Текст книги "Lovely Trigger"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

He came by my gallery again the next morning, dressed in a suit.  Again.

I was in the office, standing at my tall worktable as I got organized for the day.

I glanced at the clock.  “Isn’t this way early for you?”

He shrugged, staring at me.

It was too intense of a regard, and I looked down at my hands while I moved some papers around.

“Come to my house for dinner tonight.  I have a new recipe I want you to try.”  There was no question in his voice.

I shook my head.  “You know this is a mistake.”

His laugh was low and a touch bitter.  “I don’t know that.  Come home with me tonight.  I’ll drive us straight from here.”

“And leave my car?  How will I get home?  And how will I get to work tomorrow?”

“I’ll drive you when I come back for the show, or whenever, wherever.  I just want to share a meal.  What’s the harm?”

I tried to give him a chastising look.  Neither of us were naive enough to think that leaving my car here would end up in us just sharing a meal.

“I’ll come for dinner, but I’m driving myself.”

He smiled, flashing big, happy dimples, and I saw his move.  He’d asked for too much, so I would concede more than I’d planned.

He moved to stand directly behind me.  I shut my eyes as he pressed against me slowly.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, my voice catching.

“Shh, sweetheart, just let me.  I need this.”  He spoke against my temple, then kissed me there.

I let him.

He covered my hands with his own, and still, I didn’t pull away.

I wasn’t sure what he was up to, what he intended, and I wasn’t sure how long I would have let it continue, how far I would have let it go.  It was taken out of both of our hands when Sandra popped her head in the office, effectively breaking the spell.

Which was embarrassing, but for the best.

“Um, sorry, but you’ve got a call on line one.”  She disappeared.

“I need to work,” I told him.

He took a step back.  “I’ll see you tonight.”

He left.

I tried to make myself call him and cancel, but my workday ended, and I found myself driving to his house, instead of home.

I still wore my clothes from work.  It was business attire, a sexy twist on a simple navy sleeveless shirtdress, with a shorter hem, and the neckline open to reveal my cleavage down to the lace of my bralette.  I’d taken the time to retouch my makeup before I’d left my office.

The pretense of this being platonic was flimsy indeed.  Less believable by the minute.

He met me at the door in another dress shirt and slacks.  I really wanted to know why he was dressing like this now, but he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, stubborn man.

We shared another spectacular meal, a homemade linguine with creamy pesto sauce.

I assumed he had a show that night, but as we lingered over dinner, he started talking about watching more episodes with me.

“Don’t you have to get back to the casino soon?”

“Nah, no show tonight.”

That baffled me, as I was quite familiar with his schedule.  This wasn’t one of the shows normal blackout nights.

“How is that possible?”

He just shrugged it off.  “I have a good contract, and sometimes, if I just need an extra night off, I get a night off.”

I didn’t want it to, but that warmed me from head to toe.

I kept him company in the kitchen while he made us a totally unnecessary dessert.

He started making chocolate cake from scratch, and I perched my butt on the counter and watched him, as fascinated as I’d ever been to watch him working in the kitchen.

He shot me a sideways smile.  “Sweetheart, you’ve got to stop giving me that look if you don’t want me to ruin dessert.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said weakly.

His smile grew as he turned back to his task.  “That’s right.  You prefer pudding.  I remember now.  Be careful with those looks, pudding.”

That made my fists clench, because it brought back memories, and that made me realize that every time he used his endearments on me, my endearments, it brought back memories.  Those memories were going to break down all of my defenses in no time.  That couldn’t happen.

“Boo, sweetheart, pudding.  You have got to stop it with all of those damn nicknames,” I told him, making my voice firm.

“Endearments.”

“Well, call them what you want to, but knock it off.”  I wasn’t even sure why I bothered.  He clearly wasn’t getting the message.

He stopped what he was doing and turned to me.  “Is this wager material?  Do you want me to stop that bad?”

“Oh, no.  You are not going to turn this into a bet.“

“You win, I’ll stop calling you boo.  I win, you stop complaining when I do.”

“Nuh-uh.  I already told you, not falling for it.”

“I’ll bet you one spoonful of cinnamon.”

“Excuse me?  Is that a metaphor or some kind of a dare?”

“A dare.  You eat one teaspoonful of cinnamon and you win.”

“I’m not you, Tristan.  I can turn down a dare.”

“Prove it.”

“Now you’re daring me not to take the dare?  Either way, I’ll be taking a dare.  You’re setting me up.”

