He went quiet for a moment. I felt like I was going to burn up.
“How was it then?” he asked, voice low and almost rough. “Your first kiss.”
I thought back on it, that tender moment where his lips had met mine, hot and pressing and passionate and desperate for more. I thought of the heat that rose inside me, pure desire rushing out, pushing against all my inhibitions, urging me to wrap my arms around him,to pull him in closer and get drunk on him, to reach out with my tongue and entwine it in his as his fists bunched in my hair and my nails dug into his back and—
“Amazing,” I gasped. “It was incredible.”
I felt a dark satisfied chuckle rumble through him. Then his hand was on my chin, tilting my face up. His gaze met mine. No more laughing, no more smirking. Then it dropped to my lips. My heart raced as I looked up at him, watching, waiting as he was closing the distance—
BEEP!
A horn blared from the curb.
“You two done yet?!” shouted a voice from the road.
I jolted apart from Tristian, my face blazing.
Kane’s black BMW sat idling at the road, window down, his arm hanging out. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s only James at the parlor, and you’ve seen him try to run the place. Love the guy, but I’ll come back to a bombsite if he’s alone too long.”
Tristian’s jaw tightened in annoyance before he looked at me again, his expression telling me our little moment wasn’t exactlyover. “We’re in the back,” he muttered, moving to Kane’s car and opening the door for me
“A perfect gentleman,” Kane smirked. “Where to?”
“My place,” said Tristian as we settled in the back. He glanced at me. “That okay?”
The breath caught in my throat. “Y-yeah.”
Kane nodded. “Thanks. Happy to take you back to your place too, Ingrid, but honestly, the less time James is left on his own, the better.” He shot a glance to Tristian in the rearview mirror. More serious now, he asked, “So what happened this time, man?”
Tristian stared at his lap. “Brandon.”
I saw Kane’s eyes flash. “What’d he say?”
“Mentioned Darragh again,” Tristian said, low. “And… Mom.”
Kane punched the steering wheel. “Asshole. So the dude can’t walk now, I figure?”
Tristian snorted. “I wish. Boys in blue got there first. He had a buddy this time, called the cops pretty much as soon as I threw the first punch.”
Kane sighed. “You’ve got to ignore the guy, man. Otherwise sooner or later, you’ll be locked in that cell for good. Your dad’s name only goes so far.”
Tristian didn’t respond. The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on. I reached out slowly, sliding my hand into his rough, battered one. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable, but still, he squeezed my hand back.
His apartment wasn’t far from the station. Soon, Kane pulled up outside his building. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said, which coming from him, left a lot of room. My face flushed at the thought.
We made our way inside and I stood in the middle of the floor waiting as Tristian closed the door.
“Sit,” he said, nodding at the living room before he disappeared down the hall. The air in his apartment tasted of him—raw man, a faint, metallic tang thatreminded me of the ink needles he handled all day, and thick oil paint.
When he came back, he came with a hoodie. I stood, reaching out to take it, to thank him, but he stepped around me, draping it over my shoulders. The material was thick, heavy, warm—but that was nothing compared to the fire of his touch. His powerful hands brushing my skin as he moved the fabric into place, pulled it tight, drawing me in to his chest.
He was so close.
“Th-thank you,” I murmured.
His gaze fell to my lips. Up to meet mine again. Then his hands found my shoulders and walked me back until my knees hit the sofa and I sank down. His hands were on me, strong, so tight I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.
And I didn’t.
