Now would be an appropriate time to untangle myself from him. Then why wasn’t I? “I don’t know. A few weeks, maybe,” I mumbled, my lips grazing his skin. It was hard to think straight with his mouth inches from mine, not that I wanted to think at all. Just the opposite. I wanted to forget the nightmare, and Tristan’s presence provided the perfect distraction. All I had to do was press my lips to his neck. Taste him with my tongue. Take his earlobe between my teeth. Kiss him.
I so wanted to test the waters and take Tristan Malone on a sexual test drive.
Just once , a tiny impish voice taunted in my ear. Just a quick kiss, a little taste. The devil on my shoulder wouldn’t stop.
As if anything with Tristan could be simple or uncomplicated.
He was the definition of complex.
And I was the definition of fucked up.
Perhaps we were a match made in hell.
Sweeping his thumb over my cheek, he wiped away a tear. I’d been crying. Actually crying in my sleep. My eyes and cheeks were damp with them. “New place,” he said, rationalizing the sudden nightmare as his finger continued to trace the tear tracks on my face.
I inhaled sharply at the light touch on the corner of my lips. The sound of my breath had his gaze lifting from my mouth to my eyes, and the heat I saw in them stole my breath. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to speak. I definitely shouldn’t be having these thoughts—these urges.
Not about Tristan.
It was crazy how quickly fear could morph into desire. A touch. A smell. A sound.
My fingers drifted down his bare chest as if they were compelled. I watched his blue eyes deepen, enchanted by them and what something as simple as a touch of my fingers could do.
Why did he have to be so damn attractive and... wrong . Tristan was so fucking wrong for me. He needed to keep his hands to himself before I did or said something reckless and dumb.
I could feel his warm breath dancing over the side of my cheek, close to my ear, causing the muscles in my stomach to tighten. It was easy to forget I shouldn’t be in bed with him nearly naked—that he was blackmailing me—that I hated him.
His luscious mouth moved against my neck, right at the sensitive spot that drove me crazy. My insides turned to molten lava, hot and bubbly. He waited for a beat to see my reaction before his lips went back for seconds. “Have you made your mind up?”
“Hmm? My mind? About what?” Why was he talking? I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to bask in this glorious glow that chased the last lingering shadows away.
His fingers trailed down the inside of my arm, deliberately brushing against the side of my breast. I knew he watched as my eyes flared with heat followed by a punch of desire in between my legs.
“Whether or not you want me to stay,” he said huskily, his lips cruising along my jawline.
My thoughts scrambled. Yes, I wanted him to stay, right? If it meant he kept touching me, teasing me because there were so many places on my body I wanted those lips. “Tristan.” It was all that managed to escape. His name—both a plea and a moan.
He chuckled, catching my earlobe between his teeth, much like I’d thought about doing to him. “Admit it. You want me, Shortcake. You’re dying to know what it would be like between us. How it would feel to have my mouth on your body, sucking, licking, biting...”
Jesus. He is torturing me.
He hadn’t called me Shortcake in years, not since maybe junior high, a nickname that stuck due to my love of Strawberry Shortcake, and somehow hearing him say it now in such a seductive way flamed the fire burning inside me.
I no longer wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy with a lip ring; instead, I craved to know. But...Tristan’s arrogant curl of his lip stopped me. My heart raced as I blinked at him, suddenly feeling cold. “You wish, Malone,” I said sarcastically. I tried to downplay the effect his words had on me, but my retort came out with less attitude than I would have liked.
His hand slid across my belly, fingers tracing the hem of my panties. “I can give you something to dream about. You only have to ask. Not that you haven’t had as many dreams about me as you’ve had nightmares.”
Asshole . Regardless, he was probably right. I had dreamed about him. A lot. And I was ashamed to admit I’d even thought about him while kissing Preston.
Yep. I’m going to hell.
But I’d take Tristan with me.
Fury and guilt burst inside me as I bristled. “Get the fuck out of my room before I scream,” I ordered, knocking his hand away from dipping any lower.
His lips twisted into a smug smile. “Oh, I can most definitely make you scream, Ever.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling the covers closer around me. “Get over yourself. You’ll never have me. Not like your brother did.” He didn’t need to know Preston and I never did the nasty.
