Tristan's Temptation Read online

  And he wanted her still.

  But she wasn’t around. Not at all.

  By Monday he was in a certifiable snit.

  He went in early because he wanted to be sitting there, in his office, when she arrived. He wanted to grab her right off the bat and interrogate her about where she’d been all weekend. Hell, she hadn’t come home at all. He’d spent two whole days vacillating between worry and anger. Oh yeah. And lust.

  When she finally arrived, she brought protection. Smart girl. She probably knew how furious he’d be, so she walked into the office with her female posse—Kat and Jenny and Sara. They marched, in formation, through the front doors, down the hall and straight into the lunchroom.

  Tristan frowned and stood, barely biting back a growl. He didn’t want to wait for her to make coffee and small talk with the “girls”. He didn’t want to wait until they had shared all the details of their weekend, each minute facet of every TV show or movie they’d seen since Friday. He wanted to fuck Shannon right now. No. Talk to Shannon. He wanted to talk to Shannon right now.

  He strode down the hall and poked his head into the lunchroom and said, very succinctly and with absolutely no preamble, “Shannon. My office. Now.” Without waiting for her response, he stormed back down the hall to his office, slamming the door in his wake.

  She took her sweet time responding to his summons but at least she had the good sense to bring him coffee. She announced herself with a sharp rap and then opened the door without waiting. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Trillo?” She juggled two mugs in one hand and her steno pad in the other.

  “Close the door.” He glared at her over his steepled fingers.

  Her demeanor was bland and unreadable. She closed the door with her toe and placed his mug gingerly on the desk in front of him before sitting in the chair on the far side of his desk.

  No steno pad tossed heedlessly to the floor, he noticed. No wild, passionate blowjob.

  She took a sip of her coffee and cleared her throat. “Did you want something?”

  Did he? Hell. He wanted her—bent over the conference table. The chair. The sofa. Pressed against the wall. The desk. The windows. Yeah. He wanted something, all right.

  “Where were you this weekend?”

  She recoiled at the question or perhaps at the vehemence with which the question was posed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “This weekend. I tried to call you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Trillo. I went away this weekend. I wasn’t aware we had any projects pending.”

  “I wasn’t calling about work, damn it.” He wished she wouldn’t be quite so prosaic. Wished she would show some shred of emotion. Quivering passion, perhaps. “I wanted to see you.”

  She didn’t respond, other than to sip her coffee contemplatively. Finally, she murmured, “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do that anymore.”

  “I know,” he snapped. “But I just wanted to see you.”

  She raised a brow, a delicate, elegant brow. It mocked him more than words ever could. It spoke to his inconsistency, his stubbornness and his weak, weak will. “I went away for the weekend.”

  “Were you alone?” he hissed, beset with visions of Shannon and another man. He swallowed the acid surging into his mouth. It burned all the way to his gut.

  “I was with my sister and some friends.”

  Relief flooded him. Until her next words registered in his brain.

  “Though you know, Tristan, if I was with another man, it would be none of your business. When I promise fidelity, I keep my word, but you and I have made no such promises. You’ve made the nature of our relationship very clear.”

  He swallowed heavily. It was true. He had. Again and again. “Are you saying we’re finished?” How the words made it past his lips, he never knew. They were like sharp, jagged stones in his mouth.

  “Of course not. You’re the one who insists our relationship can never work. I love being with you. I love every moment.”

  Well, now. That was promising. He felt infinitely better.

  “So can I see you tonight?” His mood plunged when she shook her head.

  “Not tonight, Tristan.” She picked up her coffee mug and her steno pad and headed for the door. “Tonight I have a date. And you,” she said glancing at the clock, “have a meeting.”

  She had a date.

  Tristan stood back in the shadows and glared down at Shannon’s patio. He could hear the music floating on the night wind through the open doors and he clenched his fist.

  She had a date.

  He wished they’d come out onto the patio so he could get a good look at the bastard. He hoped he was dumpy. Bucktoothed. And bald.

  And then they appeared. The two of them. They walked out onto the patio—he sauntered, the cocky prick—to take in the view. The beautiful, romantic view. Tristan fumed and glared at the view. Damn that view. Why couldn’t it be hideously repulsive?

  And what was with her date?

  He wasn’t dumpy. Not in the least. The guy probably lifted weights all day long to get a physique like that. And he certainly wasn’t bald. And—damn it all anyway—his teeth were perfect. They glinted in the moonlight when he smiled. Even from here. Hell.

  His heart hitched as Shannon moved closer to the Adonis and slipped into his arms. Together, they twirled across the patio. Muted music wafted through the still night on an errant zephyr and he snarled. He slammed into his house and emerged a minute later with his binoculars. The guy had his hand on the small of her back, fingers splayed as they danced, and she looked happy. Happy, for Christ’s sake!

  Then the guy dipped her. Dipped her.

  Tristan’s eyes narrowed when she laughed up at her date as though she was enjoying this dance more than anything.

  Hell. She’d enjoyed fucking him a damn sight more, he’d wager. She’d better have.

