Lillian opened her mouth and then closed it. What was she supposed to say to that? Hell, what could she say to that? She didn't know, so she didn't try. "Where is he?" she asked instead.
"I think he should be the one to explain that."
Lillian sighed, knowing getting that explanation from Tristan would be like pulling teeth. He told her what he wanted her to know, and nothing more. And maybe that was for her own good, she didn't know, but she didn't like it. Especially not after what Jason had said. Tristan was fighting for her, and maybe Jason thought that would keep him alive, but she wasn't so sure. If the Vetrov family was willing to kill a girl they'd spoken with once, what was stopping them from doing the same thing to her or Tristan?
"Thank you for calling me back, Jason."
"Lillian, wait."
She hesitated with her finger over the End button.
"Shit," he cursed into the phone. "I know you're pissed right now, but take it easy on him, okay? This is harder for him than you can imagine."
She swallowed the painful ache worming its way up from her chest into her throat. "I get that. But has anyone bothered to consider that maybe this is hard for me, too? You got what you wanted because Tristan is fighting to save my life, but did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I'm the one who's going to feel responsible if you're wrong and it's not enough? If he dies trying to protect me, I won't survive that, Agent Ames. And maybe you knew the risks when you asked me to do this, but for the first time, I'm realizing that I didn't know exactly what was at stake here. I didn't know it was Tristan's life you were trying to save, or how it would feel to know that we might have gotten a teenager killed. And I'm terrified to find out how it's going to feel if you're wrong and I'm the reason he dies, too."
"Ah, I didn't consider how that might feel to you," Jason said, sounding apologetic and surprised at once.
"Yeah, well, I've spent the last six hours unsure if he was alive or dead or dying in an alley somewhere, and it sucks, Agent Ames."
"Jason, Lillian. Please call me Jason. And for what it's worth, you weren't alone. Before Kincaid got there, Tristan had an unmarked car out front."
He did?
"Not the point," she mumbled, refusing to be placated that easily. Jason had manipulated her and Tristan both, and maybe he'd meant well, but he'd been playing with fire, and they were all going to get burned as a result. The Vetrov case wasn't the simple thing they'd thought, but something a whole lot bigger and more dangerous than they'd been prepared for.
"I'm sorry for any distress I've caused you," Jason said. "But don't count him out yet, Lillian. And don't blame him for my mistake. He needs you. Don't walk away because you're pissed at me. If you care about him, fight for him. Please?"
"I'll try," she sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. She didn't have a choice. There was no way in hell she'd walk away when Tristan needed her. Even if he didn't feel the same, she loved him. She had to make sure he survived this case, even if he walked out of her life for good when all was said and done.
Chapter Three
Lillian sat at the table, staring blankly at her phone. She ached to talk to her father or Jennie Rainey, but she didn't dare. The non-disclosure agreement she'd signed in Jason's office what felt like ages ago had been iron-clad. She wouldn't break it now, no matter how much else had changed since that day.
And things had changed. She had changed. Somewhere since falling for Tristan, she'd stopped grieving over the life Marc Rivera had stolen from her, and started looking toward a future without dancing. She wasn't sure exactly what that future held for her, but thinking about it didn't hurt nearly as bad as it had even a week ago, or a week before that. She would always miss dancing. Part of her would always grieve for what she had lost—her freedom, the ability to walk without a limp, to lose herself in dance as she had for her entire life—but her life wasn't over. Marc hadn't stolen that from her, no matter how hard he'd tried.
She had Tristan to thank for reminding her of that. Because of him, she'd begun the healing process she'd fought for the last year. Seeing the things he saw had lent her a new perspective. Dancing wasn't everything. There were far more important things in life.
"Beautiful?"
She screamed, spinning in her chair to find him standing right behind her.
"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, pulling her to her feet.
"Don't sneak up on me!" she shouted at him. And then she realized he was really here. Safe.
The overwhelming, gut wrenching relief racing through her bled away in an instant as he attempted to pull her into his arms. She pushed him away and glared up at him, ignoring the way her stomach bottomed out at the desolate look in his blue eyes.
"Thanks for calling me back," she growled.
He flinched but didn't say anything. He looked like hell, his expression guarded, his dark hair a wild mess, and his jaw clenched tight. Splatters of mud marred the dark button-down stretched over his chest. The bottoms of his jeans and his boots were dirty too, as if he'd spent the night prowling through a park. Part of her wanted to throw herself in his arms and hold on for dear life until that broken look on his face went away, but the other part—the overwhelmingly pissed off part—refused to give in that easily.
"How would you feel if I disappeared and you didn't hear from me for hours?" she demanded, glaring at him.
"I was never in any danger, Lillian."
"How was I supposed to know that? You didn’t tell me anything. You demanded I go home and wait for you."
"I had to talk to Warner."
"And that took you over eight hours?"
"No, I went to the morgue and the crime scene." He raked a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Can we not do this right now?"
Was he serious?
She gaped at him for a minute before shaking her head. The emotions feeding her outburst—anger, hurt, fear, worry—drained out of her as if poured from a strainer. If he didn't want to talk to her, she couldn't force him. It was that simple.
