Page 61 of Tristan’s Temptation

“Really?”

He shrugged. “If it was so confidential, I guess you should have kept your voices down. I heard every word.”

“Adam. You were supposed to be watching a movie!”

“It ended.”

“You heard everything?”

“Yeah.” His expression was grim. “Tristan will not be pleased.”

Tristan came to work on Monday with a bouquet of flowers only to discover not only had Shannon called in sick, she would likely be out the rest of the week. To make matters worse, when he went by her house, several times a day, she wasn’t there. Even Bosco wasn’t there, snuffling and snorting at the door.

If Bosco wasn’t there, she probably wouldn’t be back any time soon.

Each night when he went home, he stood on the patio and stared down at her place through the darkness, just waiting for the lights to flare on. But they didn’t.

It was awful not being with her. Not being able to talk to her. The torment was made worse by the knowledge that she was still angry at him. He didn’t even want to think about her threats to find another job.

She was probably staying with her sister. Or maybe her mother. But Tristan didn’t have their numbers and, try as he might, he couldn’t get the information from Kat. When the hell had she become so close-lipped anyway? Adam was worse. And the two of them together—impossible!

Whenever he so much as mentioned Shannon’s name, they launched into tag-team harangues, nagging that he should stop being such a slave driver, that he should give Shannon more space, let her live her own life.

He wasn’t quite sure what they were babbling about. Shannon had never complained that he was a slave driver—not even that night in the Pleasure Palace.

Hell. Now why did he have to go and think about that?

He forced the memory from his mind. He really didn’t need lust clawing at him on top of everything else.

By the end of the week, he was worried. Really worried. They’d never had a fight before so he didn’t know what the statute of aggravation might be for her. But he had to accept this wasn’t a simple little tiff. This was something much more.

If only he could talk to her, reassure her. Tell her he’d decided to toss his idiotic rule out the window, tell her what he was feeling. But he couldn’t. And to make matters worse, there was no one else he could talk to about it either.

Because no one knew.

Yeah. He was miserable.

By Sunday, he was a mess, reliving every second he’d spent with her in the past month and second-guessing every word he’d said.

He came to the conclusion he’d been a pompous ass.

When Adam called to remind him about the football game they’d agreed to watch together, he almost cried off. He knew he wouldn’t be good company. He knew he really didn’t give a shit who won the game. And he knew he didn’t want to pretend to be civil for an entire afternoon.

But Mom was expecting them. And frankly, Tristan knew it was time to come clean to his brother.

When he got there, the game was already in full swing. Adam, as always, was yelling at the screen. Tristan poked his head into the kitchen and waved to Mom and Kat, who were snapping beans for supper. He grabbed a beer for himself and one for Adam.

“Don’t ruin your appetite,” Mom called as he wandered back to the family room, twisting off the tops.

Mom had an awesome hi-def wide-screen TV. It had been Adam’s idea to get it for her two Christmases ago because she had a larger family room than either of them and she didn’t mind if they had friends over. Not that she ever turned it on.

Tristan handed Adam his beer and flopped down on the other end of the overstuffed couch. He waited for a commercial. “Do you have a minute?”

Adam glanced at the screen, checking out hot babes selling beer and web domains, and shrugged. “Probably.” He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Don’t ruin your appetite.”

Adam chuckled. “Yeah. Right. Wassup?”