Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
TRISTAN
She's late by three minutes.
Three minutes past when she was supposed to be here.
She's not coming.
I shove the thought down and focus on the engine in front of me. One of the Range Rovers needs an oil check before the trip into town—a bullshit errand Calder assigned to keep me busy since he pulled me off Keira's detail.
At least it gave me an excuse to be in the garage alone.
Waiting for a woman who might not show.
I left the note in her vanity drawer last night. Slipped it in during dinner service while she was downstairs performing for her husband. A single line on plain paper:
Cars. 2 p.m. T.
Nonsense to anyone else. Everything to her.
2:04.
I slam the hood down harder than necessary. There are six cars lined up in this garage like trophies. He never drives any of them. What the fuck is the point?
I have double the collection in New York. At least I actually enjoy mine.
Everything that asshole owns is for show—the estate, the cars, the wife and child.
It's been two damn days since I had her in that maintenance room. Two days of glimpses across hallways, of watching her sit beside him at meals, of standing outside doors I couldn't enter while she was on the other side.
2:05.
The side door opens.
I spin so fast I nearly knock over the toolbox at my feet.
Keira slips through the gap, pressing the door closed with exaggerated care. White sundress. Small blue flowers. Bare legs.
She looks so fucking good it hurts.
I could never let her go again.
"You're late," I say roughly.
"Four minutes late."
"Five now."
"Are you seriously—" She stops, reading my face. "You thought I wasn't coming."
I don't answer.
This need I have for her has outgrown language.
Outgrown logic.
Outgrown me.
I don't control it anymore. It controls me.
Woven into marrow and muscle and thought. It's structural now, and I exist inside it.
"I got held up," she murmurs. "Staff wanted to discuss menu options. Couldn't exactly say, sorry, I have to go fuck my fake bodyguard in the garage."
Almost a smile. "Nice to see my suffering amuses you."
She reaches up, fingers brushing through my hair. "You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"When did you last sleep?"
"Define sleep."
I've been running on fumes for forty-eight hours. Lying awake, replaying every moment of her. Every conversation. Every touch. Like an addict searching for a fix in a stadium full of people.
"I thought maybe I pushed too hard," I manage. "The other night. The restraints. The—"
"Stop." Her palm flattens against my chest.
"It wasn't too much." Her eyes hold mine. "It was exactly what I needed."
I exhale. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." She rises on her toes, lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "I've been replaying it for two days. Wanting more."
She pulls my neck down, kissing below my ear before her tongue flicks out.
"I need you."
My entire body shudders. "You can't say things like that right now."
"Why not?"
"Because I've been losing my mind." I grip her hips, tugging her closer. "And we need to talk about New York."
"So talk."
"I can't think when you're looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to suck me dry."
She smiles, and the sight nearly drops me to my knees. "Maybe I do."
"Keira."
"Fine." She steps back. One foot of space. "Talk. What do I need to know?"
Not far enough. No distance would be. But I force my brain online.
"I'm confirmed on the detail. Me and two other guards traveling with Calder's party."
"That's good. It's what we hoped for."
"Yes, but the window is tight. Aaron and Cat will have everything in position, but timing is going to be critical.
It has to happen the night of the gala. Calder's bringing additional security once we land.
He'll be distracted, surrounded by important people.
Too many witnesses for him to make a scene. "
"And Hale?"
"Separate extraction. He'll be with his nanny at the hotel. Cat's handling that end. By the time Calder realizes anything's wrong, you'll both be in the air."
Her brow creases. "I'm not leaving without you."
"Keira—"
"No. This is my fight. I deserve to watch him fall. I'm fully capable—or have you forgotten how we met?"
I stare at her. She's right. Taking this from her would do more harm than good.
I need to trust her. No matter how much I hate it.
"You and Hale are all that matter." I close the distance, unable to keep my hands off her.
She gazes up at me. "I know. We're going to be okay. After he's gone, we're going to have the family I always dreamed of."
I cup her face. "Okay."
She turns her head, pressing a kiss to my palm.
"Now can we stop talking?"
I let out a strangled laugh. "You're going to kill me."
"Not yet." Her hands slide up my chest, fisting in my shirt. "I've had two days to think about everything I want you to do to me. Don't you want to hear about it?"
Fuck.
"Here?"
She nods, glancing over at the row of cars behind me. "In fact…which one is his favorite?"
I arch a brow. "Why?"
She steps around me, trailing her fingers across the Mercedes, then the Aston Martin. The Lamborghini.
She stops in front of the black Bentley.
My blood roars.
"You want me to fuck you in his Bentley?"
She opens the back door, looking at me over her shoulder. "Unless you have objections."
I'm across the garage in four strides.
I crowd her against the open door, one hand braced on the frame above her head, my body pinning hers.
"Get in."
She slides into the back seat, sundress riding up her thighs as she moves across the cream leather.
I'm going to have her dripping all over these seats.
I climb in after her, pulling the door shut. The space is tight, forcing us close. Her back hits the far door as I bracket her body with mine.
"You're too big for this car."
"I'm too big in general."
She laughs, pulling my shirt over my head. Then she pauses, looking a little less certain.
"What if someone comes in?"
"Then I shoot them."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm serious."
What the fuck? I am serious.
