Chapter 21

21

NINA

I survey the black dress hanging on my closet door, fingering the zipper running along the length of the back. It’s sexier than what I’d normally wear to a fourth-grade recital, with the low-cut neckline and clingy fabric. But it’s also perfect for torturing Tristan. And the color is only fitting to seduce a Prince of Darkness.

I shimmy into the dress, the satiny material hugging my curves. After arranging my hair in soft waves and strapping on heels, I appraise my reflection. The tight fit also shows off an eyeful of cleavage, and the stilettos make my legs look a mile long. Tristan will definitely notice. I can hardly wait to see the fire in his eyes turn into an inferno.

Winking at my reflection, I grab my clutch and saunter downstairs, anticipation buzzing through my veins. When I enter the living room, my gaze immediately snags on Tristan.

And the joke’s on me because he’s devastatingly handsome in a navy cashmere sweater that molds to his muscular chest and dark jeans that emphasize his powerful thighs. His hair is artfully tousled, and his chiseled jaw is freshly shaven.

Our eyes lock and the Earth tilts. Tristan’s icy-hot gaze rakes over me, scorching every inch of my skin. The heat in his stare holds a dark promise of all the wicked things he’ll do to me later. I nearly combust on the spot.

My bold confidence wavers under the intensity of his focus. How can he always throw me off balance with a single smoldering look?

Tristan’s sensual lips curve into a knowing smirk, clearly reading my body’s reaction to him. Damn the man and his uncanny ability to turn my insides to jelly.

Steeling my spine, I arch a brow as I brush past him. He subtly steps forward so that my side brushes against his chest and his breath warms the edge of my jaw.

I suppress a shiver, making my way in front of the fireplace where my brother is warming his hands.

Dylan’s eyes widen at seeing me so dressed up. “Someone’s looking sharp tonight. Do you have a date or something?”

I shrug the compliment off. “Oh, you never know who you might run into in a crowd. There might be hot single dads tonight.”

I feel Tristan’s gaze drilling between my shoulder blades, but I don’t look at him again until Mom arrives, and it’s time to go.

As the family walks out, Tristan drops a hand to the small of my back, his fingers searing through the thin fabric of my dress. He leans in, his hot breath fanning my ear as he whispers, “As stunning as you look in that dress, Thompson, I can’t wait to get it off you.”

I barely contain the whimper that rises in my throat. Trying to play it cool, I toss him a coy smirk over my shoulder. “You mean in your dreams when you lie in bed thinking about me?”

His pupils blow out. “Oh, I don’t just think about you in bed, Nina. I think of ways to get you there all day long.” The hint of playfulness in his voice doesn’t mask the serious undertone of his words. “And tonight, I’ll make you dream harder than you’ve ever dreamt before, sweetheart.”

My legs nearly give out. Curse him and his dirty mouth. We pile into the car, all five of us squeezing into the vehicle. Of course, being the smallest, I end up sandwiched between Tristan and Dylan in the backseat.

As if sharing such close quarters isn’t torture enough, Tristan takes advantage of the situation. His nimble fingers trail up my leg, slipping beneath the hem of my dress to stroke along my outer thigh. Even over the thick black nylons I’m wearing, the touch is electrifying. Tingles erupt everywhere he touches, my body trembling with need.

I shoot him a warning glare, but he merely grins, his hand inching higher. I almost feel lightheaded, heat pooling low in my belly. Damn him for being able to unravel me so easily.

At Zoe’s school, he maneuvers to sit next to me again in the darkened auditorium, but he makes it look like a fortuitous occurrence to the others. And as soon as the lights dim to almost total obscurity, Tristan wastes no opportunity to tease me mercilessly. A brush of his fingers along my collarbone, a hand skimming my waist, his thigh pressing intimately against mine. Each touch is a sweet torment, stoking the flames of this burning attraction for him I can no longer control.

As the final note of the recital fades, I’m a quivering mess. My body wound tighter than a coiled spring. I’m counting down the minutes until we get home, and I’ll be able to sneak into Tristan’s room. I desperately need him to quench this fire he’s ignited within me.

But we can’t go home yet. After the performance concludes, everyone gathers in the school gym for a standing buffet and for the award ceremony for the best gingerbread house competition. Zoe wins second place, and I beam with pride.

I’m about to go congratulate her when a familiar voice stops me in my tracks. “Nina Thompson? Is that you?”

I spin around and come face-to-face with Brad, my high school ex-boyfriend. He looks good, I’ll admit. His sandy hair is perfectly coiffed, and his light-blue eyes sparkle with warmth.

“Brad! Wow, it’s been ages.” I plaster on a friendly smile, acutely aware of Tristan’s piercing gaze boring into my back.

