Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation (10 page)

The reporter’s question had become jumbled in her head and she was struggling to swallow when she felt Tristan’s hand
snake around her lower back and rest possessively over her hipbone; his fingers spread wide, almost stroking her through her the delicate fabric of her dress.

She felt a flush heat her face as her stomach muscles trembled, and fervently hoped he wouldn’t notice either response.

She tried to turn and silently berate him, but his fingers held her in place. His breath stirred the wisps of hair coiling around her temple as he leaned in closer and stole the breath from her lungs.

‘You’ve forgotten he’s a slimeball and you’re taking his question seriously. Just look up at me as if I’ve said something incredibly funny and ignore him.’

He let her half turn in the circle of his arms, but she couldn’t force the response he’d suggested.

Her hand automatically came up between them and flattened against the black designer shirt Jordana had provided him with. Her fingers curled into the fabric. She didn’t know if she was trying to hold him back or draw him closer, because her brain had frozen at the open hunger banked in his direct gaze.

The noise of the crowd, the cameras, the lights…everything faded as Lily felt suffused with warmth and a sexual need that was as debilitating as it was exciting.

She felt his swift indrawn breath as she held his gaze, and was powerless to look away when his eyes dropped to her mouth.

Dimly she became aware of the crowd chanting, ‘Kiss! Kiss!’ and as if in slow motion a soft smile curved Tristan’s firm mouth.

He leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers. The soft contact was fleeting, but still her lips clung, and as he pulled back and looked at her she knew he’d felt her unbidden response. He stared at her as if he wanted more—and if he didn’t the screaming fans certainly did.

Lily’s fingernails flexed, and somehow she found the wherewithal to pull back, once again becoming aware of the whistles
and wild catcalls of ‘Who is he?’ and ‘Is that Lord Garrett?’ from the press.

The camera flashes were relentless, and Lily knew that while Tristan’s actions had been motivated purely to help her out of an awkward moment, hers had not.

And wishing it was otherwise wouldn’t make it so.

‘I
ENJOYED
the film,’ Tristan said, breaking the heavy silence between them. Lily didn’t look at him but continued to stare out of the window as his chauffeur drove them through the glistening London streets.

It was late, and after two hours of sitting beside Tristan in a darkened movie theatre she felt uptight and edgy. The awareness she had been trying to keep at bay by pretending to read that hateful play for most of the day had exploded the minute his lips had touched hers on the red carpet.

No doubt he’d felt sorry for her after her earlier disclosure, but that didn’t stop her from wanting him to touch her because he wanted to, not out of some misplaced duty to look out for her.

And she didn’t want to make polite small talk with him now. She just wanted to get to the safety of her room and go to bed. To sleep.

In hindsight she should have been more prepared for the intrusive questions of the U.K. press, and probably would have been if worry over her case and the tension between herself and Tristan wasn’t taking up so much head space.

Of course that brief kiss would be headline news in the papers tomorrow. Would be on the internet right now in this era of instantaneous news reports!

She knew she shouldn’t be angry about what he’d done. He’d only been trying to help. But her own response to his sensitivity both now and this morning, when he’d made a Scotland Yard
detective wait two hours until she woke from an exhausted sleep, and yesterday when he’d eased her headache while she slept in the car, made it harder for her to keep ignoring her feelings for him.

Especially after his disclosure about his parents and the pain in his voice when he had referred to his mother. The knowledge that he’d been hurt as a child made Lily feel differently towards him. Made her want to soothe him. To find out what had been worse than his mother leaving. Feeling this way about him wasn’t clever. It could only lead to heartache—her own!

She sighed heavily and felt his gaze linger on her. She really didn’t want to have any reason to lessen the animosity between them. Without that it would be far too easy to fall back into her adolescent fantasy that he was her dream man. What she needed to remember was that deep down he was essentially a good person, but any solicitude he extended towards her didn’t automatically cancel out what he really thought of her.

‘No comment, Lily?’

And he was calling her Lily now, instead of Honey. Oh, she
really
didn’t want him being nice to her.

‘You shouldn’t have done that before,’ she berated him, letting her embarrassment and uncertainty at this whole situation between them take centre stage.

He glanced at her briefly. ‘Tell you I enjoyed your film?’

‘Divert attention away from that reporter on the red carpet by kissing me.’

His direct gaze made her nervous, so she focused on the darkened buildings as the big car sped along Finchley Road.

‘You looked like you needed it,’ he said softly.

‘I didn’t.’ Lily knew she was being argumentative, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘And now your picture—
our
picture—is going to be splashed all over the papers tomorrow. They’ll think we’re lovers.’

