All or Nothing at All(19)

"Your mom would be ashamed."

He smiled, even though his heart felt a pang. His mom had been the only soft spot in his life, always there to support, comfort, or listen. Many times he wished for just one more day with her so he'd be able to apologize for ever taking her for granted. "She would've just told me to get married so my wife would cook."

Sydney rolled her eyes. "That comment alone would've gotten you smacked. Your mom didn't raise you to be like Brady."

"True. Though, Brady has certainly changed since meeting Charlie." He'd never seen his architect so smitten with a woman. Usually he was the one who was walking away if she didn't follow the rules of what he believed was the perfect mate for him. "I wish Mom could've met Morgan, Raven, and Charlie. I think she would've liked them."

"Me too." A short silence descended. "I miss her so much. I miss sitting in her kitchen and watching her cook while she talked about you guys."

His breath caught at the surge of warmth flowing between them. How many times had he entered his house to find Sydney in the kitchen laughing with his mom? She'd been the one to hold and comfort him when they found out about Diane's death. She was the only one to truly understand what a hole his mother had left in all of their lives. His throat tightened with emotion. "I miss her, too," he said softly. "You were like the daughter she never had. She used to warn me all the time about you."




 

 

"Me? What could she have possibly warned you about?"

The words burst free, refusing to be caged. "She told me not to break your heart."

Sydney sucked in her breath. Shock kept him still. His confession had come from deep within, but he wasn't ready to accept or examine the memory. It was too raw, too fresh, and too terrifying.

He opened his mouth to change the subject or to make a lame joke-anything to change the emotional charge sizzling between them.

A loud creaking noise rose in the air, as if a rocking chair had begun to move or a footstep had struck a loose floorboard. An icy draft whooshed through, carrying a deep chill that prickled his skin with goose bumps.

WTF?

Sydney froze, eyes wide with fear. "Tristan?" she whispered, lips trembling. "Wh-wh-what was that?"

"Nothing. Just the attic settling. It's an old house."

A loud bang exploded in the room.

Suddenly Sydney screamed and hurtled through the air, right into his arms.

He staggered back a step, her legs and arms wrapped around him, clinging to him while she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He found his balance, hitched her higher, and settled his hands on her ass to keep her close.

"We're going to die," she moaned, her thighs clenching around his hips.

In that moment, Tristan realized he might.

Five foot five inches of pure woman surrounded him. The scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, and her wild curls caressed his mouth and cheeks. The imprint of her full lips burned into the skin of his neck, her breath hot and ragged. Her ripe breasts pressed against his chest, the flannel a flimsy barrier to mask the hard tips of her nipples. His hands sank into the glorious full curves of her ass, and his dick notched in the perfect opening of her thighs.

His head exploded with sensual stimuli. He battled through the muck, desperately seeking focus. "Not gonna die," he managed to mutter. "Just the wind."

"That's no wind or house settling. It's a ghost, and he's pissed at us for encroaching on his territory." Her arms entwined around his shoulders, ripping a tortured groan from his lips.

"Sweetheart, you're not going to die. I got you. See, the noise stopped already."

Slowly she lifted her head.

Their gazes crashed together.

He watched her pupils dilate as fear turned to arousal. Her lips parted, and she arched into him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the simmering heat cranked up to a scorching fire, and in moments he was rock hard and crazed for more. The past merged with the present until nothing mattered but tasting her honeyed sweetness just once. Just once . . .

"Tristan?" 

It was a question. It was a demand. It was surrender.

He ducked his head and covered her lips with his.

Home.

The word repeated in his mind like a mantra as he plunged his tongue between her lips and rediscovered her. She was hot and wet, tasting like spun sugar, and he explored her mouth, licking and sucking in a mad quest to devour her whole. This was no polite introduction or tentative curiosity. This was no-holds-barred hunger, dragging him down into a dark abyss where pleasure demanded and ruled.

She welcomed every stroke of his tongue and gave it all back, moaning wildly against him, clutching at his shoulders and squeezing her thighs tight in her own feminine demand. Man to woman, mate to mate, the primitive carnality of the kiss shook him to the core, ripping away his illusions of his previous lovers and leaving him aching for her and only her-the woman who'd broken his heart years ago. The woman who he'd never truly been able to forget.