His voice cut in, deep and firm, making her heart jump. “Does it make you happy?”
She looked at him, searching his light blue eyes as tears brimmed in her own. She’d never been asked that question before. Never by a single soul before him. “No. It makes me frustrated, and angry, and…”
He turned to face her, setting his booted feet firmly on the ground. “Forget about the money. Forget about the gallery opening. Does your art make you happy?”
She looked into his eyes, wiping at the corner of her nose with her cocktail napkin. “Yes. Yes, it makes me happy,” she whispered.
“Then it’s worth it.”
She pulled in a shaky breath, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t know what made him come find her, or what spurred his sudden interest in her happiness, but she couldn’t help her own curiosity. “What makes you happy, Tristan?”
The corner of his mouth lifted and he looked down to his feet. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Her chest heaved and she took another sip of her drink. “Try me.”
He looked up then, his eyes crystal clear and sparkling despite the dim lights above the bar. “You do, Sammie Smiles.” He reached out to wipe a tear that glistened on the bottom of her cheek. “Seeing you again has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
She didn’t know what to say, but her heart was pounding so hard she knew she wouldn’t be able find words. Because she realized in that moment that he made her happy, too. This trip had been crazy, and emotional, and a complete disaster at times, but she’d never had more fun in her whole life. She planted her feet firmly on the rail of her barstool, trying with all her might to keep her world from spinning.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her chin quivering. “I’m sorry I said all those things. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean any of it.”
His finger brushed over her lips, shushing her. He eased himself off the barstool, took a couple of twenties out of his wallet, and tossed them in the direction of the bartender. “Let’s go. Let’s get out of here and get some sleep.”
She swallowed, wishing desperately that the feeling suddenly rolling in her belly was caused from too much alcohol. But it wasn’t. That feeling came from falling for a man—maybe for the first real time in her adult life. A feeling of wanting him so desperately her heart ached with it.
“I wanted to hate you,” she whispered. “But I don’t.”
“I know.”
She stumbled out of her chair, dragging her bag from the top of the bar, as she continued toward the door. “I don’t hate you, Tristan Montgomery, and that scares the hell out of me.” She continued walking, not bothering to look over her shoulder to make sure he was following. She knew he was. She felt him with every hair on her body, every drop of blood that surged to the surface of her skin.
“I don’t hate you either, Samantha Elizabeth Smiles. I never have.”
Chapter Nineteen
They walked down the sidewalk back to their room. Their hands occasionally brushing, his body so close she could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. It was then that she realized how much the four rum and cokes had affected her. She felt tingly and warm. All the way to her toes. All over her belly. But it was more than that which warmed her insides. It was Tristan. The way he walked, the sound of his voice, the way she felt from the simple brush of his fingers.
He guided her back to the B&B, past a donut shop, a movie theater, and a bunch of other shops she didn’t remember. “Are you sure this is the right way?” she asked. “I don’t remember any of this.”
He only nodded, placing his hand on the small of her back to keep her moving forward. To be fair, when she’d left the room after changing, she wasn’t exactly paying attention to the shops. She was fuming. Crying. Ridiculous. And for some reason, she trusted Tristan. She trusted him to take care of her. To keep her safe. To make sure she didn’t fall. Honestly, she always had. For as many faults as Tristan had, he was someone who always looked out for his friends. That’s why he had so many of them. He was someone who always looked out for his family—which now that she thought about it, was the reason he always bugged Renee so much. He was too protective. Too involved in her business. Just like a big brother should be.
Soon enough, down a sidewalk covered with too many pebbles, Tristan opened the door to their room. Once inside, her eyes set on the single king-sized bed set smack dab in the middle of the wall. Nerves tickled the back of her spine, and she walked quickly to their bags in the wardrobe closet. She fetched her PJ’s from the front pocket of her backpack and carried them to the restroom to change. Neither said a word to the other as she moved around the room.
She set her bedclothes on the counter, bracing her arms on either side of the sink as she stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were pink and flushed, her lips red from crying too much, but she didn’t hate what she saw. Her hair was down, a little wild from drying on its own. It framed her round face perfectly. She looked pretty. Sexy even—and she was single for the first time in her adult life. She looked to the door leading back to Tristan and frowned. Because behind that door was a single king-sized bed, and a man who sent shivers down her body and spine.
Not knowing what to do with this information, she quickly changed. It wasn’t something she should even consider. Something she should think about at all. After brushing her teeth and splashing water on her face, she opened the door.
Tristan was sitting on the side of the bed, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, making him look large and confident. He looked into her eyes, down to her white t-shirt, then farther, to the sliver of blue that peeked out from the hem of her shirt. Perhaps it was the alcohol thinning her blood that made her do it, or the way he was looking at her, but she walked toward him, without a word, and stood between his legs.
He looked up at her, his voice deep with warning. “What are you doing?”
She shook her head, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think anymore.” Her heart was beating wildly, like a frightened bird, begging to be set free, but she couldn’t make herself move away. She wanted him, wanted him so badly she couldn’t think straight. She fell to her knees, to the patch of bed between his thighs, and he didn’t move away. They were face-to-face for the first time in far too long, their hearts beating as one, and her body surged with sexual awareness.
She couldn’t resist him any longer. She didn’t have to. His scent was all too familiar, and she remembered it like it was yesterday. Masculine, earthy, raw. “I want you so bad it scares me,” she whispered.
He let out a hard breath. “Samantha.” There was a warning in his voice, low and soft, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, contradicting himself. He buried his nose in her hair. As though he knew this was a bad idea, knew it would lead to nothing but pain, yet he couldn’t walk away any more than she could. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Like the sea needed the shore, like he needed oxygen to breath.
“How many drinks have you had?” he asked. His breath in her ear sent goose bumps down the length of her body.
She arched her back, allowing his five o’clock shadow to brush against her neck and her sensitive skin. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, gripping him, cupping his skull. She touched her lips to his throat, inhaling deeply.
A groan came from within him, deep and guttural. He shifted her to his lap and pulled her closer until her legs were spread and she was straddling his hips. The hard fabric of his waistband pressed against her sex, and the thin fabric of her shorts was doing nothing to dull her senses. The friction sent a surge of fire to grow in her belly. So strong she had to stop herself from calling out.
At first she froze, because she wasn’t sure how far she wanted to take this. She’d broken up with Steven less than six hours ago. She and Tristan still had two days ahead of them on their trip, but her body quickly took over all thought. Her hips moved, almost involuntarily, as though she couldn’t take any more deprivation. She’d denied herself too long, lied to herself too long, and her body was finally protesting.