Drawn That Way

by Bronwyn Green

  “What are you talking about?”

  Tris sighed. “When you asked me what happened after the first photo shoot.” She rubbed her hand over her face, took a huge swallow of the ridiculously strong coffee and told Clover everything. From the dirty Tumblr awkwardness and their one-time-only agreement to last night. She kept the sexual details to herself but told her friend pretty much everything else. “When you asked me before, I figured nothing else would ever happen with him again, and I was better off forgetting it, but…”

  “But, then, last night happened,” Clover supplied.

  “Exactly.”

  “Are you guys going to keep seeing each other?” her friend asked, seeming delighted by the prospect.

  “We’re not really ‘seeing each other’. This is just a friends-with-benefits kind of situation. We’re just keeping it very quiet. Neither one of us want a relationship,” she said firmly. “At all.”

  “Wow. You’re really trying to sell that.”

  Tris frowned. “What?”

  “Honey.” She reached across the desk and took Tris’ hand. “You really like him. I can tell.”

  Tris shook her head. “I will say that he’s literally amazing in bed.”

  Clover raised her eyebrows.

  “And I do like him. But…not that way.” The lie tasted so bitter in her mouth not even the extra sweetness in the latte would wash it away. But, maybe if she repeated it often enough to herself, and now, Clover, she’d start believing it. Maybe.

  Her friend just stared at her, clearly not buying it, but all she said was, “I won’t say anything to anyone. And, if you need to talk, I’m here, okay?”

  Squeezing Clover’s hand, Tris said, “Thank you—for the coffee and for being such a good friend.”

  She’d had a hell of a time concentrating for the rest of the day. Taking her umpteenth cup of coffee, Tris wandered toward the window and watched the waves crashing on the shore. The caffeine wasn’t doing as much as she’d hoped to clear her head. She trusted that Clover wouldn’t blab the gossip around the office; Tris just hoped no one noticed her mooning over Rory. That was the last thing she needed. The last thing Rory needed, too.

  Closing her eyes, she remembered the look on his face right before he’d kissed her—the need, the desperation, the war with himself. As freaked out as he’d seemed, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d change his mind and decide that friends-with-benefits wasn’t what he wanted. Her stomach clenched at the thought.

  Get a grip. You don’t want a relationship, and neither does he. Yes, the sex is amazing, but even if it ends now, you still got what you wanted. A sharp left away from Vanillaville and the chance to live out a few fantasies. Mission accomplished. Anything else is just a bonus.

  A knock sounded on her open door, and she whirled to see Rory standing there, hand on the back of his neck.

  “Can I come in?”

  She nodded, watching as he closed the door behind him. Butterflies fluttered through her stomach. Was this where he told her that friends-with-benefits was a bad idea?

  She took a sip of her coffee, forcing herself to remain calm. “Is everything all right?”

  Approaching her, he rubbed his neck again then shoved his hand in his pocket. “Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing. I just wanted to make sure that everything thing was okay between us.”

  Afraid her suddenly trembling hands might be noticeable, she set her coffee cup down on the window sill. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Relief shone clearly in his face, and he closed the distance between them. Driving his fingers through her hair, he tilted her face up to meet his. “Good.”

  The butterflies that had gathered earlier now battered her middle as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Because I’ve been dying to do this all day,” he murmured, his lips brushing feather-light across hers. That feather-light touch turned desperate in a matter of seconds, and his hands tightened in her hair, the sharp pain pulling a moan from her. He swallowed the small sound and pressed against her, his cock hardening between them.

  Her arms snaked around his waist, and she allowed her fingers to creep beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt to stroke the warmth of his skin. He shivered a little at her touch, and she tugged him closer.

  One hand slid through her hair to stroke her neck, his thumb tracing a path downward to rest in the hollow of her throat. The slightly controlling, possessive touch sent need trembling along her limbs. Her pulse pounded through her veins, and she wondered if he could feel it.

  His other hand slipped down her spine and over the curve of her arse, pressing her fully against him. He trailed his mouth along her jaw to her ear.

  “I’ve been looking at your Tumblr posts.”

  A shiver worked through her body as she tried to remember if she’d posted anything new lately.

  He brushed the backs of his fingers across where her nipple peaked against her shirt, and her breath caught.

  “I’ve noticed you seem to have an interest in nipple clamps.” After repeating the motion, he shifted and pinched the aching flesh. “Have you ever tried them?”

  She shook her head, not quite able to make a sound.

  “I ordered you a set. I can’t wait to see them on you—see your nipples hard and aching—waiting for my mouth.” He pinched her again, and she stiffened, gasping. Dragging his teeth down the side of her throat, he scraped the curve of where her neck met her shoulder. Her fingertips dug into his back, and she barely stifled a moan.

  Her cellphone rang, and Rory stiffened, lifting his head from her neck. “Do you need to get that?”

  “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.”