Brad engulfs me in a hug, his arms lingering a bit too long for my comfort. I subtly try to extricate myself, but he holds on tight. Over his shoulder, I catch Tristan’s expression. If looks could kill, my ex would be already playing chess with the Grim Reaper.

The situation is already awkward enough. But Zoe chooses that exact moment to materialize at our side, her face splitting into a delighted grin. She points above our heads, sing-songing, “Ooh, look! Mistletoe! You know what that means, Auntie. You two have to kiss!”

My stomach drops to my toes. Oh, no. No, no, no. This cannot be happening. Not with Tristan watching.

I try to laugh it off, but Brad appears overly enthusiastic to embrace the tradition. He leans in, and I panic. My eyes dart to Tristan, silently pleading for an escape. But he remains stoic, his jaw clenched so hard I fear he might crack a tooth.

I’m trapped. There’s no way out of this without causing a scene. Bracing myself, I turn my face at the last second, letting Brad’s lips graze the corner of my mouth. It’s the barest of pecks, but it still feels like a betrayal.

When I pull back, Tristan is gone. He avoids me for the rest of the night, which drags by in a blur. I go through the motions, congratulating Zoe on her gingerbread house, making small talk with a few of the parents, and catching up with other old friends. But my mind is miles away, fixated on Tristan and the darkness I saw in his eyes.

When it’s time to leave, I search for him in the crowd, wanting to clear the air. But he’s nowhere to be found. Even on the car ride home, Tristan is conspicuously still. No stolen touches, no covert attempts at flirting.

The silence stretches on, thick and suffocating. I can practically feel the tension radiating off Tristan in waves. He won’t even look at me, his gaze resolutely fixed on the road ahead.

I want to scream, to shake him, to tell him he’s being ridiculous. That Brad caught me off guard, that I didn’t have a choice. But I can’t. Not here, not with my family watching.

So, I stew in my own thoughts, trying to imagine how I’d feel if the roles were reversed and he’d had to kiss some random woman under the mistletoe. Yeah, I wouldn’t be too peachy either. When we finally pull into the driveway, I’m stretched to my limit.

I bolt from the car, mumbling some excuse about being tired. My parents wish me goodnight, and even Dylan yawns conspicuously. Looks like everyone is tucking in early. Without changing out of my dress, I quickly brush my teeth in the bathroom, eager to stow away in my room. I just crave to be alone for a second, to free my head from the constant need to play a part, before I can go to him and kiss the stupidity out of him.

I pace back and forth for a while before stopping in front of my window. Glittery snowflakes have started to lazily drift down outside. I stare at them floating aimlessly, so lost in thought that I almost miss the soft click of the door opening and closing behind me.

I tense, skull tingling in anticipation. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. His presence is like a physical force, pulling all my strings. Whenever I’m with him, it’s as if I’ve been tossed straight into a hurricane.

I steady myself against the storm and remain facing the window, my senses sharpening as I perceive him advancing on me. The heat of his body reaches my back before he even speaks. “I thought you might need some help to remove this dress.” His tone is clipped, less velvety than usual. He drags my hair to the side, his touch ricocheting through my bones.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “You sound a little testy, Montgomery.”

His hands still on my back, near the top of the zipper. “I didn’t appreciate you kissing another man.” There’s a dangerous edge to his words, a possessiveness that both thrills and terrifies me.

I make to turn and face him, but he keeps me facing away, his grip on my shoulders firm. “Tristan, I didn’t want to kiss Brad. It was just a stupid tradition. It meant nothing.”

He trails his fingers along the upper part of my back left exposed by the dress, the contact feather-light and maddening. “From now on, only I kiss you, only I touch you.”

Heat crawls up my nape, small hair stiffening. Does he mean what I think he means? Are we together now? Is this more than just a holiday fling? My mind spins with the possibilities, with the unspoken promises in his words.

But all attempts at reasoning fly out the window the moment he finally pulls down the zipper of my dress, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet room. The two sides separate with a soft pop, and the fabric pools at my feet, leaving me standing in just my underwear and heels. I feel exposed and vulnerable, but also strangely empowered.

Tristan takes his time, his hands skimming over my skin, his lips trailing along my neck and shoulders. It’s both a punishment and a reward, a claiming and a seduction. He’s making me pay for that kiss, but also showing me just how much he reveres me. That I belong to him now.

And gosh, I want to belong to him. I want to lose myself in his caresses, in his kisses, in the way he makes me feel. Bold, reckless, beautiful, desired.

By the time we fall into bed, our bodies tangled and desperate, I’m dizzy with need. And as he takes me over the edge again and again, I realize I don’t care about labels or definitions. All I care about is this, us, the way we fit together like two missing pieces of a puzzle.

The rest… the rest we can figure out later.