“Well, take the cinnamon dare and I’ll drop it.

It did sound easy.  My eyes narrowed on him.  “Just a teaspoon full?  Not even a tablespoon?”

He grinned, showing every white tooth.  “You don’t watch YouTube much, do you?”

“No, but what does that have to do with anything?”

He bit his lip and shook his head.

“Okay, you know what?  I’ll do it.”

His response to my acquiescence was pure glee.

That should have clued me in, but hell, I’m as stubborn as he is, the crazy bastard.

First, he made sure a glass of water was on standby.

He spoke while he got out the cinnamon.  “Here are the rules: No water for one minute, and the entire spoonful has to be swallowed in that amount of time.  You spit it out, or go for the water, you lose.  You swallow it, you win.  Any questions?”

I was studying him, getting more paranoid by the second, but how hard could it be, really?  One teaspoon, a teeny, tiny spoonful of something I loved the taste of?

“Nope.  Let’s do this.”

I didn’t draw it out, grabbing the spoon and the cinnamon out of his hand, and getting it ready.

“Do you mind if I record this?” he asked.  He already sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

“That was not part of the deal.”

“I have to warn you, this is going to burn your throat and you might throw up.”

I ignored him, pushing the spoon into my mouth, planning to swallow fast.

I hadn’t even pulled it out before cinnamon was shooting out of my mouth and nose as I went into a painful fit of coughing.  I grabbed for the water, took a long swig, and spit that out too.

My throat felt on fire, eyes tearing up and running in mere seconds.

“Oh my God, it burns!” I gasped, going for another drink.  I did this three times, then started to look around for paper towels.  Not seeing them right away, I moved to Tristan and started rubbing my tongue on his very nice shirt.

The bastard deserved that and worse.

He was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

“I hate you,” I told him.

“Hey now!”

“This is disgusting.  It’s stuck to the roof of my mouth!  Ick!”

I went to the sink and started rinsing again, then back to his shirt to scrape my tongue again.

“My nose is running!  My mouth is burning!”

It took a while, but when I felt recovered enough, I whirled on him.  “That was awful.  I can’t believe you made me do that.”

His eyes were twinkling; he couldn’t stop smiling.  “You know I adore you, but there are times when I just like to torture you.  It makes me happy.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.  I focused on the obnoxious part and ignored the part that made my stupid heart pound faster.  “Well you don’t have to look so satisfied about it!”

There it was, that most Troublesome smile.  “Oh, boo, you of all people should know that this isn’t how I look when I’m satisfied.”

I supposed I’d walked right into that one.  Infuriatingly, I blushed.  “Don’t you use that tone on me,” I warned, but it was so feeble that I knew it didn’t faze him.

We watched our show while the cake baked.  He behaved himself, staying on his couch.  I didn’t even have to insist.  He just did it.  I eyed him suspiciously all the while, not trusting it.

We were eating his chocolate cake when I caught him staring at me.

Not just staring.  Eating me up.  He was gazing at me with an unabashed longing in his eyes that I couldn’t let stand.  I could only take so much.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him, setting down my fork, my voice turned as cold as I could manage.

He kept doing it, until his faced transformed into a too warm smile, a soft, affectionate stare.

“Like what?” he asked, and I knew that he was toying with me.

Torturing us both just to get a taste of the old feelings.

“You know.  I will leave.  I mean it.”

“I’m not doing anything.  I’ve just…missed you.  I’m glad to spend time with you again.”

I knew he was full of it.  “We can’t go back, Tristan.  We can’t take any of it back.  We can’t pretend that you are just you, and I am just me.  There is too much bad history between us to pretend.”

Something passed over his face.  It was hard to name all of the things I saw there with just one brief glimpse. Pain, regret, hope?

I discounted it all, even while I felt it myself.

“This is nostalgia that you’re feeling.  It is transient.  It will go away.”

He swallowed hard, looking anguished for one brief moment before he washed his features back into that soft smile.  “For you, maybe.  But not for me.  Want to know how I know?”

I started shaking my head, but the question had been rhetorical.  He was going to tell me, regardless.  “Because it never went away.  Nostalgia suggests that the feelings are coming back, and they can’t do that, when they never went away.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I stood up, then started to look around, trying to remember where I’d left my bag, and what I needed, before I got out of there.

He stood, his hands going out in front of him, as though in appeal.  “I’m sorry.  That was out of line.  I’ll behave myself, just don’t leave yet, not when you’re upset like this, okay?”

“We should make another don’t list, cause this is already getting out of hand.”

