Chapter 12

12

TRISTAN

I sprint up the stairs from the basement as if fleeing the scene of a crime and burst into my room, slamming the door behind me. It clicks and swings back open.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I growl, shoving it closed again. Same thing—the latch refuses to catch. I kick the door in frustration, but it just bounces right back, mocking me.

Taking a deep breath, I try a gentler approach, slowly easing the latch into position until I hear a satisfying click. Finally.

I slump back against the wooden panels and run a hand through my hair. What the hell is wrong with me? What was that in the basement? I was this close to kissing the living hell out of her. Every time I’m alone with Nina for more than thirty seconds, I end up ravishing her like some kind of crazed animal. First pinning her against the kitchen counter, then her father’s worktable…

The memory has the opposite effect of cooling me down. I curse under my breath. This is my best friend’s little sister, for fuck’s sake. I need to get a grip.

But it’s like there’s some invisible magnet drawing me to her, short-circuiting my brain until all I can think about is biting that petulant mouth and?—

No. I shake my head firmly. This has to stop. The only solution is to make sure I’m never alone with her again. I’ll stick to Dylan like a shadow from now on. Can’t risk any more… slip-ups.

I scrub a hand down my face and sigh. When did my life get so complicated? Time was, Nina Thompson was just a gangly kid with a sharp tongue and an annoying tendency to pester me. Now she’s all grown up and sexier than hell—and apparently still determined to torment me at every turn.

Pushing off the door, I start pacing the room, trying to walk off my pent-up energy. Nina’s pouty lips and flashing green eyes keep floating through my mind unbidden. I feel like a kid with his first crush and a dirty old man, all at the same time.

“Get it together, Montgomery,” I mutter. I’m acting worse than a hormonal teenager instead of the thirty-three-year-old man I am.

But something about Nina just brings out my most primal instincts—an irresistible urge to touch, to taste, to claim. It’s downright Neanderthal of me. She’d probably knee me in the groin if she knew the filthy thoughts running through my head right now. Even if the way she parted her lips for me in the basement might suggest otherwise.

Would she have let me kiss her?

It. Doesn’t. Matter. Because I’m not going to kiss her. Period.

I collapse on the bed and let out a long groan of frustration. It’s only another two days before Christmas, I can make it until then without doing something monumentally stupid. And after, I should leave early with an excuse. A work emergency or something. Anything to escape this constant, all-consuming tug of war between wanting her and knowing I absolutely shouldn’t.

My eyelids droop heavily as I stretch out on the mattress. Bone-deep exhaustion seeps through me. The sleepless night is catching up with me all at once. Nina’s fault again, of course. That infernal prank with the alarm clocks blaring at unholy hours. The woman’s diabolical…

I yawn as coherent thoughts slip away and sleep drags me under. The bed is soft, the pillow cool against my cheek. I’ll deal with Nina later…

Bang!

I jolt awake, ears ringing. What the hell? Blinking blearily, I try to get my bearings. Bed, pillow, fading daylight through the window. I’m in the guest room at Dylan’s. And that noise—that loud bang…

Definitely a door slamming. And I know exactly which door, and who’s behind it. Nina. Waking me on purpose, no doubt, in petty retaliation for… something. Breathing. Existing.

Well, two can play that game. Irritation surges through me, shoving back the cobwebs of sleep. I’m on my feet and out the door before reason can kick in.

I don’t bother knocking, just barge right into her room, ready to give her a piece of my mind. Let her see how she likes rude awakenings and invaded privacy and?—

The angry tirade dies on my tongue as I pull up short, blinking stupidly. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this.

Nina stands frozen by her dresser, eyes wide and startled. She’s wearing that oversized sweater from earlier, all soft and cuddly looking. And on her feet, those ridiculous Grinch slippers. But below the hem of the sweater… miles of bare legs.

Holy shit. My brain short-circuits, anger momentarily forgotten as I gawk at those long, toned limbs on display. The sweater hits her upper mid-thigh, and I can’t tell if she’s even wearing underwear. The thought sends all my blood rushing south.

“Tristan?” Her startled query snaps me out of my daze. “What are you doing here?”

I drag my eyes up to her face, trying to remember how to form words. What am I doing here? Good fucking question.

“I… you woke me,” I manage lamely. “With the door. Slamming.”

She lifts an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you decided to, what, storm into my room and give me a good spanking?”

Those are not words she should utter in my presence. Now the idea of how easy it would be to do just that—pull her across my knees and lift up that sweater to reveal her pantless ass—is etched into my brain. So are other wild fantasies that would make Christian Gray look like a domesticated teddy bear.

At my lack of answer, her arms cross over her chest, one slipper-clad foot tapping the floor. The movement draws my attention back to her bare legs. Oh, man.

I swallow hard, scrambling for coherent thoughts. This was a bad idea. I should leave before I do something reckless. Like cross the room and pin her against that dresser. I mean, I already have kitchen counter and basement worktable in my repertoire, what’s a little bedroom dresser addition?

I take a step back, intent on retreating while I still can. But then Nina’s gaze dips to my mouth, her teeth sinking into her plump lower lip. And just like that, all rational thoughts evaporate.

Sleep deprivation. That’s what this is. Sleep deprivation and forced proximity and the maddening effect this woman has always had on me. A perfect storm of bad influences eroding my self-control. I’m drunk on exhaustion and stupidity and want—a want so visceral it scares me. But suddenly, I know exactly what I’m doing in her room and I go to her, determined to see my madness through.