The car pulled up outside his exclusive mansion and he turned to her before opening the door. ‘They’d probably have assumed that anyway given that I accompanied you.’

Bert opened the door and Lily smiled her thanks to him before stalking after Tristan, annoyance at his cavalier attitude radiating through her. ‘Assuming and confirming isn’t the same thing,’ she retorted. Realizing too late what her words implied, she hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it.

Movement further up the street alerted them to a lurking photographer, and Lily allowed Tristan to usher her up the short walkway to the black double front doors that looked as if they shone with boot polish.

He pushed one open and she preceded him into the marble foyer, and then followed him through to the large dining room where he turned to face her.

‘Interesting phrasing. But I’m not sure how I could have confirmed something that’s not true?’ he drawled, a dangerous gleam lighting his eyes.

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ she said, flustered by the strength of her confusing emotions. ‘I’m tired.’

‘Is that your way of defending your Freudian slip?’

‘It wasn’t…’ She noted his raised eyebrow and swore. ‘Oh, go to hell,’ Lily fired at him, walking ahead of him through to the vast sitting room, dominated by a king-sized sofa that faced plate-glass windows overlooking the city.

‘You know, all this outraged indignation over my attempt to help you before seems a little excessive to me,’ Tristan said from behind her.

Lily turned, her eyes drawn to his lean, muscular elegance as he propped up the doorway even though she was determined not to be drawn in by his brooding masculinity. ‘Oh, really?’

Tristan leant against the doorjamb and studied Lily’s defiant posture. Her face was flushed, and more wisps of hair had escaped her bun and were kissing her neck. Her lips were pouting, and he’d bet his life savings that she’d crossed her arms over her chest to hide her arousal from him. He knew why she was so angry. He knew she felt the sexual pull between them and was as enthralled by it as he was.

And, while she might be upset with the media fall-out from his actions on the red carpet, he hadn’t missed the way her lips had clung to his and how her violet eyes had blazed with instantaneous desire when he’d kissed her.

‘Yes, really. Want me to tell you what I think is behind it?’ he asked benignly.

‘Pure, unadulterated hatred.’ She faked a yawn and he laughed.

‘You know what they say about hatred, Lily.’ Tristan stalked over to the drinks cabinet and threw a measure of whisky into a glass. Two days with her and he was beginning to feel like an alcoholic!

‘Yes, it means you don’t like someone. And my reaction to your behaviour is not excessive in the slightest. All you’ve done tonight is give the tabloids more fodder—and for your information I could have handled that reporter by myself.’

Tristan raised his glass and swallowed the fiery liquid in one go, welcoming the sharp bite of distraction from the turn the conversation had taken. All he’d done was compliment her performance!

‘Was that before or after you had the panic attack?’ he asked silkily.

‘It wasn’t a panic attack! And just because I tell you something personal it doesn’t mean you get to take over. You’re not God’s gift—even though you clearly think you are.’

Tristan turned slowly and stared at her. He’d heard the clear note of challenge in her voice and he knew the reason for it. And, by God, if he didn’t want to do something about it—regardless of everything that lay between them.

He wanted her, and he knew for damned sure she wanted him, and looking at her right now, with her legs slightly apart and her hands fisted on her hips, her chin thrust out, he knew she wanted him to do something about it too.

Not that she would admit it.

He let his eyes slide slowly down her body and then just as slowly all the way back up. The pulse-point in her throat leapt
to life, but she made no attempt to run from the hunger he knew was burning holes in his retinas.

There was something interminably innocent about her provocative stance, almost as if she didn’t know what she was about, and it pulled him up for a minute. But then he discounted the notion. She might not be the Jezebel he thought she was, but women like Lily Wild always knew what they were about. He’d had enough of the simmering tension between them, and knew just how to kill it dead.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said softly, placing his empty glass on the antique sideboard with deliberate care. ‘I’m giving you fair warning. I’m sick of the tension between us—and the reason for it. You’ve got exactly three seconds to get moving before I take up from what we started six years ago. But this time there’ll be no stopping. You’re not seventeen any more, and there’s no secretary to interrupt us like yesterday. This time we’re on our own, and I’m not in the mind to stop at one kiss. Neither, I suspect, are you.’

Lily didn’t know what thrilled her more—his blunt words or the starkly masculine arousal stamped across his handsome face. Her heart took off at full gallop and her stomach pitched alarmingly.