His eyes flared, confusing me more.
Less than twelve hours ago, he’d been kissing another girl. And now he stared at my lips as if he was starved. WTF. He made my head spin.
Scooting away from him on the bed, I grabbed the wrinkled sheets that pooled around me. “I don’t understand you.”
“It’s better if you don’t try,” he said sarcastically.
“None of this makes sense to me.”
For a second, something like regret flashed in his eyes, or maybe I imagined it, wanting it to be there. “Don’t go looking for answers,” he warned, all traces of warmth gone from his features.
“Why?” I demanded, tired of being brushed off by him.
We stared at each other in the dark with only a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window, a drum of silence stretching between us. “Because you won’t like what you find,” he finally responded.
I shot him an exasperated glare. “You realize that is like an invitation for me to find out.”
His eyes went hard, like chips of sapphire. The problem was that his look didn’t work on me. I’d known Tristan too long to be intimidated by him. “Ever, your job is to focus on school. Not what I’m doing.”
“I can’t do that when we live under the same roof,” I said, pulling my knees up to my chest.
Turning his back to me, he edged to the side of the bed, swinging his feet to the floor. “Too fucking bad. It’s the only way I can keep an eye on you.” A muscle on the side of his jaw tightened.
“I don’t need you to babysit me.” Why did every single one of our conversations end in an argument? It was exhausting. “Whatever. I’ll be gone today.” And then I wouldn’t have to deal with his ass.
He threw a glance over his shoulder, half turning his body on the bed toward me. “Don’t tell me you are quitting school before it begins.”
I snorted. “I would never give you the satisfaction. I’m going to admissions and moving rooms. I can’t stand to be in this house with you for another day.”
“Your request will be denied,” he replied confidently in a way that prickled my neck in irritation like a spooked cat.
“And why is that?” I snapped back, my leg twitching to kick him.
His weight dipped the mattress to one side. “Because I told Dean Harris not to.”
My eyes narrowed. If I’d been a cartoon character, lasers would have shot from my eyes, searing into Tristan’s muscular back. “Why the fuck would you do that?” I hissed.
Leaning to one side, he retrieved his phone from the pocket of his sweat shorts, and I assumed he was going to show me something. Wrong. Before I realized what he was doing, Tristan grabbed my ankles through the sheets and yanked so I fell flat on the bed. I gave a small shriek of surprise, which was cut off immediately when his body pressed into mine. Tristan’s face loomed over me. I made the dumb mistake of wiggling, trying to shove the lug off me, but all that did was let me feel how fucking hard his body was...including other impressive parts of him.
I hated that I was exhilarated by the idea of Tristan being turned on. Of course, the asshole ruined the fleeting thought.
Pinning me with his body, he angled his head close to my cheek and snapped a picture of us together in my bed as I attempted to shove at his chest. The moment I realized what he had done, I froze. A wave of déjà vu washed over me.
My palms slammed against his chest. “What the fuck, Tristan. Are you shitting me?”
He seemed completely unfazed. Did the man have no conscience? “Should I send this to Preston? How do you think my little brother would feel about us sharing a room in college? Or what about my parents?”
I lunged for the phone in his hand, but the asshole was quick, jerking it out of my reach. I should bite his lip ring and rip it out. The only thing stopping me was having my mouth that close to his might backfire on me. I could end up kissing him.
Rolling off me, he stood, towering over me as I just lay there feeling used and bewildered. “You’re staying put, Ever,” he stated, finality ringing in his tone, and strode toward the door.
Tristan Malone was a son of a bitch.
“You can’t keep doing this to me,” I hollered at his back, not giving a shit what time of the night it was. He kept walking, ignoring me, so I grabbed the nearest thing I could find, my book from the nightstand, and I hurled it after him because this wasn’t over.
It was far from fucking over.
The door shut with a definite click as the paperback hit the wood with a thump, falling to the floor. Silence followed except for the hammering of my pissed-off heart.
How could someone be so gentle, so kind, and such a dick all at once? That was the only way to sum up Tristan.