"Fine," she mumbled.
"Dammit, Lillian, wait."
He reached out and grabbed her arm as she limped past him, fighting the urge to cry. She wasn't that girl, the one who cried every time someone hurt her feelings. And yet, every time he hurt her feelings, tears came, unbidden.
"Let me go, Tristan." Her traitorous voice shook.
"Please." He tugged on her arm, trying to pull her back toward him.
"You don't get to do this. Let me go."
"Do what?" he asked.
"You don't get to shut me out, and then get your way because you say please. You left me there alone, left someone else to explain the situation to me and march me out in handcuffs, and now you want to walk back in like nothing happened. I'm not doing this with you right now, so let me go." She glared up at him, steeling herself against the flutter in her stomach and in her heart when those eyes of his locked on her face.
"I'm not trying to get my way, Lillian. I just want to hold you."
"Yeah, well, it's not like what I want matters," she retorted, feeling like a spiteful bitch as soon as the words flew from her mouth.
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course I don't!" she cried, frustrated. "You won't talk to me. You're allowed to worry about me, but I'm not allowed to worry about you? You're allowed to rush off without telling me where you're going, but I'm here under armed guard. Do you know how ridiculous that is? I'm not the one at risk of doing something rash and getting myself killed."
He blinked. "You really think I'm going to do something stupid and get myself killed?"
"Aren't you?" she challenged him.
He didn't say anything, which said all she needed to know. And after what Jason had told her tonight, after everything she'd gone through waiting for him to reappear, she couldn't deal with this, too.
"I'm going to bed, Tristan," she said, shaking her head sadly.
"Shit," he swore, reaching out to grab her aga
in. Before she could comprehend how she'd gotten there, he had her pressed to the wall, his mouth inches from hers. "I'm not trying to shut you out. And I'm damn sure not about to do something to put you at risk. I'm trying to do my job," he growled. "You think I wanted to send Kincaid to watch over you tonight, baby? You think I wanted Warner to walk you out of your house in handcuffs?"
She didn't say anything. She couldn't.
Part of her wanted to stay angry at him, but he was pressed so close, all she could feel was him, all she could think about was him. That he was here and safe and the last few hours had been hell. That he owned her heart and soul, and that everything else—anger and worry and hurt feelings—were insignificant compared to that truth.
"The entire time I was gone, I wanted to be with you. I wanted you naked beneath me, screaming my name. I wanted my arms around you while you slept. I wanted you blushing for me and your heart racing because of me. Instead, I was at the morgue trying to figure out how to keep you safe from a bunch of twisted psychos who murdered an eighteen year old girl for no reason. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm not sorry for doing what I have to do to keep you safe. I'd fucking kill to protect you."
His honesty hit her as hard as his earlier dismissals had. The angry glint in his eyes, the way his breath rasped across her face, and the rise and fall of his chest above hers shook loose something inside of her. The greedy part of her that wanted more from him.
"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Lillian," he continued quietly. "Whatever it takes. Getting you out of this safely is my motherfucking job, and if I have to sacrifice my life for yours, so be it. Making sure you don't pay for my mistakes is my priority. Not whether doing so hurt your feelings, though I'm fucking sorry it did."
"You left without a word, Tristan. I didn't know if you were okay, or where you were, or what you were doing. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. You left me there, and made someone else tell me what was going on. I've never balked at going into Teplo. I've done whatever you asked, but you couldn't even answer a phone call to tell me you were okay. Do you have any idea what that feels like?" A tear slipped down her cheek.
"Please don't cry," he breathed, reaching out to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. He kept his hand on her face, cradling her cheek as he stared into her eyes, his expression no less fierce, but ten times more regretful. "I didn't mean to worry you."
"Did you even plan to come here tonight, Tristan?"
He stared at her for a long, silent moment, and then sighed. "You'd be safer if I hadn't, but I couldn't stay away from you. I don't think I ever had a chance when it came to you. Christ, beautiful." He rested his forehead against hers. "You make all this shit tolerable."
"How do you think I feel? I agreed to do this for you. All I think about anymore is you. I get that you're going to do what you have to do, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about you when you do it. You tell me you'd sacrifice your life for mine, and pretend I'm not supposed to care about that. You're important to me. Don't you get that?"
He frowned before shaking his head, though whether in denial or confusion, she didn't know.
"I can't breathe when I think about you getting hurt. I can't move." She shook her head, not sure how to explain the way it felt to think about him being injured or killed. She understood loss. She lived with it every day. But she would give up so much more if it meant Tristan walked safely out of Teplo every single night. Because nothing had ever mattered to her as much as he did. Compared to what she felt for Tristan, even dancing was a dying star. He was the sun. Vast. Bright. Vital.
"Beautiful."
"I need to know you're safe, Tristan. Do you not understand that? I need you to be okay." So much that it scared her. Falling in love wasn't supposed to be like this, so fast and so much. But for her, falling for him was exactly like that. Fast, intense, as consuming as she'd always known it would be with him. And it was far, far too late for her to protect her heart now. It belonged to him, whether he wanted it or not.