Six years ago she had wanted him with the desperate yearning of a teenager in the throes of a first crush. The night of Jo’s party she had dressed for him, watched him, noticed him watching her—and then, on the back of a couple of fortifying glasses of vintage champagne, she had asked him to dance…and melted into him. Loved the feel of his strong arms around her, the sense of rightness that would have led her to do anything with him that night. And right now she felt exactly the same way. Which just didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Does it have to?

‘One.’

She shook her head. ‘Tristan, don’t be ridiculous. There’s no point to this.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, but we have unfinished business between us and denying it hasn’t made it go away. Nor has trying to ignore it. In fact, I think that’s only made the problem worse.’

‘And you think acting on it will solve it?’

He raised that arrogant eyebrow. ‘Got a better idea?’

No, she didn’t, and right now her body yearned for his with a desperation that was all-consuming. Yearned to experience more of the pleasure he’d wrought on her body yesterday. Yearned for a completion that Lily was starting to suspect only this man could fulfil.

Jordana’s provocative suggestion that she cut loose and have some fun returned to mock her.

Could she?

Would having sex with Tristan fall under that banner? It wasn’t as if she was holding out for a marriage proposal or anything. The only reason she hadn’t had sex before was because of the lack of opportunity and…enticement. She’d never felt the way Tristan made her feel just by looking at him. Why keep denying it?

And then there was the notion she’d had to meet him this trip as an equal. To put the attraction she had always felt for him to bed…

‘Two.’

His soft voice cut through her ruminations and she realised her heart was pounding behind her ribcage.

She swallowed. He hadn’t moved, and yet the room seemed smaller; he seemed closer. Her senses were entirely focused on him.

His hair had flopped forward and she could see he was breathing as unevenly as she was. She found it almost shockingly exciting to think she could arouse a man like him to such a state. Because he
was
aroused. She could see the unchecked
desire glittering in his darkened eyes and feel the dangerous intensity of his tautly held body.

Her stomach clenched and she felt an answering hunger in herself at the thought of finally being able to touch all that roughly hewn muscle. So what was she waiting for? Armageddon?

Lily slicked her tongue over her arid lips, a nascent sense of her own feminine power heating her insides and making her breasts feel firmer, fuller.

He must have sensed her silent capitulation because he moved then, pacing towards her with the latent grace of a man who knew exactly what he was about, and any notions Lily had had of taking charge of their lovemaking flew out of the window. She felt like that inexperienced seventeen-year-old again in comparison to him and his wealth of sexual experience.

He stopped just short of touching her and Lily gazed into his face with nervous anticipation.

‘Tristan…’ Her voice was a whisper of uncertainty and for a second her inner voice told her she was mad. She couldn’t possibly give this giant of a man what he needed.

Tristan reached out and curled his hand around the nape of her neck, angling her face to his. He stared at her for what felt like ages. ‘Tell me you want this.’

His warm fingers sent shock waves of energy up and down her spine and Lily was breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating.

Want it? Need it sounded closer to the mark.

‘I do.’ She ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I do want this. You.’

She heard an almost pained sound come from Tristan’s throat as he lifted her face to his and took her mouth in a searing kiss. No preliminaries required.

Both his hands spread wide either side of her face as he held her still beneath his plundering lips and tongue.

Lily felt a sob of pure need rise up in her throat and reached
up to grip his broad shoulders, to hang on as she gave herself over to the sensation of his masterful kiss.

He tasted of whisky and heaven, and for a moment Lily’s senses nearly shut down with the overload of sensation rioting through her.

She pulled back, gasping for breath as she realised the dizziness was from a lack of oxygen, hyperventilating for real now as he angled her head back and skated his lips across her jaw and down the smooth column of her neck.

‘Oh, Lord…’ Lily whimpered, her face nuzzling his to bring his mouth back to her own.

He gave a husky chuckle and acquiesced, kissing her with such unrestrained passion she thought she might faint. His big body moved in, pressing her into the wall behind her.

His kiss claimed her. Branded her. The hard wall was flat against her back as his equally hard chest moulded to her front.

She moved her hands into his hair and lifted herself to try and assuage the ache that had grown to almost painful proportions between her thighs.

One of his hands disentangled from her hair and found the naked skin at small of her back as he stumbled back slightly at her eager movements.

‘Oh, Lily, you’re killing me,’ he groaned into her mouth, his hands not quite steady as he held her in place against him.

His touch seemed as if it was everywhere and nowhere, and Lily could feel all her old emotions for this man welling up inside her. She couldn’t have stopped what was happening now even if she’d wanted to.

She shivered and arched into his caresses, moving restlessly against him as wanton pleasure consumed her. His touch was electric, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel him all around her, and inside that part of her that somehow felt soft and hollow and unbearably empty.