"Hello?" Lillian mumbled, reaching out to tip the little ornament back into place.
"Morning, Lil," her dad said, his voice full of affection. "Did I wake you?"
"Um…." Little tendrils of disappointment twisted through her, though she didn't know why. Of course Tristan wasn't calling her. He didn't even know her number, for Christ's sake. Stupid. So stupid, she silently berated herself, swiping her free hand over her eyes as if the motion would clear her mind as much as her field of vision.
"Lil?"
"Yeah, I'm here. Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." Her cheeks flamed at the lie even though her father couldn't see her. She'd slept better than she had since her ballet career was ripped away from her a year ago.
"Maybe you should call Dr. Thomas. He could prescribe you something."
"Dad." Untangling the sheet from around her and throwing it off, she scooted around in her bed to stretch her aching leg. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure." She shook her head, bemused. "You worry too much."
"Not without reason," he replied, his voice quiet, tired.
Lillian glanced down at the long scar on her thigh, a sad frown twisting her lips.
"Yeah, I know," she said through the lump in her throat. And she did know. Intimately, in fact. But at twenty-two, she didn't need her dad to slay dragons for her anymore. She had to learn to do it on her own again.
"That's good," he said, clearing his throat.
Awkward silence hung on the line for a moment.
"Are you working today?" she asked then.
"Always, baby girl." Her dad chuckled, his relief at the change of subject obvious. "I'm glad you weren't as big a hellion as some of these kids today, Lil. Mrs. Anderson has been to the office twice already, having a fit about someone taking a baseball bat to her mailbox."
"It was probably the football team."
"Yeah, I know. What are you doing today, kiddo?"
"I'm not sure." She frowned. Now that she was unpacked and settled, she had nothing to occupy her day. In truth, unless she met Tristan at the club as he'd requested, her entire week was completely, mind-numbingly empty.
Tristan.
Her gaze shifted toward the business card he'd slipped into her hand the night before. The one she hadn't been able to convince herself to toss in the trashcan when she'd stumbled home. His name was etched across the matte card in an elegant, bold script. It suited him. Dominant, confident, beautiful… just like the man with his olive skin, messy dark hair, unshaven jaw, and those bright blue eyes.
Could she meet him again?
She eyed his card, considering, and then shook her head.
No. She couldn't go. Not even if she did really like the way he-
No. Don't you dare finish that thought! she snapped to herself.
"You should get out of the house, catch up with your friends."
Lillian cringed, her dad's voice snapping her back into reality. The one where she didn't hook up with strangers in seedy dance clubs, or want to do so again. She wasn't that woman. She was Lillian Maddox, prima ballerina with the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company.
Except she wasn't that woman anymore either, was she? Her career was over… ended the minute her leg had snapped.
No amount of praying or pretending would bring it back.
"Maybe I'll go see Jennie and Tony," she mumbled, delving her fingers into her blankets and clinging hard as the truth knocked the breath out of her just like it always did. She'd never perform again. That reality still seemed more like some horrible nightmare to her.
"That's good, kiddo. Real good. You'll call me tomorrow?"
"You know I will."
"Be good," he advised before hanging up.
Her gaze darted back to Tristan's card.
Images of him twirled through her mind, causing her nipples to harden and the butterflies in her stomach to flutter. She'd never felt anything quite like the intense rush of freedom she'd found with him last night. She'd gotten completely lost in him, and it had been amazing. Something about him made her want to let him make her forget what her life had become in the last year.
If she went back… would he rouse that same overwhelming sense of peace?
Would she be able to breathe again?
"It doesn't matter," she reminded herself, pushing the thought away before the flutter of excitement in her chest could grow. Lifting his card from the table, she tore it into little pieces before her resolve wavered. As the pieces of the card fell into the trashcan beside her, she brushed off the tinges of regret threatening to swell and rose from the bed to begin the series of brutal stretches that had once come so naturally to her. Like so much else, they no longer did, but they were a part of her life now.
Smoldering blue eyes and wicked commands were not.
End of story.
"Lily!"
Lillian glanced up from the menu in front of her to find Jennifer Rainey waving from across the vibrant downtown restaurant, a broad smile stretched across her face. She wore her hair back in a bun, which somehow made her light eyes seem wider. The white sweater she'd thrown on over dark tights made her look like a blonde, green-eyed angel with legs a mile long.
Jen all but danced across the room toward Lillian, turning heads as she moved.
"Hey!" Lillian struggled to her feet to hug her best friend.
"Welcome home!" Jen threw her arms around Lillian, squeezing so hard she thought she felt her ribs crack. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too," she responded when Jen released her, allowing her to breathe.
Her best friend's eyes narrowed as they swept up and down her body, taking her in. Lillian stood with her head held high, though her cheeks burned. She'd endured the same intense scrutiny a thousand times before her accident. Things were different now, her body softer and less disciplined, but she'd learned long ago to keep her head up no matter what. Besides, Jen was nowhere near as critical as Lillian's former instructors.
As if on cue, Jen's smile widened. "You actually have curves now. I'm so jealous."
