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“Goodbye.” Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, Lillian turned and fled the solarium.
This time, no one stopped her.
ChapterTwenty-eight
Lillian gasped for air as she tore open the front door and hightailed it out of Tristan’s mansion, blood pumping fast and furious through her veins. Had she honestly expected he’d believe her after she’d told so many lies earlier in their acquaintance? And then to dump champagne on him after doing the same thing to his fiancée? What a klutz.
Her cheeks burned, but she wasn’t sure if the cause was the mad dash to the shuttle or the shame filling her chest. Thank God the bus was waiting. She climbed onto it and made her way to the back, searching for Hannah in every seat she passed, but her sister was nowhere in sight. Most of the seats were empty of passengers since the guests were still at the party. Maybe she should get off the bus and look for Hannah at the house?
Too late.
Before she could make up her mind, the driver pulled away from the curb and headed toward the vast parking lot. A few minutes later, the shuttle stopped next to Hannah’s car, and the doors opened.
Lillian got out and studied the vehicle, then turned and watched as the bus pulled away, heading back to pick up more passengers. She slumped against the car, then dug for her phone and sent a quick text to Hannah.
I’m at the car.Her sister had the keys.
A minute later, her cell phone buzzed with an answering text.Just finishing up the tour. Won’t be long.
Lillian tapped her foot and scanned the parking lot, but it was empty of people, so she made a conscious effort to slow her heart rate and try not to think about her rapid exit and the bemused look on Tristan’s face when she’d flung the last of her champagne at him.
She shuddered. How horrible this would be her last memory of him.
She closed her eyes and imagined herself on a beach, enjoying the warm rays of the sun. The mental imagery seemed to work, her breaths evening out. The squeal of the hydraulic brakes on the bus reentering the parking lot to unload its next set of passengers jolted her back to the present. A young couple got off, followed by a group of women, and a single man—Tristan.
Her heartbeat tripped into overtime. His hair looked a bit windblown from when she’d last seen him, and he glanced in every direction with a determined air until his gaze found hers.
Lillian’s pulse leaped, and she looked for somewhere to leap as well, but there was no way out, unless she wanted to run across the open parking lot in wedges, which she did not.
Tristan didn’t increase his gait, but his long legs made short work of the concrete. And then he was in front of her, smelling like his minty pine cologne and sweat and champagne and more than a few fantasies she’d had of long summer nights with him underneath the covers.
Lillian couldn’t stop a shiver. What the hell was wrong with her? She had no business dreaming of nights under the covers with Tristan. He was engaged to be married.
Even so, she took a deep gulp of his unique scent and held it in her lungs while he peered into her eyes like he would read her soul.
He touched a strand of her hair. “I wondered what color it would be…underneath the wig. They had you hooked up to so many machines the last time I saw you in the hospital that I wasn’t exactly sure.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t show you myself when you asked. I was trying to protect you.”
“Did you mean everything you said back there?”
She nodded, then took a step backward, which solved nothing since he took a step forward, cornering her against the vehicle.
“I don’t have Huntington’s?
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not possible.”
“Your leaving had nothing to do with my inability to give you healthy children?”
He was going to make her spell it out. She could see it in his eyes. He would settle for nothing less. And why did he have to look and smell so damn good? Where was Hannah when Lillian needed her most?
“No, it did not.” She cleared her throat. “It’s the opposite, actually.”
“What?” His intense look was replaced with puzzlement. “You mean…”
“I can’t give you healthy children, Tristan. As I told you, burners are immune to most illnesses. They don’t get inherited diseases like Huntington’s, so they wouldn’t pass it to their children. But any children I have will have a genetic disorder. They will likely inherit my gift and be hunted. I didn’t think you’d want that.”
He leaned a little closer, which had the effect of making Lillian want to fan her chest, if only she had a fan.
