Chapter Six
Tristan stared down at the black shapes of his boots.
He didn’t know what to say, but silence usually encouraged the other person to say more, and he wanted to hear it.
He wanted her story, her trust, whatever she would give him.
She leaned back against the wall, her arm brushing his, and it felt . . . intimate.
“I can take you back to your room,” he offered when she didn’t say more.
“Not yet. I like it here. I like how the world feels so far away. Like nothing can touch me. I can breathe here in the darkness where no one can see me.”
He studied her profile a moment. “I can see you, Flick.”
Her lips curved in a smile, then disappeared in shadow when she turned her head toward him.
“I think you’ve always been able to see me.”
Maybe it was the darkness, the quiet, or a trick of his eyes, but she felt closer. He heard her swallow and draw a breath. Was she ready to say more?
“I got scared when I couldn’t find you,” she said.
“I was always there. I never left you.”
She turned toward him, and he matched her movement. They were face-to-face now. He swore he could feel her breath on his cheek, but maybe that was wishful thinking and the darkness playing tricks on him.
“What does your farm do?”
“Malt and coos,” he said.
She was silent for a breath. “What is a coo?” She mimicked his slight burr, and he couldn’t hold back a smile.
“It’s a Highland cow. Reddish brown, white, or black, with shaggy hair and horns. We grow malt for a whisky distillery.”
“I’ve never seen a coo. My life is so small.”
“Not so small now. You live in a gaming club,” he said.
“Adjacent to a gaming club,” she retorted.
They laughed and grew silent again. She grabbed his hand, her bare skin touching his. At some point she’d removed her gloves, and he hadn’t noticed. Tingling heat spread up his arm at her touch and he couldn’t pull away.
“Thank you, Tristan. For seeing me. For being there tonight, and every moment before. I don’t think I could do any of this without you.”
He swallowed, his mouth going dry. “It is my honor.” And she might be his downfall. He couldn’t lose himself in an infatuation with a woman he couldn’t have. All his focus needed to be on working off the debt to regain his home. But he’d already fallen, hadn’t he?
With a whisper of clothing, she leaned forward, and her lips brushed his cheek. If he hadn’t been achingly aware of her, he could have missed the featherlight touch. He closed his eyes, blocking out all his others sense so he could feel her better.
“Flick, you don’t have to . . .” But he wanted her to. He couldn’t cross this line himself, but he’d have to be dead to resist her.
Her fingertips touched his lips. “I know I don’t. I want to. I want you to know how much your friendship means to me.”
His gut tightened. Friendship? She still believed what was between them was friendship.
Couldn’t she feel the fire between them?
The flames of desire were licking at his skin, yearning melting his resolve and .
. . He was already forgetting what he should be doing right now.
Her fingertips fluttered over his lips, his chin, and then along his jaw.
She cupped his cheek, her fingernails scratching against the shadow of his beard.
He bit back a groan. Just her touch made him hard.
Longing tore at his insides. He reined it in, willing his body to move—to step back before he ruined this delicate web of trust between them.
Her mouth touched his, petal soft lips pressing slowly to mold to his mouth. Tristan froze, all focus on that single touch. She kissed him for the count of four heartbeats, and then she moved back. Tristan locked his arms at his sides to keep from reaching for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He almost laughed. “Sorry? For what.” His only regret would be the wicked things he’d imagine now that he knew the feel of her lips when he took himself in hand tonight.
“I shouldn’t have. I—”
He caught her flailing hand and gave it a light squeeze. “No apology is needed. To be honest, I’m surprised.”
“So am I,” she said with relief. “I don’t know what came over me. Tonight was going so well, and then . . .” He knew she was remembering Trent.
“I hope it ended on a better note, but if it didn’t, please spare my fragile masculinity and lie to me.”
She turned away, pressing her back against the wall and let out a small breathy laugh. “I hope we can forget this moment. I’m not myself.”
Tristan inwardly groaned. He’d never forget this. He’d think of her lips on his deathbed. “There is nothing to forget. It was a small kiss. A comfort, really. Like a hug.”
“It was?”
