Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (23 page)

"I am so sick of your mood swings, Tristan. Yesterday, you were amazing. Last night, you were almost perfect. This morning though? Not even close. I expected this to be awkward. I expected you to pretend last night changed nothing. Hell, I expected you to keep on with this begging crap, but I didn't expect you to be a complete jerk. I
thought
we might have actually moved past the whole yelling at each other part of this… this… whatever this is!"

"What is this, beautiful?" he asked, the desire to fight draining from him.

"I don't know!" she shouted, her expression wavering between anger and hurt. She pushed against his chest. "Get out of my way, Tristan. I don't want to deal with you right now."

"Well, doesn't that just suck for you?" No way was he letting her go until she promised not to try that shit anymore. Forcing that promise from her probably made him an even bigger hypocritical ass, because he got it. He really did. If he were in her shoes, he'd fight tooth and nail, pushing himself beyond his limits just because they'd told him he couldn't. But he'd promised to keep her safe, and he intended to keep that promise even if it meant he had to keep her safe from herself, too.

"Let me go," she demanded.

"No."

He had a thousand different things to say to her, but when her body skimmed across his, heat bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, ripping away every single rational thought in his mind.

"What are you trying to prove, Lillian?" he whispered, shifting around until he caged her body more firmly between him and the wall.

"Nothing," she snapped.

"No?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Go to hell, Tristan."

His thigh grazed hers as he put his lips to her ear. "Ask me to help you if you want to push yourself like that, sweetheart." He sucked the lobe into his mouth. "I don't care why you're doing it. Just let me help."

"It's not your business." She shivered, some of the tension draining from her body.

He loved that. As pissed off as she was, she felt it too, felt that flame dancing between them. Her body responded to his just as much as his did to hers. And that probably shouldn't have made him happy considering the night he'd had and everything coming their way, but it did.

"Everything about you is my business," he said, trailing his mouth down her neck to suck at the skin there. With sweat drying on her, she tasted more potent than ever.

"No," she whispered even as she wound her arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Yes." He nipped at her, raking his teeth across the silky skin not covered by her leotard. "Promise me, beautiful."

She shook her head, a groan falling from her lips.

"Promise me," he demanded, pulling her skin into his mouth and biting lightly. He shifted around, moving her until he could wedge his knee between her thighs.

She moaned, setting his heart to pounding all over again.

His cock kicked in his pants, ready to fight its way free and burrow between her legs.

"Promise me you'll let me help, Lillian."

"Why do you even care?"

"I need you safe, beautiful," he whispered the fervent words against her skin before swirling his tongue across the same spot, driving himself wild in the process. "Don't ask me to stand by and watch you get hurt if I can do something to stop it." He lifted his head to meet her gaze.

"I'm not." She barely breathed. The angry lights in her eyes dimmed, slowly replaced by something softer – lust, need… affection? Understanding?

"Aren't you?"

She swallowed. "Why does it matter to you?"

"You know why," he said. "You aren't just a toy. You know that." Christ, she had to know, right? She had to know that she drove him toward something she couldn't afford for him to feel for her.

Something flickered in her expression, something warm and honest… something that had him ready to plead with her to give him this. To tell him that she knew, that she really did understand what she did to him.

Fuck.

"Please, baby."

Lillian swallowed hard. Her eyes fell closed. "Fine."

Tristan sighed and then tore himself away from her, his chest aching. Little by little, she was killing him. And that terrified him.

"I'll meet you in the kitchen," he murmured before slipping through the door into his bedroom, breathing hard and praying to a God he didn't even believe in to stop this feeling. To freeze it in its tracks before he got her hurt or killed.

He couldn't stop it though. He knew he couldn't.

Chapter Sixteen

When Lillian emerged from her bedroom forty-five minutes later, Tristan had showered and found his way to the kitchen. French toast sizzled in the skillet before him. He felt calmer, but by no means peaceful. His thoughts skittered all over the place. To Lillian, the Vetrov family, Pedro Francisco, and then back to Lillian.

If they didn't make progress soon, things were going to get ugly.

Fuck.

He flipped the burner off and placed the last two pieces of toast on a plate as Lillian grabbed milk from the fridge, not speaking. The thoughtful frown on her face made it clear her mind was a million miles away.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until neither of them could think, but didn't. He hadn't really kissed her since she agreed to let him move in. If he did kiss her, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Thanks for cooking," she mumbled as he carried breakfast to the table.

"Welcome." He set a plate in front of her before taking his own seat.

They sat in silence for a moment and then he sighed.

