His hands dropped from the wall to her waist, tugging on the folds of the towel that barely covered her.
It would be so easy, he could lift my towel up and fuck me right here against the wall. Just one more time, we could …
The towel dropped to the floor.
Tristan's eyes raked over her naked body, and when he lifted his head and met her gaze, one corner of his mouth slid into a lazy half-grin that hit her so hard her knees knocked together.
He lifted one finger, pressed it to his lips, and made a soft "Shhh" before he leaned down to kiss her collarbone. Her nipples pebbled with the cool air and her building arousal. She stared down at the top of Tristan's head, noting the way the light brought out hints of copper in the dark locks. His kisses traveled down in a slow, teasing path to one of her breasts. When he flicked his tongue against one sensitive peak, a whimper escaped her.
He is going to kill me. Right here in the bathroom of his mother's house … Holy fuck …
Her hands moved to grip his hair, but he caught her wrists and pinned them against the wall by her hips.
"Oh, God," she panted as he knelt in front of her and glanced up, that wicked grin curving his lips upward. There was no denying the magnetic pull of that smile and how it obliterated all of her defenses.
Tristan lifted one of her legs up, putting her calf over his shoulder, opening her to him. Kat dug her nails into the wall, praying she could keep her balance. Tristan's lips danced lightly down from her navel to her mound. His lips settled around her clit, which pulsed hard and sharp. The tip of his tongue stroked, flicked, and played with the swollen bud. As he teased her with his mouth, his hand coasted up her inner thigh before it found her wet entrance. Drawing lazy, slow patterns in her tender flesh, Tristan tortured her with exquisite agony. Kat squirmed, writhed, pleaded in little soft desperate sounds for him to stop, to keep going … to …
"Ahh!" Kat gasped as he licked at her.
The pulsating sense of need, was too great to deny. The explosive climax hit her hard, and she threw her head back, swallowing her cry of pleasure when his hands dug into her ass, holding her in place while he drew out her orgasm, lapping at her folds until she was too sensitive to do anything but beg for mercy. Currents of desire rippled through her, not diminished at all by the fact that she'd just come apart with his mouth on her.
The wicked glint in Tristan's eyes was her only warning that he had no intention of stopping. He started to dip his head toward her mound again with a throaty chuckle.
"Please … " she rasped frantically, dying to have him take her. It didn't matter what happened outside the door, they were here together and he was going to …
"Kat?" Her father knocked on the bathroom door.
She sucked in a breath, and Tristan's hands, which were stroking her outer thighs, stilled, his muscles tensing beneath her palms. Neither of them moved. Neither of them dared to breathe. Her heart pounded so hard that she couldn't hear anything outside of that thunderous racing beat in her ears.
"Kat, are you okay?" her father asked, rapping his knuckles on the door again.
Tristan rose silently to his feet to tower over her again. His blue-green eyes cut through her as he stared down at her. "Answer him, before he opens the door." It was barely a whisper but she was close enough to hear him.
She cleared her throat, her mouth dry. "I'm fine, Dad. Be out in a few minutes." She closed her eyes, praying her dad wouldn't break the first rule of the father-daughter code and come inside without her express permission.
"Okay, honey."
Her ears strained to pick up on the sounds of his departure. When several seconds had passed, she sagged against the wall, letting go of Tristan's arms. Then she dove for the bath towel and flung it around her body.
"We can't do this again." She met his gaze, surprised at the flicker of anger in his eyes.
His sensual, full lips thinned into a hard line, and his eyes narrowed, the fire in them dimming. His jaw clenched, and he turned his face away as though he didn't want to look at her. He was mad, and she couldn't blame him. They'd lost control right here in the bathroom because the magnetic pull between them was too strong. Sexual frustration coursed through her, and she bit her lip, focusing on the sting of pain to get her mind off of how much she wished she had surrendered to him completely and how he'd have been deep inside her right now if she had.
He moved away to pull a towel from a rack above the toilet and dropped it on the counter. Then he glanced over his shoulder.
"Mum has asked me to give you a tour of the house so you'll know where everything is while you're here. I'll meet you outside your room in half an hour." Then he turned to face the shower.
As he leaned into the stall and flicked the faucet handle to turn the water on, Kat watched the muscles of his back play in little ripples. The faintest trace of claw marks still cut across his shoulder blades. Her marks. Again, that flood of primal desire and animal satisfaction moved through her. She wanted to make more, to permanently claim this gorgeous man as hers.
But he's not mine, not anymore. I can't have him because it will put our parents, and my heart, at risk. That last part was her deepest fear. She'd started to care about him, to get addicted to him, not just physically but emotionally. She didn't want to get her heart broken. She'd grown up watching her father live with a shattered heart and she didn't want that to happen to her. What if she wasn't strong enough to survive that level of heartache?
The sound of his pants zipper had her jolting back to awareness and hastily ducking out of the bathroom. The last thing she needed was to catch a glimpse of him in anything less than jeans. After how he'd just gone down on her, she was having a hard time convincing herself she shouldn't want to return the favor … Her libido and self-control couldn't handle that. Flushing guiltily, she clutched her towel around her body and dashed back to her room. How was she going to get through this? With Tristan sleeping just down the hall, naked, the way he'd told her he did …
Shit, I'm in too deep here. I want him too much … How am I going to survive three weeks with him being so close?
Chapter 4
I can survive this. As long as I don't think about his perfect abs, or his tight ass, or his lips … Yeah, no more thinking about Mr. Sexy-as-Hell.
Kat threw on a pair of jeans and a warm cable-knit sweater and stared at herself in the mirror. They were eating at home, so she hoped jeans would be okay. What if there were more than three courses? What if there were half a dozen different spoons on the table? How would she know which ones to use?
There really ought to be a list of basic rules or a manual or something. Ten ways to please your British Bad Boy in bed and impress his mother at dinner …
Kat leaned toward her reflection in the full-length mirror, feeling completely stupid as she put on mascara and lip gloss. It was okay to want to look nice, right? That was what she wanted. It had nothing to do with Tristan. Definitely not. There was nothing wrong with wanting to look nice, except … she'd never really cared about it before tonight. Before Tristan. Kat let out a little hiss of frustration and stalked over to her bed. She grabbed her backpack and dug through its contents until she found what she was looking for.
Dropped from the Clouds.
When she'd packed for this trip to London, knowing she'd meet her father's girlfriend and son, she'd reached for this book first, relishing the way it felt like a security blanket. Normally she would have brought her well-loved paperback, but she'd wanted a part of Tristan with her when meeting Lizzy for the first time. So she'd carefully wrapped his gift in a vellum cloth and tucked it in a safe place in her bag, where it wouldn't be damaged.
She remembered Tristan's face when he'd watched her pull it out of the box that night. Eager anticipation and joy had illuminated his face in a way that had made him glow. He'd really given thought as to what to buy her. It hadn't been anything generic or clichéd. No, the man had to go and be perfect by buying her a book that had meaning to her and proving he'd listened to her.
Touching its gilded cover and tracing the balloon on its surface made her think of Tristan. As foolish as it had been, she thought she'd be carrying a piece of him with her, like a shield into battle. But now he was on the other side.