He laughed, long and hard.

I didn’t mean it to come out as a punch line, but hell, it was a punch line.  I shook my head, and I couldn’t hold back a baffled smile.  “I’m doing my level best here, but you need to promise me you’ll get a grip.  No more of those impossible looks, okay?

He didn’t hesitate.  “Yeah, yes, of course.  I can do that.  Just don’t shut me out again.”

We finished the cake, and he walked me out to my car.  He behaved himself, mostly, not kissing me, instead folding me into his chest for a long hug.  He inhaled deeply once, as though he were about to say something, but he held it back.

“I still taste cinnamon,” I said into his chest.

He laughed and I smiled.

I was curling up in my own bed when I realized that I’d still never gotten that tour of his house.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He came by the gallery the next day, wanting to cook me dinner again.

I put him off.  It wasn’t easy.  Not to make myself do it or to get him to accept it.

I agreed to share a quick bite to eat with him after my shift and before his show, but not for three more days, and not at his house, but somewhere public.

It wasn’t what he wanted.  He was used to bigger concessions from me, but he took it, believing I was resolute.

I was relieved when he did, because my resolution had been wearing more thinly than he’d realized.

I was a little shocked, and not altogether pleased, when I didn’t hear from him for those three days.  That messed with my head, and I had to wonder if that had been his intent, because it had me obsessing about him more than ever.

It made me wish I hadn’t said three days.  He didn’t have to do a thing but stay away, and I saw the error of my ways.

Why had I thought I didn’t want to see him for three days?  That small amount of time with silence on his end had me realizing that I hadn’t expected not to see him for those three days, and that’s why it’d been so easy.  He may have been playing some game by staying away, but I’d clearly been playing a game, when I’d told him to.  The ‘Who wants it more?’ game is what I would have called it if I had to give it a name.

How quickly we fell back into the old, addictive patterns.  The scary part of that?  Even looking at it that way, I didn’t so much as consider not seeing him again.

Of course, I went to great pains to look my best those long three days later.  Hair—loose, smoothed and then tousled.  Makeup—heavy on the dark eye and soft on the pink lip.

I wore an airy, lightweight, sunset orange knife-pleat maxi dress with a slim gold belt.  The hem was so long it nearly brushed the floor.  It was comfortable, but the thin, gauzy material, and the belted waist made it cling in a way that upped the fit from relaxed to straight up seductive.

It was a very trendy look at the moment, but managed to make me feel sexy and feminine.

I was happy I’d gone to the trouble when Tristan set eyes on me, and his face went a touch slack.  He was in my personal space in a flash, restaurant forgotten, outside world forgotten, even though it was just the briefest hug.  Still, the embrace lasted long enough for him to get a few hits in.

“Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes on,” he said into my ear.  He turned his head, kissed my cheek, then took a step back, his face set back into neutral lines.

We were seated instantly at the casino’s upscale steakhouse instantly.  This restaurant fell on Tristan’s side of the casino, and the hostess knew him on sight.

I ordered a small cut of prime rib, and he ordered a large one.  And then we just looked at each other.

I studied his tailored suit, wondering what the hell was up with his wardrobe.  I’d seen plenty of pictures of him over the years, and he was never dressed the way he’d been dressing every single time I’d seen him lately.

Hell, even his billboard out front had him in his signature poured on T-shirt and edible jeans.

“Are you dressed like that for your show?” I asked.

He shrugged.  “Sure.  I can dress however I like for that.  I’m in charge.”

I gave him a level stare.  “Okay, what is up with your clothes?  You’ve been dressed up every time I’ve seen you.”

“So have you.”

“I dress like this for work.  I don’t have a choice.”

He shrugged again.  “I can dress professional, too.”

Something he’d said before came to mind.  “You said something, a few days ago, about me going out with professionals.  Is that what this is all about?  Are you dressing like this just for me?  Tell me I’m imagining that.”

“You’re imagining it.”

I glared.  “Tell me if you are or not.  Don’t just parrot what I said.”

He tugged at his collar, looking distinctly uncomfortable.  “It’s not a big deal.  I’d just like for you to see that I can be accommodating and understand that I’m not the guy I was six years ago.”

I sucked in a few deep breaths, my face getting so stiff that it felt like it might crack.  “Tristan…”

Our food arrived, and I began to cut into my steak.

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal.  Let’s drop it.”  He paused.  “You should come see my show tonight.”

I chewed on my lips.  “No, thank you.”  I couldn’t even come up with an excuse.