"Not sure why you think that's a joke. But if it helps, I disabled the cameras."
"The staff—"
"Are at afternoon tea for another forty minutes." I drag my nose along her throat. "We have time."
"What if we don't?"
"Then they find out exactly what their boss's wife sounds like when she comes." I nip her earlobe. "And then they die. Simple."
She shivers, her breathing growing heavy.
"Last chance to back out."
Her hands grip my belt. "No backing out. Make me scream your name…then tell me I'm your good girl."
Fucking Christ.
Her cheeks flush crimson. This needy confidence she's radiating has me wanting to fuck her into next week.
I kiss her like withdrawal is killing me. Two days of restraint have only sharpened the edge.
She tastes like the first hit after swearing you were done.
Keira moans into my mouth, fumbling with my belt. I knock her hands away and do it myself. The second I spring free, her fingers wrap around me.
My forehead drops against hers.
Just her hand, and I'm already losing it.
"Get on top of me."
I drop back against the seat. She climbs over me—knees pressing into leather, sundress bunching around her waist. I shove her panties aside and drag two fingers through her.
Drenched.
My head falls back against the seat, and I let out a groan.
"I've been walking around like this for days," she breathes.
"Like what?"
"In heat." She rolls her hips against my hand. "Thinking about you inside me at all hours of the day."
I push two fingers in, and her mouth falls open. Her nails bite into my shoulders as I curl upward, finding that spot on the first try.
I know this body. Not a single detail has faded.
She grinds down, chasing the feeling. I let her use me for a few seconds—watch her face go slack, watch her breathing stutter.
Then I pull my hand away.
Her eyes snap open. "Don't you dare."
I slide my fingers into my mouth, sucking them clean while she watches.
"Get on my cock and take what you want."
Keira doesn't waste another second. She reaches down and grips me, positioning me right where she's dripping, and sinks down.
We both stop breathing.
Her forehead tips against mine. Neither of us moves.
I soak in the feeling of her around me—tight and bare and impossibly hot. Rain pattering somewhere distant. Her shaky exhale mixing with mine.
Then she moves.
Rolling her hips in a grinding circle that has me gripping the leather hard enough to hear it creak. She finds her rhythm quickly—rising and sinking, taking me deep enough that her breath hitches every time she bottoms out.
I can't stop watching her.
The way her lips part. The way her eyes go hazy. The way her body moves like she's been thinking about this exact moment.
"Fuck, Keira." I grip her hips but don't guide her. I just hold on while she takes whatever she needs.
She rides harder. The Bentley rocks on its suspension, windows fogging. My hands slide up her ribs, pushing the sundress higher, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts.
She arches into the touch with a sound I feel in my spine.
"You have no idea what you look like right now."
She opens her eyes. Peers down at me. And the expression on her face nearly has me coming apart.
I yank her down and kiss her—messy, graceless, all teeth and tongue. She moans into my mouth. Her rhythm falters. I feel her starting to tighten.
"That's it." My lips move against hers. "Use me. Just like that."
She picks the pace back up. Faster now. Her thighs are shaking. Her fingers dig into the back of my neck. Every time she drops down, a sharp, punched-out sound escapes her.
I slide my hand between us, pressing on her clit with my thumb. One slow circle and her whole body jerks.
"Tristan." Barely a whisper.
She's close. I feel it in the way she's clenching, in the tremor running through her thighs, in the way her movements are getting desperate.
I press harder, thrusting up into her. "I've got you."
She grinds more than rides now, chasing the pressure, taking me deep and holding there. I grip the back of her neck and bring her forehead to mine.
"Eyes on me when you come."
Her eyes lock on mine, and then she breaks apart, crying out my name. I get my hand over her mouth half a second too late. Her body clamps down so hard my vision goes dark.
She shakes through it—hips still rolling in small, involuntary waves—and I watch every second as it pulls me over with her.
I bury myself deep, hands locked on her hips, and come so hard the sound that escapes me doesn't sound human—just this raw, broken noise against her throat while she holds my head there, fingers tangled in my hair.
We stay pressed together, all sweaty and wrecked in the back of a dead man's Bentley.
I move my mouth to her shoulder, tasting salt.
"Three more days," she whispers.
Her hair is a disaster. Mascara smudged. Lips swollen. Sundress twisted sideways. She's absolutely glowing.
"Three more days," I echo. "Then this becomes something that happened to us. Not something happening to us."
"Promise me."
"I promise." I brush her hair back. "I'm getting you out. You and Hale. Whatever it costs."
She cups my face and kisses me. She tries to pull away twice, but I drag her back, not ready to let go.
Eventually she pushes off, laughing quietly as she checks her reflection. "I look destroyed."
"You look perfect."
She gives me a look, and I tug her back in before I can stop myself.
I can't get enough.
"I really have to go." She smooths her dress, combing her fingers through her hair like she's trying to erase what just happened.
She opens the door, then pauses with one foot on the concrete.
"Tristan."
"Yeah?"
"When this is over, when we're out and he can't touch us anymore." She glances over her shoulder. "I want a real date. Fancy dinner somewhere in New York. Candles. Wine I can't pronounce. No one trying to kill us."
A normal date.
Like I haven't spent years turning myself into a weapon because of her.
"It's a date, Red."