Soon the music changed again, she was spun out into the crowd, and her hand was yanked back behind her. She was pulled into a dark alcove over by the stairwell.
Tristan’s head was close to her neck, his voice low and textured. “If we don’t leave soon, there’s going to be a fight,” he promised.
She tilted her head back, allowing him better access to her throat. “Oh yeah?” she whispered. “With who?”
He laughed, because although he was partly serious, this was a game and they both knew it. “Whoever touches you next.” He pulled back a little, just enough to look at her eyes. She palmed the side of his face, her legs already shaking. Because it wasn’t a look of playfulness and lust that stared back at her. It was one of passion, of a need so great it ripped her heart right out of her chest—it was one of admiration, and she wanted to be looked at like that for all eternity.
She pulled in a deep breath, not wanting this dance to end. “Take me to your room,” she whispered.
“As you wish.”
Tristan left the party ahead of her, placing a keycard in her palm before walking away. After gathering her bag and belongings from the cocktail table, she nodded to Mark, letting him know they’d won, and began making her way to the elevator. She thought about making up an excuse for Renee, but her best friend was wrapped in her fiancé’s arms, and Samantha knew she wouldn’t be missed. She slipped out of the party without anyone noticing and pressed the button for the tenth floor.
Tristan’s room was at the end of the hall, and she opened the door without even knocking. An ache was already coursing low in her belly, and her pulse quickened as she looked into the pitch-black room.
“Tristan?” she whispered, taking two steps into the dark room before his arms wrapped around her belly.
“Grrrrr…” He growled low in her ear, lifting her off her feet and making her feel lighter than air.
Her body instinctively tensed, but she melted against him, because she didn’t have a choice… When it came to Tristan, she was like water—fluid, movable, completely translucent.
He whipped her around, grabbed hold of her ass and lifted her higher. He forced her legs apart and positioned them on either side of his waist. “You’ve had a little bit to drink,” he said, walking with her over to the bed.
She grinned, taking his face between her hands so she could look at him better. “I’ve had a lot to drink. What are you going to do about it?”
He only stared at her as though there was something he wanted to say, but then he placed her to her feet and turned her to face the wall. “How do we get this off you?”
She giggled, pulling the straps down her shoulders in one motion. She turned to face him, the romper only hanging at her hips, the pasties in the shape of roses the only things covering her breasts.
His eyes raked over them, taking in every inch, every curve, and he dipped down, until he lifted her in his arms and cradled her against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding, see him visibly struggling to breathe. He laid her down on the middle of the mattress, and followed right behind her until he was nestled between her thighs.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Only his lips and eyes transferred the message. But it was clear. She was his. No one else’s. And he was going to make sure she never wanted her legs wrapped around another man again.
The next morning she awoke with an ache between her thighs and her head nestled by Tristan’s throat. He was still sleeping, and she gazed up at him, remembering every delicious detail of their lovemaking. The room was cast in the golden glow of morning, and although he had morning stubble on his face, he still looked incredibly vulnerable. Almost like a little boy.
Her heart pinched, and she rolled to the side of the bed. For some reason whenever she looked at him she thought about bigger things, deeper things. Like forevers, like children, and mixed DNA. But last night had been magical. More than arms and limbs and passion. It was about needing one another, trusting and cherishing. She’d never experienced anything like it before in her life.
She took a deep breath and pushed off the side of the bed. Because even though she wanted to spend all morning doing it all over again, that wasn’t a possibility. She stretched her arms overhead and pulled in a deep breath. This morning was another story and she needed to get back to her room before anyone noticed.
She picked up her bag off the floor, took one last glance at the man who consumed her body, mind and soul, then walked to the bathroom. Deciding there was a two hours yet before she had to worry about anyone trying to find her, she turned on the shower and stepped in before it had a chance to warm. After washing her hair, she combed out all the tangles as best she could with her fingers, then wrapped herself in a towel and headed back to the bedroom. The moment she opened the door, she immediately froze. Her face drained of all color as Renee stared back at her.
Her best friend’s face was puffy and streaked with tears, yet she didn’t say a word. She just stood there, silently blinking as Samantha tried to come up with an excuse as to why she was coming out of Tristan’s bathroom. But there was none. Because whatever this was, it was out in the open now. There was no hiding it, no wishing it away, no backing up and hoping for a do-over.
Renee had found her in her brother’s room, and the expression on her face was one of complete betrayal. Renee closed her eyes, shutting everyone out as she tightened her fists at her sides. Samantha could only look at her, her friend’s veins visibly pulsing at every pressure point.
Renee parted her lips, and mouthed the word. “Why?”
Samantha covered her lips, shaking her head as she took a step forward.
But Renee only retreated, gasping in gulps of air that sounded like sobs. “How could you do this?” she asked. “How could you do this?”
Then she ran from the room, leaving the door open, and Samantha fell to her knees in the middle of the doorway. She looked over at Tristan, who was sitting on the side of the bed, his body only covered by the sweats she was sure he’d put on to answer the door.
“Why was she here?” she whispered. “Did Mark tell—”
But he shook his head, cutting her off before she could finish. “Mom showed up this morning… Dad wasn’t with her.”
Tears stung behind Samantha’s eyes and capped her hand over her mouth. “No. No no no.” Because after finding her mother… “She came here,” she whispered, choking on the words. “And she found us.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a fact. Because her friend who thought about everyone else before she thought about herself, had just found out that her father had been cheating on her mother. And when she’d come to talk to her brother about it, found her best friend practically naked in his room.
“I should go after her,” Samantha whispered. “Explain.”
Tristan only pushed his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Give her a minute.”
Her throat was so tight she could barely breathe, but she nodded her head. He was right. Renee would need time after something like this. She would need time, and Samantha needed to be strong enough to give it to her. “We shouldn’t have been so reckless. I shouldn’t have—”
But Tristan rose to his feet. He stopped in front of her, pulled her to stand, and wrapped his arms around her body. She pressed her face into his chest and held onto him. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears that threatened to choke her “You were right. I should have told her.”
But he remained silent. Not saying he told her so, not yelling like she knew she would have done, had the roles been reversed.
“My mom is down in the lobby,” he said after a pause. “She’s a mess.” His eyes met hers again, and she could see the wounded boy she met all those days ago when he told her about his father. The boy who was protective, hurt, and so vulnerable. “Will you be okay without me?”
Samantha almost sobbed, but stepped away, already feeling guilty for keeping him this long. “Go. I’ll catch up with you at the rehearsal.”
He traced the rim of her lips with his finger, then leaned in close. His mouth hovered over hers, but didn’t kiss. “It will be okay,” he finally whispered, but they were words not meant for her. They were words meant for himself.