Lillian looked up, but didn't say anything.

"We have to test these tonight," he said, reaching for the little box of dilation drops.

"Tonight?"

He nodded.

"Why so soon? I thought we had more time. I mean, I thought we…." She trailed off, scrutinizing his expression. Whatever she saw there made her hands shake.

Tristan ached to reassure her, but nothing he said now would make what he needed to tell her any easier.

"What's wrong?" she asked, a quiet tremor in her voice.

He reached across the table to squeeze her fingers, trying to soothe her. Funny thing though… he didn't know how to ease her mind when his refused to cooperate. The thought of dragging her into a club full of strobe lights and drug addicts with those drops in her eyes didn't sit well with him anymore, if it ever had at all. She'd be blind, surrounded by people who had no fucks left to give.

"Tristan, please talk to me. You're freaking me out."

He debated how much to tell her and then sighed, unable to lie to her no matter how much he wanted to do exactly that for her sake. She deserved the truth. Hell, she deserved a lot more than that, but the truth was all he had to give her.

"Paulo Vetrov has been in touch with a cartel in Mexico."

"A cartel?" Lillian blinked.

"Yeah."

"Like a Mexican drug cartel?"

He nodded.

"Holy shit," she whispered, her eyes widening. "That's bad."

"Yeah, it's bad."

"When? I mean, how long-?"

He knew what she couldn't seem to force out. How long did they have until all hell broke loose? If they were lucky, they had six weeks before Vetrov and Francisco started shipping the shit out by the boat load. Tristan wasn't counting on those six weeks though. The stakes were too high to take that kind of risk.

"Three weeks. Tops," he said.

Lillian paled visibly.

"We're going back to
Teplo
tomorrow night, sweetheart."

Lillian swallowed hard, her gaze skittering away from his.

He watched her for a long time, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. She stared down at the table, her expression carefully blank as the little clock over the table ticked. The loud clicks were the only sound in the room. One minute dragged by and then two. Three. Four.

His heart threatened to explode while he waited for her to say something.

"Okay," she finally whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. Her hand shook when she reached for her fork. Halfway through cutting a piece of her toast, she dropped the pretense, letting the fork clatter to the table on a choked whimper.

That frightened sound tore through Tristan like a bomb. He rose to his feet and circled around the table before the utensil settled, sinking into the chair beside her. With one finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face toward his. That same haunted look he'd seen in her gaze inside
Teplo
glittered in her warm brown eyes.

His heart fucking clenched at that terrified look on her face.

"I'm not sure I can do this," she admitted, the words full of fear.

"Hey," he whispered, cupping her face gently in his palms. His fingertips swept across her cheeks. "It'll be okay, sweetheart. You'll be okay."

"Will I?" she asked, staring at him. The question trembled on her lips. "Will you?"

"You'll be safe," Tristan murmured, stroking the sides of her face with his thumbs. "I'll be with you the entire time. You'll be okay. We can – we can stop this now. You can back out. You should."

The slight tremor in his voice seemed almost pleading, but Lillian barely noticed. She was too focused on what he hadn't said, on the promise he hadn't given. The one where he made it out unscathed. Where he was safe.

His lack of assurance scared her.

So did the look on his face, like he was drowning.

"Wh-what about you?" Her voice shook.

"Don't worry about me, baby. I'll keep you safe. That's all that matters, okay?"

She stared at him, unconvinced.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear. Offered her a thin smile.

"Tristan, I-"

"It doesn't matter, beautiful," he interrupted, the quiet words leaving no room for argument.

She wanted to argue though, because his safety did matter. To her, it did.

A Mexican drug cartel.

Sweet Jesus.

She didn't know much about the drug war, but she'd danced in Mexico City once, and the safety precautions they'd taken had been insane. Armed bodyguards had accompanied them everywhere. They'd been bussed around in armored vehicles, forbidden from leaving the small section of the city housing the
Palacio de Bellas Artes
where they'd performed. One of the bodyguards assigned to her had talked a little about what was happening in Mexico. Thousands were dead. Tens of thousands, most ruthlessly murdered for no reason. Entire families simply disappeared, never to be heard from again.

The thought of such a thing happening to Tristan horrified her.

She took a deep breath and blew it out, determined to focus on one issue at a time. And the way her heart seemed stuck in her throat at the thought of something happening to her or the DEA agent sitting beside her? Well, she could deal with that later. She had to, because right now, she really could
not
think about why she wasn't fleeing for safety. Not and stay sane anyway.

