“No.”
“Right. I didn’t think so.”
For whatever reason, despite whatever machinations happened, in spite of her brother—the crown prince—and her position as second in line for the throne, Tristan wanted her. The intrigue and the sneaking around made it all that more exciting. Perhaps that was all it was.
He was counting on it.
8
18 June
The Michigan Inn
Ele hurried from the elevator into the suite. Tossing her clutch on the end table, she kicked off her heels and began unbuttoning the lilac dress she had worn to the children’s hospital. She crossed into the living room through the foyer, her second button undone, when she pulled up short.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes wide.
She turned back to Robert. With a quick smile and a wink, he closed the door behind her.
Tristan, rocking black joggers and a national team T-shirt, was sprawled on the couch. An abandoned pair of trainers lay at the foot of the sofa, and an empty canister sat on the coffee table. He smiled lazily at her. “Waiting for you.”
She left the buttons undone and sat down on the chair opposite him. “I didn’t get to watch a moment of the match, but I know you won five to one. And you started. Cheers!”
He pushed up into a sitting position and dropped his elbows on his thighs, cutting the distance between them. “Aye.”
“You must be exhausted. We don’t have to do … this … tonight.”
He tilted his head. “Hmm,” he hummed.
The weight of his stare settled on her, and heat spread through her body.
“I don’t really know how to be anything but direct, so what exactly is this?”
Flustered, Ele glanced away from him.
Since her conference with the queen, Ele had contemplated a moment like this. She’d, of course, cast about a number of scenarios, none of them involving him spread out in casual clothes while she was perched in a chair, fresh from playing princess all day. And in not one scenario had he asked what this meant. Because she didn’t want to have to explain it. In these situations, didn’t the two people just get on with it? Did she really have to tell him she wanted him, wanted to be with him, for a short period? How did one negotiate a fling?
When she didn’t respond, he stood.
Ele had spent her childhood participating in dance and etiquette classes, a campaign to make her movements always appear elegant and flowing. Tristan had grown up on a football pitch, and he managed to move with a grace she would never attain.
He walked around and sat on the coffee table. His legs were long enough to invade the space in front of her. His proximity was like oxygen on a fire; Ele’s desire flared, and her pulse quickened. She inhaled a startled breath, and Tristan ran his finger along the line of her jaw. A light, quick touch, and it left her breathless. His eyes followed the path of his finger. When it reached her chin, he raised it, making sure she was looking directly at him.
“I’ve spent more time talking to your personal protection officer and your brother about you than I have talking to you. I’m here.” His thumb swept across her lip, and he watched it trace the path. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly, merely a brush. “You need to tell me what you want.”
“You spoke to my brother?” she asked with surprise.
“You didn’t know?”
“No. What exactly did he say?”
“Ele, stop deflecting. Talk to me.”
She closed her eyes to break the link between them. “I want to be here with you. While we can be together, I want to do that.” She blinked.
“So, just a shag?”
Ele’s face reddened. It sounded so ordinary, and perhaps it was. Maybe, for once in her life, she could experience something normal. She nodded in agreement. Just a shag. Except …
“But maybe not singular,” she qualified.
Tristan laughed, and the tension between them fell away. “No, definitely not singular. Maybe not even singular tonight.” He winked at her. Standing, he held out his hand. “Well then, let’s get to it.”
She reached out to take his hand, but she couldn’t stop the widening of her eyes or the bottoming out in her belly. Her cheeks heated with chagrin, certainly, and maybe excitement. Then, Tristan burst out laughing, and she found herself fighting a shy smile.
“I’m kidding, E. Come on then. I’m starved.”
She put her hand in his, and he gently pulled her up. With his free hand, he traced the opening of her dress, the interrupted wardrobe change. The touch of his finger on her skin sent a delicious tingle through her. He lingered for a brief second, Ele’s body responding at the slightest provocation. Then, he drew away, allowing space to creep in between them.
They ambled toward the kitchen.
“Our chef made dinner. Do you not have a certain diet to follow?” she asked, trying to focus on anything other than what was to come.
“Aye. I had my recovery shake. I know what my body needs to replenish after a game. Is there some protocol we have to follow to eat?”
She nodded.
“I figured. What are my options then?”
“Robert will get it, if that’s okay.”
Tristan nodded, and Ele walked to the door, rapping on it once. Robert opened it and stepped inside.
“Can you get us dinner?”
“It’s on its way.”
Ele returned to the living area, and Tristan followed. She considered sitting in the chair, to ensure distance, but beelined for the sofa instead. Tristan did not disappoint as he sat in the corner of the couch. He swung his leg behind her and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She stiffened until her back hit his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. When his thumb caressed her, she relaxed, practically melting into him. His nose nudged her nape, and then his lips landed at the base of her skull and ran along the length of her neck. Her whole body tuned into him—her toes curled, her thighs quivered, her lungs stuttered, her fingers tightened, her eyes fluttered, her lips parted.
Then, he began to talk, and everything heated.
“This dress, so sexy.” He inhaled and then moved to below her ear and pulled in another deep breath. “Your scent. I bet I could identify you in a stadium of thousands just by the smell of your skin.”
Ele fought to breathe evenly, but with the quivering of her stomach and the warmth of his body surrounding her, thinking became difficult. Tristan found her ear and gently bit down on the lobe, and Ele moaned. He chuckled, the sound of it skittering across her throat.
“That’s it,” he teased, dropping open-mouthed kisses on her neck. “What happens to that posh accent of yours when I make you scream?”
She shuddered and maybe moaned again. She couldn’t keep up with the sensations coasting through her, the way she reacted to every movement he made, every word he uttered. His hand gripped her chin and turned her head. Then, his mouth was on hers. The light teasing of the previous minutes gave way to a devouring kiss, as if he’d worked himself up as much as he affected her. His tongue licked at the seam of her mouth, and when she opened, he dived in, ravaging her. She wanted to turn, to wrap her arms and legs around him, but he held her in place, one arm wrapped around her body, the other holding her head exactly where he wanted it.