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They had reached his car, and the doors popped open. She pulled her hands from his and climbed inside. She fastened her seatbelt, and he did the same, but he made no effort to start the car.
“Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Zoey lay her head back on the seat and closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of relief when Tristan didn’t argue. He started the car and drove out of the hospital lot and toward home.
Tristan put on his sunglasses and stepped on the accelerator, passing a line of cars on the right. Zoey—or Lillian rather—was determined to leave. He could feel her determination from where she sat next to him, eyes closed to shut him out. She would continue her stubborn refusal to confide in him.
On some level, he understood it. They’d only known each other a short time—why should she trust him? He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. Because whatever her issues, he wanted to help her, dammit. The more she pushed him away, the more Tristan vowed to slip through her defenses.
As if she heard his thoughts, Lillian stirred, opening her eyes and clutching the purse that was never far from her body—it either sat in her lap like now, or it hung from her shoulder. He turned at the light and headed east toward home. It wouldn’t be long before Brian would figure out the rest of her story. Why wasn’t he more satisfied by the thought?
Lillian stared out the window, avoiding his gaze. When he’d kissed her, she’d kissed him back, which meant the attraction he felt for her was not all one-sided. And yet, she’d refused to acknowledge it, refused to confide in him, refused to let him into her world. Although he didn’t understand why it was so, her continued refusals hurt.
He tightened his grip on the wheel and sped up, easing his car into the right lane. Perhaps it was only his ego she’d damaged. It didn’t feel like it, though. It felt like she’d reached a hand inside his chest and squeezed his heart. His gut twisted at the thought of saying goodbye tomorrow. He couldn’t shake the frightening feeling he might never see her again.
If this was their final evening together, then he would use the opportunity to convince Lillian to confide in him. Maybe there was still a chance to earn her trust.
Lillian avoided looking at Tristan as she got out of his car and made her way to the door. There was no reason to interact with him any more than required—it would only make it harder for her to leave later. She’d go to her room, lay her outfit out for tonight, and freshen up.
Unfortunately, she had to wait for Tristan to unlock the door for her to enact her plan. It seemed to take a millennium as he disarmed the security system.
Her pulse pounded, but whether she feared Kinetica’s soldiers would be inside waiting or how her body responded to Tristan’s tall form, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was her skin tingled when he touched her arm, and the breezy scent of him could be bottled and sold for profit.
She took a whiff and held it in her lungs, avoiding his sharp gaze by pretending to check out the gleaming kitchen appliances—microwave, Keurig, dishwasher. Her eyes landed on the kitchen table. A centerpiece of pink tulips was perched in the middle between two ivory candlesticks, gold place settings, and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.
Her stomach turned over. “You’re expecting company?”
“Yes.”
A pain settled in her chest. Was it with that glamorous hospital administrator, Angelina? Had he finally given in to her flirting? “I’ll just get my things and go then.”
“That would be a shame.” He removed his jacket and tossed it on a barstool. Then he moved toward her, accelerating her heartbeat. “The table is set for you and me, Zoey. I thought we could celebrate Hannah’s recovery with an early dinner.”
“Dinner?” Her pulse quickened, and her voice sounded breathless.
He stopped in front of her, causing her heart to beat harder if it were possible. His breath warmed her hair, and the temperature rose a notch. She couldn’t take her eyes off his broad shoulders and the few dark chest hairs that peeked from the vee in his shirt.
“Yes, dinner. There will only be appetizers and drinks at the fundraiser, and it has been a while since lunch. I don’t want you passing out. You have to eat, don’t you? Unless you were expecting something else?” He raised his eyebrows.
Something else? She stared at his hard chest and fought the devil on her shoulder that tempted her to enjoy his company. Would it be a horrible mistake? It was only four thirty—the event didn’t start until seven. Tonight might be the last time she’d ever see him in person again.
“Well…” Her stomach chose that moment to make itself known with a rumble.
He laughed. “Have dinner with me, Zoey.” His eyes were deeper than the ocean, a hint of magic swimming in their navy depths.
She sniffed. She really should find a way to bottle that smell.Oh, hell.What was one last meal together? Tristan was right, she couldn’t afford more fainting spells, and she had to eat, didn’t she?
“What’s on the menu?”
He smiled, giving her poor heart palpitations. “Eggplant Florentine with fire-roasted tomato sauce and toasted ciabatta.”
“Seriously?”
He laughed, and she felt the joyful sound in her heart. Now that she’d made up her mind to stay for dinner, the atmosphere between them took on a festive note.
“Seriously. I have a fabulous chef.”
