Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (18 page)

She nodded, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"You miss performing, don't you, baby?"

The tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips before retreating. The warm, hazel lights of her eyes glazed over, riveted to his face.

Hmm…

"You miss the choreography. Every movement capturing a sensation, every breath telling a story. The thrill of the crescendo… The way your heart raced when the dance ended and sweat slid down your skin…" He leaned a little closer, mind and body screaming as one for him to trace the same line her tongue had taken along her bottom lip. He fought that demand, pushing it back ruthlessly. "You miss the way you felt when every eye in the room focused on you, watching the way you let go and moved."

He talked more or less out of his ass, but the words seemed to touch something in her. She shifted back and forth, longing stamped across every delicate feature of her face. Unable to resist, he skimmed his nose along her cheek until his lips met the shell of her ear. That little bit of contact was heaven and hell. An easing of aches and a gut-twisting hunger for more at the same time.

"You're beautiful when you move, baby," he whispered.

She exhaled, her breath a soft sigh against the side of his face.

His cock twitched in response to that sweet, decadent sound.

"I can't wait for you to dance for me again," he said as the elevator dinged its ascent to another floor. "Hearing you moan, feeling your body all over mine…
Goddamn,
Lillian."

Her gaze flew to his when he groaned, another little whimper falling from her lips. She swayed closer, her thigh touching his. He held still, fighting the urge to lean into her. His body felt feverish, as if the temperature in the elevator had climbed with each whispered word.

"Will you dance for me again?" he asked.

She nodded once, seemingly helpless to do anything but agree to his request.

"I want you under the lights next time. I want to see you with your hair down, your head thrown back, and sweat sliding down your body. I want to watch what the music does to you while I fuck you." He paused. "Does the thought of feeling me deep inside while you move make you wet, beautiful?"

Lillian stared at him, her expression mesmerized as he painted that picture in vivid detail for her. A little too much detail, maybe. He saw the scene himself and he wanted her like that. Her labored breathing made it clear she wanted the same thing.

The elevator chimed once more before the doors slid open.

"All you have to do is ask," he whispered and then took a step away from her before he lost the ability to do so at all. Blood pumped hard through his veins as she trembled.

Oh yeah… she was definitely right there with him.

He stepped off the elevator, grinning to himself.

Lillian stared after Tristan as he disappeared out the elevator doors, her heart racing and her mind numb to anything but the way he'd looked at her and the things he'd whispered to her. She had a feeling the next time they danced would be just as erotic an experience as he'd all but promised.

She took a shuddering breath, trying to dispel the ache he'd sent coursing through her. Sweet Jesus, the man was sin incarnate, and she wanted to dance for him. Wanted it with an alarming intensity.

Oh, he was good.

Voices trickled through the open doors of the elevator, catching her scattered attention. She strained to hear the words, but could catch nothing more than the low cadence of Tristan's voice, rumbling down the hall and through her. Whomever he spoke with murmured back, the voice soft and dulcet, clearly female.

Tristan said something else and then laughed.

Lillian's eyes narrowed of their own accord. She'd never heard him actually laugh before, not once in any of their encounters. It was a delicious sound, masculine and rumbling… and all because of some other woman.

She stepped from the elevator before she even recognized the fact that she flirted with jealousy.

Tristan and a short bombshell of a woman turned to her as she stepped from the elevator. Lillian's eyes widened as she took in the dainty woman. Short, stylish blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a grin spread from ear to ear… she looked gorgeous in a long, dark skirt and soft blouse.

The soft expression on Tristan's face hit Lillian hard.

She fought back the irrational urge to attach herself to his side and stake her claim. She had no claim. She had encounters, irritation, confusion and frustration, but no claim at all. He wasn't hers. And she didn't want him to be, did she?

Crap.

"Beautiful, I wondered where you were." Tristan looked at her, his expression morphing from soft and gentle to predatory and ravishing. The dominance stamped across his face made her heart thump unevenly. He gestured with his hand for her to come to him, and of course she obeyed, her feet moving in his direction before her mind even processed that command.

The petite woman eyed her as Tristan positioned her in front of him, his hands on her waist, and his erection-

Oh!

Lillian flushed as realization dawned. Tristan was hard.

And he obviously didn't want his hallway companion to notice.

Were they…?

"Hi, Lillian." The woman's warm smile caused her flush to deepen. She was seriously beautiful. Petite, but gorgeous. And Tristan seemed more relaxed in her presence than Lillian ever remembered seeing him.

