Page 76 of Lust
“Why are you being so nice?” I inquired, voice hoarse even days after our battle.
He laughed softly. “I can’t be nice?”
“Be real. Why are you doing all of this?” I glanced around the spacious room. It must have cost a small fortune to secure a private room at such a fancy restaurant.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not to me.”
He peered down with a penetrating gaze, sending unexplainable jolts down my spine. “I told you how I felt last night, and I meant it. Even after all this time, how can you not understand my feelings?” The rare tenderness laced in his tone shocked me to my core. Gone was his arrogance and vanity as he simply said, “It’s impossible to be around the most beautiful woman on earth without falling in love.”
A mindboggling part of me launched a somersault inside my chest. Did the God of beauty callmethe most beautiful woman on earth? Tristan had called me many names before (from ugly to horse face), but the wordbeautifulwas never part of the vocabulary.
I stopped breathing, unsure how to respond.
He tried to appear irritated over my prolonged silence. In reality, his emotion was something else entirely.
A thirst for me.
Blood rushed to my head like vertigo. Quietening my heart, I reminded myself that Tristan wouldn’t bring me to dinner if his intentions were nefarious. Yet, the intensity in his eyes was impossible to ignore. I squirmed uncomfortably under the gaze heating my skin, and when his eyelids drooped, his intentions became crystal clear.
“Tris,” I protested softly, pushing against his chest. “What are you doing?” I glanced around the empty room. Surely, he realized that his career would be ruined if we were caught in the act.
I tried to move away, but his hands locked onto my hips. The warmth of the bare touch grazed through my thin dress-shirt and almost lit the skin underneath on fire. My heart thumped loudly against my chest, and I wondered if he could hear it.
“I want you to kiss me,” he whispered, licking his bottom lip. My gaze landed on the generous flesh, feeling lost from all the emotional turmoil surrounding the same man.
He had gone from being my brother to a man who hurt me deeply. Tonight, he had been a savior, seeking redemption through acts of kindness. All the while, he wanted to be my lover, who was currently adamant that I make the first move.
“If anyone catches us—”
“I’ve secured privacy for this dinner. No cameras, not even for security.”
“Tris, I don’t think it’s smart—”
“Please, Sara.”
I was rendered speechless for several moments, dumbfounded by the simple word,please. Tristan Marcolf bowed to no man, nor did he plead. Not even for his precious career.
With one humble word, he had practically changed his persona.
Who was this man staring back at me?
My heart was at my throat, an odd form of anticipation rising by the minute. Tristan barely noticed my inner conflict, body shaking with need. He leaned against me, trapping me between him and the table. One warm hand landed on my cheek, the other wrapped around my waist. His lips were a hair’s breadth away, the rise and fall of his chest apparent against mine.
He had set up the scene, and I only had to take the last leap. With my mind scattered and the wordpleaseringing in my ears, I conceded and leaned forward.
Two firm lips moved against my mouth with an urgency I had never known. His tongue probed for entry, and then it was moving against mine, firmly at first, then gently, like he was savoring every taste.
“I’ll happily risk everything for you, Sara,” he murmured between kisses. “All I ask in return is that you give me a chance.”
The words were so tender; his eyes filled with pain and hope. I felt like we were mourners at the same grave, trying to rebuild a precious item we had lost—the bond we used to share. It was sad. Heartbreaking, in fact.
With great effort, I managed to reclaim my previous seat as Tristan called on the server to take our dinner order.
I watched, first with slight disbelief and then with exasperated annoyance, as the waiter’s lingering gaze perused Tristan. I doubted that our server’s sexual orientation dampened his curiosity over Tris or the eyes of the rarest of colors.
Did Tristan find these hollow adorations exhausting, especially at such moments when he was emotionally drained from the week’s trials? I couldn’t help but wonder if his looks were as much a curse as they were a gift.