"Thanks," Lillian said, a grin twitching at her lips when her best friend reached out and poked her in the side as if to test how soft those curves were.
Lillian eased herself back down into her chair, wincing when her leg throbbed in response.
Jen sank down into the seat across from her at the little table, a slight furrow to her brow and her gaze lingering on Lillian. "Does it still hurt?" she asked, her voice soft… concerned, curious.
"Not much," Lillian lied, focusing on the colored tiles beneath the glass of water in front of her. "Where's Tony?" Her weak attempt at changing the subject was blatantly obvious.
Jennie didn't speak for a protracted moment, and then followed her cue. "We're helping with a ballet camp thing for some of the younger kids. He's showing them how to jump today."
"Ah." Lillian paused when a waitress materialized at the table.
"Are you unpacked yet?" Jen asked when the young woman slipped away, their order in hand.
Lillian nodded, grateful her dad had done most of the unpacking for her.
Jen bit her lip. "You know you could have moved back in with me and Tony. We didn't rent your room out on you." Even though she forced a teasing note into her voice, hurt still seeped through.
"I know, but I need to make it on my own for a while." Lillian reached across the table to squeeze Jen's fingers. She hesitated, wavering between telling her best friend the truth and a comforting lie. "And I wasn't sure I'd be able to handle watching you guys go off to the studio every day," she admitted quietly. "Not being able to dance is… hard. A lot harder than I thought it would be."
"It's only been a year, Lil. And you've been on your feet for what? Four months now?" Jen shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I can't even imagine how you feel. All you ever wanted to do was dance. It's going to take time for you to heal, emotionally as much as anything else. You got the raw end of the deal, and it's not fai
r. You have every right to be furious." Her green eyes flashed with anger. "I'm furious for you. Marc could have killed you!"
A flood of memories hit Lillian in a painful rush.
Shocked gasps and horrified cries from the audience…
The cold, scuffed wood beneath her back…
The way Marc's lip curled upward as he stared down at her, the bright spotlight like a halo around his head…
The brutal pain tearing through her…
Tears welled in her eyes like they always did when she let herself remember the night her career ended. An accident, everyone had called it. But that wasn't true. Not really. Marc had meant to hurt her. She'd seen the hatred simmering in his eyes. Felt it in the clench of his fingers around her upper arms. He'd destroyed her life on purpose, and even now, she didn't understand why.
How could he hate her so much?
"I want to kill him," her friend said, seething.
Lillian threw a hand up, forestalling Jen before she burst into tears right there. She didn't want to talk about him or the horrid end to her dreams. And she didn't want to remember it either. Not today, and definitely not in here.
"I can't," she whispered, swiping at her eyes. "Not here, Jen."
Jen's expression fell when her bottom lip quivered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Really." Lillian dashed at her cheeks, trying to laugh away the tears. It came out like a watery hiccup instead. Talking about Marc and what he'd done to her ripped away little pieces of her heart every single time. She felt brittle, broken. Gripping the edges of the table, she dragged herself to her feet. "I'll be right back, okay? I need a minute."
"Sure." Jen gave her a sad smile. "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's fine." Lillian forced a small smile, and then limped away, her head down so no one saw the tears still swimming in her eyes. Crying in public wasn't her thing. There wasn't room at the barre for the weak or faint-hearted. She couldn't dance anymore, but she'd been a ballerina since she’d learned to walk. A great ballerina. She'd learned to cry alone a long time ago.
Besides, she'd be damned if she let Marc Rivera take anything else from her.
Sliding around a chair pushed out from a table heaped with used plates, Lillian stepped right into a puddle of liquid spreading across the tile floor from an overturned cup. She slipped, her bad leg shooting out from beneath her.
"Oh!" she cried, reaching for something, anything, to keep her from landing on her ass in the middle of the floor. But there was nothing for her to grab onto and nothing to stop the momentum of her fall.
The restaurant went silent, all eyes on her.
Mortification rushed through her as she prepared for the inevitable pain and humiliation awaiting her on the cold, hard floor. Squeezing her eyes closed to block the patrons out, she tried to shift her weight so she landed with her shattered leg outright instead of bent beneath her.
"Careful, sweetheart."
A pair of large hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her upright. She slammed into a hard chest and clung, wrapping her arms around the man's waist without thought. Her face rubbed across the soft fabric of his shirt. A familiar scent – like sage and pine needles – tickled her nose beneath the aroma of hot food wafting through the restaurant. She knew that smell… loved it. But couldn't place it.
"Thank you," she said when her heart slowed its wild hammering. Sliding her hands along her rescuer's sides, she tried to shift her weight from him back onto her feet. His muscles flexed beneath her palms, rippling as if in response to the path her hands took.
"If you don't stop touching me like that, I'm going to fuck you right here, Lillian," a familiar voice rasped in her ear.
She gasped, her head shooting upward.
Tristan's bright blue gaze met hers, his teeth gritted as if in pain.
