She groaned, their dance floor interlude forever seared into her memory.
Tristan shot her a small, victorious smirk before making a final turn. The massive, glass spire of the Ashton suddenly loomed into view, standing tall beneath the bright, blue sky. The place screamed luxury and hedonism.
Of course, he lived there. He probably had a penthouse too.
Lillian snorted, more surprised than she'd like to admit. After their discussion in her kitchen, she'd expected something a little less… flamboyant. But then again, she didn't really know much about him at all, did she?
"You can still change your mind," he murmured, whipping into the parking lot.
"I'm not changing my mind."
And it wasn't like he really wanted her to anyway.
She was in so, so far over her naïve little head.
"Fine," he said, pulling into an empty space before looking over at her, his expression an odd mix of earnestness and hope, "but if you do change your mind…."
She growled wordlessly, snapping the release on her seat belt. "If you don't want me to do this, all you have to do is say so." If that's what he really wanted, she'd do her best to stay away until his investigation ended. Life would be easier for both of them if she did. But so long as he wanted to see this thing through, some foolish, salacious part of her demanded she not back down either.
Tristan sighed, his gaze liquid lava as he raked it slowly down her body. "That's not going to happen, beautiful. I'm really looking forward to hearing you beg me to fuck you."
Right.
Battling down the urge to squirm in her seat, she popped the lock on the door.
"So not happening," she said before climbing out. She craned her neck, trying to take in the building before her, unable to understand why anyone would want to live here. She'd traveled the world, performing in all sorts of places. But she'd never had the desire to live in a glass castle like the princesses she so often played on stage. That just wasn't her. Maybe that's why she and Jen had always gotten along so well. They were outsiders, too simple to get caught up in the drama so many of their peers thrived on. Neither danced for fame. They'd always danced for themselves. Their peers hadn't understood that.
Lillian still carried the scars of their scorn.
"You really live here?" she asked Tristan when he circled around the Rover to her.
"Sometimes." He started across the parking lot.
"Sometimes?"
He nodded to the uniformed doorman holding the door open for them. "Elevators are this way," he said and banked to the right, obviously unwilling to explain his answer.
Lillian halted in the middle of the large foyer, refusing to give up that easily. At some point today, he would answer at least one of her questions truthfully. And this one, she decided, would be it.
He took two full steps before realizing she'd stopped. He turned toward her, frowning.
"Sometimes?" she repeated.
"I live here when I'm working, Lillian."
"When you're working?"
"Mmhmm."
"Explain."
Did he stay here for appearances? If so, where did he live?
He inclined his head, scowling at her as a tall blonde stalked by on dangerously high heels, a coy, come hither look on her face when she noticed Tristan. To his credit, he only looked for the briefest of moments before averting his gaze, his expression impassive.
"Can we please discuss this in private?" he demanded when the blonde sashayed her way through the foyer and out the doors, her shoulders back and her ass swaying in her tight miniskirt.
"Yeah, fine," Lillian grumbled, suddenly missing the heels she'd never bothered to wear.
Who needed heels that high at noon anyway?
"So," Lillian said as soon as the elevator doors closed.
Tristan tilted his head back and sighed. He'd really hoped she'd give up that particular line of questioning since had no intention of answering her. She wouldn't understand even if he did tell her what she wanted to know. He lived here because his job demanded it, but given a choice, it wasn't what he would have chosen for himself.
"So," he said.
She narrowed her eyes.
Tristan mimicked her expression.
"You know what?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "Never mind. Talking to you is like talking to a freaking child."
He opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it without a word.
The elevator lurched to life.
They subsided into silence.
The soft strains of Bach filled the small space.
The first three floors crept by, not nearly fast enough for Tristan. The longer they stood there, not speaking, the more he became aware of her. She reflected back at him no matter where he looked, her form beckoning him from mirrors all around the elevator. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took, the way she held her arms only serving to accentuate them beneath the fabric of her tank-top.
Jesus.
By the fifth floor, all those mirrors had him on the verge of doing something entirely insane. Like backing the feisty ballerina up against one of them…. He gritted his teeth, trying to calm himself as the thought brought a rush of images roaring to the surface of his mind. They were graphic, reminding him of one of the more erotic dreams she'd starred in since bursting into his life with all the force of comet. Didn't help that they slowly headed to the spot that very dream had transpired. The mere idea of having her inside the penthouse with the city spread out far below when he couldn't place her little hands on the windows and take her from behind made him crazy.
He really couldn't wait until she forgave him so they could bring that particular fantasy to life.
"How long did you dance?" he asked in a desperate attempt to focus on something else.
"What?" She jerked, surprised by his sudden question.
He glanced over to find her hands clenched into fists. That little sign of her discomfort made him smile. Maybe he wasn't the only one suffering the effects of being in the damn elevator.
"How long did you dance?" He took a step closer to her, watching her in the mirrors.
A tremor ran through her body. And Christ, what a body. He knew nothing about ballet, but she'd been built to dance. Even in her modest black skirt and royal blue tank top, she exuded sensuality. She wasn't stick thin like he'd assumed a ballerina would be, but curvy and soft in all the right ways.
"Well?" he asked when she didn't answer.
"Professionally? I joined the Company at seventeen." She uncrossed her arms, licked her lips, glanced away and then back. "But I've been dancing since I was three."
"Three?" He arched a brow and took another taunting step toward her.
The tension between them spiked higher. A fresh wave of lust rolled over him.
"Yes." She backed away from him, her eyes widening as she caught on to his little game.
"I bet you were a cute little ballerina," he teased, taking another step toward her with one eyebrow arched and a smirk on his lips, daring her to call him out…. and hoping she wouldn't.
"What?" She bit her bottom lip, her gaze hovering near his mouth.
Oh yeah, she was definitely distracted.
"I bet you were a cute little ballerina," he said again.
Her back thumped into the mirrored wall. He kept advancing toward her, recklessly chasing the rush of heat that enveloped him anytime he got near her.
"Pigtails, pink tights, and tiaras," he teased.
"Hmm." She pressed her legs together, shifting. Oh yeah, she was definitely right there with him in elevator fantasy hell – ache for motherfucking ache.
"When did you decide you wanted to dance professionally?"
She didn't bother with an answer this time. Instead, she tilted her head backward, her eyes wide as he crowded her into that tiny space in the corner. Close enough to touch her, but not touching. That would only end one way.
"You miss it, don't you, Lillian?" He w
hispered the question, leaning down over her in the corner, one arm propped on the wall beside her head. His breath stirred a tendril of hair along the side of her face. A few scant inches separated his lips from hers. And goddamn, did he ever want to eliminate that little space.
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.
Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) Page 15
