"Yes."
She watched the screen, waiting for a response. It was nine p.m., and he might be out with Carter, drinking, meeting other women …
That picture of him and Brianna flashed across her mind, and Kat shut her eyes tightly and drew in a steadying breath. He'd promised her that he'd be loyal, but did that still matter when she'd told him no? Now that she'd changed her mind, was it too late?
When nothing had happened after several minutes, she knew it was only going to drive her crazy to wait for some kind of response. What had she expected? An instant call or text? A passionate declaration of love?
I'm an idiot.
She turned off her phone and slunk back down into bed. Depression settled in, and she closed her eyes, despising the fresh ache in her chest, like a gaping hole in her heart.
I'm too late. He must have moved on.
A light rap of knuckles on her door barely elicited a reaction from her. "Yeah?" she said, just loud enough for the person on the other side to hear her.
When her dad stuck his head inside, he glanced around at the dim lighting with a frown. "Can I come in?"
She nodded and continued to stare at the wall, curled up in a fetal position on her bed.
"Kat, are you feeling okay? These last few days you've been so quiet and spending a lot of time alone. This is about me and Lizzy, isn't it? I don't want you to be upset. We can talk about it, if you want."
"I'm okay, Dad. I'm just not feeling great. It's got nothing to do with you or Lizzy, I swear."
Her father came over to her bed and perched on the edge, peering down at her. Worry lines formed around his eyes, making him look older than she wanted him to be.
She didn't move. She felt like she was withering away inside.
"Kat, talk to me. Is this about the boy you mentioned at dinner last week?"
The last thing in the world she wanted to talk to her dad about was her love life, but she could tell by his expression that he wasn't going to let it go. With a weary sigh she finally dragged herself up to sit on the bed, facing him. "I liked him. A lot." Loved him. "But I think I messed things up."
Clayton sighed. "Kat, honey, you're a perfectionist. You never mess anything up. I doubt that happened."
"That's exactly what happened. He liked me, I told him we couldn't date, and now he's gone." That was the truth, or as close to it as she could get.
"Why did you tell him you couldn't date? You've had a boyfriend before. Ben was a nice kid."
She rolled her eyes. "He's nothing like Ben, Dad." And Ben had always been more like a friend than a boy she'd truly dated. Back then, she'd thought she'd really liked him, but now she knew it hadn't been romantic. There was nothing to compare to the intensity of what Tristan made her feel physically and emotionally. He owned her soul, and she'd never thought such a thing was possible.
Understanding filled his gaze. "Ahh, you think I might not approve of this young man?"
Oh, you definitely wouldn't approve, considering he sleeps down the hall and you're marrying his mother.
Kat bit her lip to keep from letting that slip out.
"He's … older," she hedged carefully.
Her dad frowned. "How much older?"
Playing with the covers on her bed, she didn't answer right away.
"Kat, how much older is he?" Her father's tone was suddenly heavy, serious.
"Twenty-five." She waited for the explosion, but it didn't come.
He was silent for a long moment. "You're right. He's too old. You'll have plenty of time to date men that age in a few years. Right now, you should focus on studying and making new friends. I know how hard you worked to get into Cambridge, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize your education."
Kat was all too aware of how lucky she'd been in getting into Cambridge. She'd slaved over her grades, her after-school volunteer activities, creating the perfect student package. When she'd been accepted, it had been one of the best days of her life. She and her father had gone out to dinner to celebrate. She wouldn't let anyone, not even Tristan, distract her from her studies. But that didn't mean she agreed that Tristan was too old for her.
"If it's just a boy that's got you down, try to forget him, honey. He doesn't sound like a very bright young man if he's not willing to wait around for you." Her father patted her shoulder.
"No," she sighed. "He's brilliant." When he isn't breaking my heart.
Thankfully her father didn't say anything else about the mystery man. "Well, get some rest. Christmas is a few days away. Lizzy says her cook makes a fantastic Christmas pudding."
At the look of utter delight on her father's face she had to smile, despite her inner aching for Tristan. "Dad, you know that Christmas pudding isn't actually pudding, right?"
"Yes, of course I know that." Her father's tone was mockingly imperious, but a hint of humor in his eyes told her he was teasing. "I'm glad to see you smiling again." He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her forehead.
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night, Kat."
He left her alone, and she lay in bed another fifteen minutes before she caved and turned her phone back on. Still no messages.
Kat tossed her phone on the bed and got up. Maybe a hot shower would help her relax. Every single muscle hurt from the tension she'd been under the last six days. As she exited her bedroom, she took a minute to study the hallway leading to the bathroom.
She hadn't thought much about Lizzy's beautiful house. It was a blend of modern and antique in its interior design and style. She'd barely noticed it before. Tristan had been the sole focus of her attention. Again that little stab of pain through her heart reminded that her she was alone and hurting.
When she got to the bathroom she closed the door. The silver knobs were cold beneath her fingertips as she cranked the hot water on. It was frigid at first, and she let out a little hiss, drawing her hand back from the water.
She stripped out of her pajamas and kicked them into a pile on the floor before she tested the water temperature again. It was perfect. She slid the glass door open further and slipped inside. The glass fogged with steam, and Kat drew patterns on the glass while she let the hot water coat her whole body, warming her up.
Then she tilted her head back and soaked her hair, closing her eyes. She mentally tried to wash away the hurt, the pain, the crushing blow of Tristan's rejection. Not sending a text back to her was a pretty clear way of telling her they were over.
Was this how he'd felt when she'd told him to leave her alone after seeing his picture in the paper with Brianna?
A sound startled her out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes and wiped at the shower door, then gasped.
Tristan stood just outside the stall, staring at her through the misted glass.
Am I dreaming? Please don't let this be a dream …
Kat needed him to be here, with her, so badly she thought she was hallucinating. She was afraid to blink and make it all vanish.
"Tristan?" she whispered.
He said nothing as he gripped the hem of his light gray sweater and pulled it up over his head, exposing his perfect, muscled torso to her gaze. His pec muscles flexed, and his abdominals clenched as he dropped his sweater and reached for the fly of his jeans.
Unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of him through the glass of the shower door, Kat licked her lips. He toed off his boots, stripped off his pants and boxers. He had the kind of body that a woman could stare at for days. It was a body made for touching, stroking, kissing. Every rigid plane of muscle, sloping indentation, and rope of steel was made for a woman's hands.
Tristan Kingsley was designed for seduction. All it would take was one crook of his finger, a lick of his lips, and that suggestive smirk to make her insides quiver and wet heat to pool between her thighs. He was sin personified, a god of lust and desire. Irresistible.
Without a word, he gripped the stall door and slid it open. She ducked into the opposite corner, suddenly shy. When they'd made love before it had been dim and beneath the covers. He'd never seen her so exposed. The flare of her hips and breasts seemed huge and embarrassing. A shower was so … intimate. What if he didn't like her all wet and looking like a drowned cat?
"Kat," he rasped in soft admonishment. Gloriously naked, and fully aroused, he slipped into the shower and closed the door, sealing them in a cocoon of heat. He crowded her against the tiles, his muscular body a wall of temptation.
This was going to happen. After six days of aching for him, he was here, and he wasn't going to let her go.
Chapter 12
You got my text?" she asked in a tiny, shy whisper.
He hadn't ignored me. He's here.