  He waited for a moment while she stared at him, willingly losing herself in his eyes. When no chime sounded indicating a waiting voicemail, she shrugged and said, “See?”

  His lips quirked, and he kissed her again. And stopped just as soon as her office line started ringing.

  She dropped her head against his chest. “I don’t want to get that, either.”

  “If it’s important, they’ll leave a message,” he agreed.

  “You’re just humoring me now, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. A little.” As soon as her phone had stopped ringing, he said, “I was thinking that maybe we could—”

  The beep of the office intercom cut him off then Annie’s voice filled the room. “Tris? Your brother is on line one.”

  “Bollocks,” she muttered.

  “What was that, hon? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Please put him on hold. I’ll be with him in a moment.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She looked up and met Rory’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  He smoothed her hair from her eyes. “Don’t be. If your family needs you…”

  She frowned. “They don’t.” He opened his mouth, but she laid her finger across his lips. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  He watched her, his expression concerned. Concerned definitely wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him watching her with that raw heat and need in his eyes.

  Frowning, she crossed to her desk and picked up the phone, trying to rein in her annoyance. “Hey, Morgan, what’s going on? Everything okay?”

  “What?” he sneered. “You don’t answer your phone anymore?”

  Oh, good. It was going to be one of those calls. “I’m at work. If you can’t sort out basic maths to keep track of the time difference, then get an app for your phone.”

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed Rory shift. She glanced up, and he pointed toward the door, looking incredibly uncomfortable. She mouthed “sorry” to him and tried not to sigh as he left the room, tugging the door shut behind him.

  Frustration surged, but she fought to remain calm as Morgan stayed silent. “You just interrupted a meeting with my boss.” Her brother didn’t need to know the meeting hadn’t been the least little bit professional. “What’s going on?”

  “When are you coming hom
e?”

  She stifled a sigh. “For a visit?”

  “For good. I’m sick to death of hearing how much Mum and Dad miss you. Just quit punishing them already and come home.”

  She rubbed her forehead against the tension headache that was already starting to form. “I’m not punishing them. I’m living my life.”

  “Did you fall for some wanker? Is that it? Is that why you’re staying?”

  Rory’s image immediately materialized in her mind, but she shoved it away. “I’m just happy living here. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “If it’s some guy… I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “There’s no guy. There’s just me, living my life in a place I love. If you can’t understand and respect that, you need to stop calling. I’ll be home for a visit at Christmas.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered.

  The hold she had on her patience snapped. “What is this really about?”

  “I just don’t see why you’re throwing the education they gave you in their faces. You were supposed to come home and take over the books.”

  “That’s why you’re calling to harangue me?”

  “What?” he asked, sounding defensive.

  “I said no to working the family business, and you didn’t, and now, you’re a bitter arsehole about it.” Before he could speak, she added, “And they didn’t give me my education. I’ll be paying off these student loans for quite some time. So quit making assumptions.”

  He sighed, sounding utterly defeated. Finally, he murmured, “I miss you, bratface.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” she said sinking into her chair.

  “You’re right. I’m feeling sorry for myself because you had the balls to do what made you happy, and I didn’t.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, it’s not sunshine and daffodils over here all the time.”

  “At least, you’re not doing something you hate.”

  “True. But you don’t have to, either, Morgan. Figure out what makes you happy, and do that, instead.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “You don’t have to sort it out overnight, but, at least, start thinking about it. And in the meanwhile, maybe you should get out your cello, again.”

  He snorted.

  “How long has it been since you’ve composed anything? Hell, how long has it been since you’ve played anything?”

  Despite the fact that he pissed her off on a regular basis, she did feel sorry for her brother. He’d always done whatever her parents asked of him—even when they’d asked too much. Like giving up his dream of music school for a business degree. It had been the main reason she’d insisted on putting herself through university. Even though she’d gotten the degree they would have chosen for her, she’d done it on her terms. She had no desire to feel beholden to them and their business for the rest of her life.

  “At least, think about it,” she said, her voice softening. “I’m not saying you need to quit tomorrow and join some sketchy artist commune. Just start thinking about how you want to spend your life, yeah?”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good.” After a pause, she said, “Hey, Morgan? I miss you, too.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. I’m sorry I’m such a bastard.”

  “You sometimes are. But my couch is open if you ever want to visit. I love you.”

  “Love you, too, bratface.”

  After they hung up, Tris looked at the clock. It was after five-thirty. For a brief moment, she wondered if Rory was still in his office then realized she was being stupid. Where else would he be? The man practically lived there. But just because he was there didn’t mean he was still interested in finishing what they’d started earlier. Dysfunctional family fun times were enough to scare off even the most casual of casual relationships.

  Either way, she needed to get out of here.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rory looked up as Tristan peered into his office. He pushed away from his desk and stood, motioning her inside. He didn’t miss the way she clutched her purse, looking as if she were about to bolt.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked as she drew closer. “You look upset.”

