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He pointed to the wine stain on his shirt. “Give me a second to change my shirt. I’ll be quick.”
He turned and moved past her with all the grace of a tiger stalking its prey. The image lodged in her brain, refusing to remove itself.
“Wait here,” he flung back over his shoulder, as if he thought she’d disappear.
And then he was gone, and she was left to tap her feet and study his orderly desk. She reached for the wineglass, bumping the mouse. A large white K appeared in the center of the computer monitor. She almost dropped the glass before she realized the K was for King and not Kinetica. A cold heaviness filled her lungs. Had she made a mistake agreeing to his bargain? Could she trust Tristan? But what other choice did she have?
Her hands went to her cheeks, which were hot to the touch, and her heart tapped out an erratic rhythm. What had she gotten herself into?
She need only spend time with Tristan for a short while. Until she healed Hannah. This was only a brief interlude born out of necessity. A day or so—the promised date—and she’d be gone, and Tristan would be doing Tristan things.
So, why did she feel like she’d wandered into a hungry tiger’s den and was about to be eaten for his dinner?
What the hell was he thinking? Agreeing to leave his own party to accompany Zoey because of some crazy-ass fantasy she had that his presence would help her friend.
Tristan tugged off his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it on the bed. More than likely this was a sympathy ploy to get him to pay her hospital bills. It wouldn’t be the first time. The last time he’d listened to a woman’s sob story, he’d been duped into giving a large sum to a charity that didn’t exist. He cringed at the memory. He’d be a fool to make a mistake like that again.
He grabbed a replacement shirt from the walk-in closet and slipped it on, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. He knew the answer to why he’d agreed to Zoey’s request. Tomorrow night’s charity bash promised to be excruciating. He needed a partner—someone Angelina might actuallybelievehe liked and who wouldn’t expect anything more from him. He needed someone like the calm, elusive Zoey.
He straightened his collar, studying his grim expression in the mirror above the dresser. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he wasn’t immune to Angelina’s advances, and she knew it. Every time she flirted with other men, she chipped away at his resolve.
He grabbed a comb from his nightstand and ran it through his hair. Resisting Angelina was only part of the reason he’d agreed to Zoey Mills’s request, though. How could he—or any decent human being—not feel for Zoey or her friend? There had been sincere desperation in her voice tonight. He knew the feeling well. He wrestled with it every day as he watched his mom slowly slipping away. Slipping into someone he didn’t recognize. Someone who couldn’t possibly be the smart, independent woman who’d raised him on her own.
He tried to flatten the hair that insisted on curling on one side, but it wouldn’t stay down. He couldn’t slow the monster stealing his only living relative from him, but if he could find a way to save Zoey’s friend, it would give him immense satisfaction.
He slipped into the bathroom and ran water over the comb, tugging it through his hair and letting out a satisfied growl when it finally stayed in place. He would do what he could to aid in Hannah Milano’s recovery—arrange for top doctors, see that she had the best treatment. If his position and wealth could make a difference, Hannah would survive.
Tristan gripped the marble sink, considering his reflection. Looking himself in the eye, he could not avoid an important truth. It wasn’t only Angelina and an attack of conscience that had him agreeing to help—it was Zoey herself.
He opened a drawer, pulled out his toothbrush and toothpaste, applied a small amount to his brush. Zoey was different than the women who threw themselves in his path on a regular basis.
He began brushing, slowly, methodically, first one side, then the other. She didn’t seem interested in him romantically and didn’t seem to want his attention. Of course, she could be pretending disinterest, but he didn’t think so. This intrigued him.
He wiped his mouth on the plush white towel, then tossed it into the hamper, where he wished he could toss the remainder of his restless thoughts. He would do what he could to help Hannah, and in the process, figure out what Zoey was hiding. Maybe his efforts would keep him from succumbing to Angelina’s charms for a while longer.
He gathered his phone and his keys from the sleek mahogany dresser. As unlikely and slim as he knew it was, if by some miracle his visit helped Zoey’s friend, maybe the universe held a similar miracle cure for his mother. His heart refused to give up on the possibility, although, logically, he recognized its foolishness.
Tristan made a quick phone call, took a last look around his bedroom, and headed down the hall to find Zoey, his logical mind already analyzing the situation from every angle. His pulse raced along with his thoughts, which was a bit puzzling. It had to be the result of the intrigue surrounding his guest and the fact Angelina was at the party.
ChapterFive
Lillian moved back and forth from the office window to Tristan’s desk, refusing to look at his computer monitor. Her stomach shimmied, the overdone grilled cheese not sitting well.
She frowned at the dark mark on her chest from her earlier collision with the glass of red wine. The stain had probably set, but to calm her nerves, she’d see if she could find a bathroom and try to clean it.
Lillian tried the room next door and found a series of tall glass windows and what looked like a workstation used for potting plants, next to a sink. She opened some cupboard doors and spotted a sponge, which she wet to scrub at the stain. After a few minutes with some success, she ditched the sponge. She turned to leave, pausing before the windows to check out the view.
She drew in a breath and let it out slow. If fairies walked the earth, they most certainly lived outside Tristan’s window. Winterberry shrubs sporting twinkling solar lights dotted the landscape, reflecting the sparkling stars in the velvet night sky. Lillian slipped off her high heels and leaned toward the cold glass, her breath making it fog.
“What has you so fascinated?”
She flinched, nearly bumping into the windowpane at the sound of Tristan’s deep voice coming directly behind her. “Nothing important.” Could the man be any lighter on his feet? If she could, she’d hang a bell around his neck. She bent to slip into her heels, avoiding his gaze. “Sorry, I wasn’t snooping. I was cleaning the wine from my dress.” She gestured at the wet spot. “I’m glad the dress is black. Are you ready?”
He smiled and surprised her by reaching out a hand and brushing what must have been a water droplet from her shoulder. “Yes, are you?”
She frowned at the goosebumps racing up her arm at his touch but managed to nod.
He gestured toward the door, indicating she should go in front of him. “If your friend was well, I’d show you the garden. It’s one of my favorite parts of the estate.”