"Tristan?" she half mouthed, half squeaked.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Lillian stared at him, dazed. In the full light of the restaurant, he looked even better than he had beneath the strange lights of Teplo. His jaw was sharp beneath the stubble, his lips full and kissable. Long lashes framed those beautiful eyes… eyes full of wicked desire. His dark hair was riotous, as if he'd run his hands through it. He seemed a lot bigger, too. Not bulky, but made of lean, contoured muscle. The blue t-shirt he wore wasn't tight, but every time he took a breath, the fabric stretched, hinting at the fit body beneath. Even in jeans and that t-shirt, he was gorgeous.
Memories of the night before hit Lillian like a fist.
Tristan’s hard body pressed against her…
His voice in her ear and his hand beneath her skirt…
She licked her lips, wetting them.
Her hands were still pressed against his stomach, her fingers running along the ridges of his abdominals.
He glanced down, following the play of her fingers over his muscles. "You're killing me, beautiful," he groaned, setting her away from him with obvious reluctance.
Lillian jerked backward, her face flaming, and nearly lost her balance again. She righted herself as quick as she could, far too aware of the man in front of her and the way her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.
Quiet chatter and the clink of silverware on glass resumed all around them.
"You okay?" he asked, his eyes narrowing on her face as if he'd just noticed the tears drying on her lashes. He reached out as if to touch her, and then dropped his hand back to his side.
Lillian remembered her tears at the same time. Mortification fired through her.
"Fine," she mumbled, stepping around him. "Thanks for saving me." She all but fled toward the bathroom, not looking back. Once inside, she slammed the door closed, and took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.
Tristan was here. In the same damn restaurant.
What were the chances?
She limped toward the sink. Her pale face stared back at her from the mirror hanging above the vanity, looking anything but calm and composed. She looked, well, she looked wild. Tears still clung to her lashes. Faint shadows marred the skin beneath her wide, watery eyes. Fine strands of her dark hair had come loose from the ponytail she'd tossed it into, and her cheeks were flushed.
She looked just like she had when she'd stumbled home from Teplo the night before.
"Shit," she mumbled, turning the faucet on full blast.
The door creaked open behind her.
Lillian squeezed her eyes closed when Tristan appeared in the mirror, a concerned frown hovering on his full lips. But not looking at him didn't make him go away. His footfalls echoed in the small bathroom as he moved toward her. Heat crackled along her spine, loosening something inside of her: that wild, wanton woman he'd woken last night.
"Lillian." His velvety voice was level and intoxicating at once.
She opened her eyes, gripping the sink with both hands as he stepped up behind her, so close his hips touched her bottom, trapping her between his hard body and the sink. His gaze locked on hers in the mirror, blue fire mingling with concern. Heat wound through her as his body brushed against hers.
Slowly, oh so slowly, she turned toward him. "Hi," she whispered, tilting her face back to look up at him.
He reached out, ran a single fingertip down her cheek. "You were crying."
"No, I-" She broke off and licked her lips when his frown deepened. "It's been a rough day."
He stared at her for a long moment, and then nodded once, his fingertip still traveling, inch by inch, down the side of her face and onto her neck. She tilted her head, unable to stay still when her stomach fluttered and her legs trembled, urging her to melt into him.
Flashes from the night before played through her mind… his hands roaming her body in the eerie, unreal light pulsing around them. The soft hitch of his breath. The feel of his lips moving over hers.
Despite everything she'd told herself this morning, she still wanted him. Desperately.
"I want to kiss you," he murmured, cupping her
neck in his hand.
"Please?" she pleaded before she could stop herself or think her way out of taking what she wanted from him.
Tristan didn't wait for her to change her mind. He dipped his head, bringing his mouth to hers.
A soft sigh tumbled from her lips.
He guided her closer with the pressure of his hand on her neck, pulling her body into his until they were pressed together in one long line. His lips whispered against hers until she parted them and let him in.
She curled a fist into his shirt.
He lapped at her mouth as warmth became heat, fire… liquid flame rushing through her in an explosive rush. Their tongues came together in their own choreographed dance for long minutes as they melted into one another, lost to everything but the way they moved together.
His breath quickened.
Her heart pounded.
Reality slipped away from her.
He didn't stop kissing her, instead pulling her closer, closer, until not even air moved between them. The heat of his body called to her, the urgency of his kisses making her tremble.
"Goddamn, beautiful," he groaned into her mouth, running his hands all over her. His confident touch made her moan and shudder in his arms. "I want you."
That sexy, guttural confession pulled her up short. She froze, memory intruding into that star-filled place every brush of his hands against her body threatened to take her. They couldn't do this. Not here. Jen was out there, waiting for her.
Anyone could walk in!
Perhaps sensing he'd lost her, Tristan's kisses slowed, and then stopped. He broke away with a reluctant, wordless rumble, and then carefully, sweetly, pressed his lips to her forehead before wrapping his arms around her as if to offer comfort. She hesitated for a moment, and then gave in, resting her head on his chest.
His heart pounded beneath her ear, its frantic pace matching hers.
"Will you still meet me tonight?" he asked. Emotion thrummed in the words, as if he needed her to agree on a level not even he understood.
Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) Page 3