She sounded so relieved. He nodded, the lie seeping into his blackened soul. He ached for her—for more of her mouth, her tongue, her taste. He willed his growing erection to reverse itself and thanked the dark for its shelter.
“Still, I feel I should not have done it.”
“Regrets already? Was it that horrible?” Tristan teased.
She shook her head at him and then laughed softly. “No. In fact, it was my first kiss.”
That stunned him and made his heart soar. “Truly?”
“It was. I’m glad it was you. Someone I can trust.”
Her trust was everything to him. He yanked hard on the reins of his lust. This was Flick, not some woman of passing interest. “I’m glad, too. Come on, it’s time to get you to bed.”
“I don’t think I can sleep.”
“Ask for a tonic from Milly. It will help you forget tonight.”
“Not all of tonight,” she said.
He took her hand and led her back down the hall, resisting the urge to gloat. “No, we can’t have that. It would be an insult to my pride if my kisses were forgettable.”
She scoffed. “Pride is a sin.”
“Sin and I are well acquainted. I haven’t been struck down by righteous lightening yet.”
They came to a stop just before he pushed open the door. Light and noise spilled from under it. They would be reentering the spinning world they’d briefly escaped from and there would be more people than before.
“Are you ready? We’ll have to cross the ladies’ floor to reach the door to the other side of the house.”
She put on her mask and pulled the hood of her domino over her head. “Is my mask straight?”
“It is.”
“I’m ready.”
Tristan wasn’t. If he could, he’d keep her in that dark hall forever, where only the two of them and that kiss existed.
But he opened the door anyway and walked her quickly across the ladies’ floor and escorted her right to her door.
Thankfully, she didn’t wonder or ask how he knew where her room was.
“Thank you for tonight, and for . . .” She bit her lip as she removed the mask and lifted her gaze to his.
“We don’t have to speak of it, explain it, or anything. It’s fine.”
“I know, but it wasn’t a good idea. I’m here to marry someone, not dally in dark halls.” She sighed like she was disappointed in herself.
His mood sank. It was a terrible idea. Most of the things he longed for weren’t good ideas.
But he wasn’t going to take it back. That might be their first and last kiss, but it was still worth it.
He still tingled with the heat of his lingering desire.
He knew nothing more could happen, should happen, and he wouldn’t push for anything else.
However, if she desired more, he’d be helpless to resist her.
“It remains in the shadows and just between us,” he assured her.
Their gazes held a moment too long, long enough to leave him with a glimmer of hope, a foolhardy wish there would be more kisses in the shadows. That she wanted those kisses as much as he did. That she felt this pull between them. He was dying to know if he was right or wrong.
“Goodnight, Tristan.”
“Goodnight, Flick.”
He stood there long after her door closed, hands braced on the frame, before he could turn away.
The following night, she appeared in a grayish-blue gown with a smart jacket that covered her arms to her gloved hands and had military-style buttons running all the way to her throat.
She wore the gold mask and a plume of white feathers in her hair.
She was hesitant as she joined him at the door connecting to the club, but she held her head high as they first stopped to look over the main floor from the ladies’ gallery.
As if waiting for her arrival, many faces turned her way, followed by cheers for Lady Luck.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“You’ve become quite popular.”
“Even after what that man said?”
“He’s not likely to show his face around here anytime soon,” Tristan said. “Not when he insulted the beautiful and mysterious Lady Luck.”
Tristan wasn’t amused by their fawning attention, but she seemed relieved, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Shall we?” He offered his arm, and she linked her elbow with his.
“Stay with me, please. I don’t want another man to lead me.”
“Whatever you wish.” His heart thumped delightedly at her words.
This was the trust he’d been aching for.
Last night, after leaving her in her room, he’d sat at the bar and drunk more than he usually did.
His only urge was to go to his rented room and take himself in hand with her face and the memory of her soft lips in his mind.
But he’d drunk instead. Because the more he taunted himself with thoughts of her, the harder it would be to keep his head on straight.
To pleasure himself to her felt wrong somehow, a breach of this tenuous friendship, the only relationship he could ever have with her. He couldn’t be her trusted protector while salivating over her tempting body.