Page 6 of Tristan’s Temptation

He was going to see Shannon.

He finished the quarterly report in record time, urged on by a demon living in his pants. As soon as he had a workable draft, he slipped his laptop into its carrier and then slipped Shannon’s nearly identical laptop into her nearly identical carrier. He looped them both over his shoulder and headed for the door, beset with curiosity.

What was Shannon’s place like? What was she like outside the confines of the office? And why the ever lovin’ hell had he never known they were neighbors?

Following Sara’s directions—scrawled on a scrap of paper—Tristan made his way to Villa Toscano. Though he’d driven past the development every day on his way to work and back, he’d never paid it much attention. It was a housing development just like every other housing development in the valley.

As he drove through the streets, he realized the neighborhood was really very nice. The houses were small but modern, with an attractive architecture that was pleasing to the eye. All the homes had nicely landscaped lawns and well-tended greenbelts. Shannon lived on a cul-de-sac on the far end of the development near the canyon. Tristan could see, as he pulled into her driveway, she had a nice view of the sprawling valley below. Practically the same view he, himself, enjoyed.

Interesting.

He got out of his car and looked up the hill, trying to gauge the location of his house in relation to hers. Could he see her place from his vantage point on top of the hill? He’d never much thought about the houses below, other than to enjoy the panoply of lights in the evening. The prospect that one of those houses was hers absorbed him. He wouldn’t be able to tell for sure unless he got a gander at the hill from her backyard. Enthralled by the possibilities, he grabbed her laptop and headed for the front door.

It took a minute or two for her to answer his summons but she finally opened the door, looking adorably flustered and mussed. Her corkscrew curls were all askew and a streak of…something was smeared across her cheek. She stood there with her delectable bow lips agape.

“T-Tristan,” she burbled, clearly stunned to see him.

She must have been stunned. She’d totally forgotten to call him Mr. Trillo. That almost made him smile. Almost.

“Shannon.” He thrust the carrier at her. “I brought your laptop.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

She took the computer from him and they stood there. Staring at each other. For an awkward moment. Or two. She opened her mouth to say something then closed it. He shuffled his feet.

He should go. He really should go.

But he didn’t want to.

And then a hideous snuffling and hacking and finally the unmistakable aria of vomitus echoed from inside the house.

Shannon flushed. “Oh God.” She tossed a panicked glance over her shoulder. “Um, come in.” She left the door open and rushed back into the living room.

Come in? he thought. Don’t mind if I do.

Slowly, he stepped over the threshold, noting the attractive art on the walls and the beautiful tile in the entry. He followed Shannon into the living room to hear her scream at a large bulldog perched on an upholstered couch. Heaving.

“No! No! No, Bos!” she bellowed, yanking the dog to the floor. “Not on the sofa.” She grabbed a newspaper and attempted to shove it under the creature’s mouth as he hacked and gacked in wild spasms.

The dog turned his head to avoid barfing on the newspaper and vomited, rather voluminously, on Tristan’s shoes.

Shannon—calm, controlled, pedantic Shannon—said something mighty profane and Tristan didn’t bother holding back his grin. There was something compelling about seeing her in her home environment. And utterly out of control.

She buried her face in her hands. “I am so sorry, Tristan.”

He kicked the worst of the mess onto the newspaper. He should be mad. Hell, he should be furious—those shoes cost him three hundred bucks. But he just couldn’t dredge up any anger.

It wasn’t her fault her dog liked to barf on men. And she was just so damn cute. Besides, it was extremely gratifying to hear his name on her lips. To know she thought of him as something other than “Mr. Trillo”. At least once in a while.

“It’s okay.”

“Bosco.” She frowned at the snorting, snuffling beast. “You’ve been a very, very bad boy. I should spank you.”

Bosco, for his part, just grinned, tongue lolling maniacally.

Tristan, for his part, was speechless. Two things occurred to him at just that moment. First of all, Bosco, it appeared, was not a muscular, dreamy stud with a cute butt and broad, muscular shoulders. He was a dog. And a dog that snorted.

And secondly, Shannon’s voice, that sultry Southampton purr, burned into his consciousness. You’ve been a very, very naughty boy. I should spank you.