"I'm Zoë Ames, Jason's wife and Tristan's cousin. It's so great to finally meet you," she said very quietly, as if to keep anyone from overhearing. "You're as beautiful as Tristan said you are."

His cousin, not his lover.

Relief shot through Lillian like an arrow from a crossbow, causing her legs to sag. Tristan's arms tightened around her waist, holding her up. Confusion followed right on the heels of relief. Why should she feel such an all-encompassing
lightness
over the fact that Zoë and Tristan's relationship was familial instead of biblical?

Because she cared.

Dammit all!

"Beautiful?" Tristan leaned down to whisper in her ear.

Warmth rushed through her at the sound of his voice so close to her ear.

Her eyes popped open.

Zoë eyed her, concern written across her expression.

Great. Just great.

"Uh, sorry," she muttered, feeling her cheeks flame. "It's been-" She flapped her hand around in the air, at a lost for an adequate excuse.

A sympathetic smile flitted across Zoë's face. "I understand completely. I still feel like that some days and I've dealt with this kind of stuff for years." Her eyes widened as if she were afraid she'd said too much, and then words poured out of her mouth in another jumble. "It does get easier though! It really does. Eventually, his job will be normal for you, and you won't even bat a lash about it. You'll-"

"Zoë!" Tristan barked her name, clearly exasperated. "Stop."

Zoë fell silent with an apologetic grimace when she noticed Lillian's wide-eyed expression.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Lillian murmured, sympathy for Zoë welling. She didn't even have to turn around to know Tristan glared daggers at his cousin as if she'd given away some sort of state secret.

As if on cue, he muttered something under his breath.

"Behave." Lillian shot him a quelling look over her shoulder.

He cut his eyes at her, frowning.

She could almost read the questions in his gaze and there was no way she planned to go there with him. Instead, she distracted him, leaning back against his chest and shifting her bottom into his erection. He hissed, his fingers digging into her waist as if trying to halt her… which only served to make her do it again. His cock nestled against her ass, pulling another quiet hiss from his lips.

She smiled at Zoë, triumph surging through her veins at his reaction.

"It's really nice to meet you, Zoë," she said then. "I've heard a lot about you as well."

"Oh!" Zoë's eyes lit up, oblivious to the fact that Lillian teased her cousin mercilessly.

Tristan's entire body was tense, his cock a long, hard bulge pressing into her ass. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, sexual tension snapping at her where his solid warmth pressed against her.

God, he felt good.

His scent surrounded her, pulling her into her own little bubble of sensory overload.

Zoë rambled on as Lillian wriggled against him, wishing she could turn and hitch her leg around his waist as they'd done in
Teplo
. Schooling her expression to complete innocence, she pressed backward a little more firmly. He grunted, his hands like vises on her hips as he held her in place, seeking friction.

His breath came in soft grunts beside her ear, almost groans really.

Lillian smiled at Zoë and stepped away from him, forcing him to release his grip on her hips as she moved toward his cousin. "Let's get out of the hallway, hmm?" she said, loping her arm through Zoë's.

Tristan groaned behind her when Zoë started leading her away.

Glancing back over her shoulder at him, Lillian smirked, catching the feral, hungry gleam in his eyes. He stared at her for a minute with those bedroom eyes, sending another wave of heat twining between her legs, before he schooled his expression and nodded once.

He knew what she'd done, and he gave her the win. For now.

Chapter Thirteen

"Stop pacing, beautiful," Tristan said from his seat at Lillian's kitchen table, watching her move back and forth across the white tiled floor in restless circles, her bottom lip between her teeth. "You're making me nervous."

Lillian stopped mid-circuit, confusion stamped across her face.

He cocked his head to the side, arching a brow.

She glanced down, her eyes widening when she realized she'd been pacing, just like he'd said. Heat crept into her cheeks, turning them that lovely pink color that made him harden in his jeans.

"Sorry." Turning to limp across the kitchen toward the stove, she grabbed the wooden spoon she'd abandoned five minutes before, and dipped it into the pot bubbling on a burner.

"You worried?" he asked, watching her stir the gumbo. The delicious scents coming from the stove made him salivate. Aside from the salad he'd found in her fridge after returning from the penthouse the night before, he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

"I don't like having my eyes dilated." The furrow between her brows deepened.

"You'll be fine," he said, picking up the two little bottles sitting in front of him and turning them over. Truth be told, the contents worried him, too. Taking her into
Teplo
blind didn't appeal to him, but he didn't know how else to keep her flying under the radar.