  When they disappeared into the house, Tristan lost it. He trained the binoculars on the sliding glass doors but they didn’t reappear and the music became softer, more intimate. A new CD came on. Tristan had to strain to make out the slow, jazzy strains filtering out into the night, but to him it sounded like the perfect music for…

  Hell.

  He dragged his fingers through his hair, imagining all sorts of sleazy scenarios until, finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. Knowing he was acting like an immature ass but unable to help himself, he hopped into his car, sped down the hill to her house and laid on the doorbell.

  The chime echoed through the house but no one answered the door. Where were they? And what were they doing?

  Hell!

  Tristan rang the bell again in a staccato fashion and was gratified to hear Bosco let out a series of barks and growls, his nails scratching against the door. That would bring them. Wouldn’t it?

  And then he heard her voice—music to his ears. “Bos!” she called. “Stop that.” Tristan smiled as he noted a change in the tenor of her voice. She was coming closer.

  The door opened and she was there, bending slightly to hold on to Bosco’s collar as he attempted to leap on the intruder. She was there and, thank God, fully dressed. He’d arrived in time to stop any illicit behavior. His feral grin widened.

  “Hey, Shannon.”

  “Tristan?” Her lovely brow quirked upward, the British form of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  He leaned against the jamb. “Just came by to see how you’re doing.”

  “I have company,” she hissed, throwing a glance over her shoulder into the living room. Good. They were still in the living room.

  “Great!” He pushed past her into the foyer, reaching down to scratch Bosco behind the ears. “Can’t wait to meet him.” Ignoring her frown, he strode down the hall. She sighed as she closed the front door and followed.

  The scene before him was pleasing in the extreme. The man of the evening—Shannon’s date—was seated on the sofa studying a Scrabble board.

  Scrabble.

  They were playing Scrabble.
/>   “Who was it, Shan?” her date said in a distracted voice. When he turned his head and saw Tristan, his nostrils flared.

  Shannon caught up and stepped between them to make introductions. At least that’s what Tristan assumed. If she knew the extent of what was going on in his gut, she’d be stepping between them to keep Tristan from ripping someone’s way-too-handsome face off.

  “Tristan, this is my friend Steve Olsen. Steve-o, this is Tristan Trillo.”

  Steve—Steve-o—stood and Tristan was irritated that he was very tall, much taller than Tristan. He was also much, much prettier than Tristan, with long sweeping lashes and a thick shock of hair with a little Elvis curl right in front. From his great height, he gave Tristan an assessing look. But it wasn’t the assessing look of a man sizing up the competition. It was the look of a man sizing up a potential conquest.

  Then Steve-o smiled.

  “My heavenly God.” He fanned himself with one hand, apparently in raptures. “You aren’t the Tristan Trillo, are you? I’ve heard so much about you. Shannon practically gushes.”

  “Is that so?” Tristan smiled at Shannon, a sly, knowing smile.

  All right. It was a smirk.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and muttered something under her breath.

  “Totally.” Steve-o ignored this byplay. I’ve heard about it all. The late nights, the long projects.” He grinned and leaned in. “You’re quite the slave driver.” He laughed at his own private joke and picked up his wineglass to take a sip. “It’s poetic that you two are now an item.”

  “We are not an item!” Shannon blurted, glaring at them both in turn.

  “You’re a something,” Steve purred. “And it’s so romantic.”

  “Brother.”

  “I mean, she’s been crazy for you for—”

  “Steve!” Shannon’s ejaculation halted the sentence much sooner than Tristan would have liked. Still, the prospect set his pulse racing. Shannon was crazy about him? And had been for…how long? As long as he’d been mooning over her?

  Could it be that they’d been wrapped in a web of mutual lust for years, never knowing the other was sitting on the other side of a flimsy glass partition trying desperately to corral lustful urges?

  Steve rolled his eyes. “You heteros,” he sniffed. “Everything has to be so furtive. So many games.”

  “What do you mean?” There were no games between them. Were there?

  “You want her. She wants you. Just fuck each other and enjoy the hell out of it. Quit worrying about who knows what. Or who’s going to approve or not approve. God. If I worried about that I’d never get laid.”

  Tristan glanced at Shannon. It was good advice. There was nothing he wanted to do more right now than to flip her over the sofa and sink into her sweet pussy. Going without her for three whole days had tested his restraint and seeing her with another man had pushed him close to the edge. He didn’t want her to want any other man. Only himself.

  His feelings for her definitely went way beyond mere lust. They were ravenous and feral and harsh. And he wanted her bad. He didn’t particularly care who knew about it. All he cared about was feeling her desperate, panting breaths in his ear as she came.

  “Now,” Steve said primly. “My work here is done. I’ve got to go.” He drained his wineglass and picked up his jacket. He paused at the door to add, “Just remember this. None of the people you’re trying so hard to please are worried about pleasing you. Your life is your responsibility. You have to make yourself happy, and damn the consequences.” And then, with a sketched wave and a cursory pat for Bosco, he let himself out

  Finally. Alone at last.

  Tristan fixed Shannon with a hungry look.