She slid away from Tristan, needing physical distance to help her focus on what was most important at the moment. "When are we going to test the eye drops?"

He watched her for a long, silent moment before rising to reclaim his seat across the table. "We're going to
Trinity
tonight," he said then.

"The nightclub?" She picked up her fork… already missing the warm heat of his body so close to hers.

"Yeah. If you can handle the lights there,
Teplo
will be a piece of cake for you."

She lost her grip on the fork, causing it to clatter noisily against her plate.

"Shit," he cursed, wincing. "I'm sorry. That was-"

"I'm fine," she lied, trying to ignore the way her stomach bottomed out at his words. They both knew nothing about this would be a piece of cake. Even if the drops didn't blind her, going back to
Teplo
now would be like walking through the Ninth Circle of hell, naked.

Tristan grunted, his fork hovering inches from his untouched plate.

"W-what do I need to know?"

"We think Paulo Vetrov has gone to Francisco for help moving the product internationally," he said quietly. Information about street gangs, shipping points, drug routes, and drug names rolled easily from his tongue and lodged somewhere in her brain.

He dealt with this kind of stuff every day?

Jesus, she couldn't imagine living this reality day in and day out.

"You okay, beautiful?" he stopped to ask when she gaped at him, feeling a little like she might pass out.

"I'm-" She cleared her throat. "Yeah, fine."

"You're shaking," he murmured, his eyes doing that protective, worried thing that made her melt and ache at the same time. The way he looked at her... Christ, she wanted to wrap herself around him and stay there when he looked at her like she was the only thing he saw. "We can-"

"Tristan, I'm fine. Please don't ask me to back out again. I can't do that."

He held her gaze for a minute. "I wish you would. It'd be safer."

"Yeah, I know." She dropped her gaze to her plate, wishing he didn't want her to walk away so badly. She knew why he felt that way, but it stung to know that he kept her here only because he didn't feel like he had a choice. If he didn't need her help, he'd have walked away already. Of course that bothered her.

As stupid as it probably made her, she wanted him to want her here. Not because he needed her help or because he didn't think he had a choice, but because he felt the same pull she did. The one that took her breath away every single time he touched any part of her.

Tristan sighed, but said nothing further.

Lillian picked up her fork.

They ate quietly for a long moment, too tangled in awkward silence and frustration to pretend everything was okay. Lillian tried to focus on the problem at hand, but her thoughts refused to leave the dark-haired pain in the ass seated across the table. More often than not, she found herself thinking about him and the way he made her feel. The things he said and did to her.

She didn't understand him. Probably never would. As soon as she thought she had a read on him, he flipped the script, leaving her completely off balance. A guy like Tristan… well, it'd be easy for a girl to fall for a guy like him. Problem was: guys like Tristan weren't there when the dust settled. They had their own demons to contend with, and those demons didn't just let go.

"Fuck," he cursed, startling her out of her thoughts.

She looked up from her plate to find him staring at her, his expression torn.

Crap. What had he seen?

"Lillian, I-"

"Please don't," she whispered.

"I need you to know-"

"No, you don't." She met his gaze, pleading with him to let it go. Whatever he saw on her face, she didn't want to talk about it. Not now, when her nerves were raw and she felt shattered, as if the morning had broken little pieces of her. And not now, when he looked so freaking guilty, she wanted to curl herself around him until he forgot why he didn't want her to do this. "You really don't, Tristan."

"Lillian-"

"No."

He snapped his mouth closed, gritted his teeth and then nodded. "Fine."

"Fine," she echoed, setting her fork on her plate to hide the way her hands trembled.

The weight of his gaze unnerved her. She felt as if he saw right through her; saw all the little insecurities stacked one atop the other until she was full to the brim. And she didn't want his pity or sympathy. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her, and she definitely didn't want to hear him say that he didn't want her the same way she wanted him. He wanted to fuck her, nothing more.

"You're going to have to let me in someday," he said, pushing his plate away.

He'd eaten just as little as she had.

"Why? It wouldn't mean anything." She sought his gaze across the table, warm brown tangling with bright blue, trying to unravel the secrets he kept locked up tight. Like why it mattered to him whether she let him in or not. And why he looked at her sometimes as if he needed her more than air.

"You're wrong," he said.

"Am I?"

Why couldn't he just let it go?

"Yes."

"Liar," she mouthed, pushing her plate away. "I'm a means to an end for you, Tristan. As soon as you get what you need across the street, you're done here. Back to the real world." And she'd still be here, trying to pick up the pieces of her already shattered life.