She turned to face him, spoon in hand and worry in her eyes. "What if-"

"Beautiful," he sighed, rising from the kitchen table to go to her. He drew to a stop in front of her, tilting her chin up with his index finger. "We'll test it before I take you in there, and if you aren't comfortable, we'll find another way, okay?" He had no idea what that other way might be yet, but he'd think of something. Forcing her to use the drops if they truly frightened her wasn't an option.

Lillian nodded as sauce dripped off the spoon onto the back of her hand, unnoticed. "I just don't understand why I have to be dilated. I went in there before and no one noticed I didn't fit in."

"I noticed as soon as I saw you," he disagreed, removing the spoon from her hand before sauce dripped all over the floor. She opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off. "We can't guarantee that someone else won't see the same things I did, sweetheart. And even if we could, the Vetrov family has already put a camera on the door. If they suspect I'm DEA and aren't just paranoid bastards, things will be easier for you if you look as drugged as anyone else in the club."

Chances were, Anton Vetrov wouldn't believe her innocence no matter what Tristan did to help her blend in, but some things, she didn't need to know. He'd come up with something to keep her safe if it came right down to it, and he'd have a hell of a lot better a shot of bluffing her way to safety with her eyes dilated than with her looking stone cold sober.

"But what if-" she started.

"I'll keep you safe, sweetheart," he murmured, and reached for the hand with sauce running down her knuckles onto her wrist. He lifted it slowly to his lips, his eyes locked on hers. "Trust me?"

Worry melted from her warm brown eyes, and some of the tension slowly drained from her face. Her slight nod sent a thrill racing through him. He knew she didn't trust him entirely, but she trusted him with her safety at least. That was a start.

He licked the sauce from the back of her hand, his eyes still locked on hers. The sauce tasted delicious, her skin beneath even better. Humming his appreciation, he licked a leisurely trail down to her wrist and then back up, trailing his lips over each delectable inch in an effort to distract her from her fears.

When he lifted his head, her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly parted.

"Mmm. Perfect." He dropped her hand before reaching for the spoon. With another small step, their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. His cock didn't just jump this time, his entire body did, muscles coiling tight for a brief instant and then loosening with a shudder.

Goosebumps rose all over her silky skin.

"I-" Lillian's lips parted, her eyes clouding with lust and desire.

"Shh, baby. I've got you," he whispered and reached around her to dip the spoon into the sauce. He stirred clockwise, his arm skimming across her breast with each turn of his wrist. That little bit of contact made him want to groan as relief at touching her for the first time all day deepened to something more. Something visceral and needy.

He held her gaze as he stirred, bright blue capturing warm brown. Lillian's breath rate increased, her breasts rising and falling with each quick inhalation as her gaze tangled with his. Certain she no longer thought about the Vetrov family,
Teplo
, dilating drops, or anything beyond his body aligned with hers and his eyes locked on hers, he tilted his head down and swept his lips feather-light across her cheek, unable to resist.

Even that innocent press of his lips to her skin sent a jolt shooting through him.

Lillian responded with one of those soft sighs that made blood pump through his veins hard and fast.

"Tristan," she whispered on an exhale, her body relaxing into his.

He smiled, his chest doing that curious ache thing when she looked up at him with those lovely brown eyes full of desire. Those eyes – he could get fucking lost in them and not care. Hell, he
wanted
to get lost in them and stay there.

Clearing his throat, he stepped away, unnerved by the thought.

Christ. What was she doing to him?

Once again, Tristan left Lillian unable to think straight while he walked away, calm, cool, and far too freaking collected. She knew what he'd been doing even while he'd been doing it, but she'd been helpless to protest. Hadn't really wanted to stop him anyway.

The thought of going into
Teplo
unable to see clearly terrified her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to marshal her thoughts as Tristan poked through cabinets in search of bowls. And then she drew another breath and another, his scent lingering in the air around her.

The man intoxicated her, his mere touch unraveling her composure little by little until all she could think about was him and the way he made her feel... and the things he made her want. And she did want them. Desperately.

That truth didn't bother her nearly as much as it should have.

"Do you own bowls?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts and plunking her right back down into tingling reality.

"What?" She opened her eyes, quickly turning to the stove when her stomach fluttered at the sight of him raking a hand through his messy hair, irritation stamped across his face.

"Bowls. Do you own them?" he snapped.

He huffed when she didn't answer right away.

