“All the time. Are you looking for a recommendation of where to go? The range I use is for professionals only, but I could help you find one.”
He laughs again, like I’ve said something hilarious, before he gestures at the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“I don’t—”
“She’s leaving.” Tristan’s low voice sounds from behind my right shoulder, followed by the heat of his chest.
“We are?” I give him a confused glance. Sarah is gone. Tristan’s eyes are on Ryan. He’s looming, and he’s standing way too close.Insatiable.My stomach twists.
“Yep,” Tristan says. “I’m ready to go.”
Ryan gives me a small smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I nod. “Sure. Maybe.”
Sienna waves us on, saying she wants to stick around and see some friends. And then I’m shouldering through the crowd with Tristan next to me. Phones are out, and instead of ducking his head, he flashes winks and grins and eats up the attention from the paparazzi who are always crowded outside the bar.
“Tristan,” they shout. “We heard you were here with Sarah Hawthorne. How did it go?”
“The Vegas line on her is twenty to one. Care to comment?”
“How much will your wife inherit when she marries you?”
Bulbs go off in our faces as I rush him toward the car, adrenaline pouring through me. Getting the principal into and out of locations is the hardest part of my job, especially because I’m alone. I scan the crowd for any weirdos and see nothing.
One paparazzo gets a little too close, preventing Tristan from getting to the car, and I growl, “Back the fuck up.”
His eyes widen before they slide down my body.
Tristan tenses, but I’m opening the car door and shoving him inside before anything can happen. As soon as I’m inside, the cameras swarm the car and I have to drive carefully to get us out of the parking lot. My hands are tight on the wheel until I turn onto the main road.
“Fuck,” Tristan mutters.
“All good?” I eye him in the rearview. He passes a hand over his hair, then starts unbuttoning the shirt at his throat. Heat washes over my face and I look quickly back at the red light.
“I was expecting bad, but not that bad. Are you okay?”
“It’s my job.”
“I don’t have to like it,” he says curtly. The breath he looses is heavy. I’m distracted as I drive, thinking about what the women said earlier, trying to square what I know of Tristan with the man they were describing.
Tristan is fun-loving. Reckless sometimes. Curious about the world. Always laughing. Always moving.
Use me for whatever you want.
I shift on the seat, trying to ease the squirming sensation in my stomach. The Crownhaven gate comes at us a little too soon, and I slam on the brakes.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong with you?”
We roll past the stately old oaks and the bushes that line the long gravel drive. I pull my lip into my mouth.
“I don’t know. I just feel weird.”
We reach the parking area and Tristan hops out first. He’s waiting when I get out, his eyes scanning my face, then my body.
“Weird how?” He tips his head. The moonlight makes his eyes look silver and his skin shine. There’s a deep vee of bare chest where he unbuttoned his shirt. “Did Ryan asking you out mess with your head?”