"Lillian–"
Whatever he meant to say got lost as she tangled her fingers in his button-down and pulled him into her, her mouth seeking his. She had to make him understand. Maybe she didn't know how it felt to visit people in morgues and never forget their faces. But she knew what it felt like to feel helpless. She knew what it felt like to feel responsible. To hurt for people she didn't know. To want to help them. She felt all of those things. Not because she had to or because it was her job, but because it was his job. Because that was the burden he carried. And he didn't carry it alone, not anymore.
She loved him. When would he grasp that?
"Oh, Christ," he groaned, his entire body shuddering like a breeze had gone through him. "Say it again, beautiful."
She hadn't even realized she'd said it out loud, but she gave him what he wanted. "I'm in love with you, Tristan," she whispered against his lips, unable to keep the truth from him now any more than she had been able to outside of Teplo. She didn't want to keep it quiet. She wanted him to hear it, to feel it. She was his and he could shut her out all he wanted, but it wouldn't stop her from caring. "I've been falling for you since the very first night."
His kiss this time was brutal in its intensity…punishing, healing. Whatever he'd seen tonight disappeared. His mouth moved over hers recklessly, freely, his tongue delving inside and making frenzied, deep sweeps before retreating and then plunging again. Over and over as he leaned into her, his hand at her nape, hers twisted in his shirt.
"Again," he demanded when she gasped.
"I love you," she said.
He lifted her off her feet and stumbled backward. A chair scraped across the floor, kicked out of his way as he rained kisses across her face. The cool wood of the table bumped the backs of her knees, pulling a soft cry from her lips. She clawed at his shirt, trying to get it off so she could feel him. Not fabric, but him. Smooth, hard muscle under olive skin. Safety and strength and a release from every image the last hours had seen running through her mind in a macabre dance.
His hand shot out and swept the table clear of the few items she's set on top.
She didn't care if he shattered them all.
"Again," he demanded as he pressed her down onto the table and crawled up her body. The table shuddered beneath their combined weight and then steadied.
She hitched her good leg around his hip, bending the other at the knee.
She pulled him closer as he prowled up her body.
Their mouths met.
Tristan demanded she say the words over and over between greedy, demanding kisses and grasping, desperate touches. She gave them to him each time, arching beneath him as he trailed open-mouthed kisses from her swollen lips to her neck and down onto her collarbone. His shirt finally came free in her hands and he shucked it off, rising above her as he tore it from his body and let it go.
She moaned at the sight of him hovering over her like a blue-eyed angel, the wings of his tattoo rippling as he breathed. The muscles in his chest and arms bulged as he held himself above her, carefully keeping his weight from her. He didn't give her long to look before he was back, stripping her shirt off and flinging it in the same direction his had gone.
His hands were all over her then, sweeping across the valley of her stomach, brushing over the peaks of her breasts, pulling at the fabric separating him from the pebbled flesh begging for his touch.
"Again," he demanded hoarsely as the clasp on her bra gave and her breasts spilled free. He inhaled at the sight. Froze for an instant as his eyes flashed to that predatory blue-black she knew so well, and then his breath was a warm, welcome rush across her skin as he pulled her nipple into his mouth.
"I love you."
"Yes." His teeth clamped down on her, pulling a mindless sob from somewhere deep in her throat before his tongue glided over the aching, sensitive flesh. And then he moved on, paying the same attention to her other breast before making his way down her body.
His mouth never left her skin as he moved above her.
"Up," he commanded, pressing the word into her stomach.
The vibrations from that one word rocked through her.
He helped lift her hips. Stripped her of her skirt and panties.
She clawed at the table as he continued his wicked descent down her body, worshiping her.
"You're so beautiful," he said before pushing her further up the table and draping her thighs over his shoulders. Pale ivory skin on perfect olive muscle. "Watch me, Lillian," he demanded. "Watch what I do to you."
Her eyes rolled to meet his.
"Tristan!" she screamed as his head disappeared between her legs and his mouth sent her shooting over the edge like a star catapulting through the sky. His tongue was everywhere, flicking at her clit, thrusting into her opening, swirling in lazy-eights as she bucked, and arched, and thrashed against the tabletop.
He held her hips still, his hands warm, gentle vises as he devoured her. Not stopping. Not slowing. Just taking until she came apart for him.
"Say it." He leaned back on his knees between her spread thighs and pushed himself off of the table until he stood over her, his face wet from her juices and his eyes feral. Not Tristan who teased her or Special Agent Tristan Riley who fucked her, but both. Neither. Everything. He wiped his hand across his mouth as he stared down at her and reached for the button on his jeans. "Please say it, sweetheart."
"I love you," she mouthed, her throat too dry to push the words out.
He reached for the gun at his hip and slid it from the holster. The steel glinted in the light as he leaned over her to set it carefully on the counter. The Sig in the ankle holster followed, his eyes never leaving hers as he unstrapped it and placed it beside the Glock.
Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) Page 3