  She avoided his gaze. Instead she busied herself collecting the plates and glasses on the coffee table and meticulously arranging them on the kitchen bar. “Would you care for something to drink?” This, she asked in her most hostess-y voice. “Some cake, perhaps?”

  “No.” Tristan’s voice was rough, laced with tightly reined passion. “I want you.”

  She stopped in her tracks.

  “I’ve wanted you every minute since I was inside you last.”

  “But we—”

  “I know what we agreed. I know what I said. But you heard Steve. Damn the consequences.” Steve’s little speech had really resonated in his soul. What was keeping them apart, after all?

  It was his stupid rule and his stubborn streak. Adam wouldn’t really care if Tristan broke the rule. Hell, Adam had already shattered it.

  “Why shouldn’t we enjoy each other?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  She dipped her head. He thought, perhaps, he saw the glitter of tears on her lashes.

  “Why?” He took the Scrabble board from her and set it back on the coffee table. When she wouldn’t look at him, he gently nudged her chin up with two fingers.

  Hell. They were tears.

  “Why, Shannon?”

  “Because you are also enjoying Tandy Larsen.”

  His mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I know you went on a date with her.”

  “Now wait just a minute. I did not go on a date with her.” His belly lurched at her expression. Panic flared. “It wasn’t a date. Honestly. Kat and Adam set it up. They thought they were doing me a favor. You know I can’t stand her. She drives me crazy.”

  “But you went out with her.”

  “No. I went to Levin’s party and she was there. I didn’t ask her out. I didn’t want to be with her. I only want…”

  “What?”

  “You. I only want to be with you. And damn the consequences.”

  Shannon cleared her throat and stared at the floor. “Sometimes consequences have a way of catching us unawares.”

  He moved closer and pulled her soft body against his. She was warm and she smelled sweet. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck and tasted her. “Shannon,” he rasped. “I need you.”

  “Tristan.” She arched against him as his lips and teeth and tongue tormented the side of her neck. He knew how to rouse her. He knew the spots that made her twitch and groan. And with every tryst, he learned more. He ached to discover it all, even if it took forever. He skated his hand up her flank and cupped her breast. When he swiped a thumb over a nipple, her entire body jerked in response.

  “I want you.” He allowed his mouth to make the pilgrimage to her ear and over her cheek, to trail along her jawline and nibble at the dimple on her chin. Then he took her lips.

  He tasted her gently at first, rubbing his lips against hers until they were tender and tingling. He laved her lips with his tongue, tasting the sweet nectar of her breath. Then, finally, he settled his lips upon hers and set about seducing her with his mouth. He drew her tongue into his mouth and sucked and was shot through with passion when she reciprocated. His kiss became wilder then. He held her head and feasted madly, loving everything from the taste of her to the tiny impassioned grunts issuing forth as he explored, demanding more and ever more.

  His cock was hard and throbbing. He was ready to take her now. But then, he’d been ready to take her since Friday. He needed to bring her along in this raging desire. Draw her closer to the insanity he felt, secure her in his world so she couldn’t slip away again—could never, would never, show up on a date with another man, for Christ’s sake.

  What he wanted, rather desperately, was to stake his claim.

  His mind flew through his options and suddenly it dawned on him.

  He knew how to capture her.

  He knew exactly what to do.

  He pulled back and frowned at her. Sternly.

  “I was furious when you told me you had a date tonight. You should have told me it was with a friend.”

  “You didn’t ask,” she responded playfully. Then again, she hadn’t yet realized where this was going.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You knew what I would assume.”

  “I have no idea
what you mean.” She tried to turn away. He stopped her.

  “Really? Do you know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you were trying to make me jealous. Were you?”

  She fixated on the little crocodile on the left breast of his shirt. “Maybe.”

  “You don’t think that was a naughty thing to do?” Her gaze rocketed back to his and her dainty little nostrils flared as comprehension dawned. “You don’t think I have a right to be angry?”

  “I—”

  “No.” He cut her off. “No excuses. Was it a naughty thing to do? Yes or no.”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you asking me a question or are you telling me a fact?”

  “Yes. It was a terribly naughty thing to do, but—”

  “Ah!” He halted her words with a finger to her lips. “Then you agree, you should have a spanking.” It wasn’t really a question but he waited for her answer. It was difficult to wait because she was getting nervous and restless, which meant she was fidgeting and tugging at her lip with her teeth, and, frankly, both of those moves inflamed the predator in him.

  “I suppose.”

  “No. You don’t suppose. The answer is yes or no.”

  “Yes.” A whisper.

  She didn’t meet his eyes when she said it so he tipped her chin up. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

  “Yes.” She stared at him. Her lips trembled. “I should have a spanking.”

  Sharp satisfaction sliced through him and he dropped her chin. His cock twitched in anticipation. In a moment he was going to have Shannon Weiss draped across his lap with her skirt up, with her panties down around her knees.

  Frankly, he couldn’t wait.

  Chapter Eight

  Shannon stared at Tristan as an unholy hunger welled within her. The thought of his hand coming down, hard and masterful on her ass, sent a wet gush of slick cream sluicing through her pussy. She shivered as she pressed her thighs together. Her clit throbbed. Her mouth went dry. She could barely look at him.