  She shook her head and smiled wanly. “It’s fine. My brother’s just a wanker.”

  He studied her face. The light that had been in her eyes earlier was gone. As if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she forced another smile, bigger this time, but no more convincing.

  “He’s just not happy with the choices he’s made.” She shrugged. “And, sometimes, the best target for that is the little sister.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. He sounds like an asshole.”

  A weak laugh escaped her. “Sometimes…” She looked away from him then back, not really letting her gaze settle anywhere. “I should probably let you get to work.”

  “Or you could come get supper with me.” Her eyes met his and widened slightly. He had no idea what she was thinking. He knew this was probably outside the bounds of their friends-with-benefits agreement, but he couldn’t seem to keep the words from falling out of his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And I’m sick of pizza and Chinese.”

  She opened her mouth, but he rushed to add, “It would be nice to have the company,” before she could turn him down. “And you look like you could use a meal with a friend, tonight."

  “That sounds…nice, actually.”

  His heart loosened at her acceptance, but he didn’t want to examine that feeling too closely. So, he ignored it, just like he did everything else that made him uncomfortable.

  Grabbing his keys, he asked, “What sounds good to you?”

  They met up at a little hole-in-the-wall Middle Eastern place she’d suggested. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about Mediterranean food, but if it meant spending more time with Tristan, he was willing to eat just about anything.

  He wasn’t crazy about the fattoush—especially the beets, but the hummus and the shawarma were delicious. As they ate, and she sipped at her wine, she started to visibly relax a bit.

  “I’m sorry if I was weird, earlier. I love my family, but they stress me out. And, now, I just feel guilty that I’m happily doing what I want to do, and my brother’s back home, miserable and stuck in a job he hates in my parents’ company.”

  Rory frowned. “Did he call to guilt you?”

  She fiddled absently with the stem of her wineglass, seeming hypnotized by the swirling liquid. “That’s how it started. My parents want me to come home, settle down there, take over the books for their import company. But, I called him on it.”

  She was quiet for a minute, and he wasn’t sure she was going to say anything else, but she finally said, “He’s not a bad guy. And my mum and dad aren’t awful. They just assumed that we’d take over the business for them, and neither of us want to. I just managed to tell them no, and Morgan hasn’t quite been able to, yet.”

  “Is that why you opted to stay in Michigan after college?”

  “It’s part of the reason. The rest is that I really like it here. But it’s the entire reason I took out student loans rather than let them pay for school for me.”

  “Is it selfish of me to say that I’m sorry you’re in debt, but I’m glad you went that route?”

  It was hard to tell in the light from the beaded Moroccan light fixture that hung above the table, but he thought she might be blushing a bit.

  “Because of my unparalleled maths skills?”

  He smiled a little sheepishly. “I admit, it’s one of the first things that attracted me to you.” Catching her gaze, he stared at her for a long moment. “But it’s definitely not the only thing.”

  She took a healthy drink of her wine. “What about you? Any annoying siblings?”

  “Nope. It’s just me.” He shrugged. “After my mom died, I went to live with my grandparents because my dad just kind of checked out. I still do
n’t see him much.”

  Pity and concern clouded her pretty, green eyes, and that was the last thing he wanted to see there. Why the hell hadn’t he just stopped at no siblings? What was it about her that made him speak without thinking? Before he could think of a way to change the subject, the server stopped at the table and offered them dessert.

  “Have you ever had baklava?” Tristan asked.

  He shook his head.

  “You should try it. It’s my favorite dessert.”

  Not willing to end their meal, yet, he ordered the sampler platter. He’d eat it, even if he hated it. Anything to keep her here and talking to him a while longer. He ignored the warning bells ringing in his mind and shoved them into the box inside his head where they belonged.

  When their server returned with a huge plate of what he assumed were all different kinds of baklava, he asked Tristan to choose one for him. She pointed at a diamond-shaped bit of honey-soaked pastry. He took a bite and almost groaned as Tristan watched him closely.

  When he swallowed, she asked, “So?”

  “It’s good. Not as good as my favorite dessert, but it’ll do.”

  She frowned at him. “Obviously, your taste is questionable, at best. What’s your favorite?”

  He let his eyes scan over her body. “Just a little foreign delicacy I’ve tried recently.”

  Her cheeks flushed brightly—this time it was clear even in spite of the funky light fixtures—and she rolled her eyes at him.

  She took a small pastry covered with crushed pistachios and bit into it, closing her eyes and stifling a moan of pleasure.

  He leaned across the table, closer to her. “You don’t need to be quiet on my account.”

  Her eyes flew open. “You’re a filthy man, Rory Brecken.”

  “And your accent gets stronger when you’re angry or when you’re aroused. So, which is it?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him and took another bite.

  “Little of both, then? I can work with that.”

  Tristan’s lips quirked, and she looked as if she was fighting a smile…and winning, apparently.

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” he murmured.