He took a few bites, looking up to watch me while he chewed.

Finally, he wiped his mouth and asked, “Aren’t you the least bit curious about it?”

I debated for a minute.  “I’ve seen it.  It’s very good, amazing in fact, but you know that.”

He just blinked at me, and then stared for the longest time.  “You really came to see it?  That’s unexpected, I have to say.  When was it, and where did you sit?”

I stared back.  “You ask the oddest questions.  What does it matter where I sat?”

“It will tell me what kind of a show you got, and it can be a very different show, depending on where you sit.  And the when, well, of course I want to know how long it took for your curiosity to get the best of you.”

“Center stage, three rows back.  It was nearly a year ago, just a few months after I moved back into town.”

He studied me for a minute, then went back to eating.

“Those are great seats.  I’ll have to put you in the balcony next time, though.  That’s a different experience altogether.”

We were nearly finished before either of us spoke again.

“Were you alone?” asked Tristan, a tense thread in his voice.

I took a long drink of water and finished chewing my food.  “Excuse me?”

“When you came and saw my act.”  He spoke very slowly, tasting the words, as though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.  “Were you alone, when you watched me, three rows back, center stage?”

“No.”  I watched him when I said it, felt his flinch with him.

I was familiar with what he was thinking and feeling right then.  I’d thought and felt the same, when I’d watched his show, performing parts of it with a woman he’d been sleeping with for years.

“I don’t suppose I should assume that you went with Bev or Frankie, huh?”

Why did it feel like a betrayal, when I looked at it through his eyes?  Why did I feel like I needed to explain myself?

Because I’d known, even then, that he’d want me to see him perform, but also, I’d known very well, that he wouldn’t want me to be with another man when I did it.

I suddenly felt just awful about it.  Which was so stupid.

The feeling was not rational, but it was powerful.  Enough so I felt the need to offer him an excuse.

“He surprised me with tickets.  That’s the only reason I went to see you with him.”

His jaw clenched, and he tossed down his napkin, nostrils flared.  “And by him, you mean…”

“Yes, Andrew.”

“Don’t.  Please, don’t say his name to me.”

That had me bristling.  “Tone it down, will you?  Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.  You haven’t been an angel yourself.  In fact, if we’re keeping score, you have a lot more names in your column that I don’t ever want to hear you utter.”

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes screamed at me.  This was a hurtful subject, for both of us, and we needed to get way better at avoiding it.

When he finally spoke again, his face was composed, his voice calm.  “Well, you need to come see the show again, alone.  That’s all there is to it.  I’ll snag you a balcony for tonight.”

“How about this?  I’ll come see you, but not on a night when you’re performing with anyone that you have fucked or are fucking.”

It came out harsh, but that was how I meant it.  This was harsh stuff, for both of us.  And I was not going to sit through another one of his shows, with fucking Mona assisting him.

He took a deep breath.  “Jesus.  I’m not fucking any of the assistants, if that’s what you mean.”

I set my jaw hard before I could say her name.  “Not even Mona?”

He winced, and I had to restrain from shouting out an immature, ‘Ah hah’.

“Not even her.”

Well that was something, but certainly not everything.  There was so much wiggle room in ‘not fucking.’ It could mean he’d only stopped yesterday, for all I knew.  “I said, have fucked, too.”

He looked unhappy.  “Okay, I’ll get you set up in the balcony on another day, when she’s not working, but I want to come by your house when I’m done tonight.”

“No.”  I didn’t elaborate or offer any excuses.

“We’ll play a round of ‘tell me something.’”

That was tempting, but not quite tempting enough.  “God, I almost forgot about that stupid game.”  I fought not to smile.  “But no.”

“I want to see your house.  I want the tour.”

I snorted.  “Not likely.  I’ve been to your house twice, and I haven’t even seen the second floor.  You aren’t getting a tour of mine until I get one of yours.”

“Okay.  Come by my house tonight.  I’ll give you a key, and you can let yourself in and wait for me.”

“No.”

“Okay.  Back to the original plan.  I’ll be by your place later tonight.”

“I work in the morning.  If you want to come by after a performance, at least do it when I’m off the next day.”

He smiled big.  “Tomorrow night then.  That’s perfect.”

I glared at him.  He’d done it again.  That tactic seemed to work on me every time.  “You can only get away with that trick so many times before I stop falling for it.”

“I can live with that.  I’ll just move onto another one.  You’re forgetting just how many tricks I have up my sleeve.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.