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‘They weren’t?’ She blinked in surprise.
‘No. I don’t think my mother ever really loved my father and he refused to see it. Which was to his detriment in the end, because as soon as she got a better offer she took off.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible.’ Her automatic compassion was like a fist to his stomach.
‘Yeah, well, that wasn’t the worst of it. Love has a way of making fools of us all. Something to remember.’
He turned sharply on his heel and strode from her room before he did something stupid. Like throw her on the bed and give her what he knew they both wanted—no matter how much she tried to deny it.
Once in his room, Tristan shed his clothes and jumped into the shower, turning the mixer all the way to cold and dousing his head as if it was on fire. He let the freezing water wash over him for a minute and then reset the temperature to hot. God, that search…He blew out a breath. The more he tried to control his physical reaction to her the more out of control it seemed to become.
This situation was seriously driving him crazy. She was seriously driving him crazy. And, worse, the memory of the day his mother had walked out on them wouldn’t leave him alone.
Tristan had overheard his parents arguing. Overheard his mother telling his father that he had nothing she wanted. That her son, Tristan, had nothing she wanted either. And that had bitten deep, because every time she had spiralled downwards Tristan had always been there to try and help her. Tried to be there for her. So to have her only want Jordana…
The memory still chilled his blood. It had taken him a long time to realise that no one was good enough for her and that all those years of trying to win her love and approval had been for nothing.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and shut the mixer off. He pulled on silk boxer shorts and walked up the outdoor circular staircase to his rooftop balcony.
The night was cool, and he enjoyed the sting of air on his skin as he leaned on the wrought-iron railing and looked out over the dark mass that was the Heath and the twinkling coloured lights of London beyond. The cumulus clouds that hung over the city had a faint pinkish tinge due to the light pollution, but he barely noticed. His mind was focused on replaying the day’s events in his head.
Which wasn’t a good thing—because his head was full of more questions than answers.
He didn’t know whether to believe Lily about her not having a current lover, but he was beginning to suspect that she was telling the truth about not knowing she’d had drugs in her bag. That was disconcerting, because it meant he’d been wrong about her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wrong about a person. Hated to think that he was now. Because if he was he owed her an apology.
Could she really be as genuine, as untouched, as she appeared? Or was he just a fool, being taken in by a beautiful and duplicitous woman? One whose job it was to pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
Whatever she was, he desired her more than he’d desired any woman before—and that wasn’t good.
He gripped the balustrade so tightly his palms hurt. He needed an outlet for all the pent-up energy whizzing through his blood, and the only thing he could think of to assuage his physical ache was totally off-limits.
Straightening, he clasped his hands behind his neck, twisting his body from side to side to ease the kinks in his back. A run usually helped clear the cobwebs away. And if he didn’t have a suspect movie star sleeping next door he’d put on his joggers and do exactly that. But then, if he didn’t have a suspect movie star sleeping next door he probably wouldn’t need to go for a run at—he glanced at his watch—one in the morning.
Grimacing, he strode inside and flopped face down on his bed.
Given that he couldn’t get rid of her in the short term, the only way he could think of to deal with this situation was with the detached professionalism he would offer any client and ignore the attraction between them.
He’d told her more than once today that he was in charge, and damn it if he wasn’t going to start behaving as if he was tomorrow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘A MOVIE premiere? Is this your idea of a joke?’
Tristan’s PA flinched as she stood on the other side of his desk, and he realised he’d said almost those exact words to his sister at almost this exact time yesterday.
Again he’d been having a great morning, and again it was shot to—
Okay, so it hadn’t been that great a morning, what with Lily waking up late and a police detective waiting around in his home until she did so, but it was definitely ruined now. He cut a hard look to Lily, who stared back impassively at him from the white sofa.
‘Uh, n-no,’ Kate stuttered.
He glanced back at his computer screen, at the images Kate had brought up of the legions of fans who had camped out overnight in Leicester Square to get a glimpse of Lily Wild at some premiere to be held that evening.
‘Lily, tell me this is a joke.’
He watched Lily’s throat work as she swallowed, and then he returned his eyes to his surprised PA, who didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She’d never seen him on the verge of losing his temper before and she was clearly daunted.
‘I wasn’t going to say anything,’ Lily informed him coolly, standing to walk over to his desk.
