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The cleaner! My mother would have loved a cleaner.

“Melina the cleaner? What a rhyme.”

“Yes. I know.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “She doesn’t speak much English, and she usually comes Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Okay.”

My heart leaped as I caught a trace of Tristan’s scent. I glanced at Dylan, but he was heading off to his study; he’d not noticed it.

I bolted upstairs to my room. Tristan was lounging on my bed, looking heart-stoppingly hot. Mad hot.

“Hi,” I said, breathless and smiling like an idiot as I leaned on the closed bedroom door.

“Hello, Beauchamp.” He grinned like an idiot back at me. “Missed me?”

“Yes. Very much.” My grin broadened.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked as I lay down beside him, gazing into his green eyes, his sweet scent potent and soothing between us.

Oh, he smells so good.

“Various doctors. Nothing serious,” I said as Tristan’s expression turned to one of alarm.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m good. Where’ve you been?”

“Around.” He was giving nothing away.

“Dylan wants to talk to you.”

“Oh? That doesn’t sound good. What does the son of a bitch want?” His eyebrows knit together.

I shrugged and shook my head.

“I could find out?”

“No! Leave him his privacy, please.”

“I wish I had,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. So how are you feeling after your foray into the world of illegal, recreational narcotics?”

“Rebuked.”

“Good. What you did was fucking stupid.” His face hardened and his eyes frosted with disapproval. I lay back on the bed and covered my face with my arm.

“Please. Enough already,” I whispered. “I won’t do it again.”

“I’m glad to hear it. What’s with the fugly boots?”

“Hey! My mother gave me these!”

“Oh. Um. Well, why are you wearing them? It’s not like it’s cold.”

I peeked at him, and he glanced out of the window as if reassuring himself of the sunshine outside.