"Yes, I own bowls." She rolled her eyes. He was the one who'd trapped her against the stove and worked sexual voodoo over her body. His bad mood was his own fault. "You're just looking in the wrong spot. They're by the sink. And who
doesn't
own bowls?"

"How should I know?" he muttered. A cabinet creaked open. "Fucking finally."

Lillian bit her lip to hide a smile at his curse and flipped the burner off before turning to face him. "Do you always have a problem with organization or does it only piss you off when you're sexually frustrated?"

"I'm highly organized," he retorted, lifting two bowls from the cabinet, then setting them down on the countertop.

"And sexually frustrated."

He resumed his search through her cabinets, muttering curses under his breath.

"Utensils are in the second drawer to the left," she offered sweetly, biting back a laugh.

He scowled, jerking the drawer open to retrieve two spoons. "I'm not the only one sexually frustrated, sweetheart. Besides, you know how to solve that dilemma for both of us."

"Ha!" Lillian laughed, her skin tingling all over at the raised eyebrow and suggestive smirk he shot in her direction. "So not going there, Tristan."

He shrugged. "You will sooner or later. You know it. I know it. Might as well accept it."

"Mm."

She grabbed a ladle from the drawer closest to the stove before holding out her hand for the bowls. He handed them over, and surprisingly, didn't try to touch her in the process. She jumped anyway.

He smirked again, lifting that damned brow as if to say
See? I told you so.

Lillian filled their bowls while he rummaged in the fridge, refusing to respond to that cocky grin.

Gorgeous bastard.

"Do you have beer?"

"No. There's a bottle of Riesling in there, though."

He pushed things around until he located the bottle in question, not speaking. Lifting the bottle toward the light, he scrutinized the label before nodding his approval and shoving the fridge closed with the toe of his running shoe.

"
Mm
what?" he asked then, locating the wineglasses and corkscrew without assistance. He deposited them on the table before returning to carry their bowls to the table. "Do ballerinas not drink beer?"

"
Mm
, you're awfully cocky," she said, trailing behind him with a box of saltines in her hands. "And ballerinas drink beer occasionally. I just don't like it." She didn't bother to add that she wasn't a ballerina any longer either.

"Saltines and wine and gumbo? I thought ballerinas ate healthy." He shook his head, seemingly bemused. "And it's not cockiness when it's true. You'll beg for it, beautiful. We both know you will. And how can you
not
like beer?"

"Not unless you beg first," she said, blushing at the confident hue to his tone, as if he didn't doubt for a minute that she'd beg him to make love to her. No, not love. Something else. Something primal and predatory and explosive. Something not about love or closeness, but about an overwhelming, driving urge to consume one another until neither could think straight.

"I think I'd really like to see you beg first. And ballerinas do eat healthy, but that doesn't mean we starve or deprive ourselves. Ballet takes strength and energy, stamina. It's hard to dance or take care of your body properly when you're starving. And beer tastes like yeast. It's disgusting."

Tristan eyed her sideways. She expected him to laugh at her almost calm statement tacked onto the end of her explanation, but he didn't. He didn't discount her desire to see him beg either. He just lifted his wine glass in a mock toast, his expression far too serious for the half playful, half frustrated bent to their conversation.

"To begging then," he murmured, holding her gaze. "May it happen soon."

Heat crept back into her cheeks at the sudden intensity radiating from his blue eyes, but she lifted her own glass and took a sip anyway.

He shot her another doubtful look when she opened the saltines, but accepted them anyway when she handed them over to let him try it for himself. He ended up with his own sleeve of crackers.

"Beer does not taste like yeast," he finally said, not looking up from his bowl. "Not good beer."

"If you say so." She shrugged and kept eating.

"Remind me to find you a decent beer."

"Mmhmm."

They didn't say much else through the rest of dinner, choosing instead to attack their bowls in hungry silence. The almost companionable quiet unnerved her, even if she wouldn't admit it to him. She felt his eyes on her while she ate. Every time she looked up, he'd open his mouth to say something, only to snap it closed again with a frown.

She didn't know what to make of that so she said nothing, choosing instead to keep her eyes on her bowl. Even so, she found herself sneaking furtive glances at him from beneath her lashes. Each time, he had his eyes on her, that same thoughtful frown on his face. And every time she saw it, her heart beat a little faster.

She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the dishes after they finished eating. Tristan worked around her, wiping down cabinets. His body grazed hers occasionally. Her skin hummed like a Gregorian chorus every time.

"Movie?" he asked when she placed the last of their dishes back into the cabinet.