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‘It’s just a pity I didn’t nip your friendship in the bud sooner. I could have saved my family a lot of embarrassment.’
That seemed to take the wind out of her sails and he almost felt bad when her shoulders slumped.
‘So what happens now? Where will I be staying?’ she asked.
Tristan pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and threw some on the bar. ‘We’ll discuss the ground rules later.’
‘I’d like to talk about them now.’
He turned to her, what little patience he’d started with completely gone. ‘If I have to pick you up and cart you out of here I will,’ he warned softly.
Her eyes widened. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Tristan crowded her back against the bar stool again. ‘Try me.’
She inhaled a shaky breath and put her hand up between them. ‘Don’t touch me.’
Touch her? He hadn’t really intended to, but now, as his gaze swept down her curvy body, he realised that he wanted to. Badly. He wanted to push aside that cardigan, slide his hand around her waist and pull her up against him until there was no sign of daylight between them. Until she melted into him as she had done six years ago.
‘Then co-operate,’ he snarled, crowding even closer and perversely enjoying her agitated backwards movement. It wouldn’t hurt her to be a little afraid of him. Might make sure she kept her distance this time.
‘I’m trying to.’
Her eyes flashed, and the leather creaked as she shifted as far back on the stool as she could, her monstrosity of a bag perched on her lap between them.
Tristan leaned forward and hooked his foot on her bar stool, jerking it forward so she was forced back into his space. He caught her off guard, and his bicep flexed as she threw her hand out to balance herself. Her breath caught and her eyes flew to his.
‘No, you’re not. You’re trying to bug me.’ He watched as colour winged into her face, his eyes narrowing as she snatched her hand back from his arm. ‘And it’s working.’
She raised her chin. ‘I don’t like your controlling attitude.’
He stilled, and their eyes locked in a battle of wills: hers bright and belligerent, his surprised but determined. His nostrils flared as he breathed her in deep. She smelled of roses and springtime and he had to fight the instinct to keep inhaling her.
They were so close he could see the flawless, luminescent quality of her skin—a gift from her Nordic heritage—and her thick, sooty lashes, as long as a spider’s legs, nearly touching her arched brow. His eyes turned hot before he was able to blank them out, and her breath stalled as she caught the heat.
He stopped breathing himself and felt the blood throb powerfully through his body. For a split second he forgot what they were doing here. Time stood still. But before he could wrap his hand around her slender neck and bring her mouth to his she blinked and lowered her eyes.
Tristan exhaled, his anger all the stronger because of the unwanted sexual tension that lay between them like a living thing.
‘Do you really think I care?’ he snapped. ‘When I first heard you were coming to Jo’s wedding I didn’t even intend to say hello. Now I find that hello is the least of my problems, and I can assure you I will not spend the next eight days arguing every single point with you. So if—’
‘Fine.’ She cupped her hand over her forehead and winced.
He knew what she meant, but he was insulted by her attitude and wanted to hear her say it.
‘Fine what? Fine, you want to come with me? Or fine, you want me to take you back to Customs?’
She raised her head and he waited. The smudges under her eyes looked darker, and her skin had lost even more colour.
‘Oh, to hell with it.’ He straightened and held his hand out to her. She took it, without argument, and he realised that the shock of the morning was finally starting to set in—or maybe she’d been in shock the whole time.
Her fingers were icy in his, and he shrugged out of his jacket once again and pulled it around her. She squirmed as if to push it off, and her eyes jerked to his when he grabbed her upper arms and dragged her close.
‘Co-operate,’ he growled, pleased when she stilled.
‘You never say please.’ She sniffed.
Hell, she was still trying to call the shots. He kept his eyes locked on hers, because if they dropped to her mouth he knew he’d taste her. He was hard and he was angry, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins was pushing his self-control to its outer limits.
