Page 10

CHAPTER 9

“D etective Black, stop squirming!” Janice snapped as she mauled his shoulder, forcing Tristan to bury his face against his office couch as he ground his teeth together.

“God, that looks like it hurts,” Shayne said.

“Of course, it fucking hurts! I’ve got Attila the Hun trying to give me a massage!” Tristan snapped, not caring at the moment that he was talking to Shayne in front of Janice, the masseuse from hell, and Marty.

Janice’s hands stilled as she said, “There’s no need to insult me.”

“Bullshit!” Tristan snapped. “Who the hell taught you how to give a massage? Freddy Kruger? For fuck’s sake, Janice, cut your goddamn nails!” he snapped the last part when she commenced with her backrub.

He wasn’t kidding about her nails. What kind of masseuse had inch-long fingernails with flowers painted all over them? They kept digging into his skin, sending more fire straight to his injury.

“I don’t know, lad, maybe ye shouldn’t keep pissing her off. It looks like she’s being rougher,” Shayne said nervously.

“Ah, Janice?” Marty piped in from her desk.

“What?” Janice asked, not stopping in her assault, ah, massage.

“You’re leaving scratch marks on his scar tissue,” Marty tried to point out quietly.

“What?” Tristan demanded.

Janice squirmed. “Sorry. I have a big date tonight and well…you know,” she said with a shrug. “I got my nails done this morning.” She placed her fists on her hips and said defensively, “Hey, I did you a favor by coming here today. It’s supposed to be my day off!”

Tristan struggled to push himself up, but thanks to her massage, his shoulder and arm were on fire and completely useless at the moment. Janice moved to continue the massage, but Marty stopped her.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Marty said with a pointed look in Tristan’s direction.

Janice rolled her eyes before she caught the murderous glare Tristan was sending her way. Then, she stepped back and noticeably swallowed.

Smart girl.

“Ah, I think a gentle rubdown with warming lotion will take care of everything,” Janice said with a wince as she grabbed a tube of lotion from her bag.

“Ah, lad, I’ve seen this in horror movies. This is the part where she skins ye alive and makes a dress out of it. If I were ye, I’d run,” Shayne said, sounding really fucking amused.

Tristan threw him a glare as Janice slowly approached him. He opened his mouth to tell her where she could put those fake nails when Marty plucked the lotion from her hand.

“Hey!” Janice cried, moving to snatch it back.

“I’ll do it,” Marty said, taking him by surprise.

Janice worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked from Marty to Tristan. Finally, she sighed. “Fine, but someone owes me a hundred and fifty dollars for this visit.”

At that, Tristan managed to push himself up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and-

“You know what? On second thought, forget about it!” Janice said with a nervous smile as she grabbed her bag and hugged it against her chest as she quickly headed for the door.

He barely managed to take two steps before a small, warm hand pressed against his bare chest, stopping him. “Sit at the desk. It will make it easier for me,” Marty said, giving him a gentle push back that had him swallowing hard as the thought of Marty running her hands over his body sent a very different fire through him. A thousand past fantasies raced through his head, all of them making him break out into a sweat.

“That’s not necessary,” he finally managed to say.

Instead of listening to him, Marty shook her head and gently pushed him towards his office chair. Not sure what else to do, Tristan threw Shayne a pleading look.

“Sorry, lad. I’d let her if I were ye. I’d do it myself, but I’m not yer bitch,” Shayne said, shrugging it off.

Tristan discreetly flipped him off, earning a chuckle. “Good luck, lad. I’m off,” Shayne said before he faded from sight.

“I don’t want to hurt you, so let me know if I’m being too rough, okay?” Marty said as she began massaging his shoulder, tearing a groan from him that had her hands immediately going still. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said, slowly exhaling as she began moving her hands again.

Tristan tried to focus on something else, anything else, as her hands moved over his shoulder, his back, his chest, and down his arm. Until he found himself biting back a groan as he closed his eyes and thought about just how goddamn good her hands felt on him.

* * *

She never realized just how good it could feel to touch someone before.

He was so warm and firm, Marty thought as she ran her hands over his biceps, entranced when his muscles quivered beneath her touch. She moved her hand over his chest and nearly moaned when his flat nipple hardened beneath her touch.

As she ran her hands over him, Marty took advantage of his eyes being closed to further examine his tattoo and wound. The tattoo on his chest was darker than she’d originally thought and incredibly sexy, Marty thought as she ran her hands over it.

Her gaze moved to the scar on his shoulder. The one on the back was larger. She realized after a moment that it was the exit wound. She skimmed her fingers over the angry, pink skin and frowned when she saw the light scratches Janice left behind. Before she could stop herself, Marty leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss against his shoulder.

* * *

Tristan gripped the edge of the desk until he thought his fingers would snap off when he felt her soft lips press against his shoulder. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that the last thing either one of them needed was for him to do something stupid.

“What was that for?” Tristan managed to ask. Although, to be honest, he had no idea if it came out as a coherent sentence since his mind was still focused on just how fucking good it felt when she kissed him.

He felt her warm breath tease his skin.

Oh, shit…

“For all those times you used to kiss me better. Do you remember?”

“How could I ever forget? You were my own personal stalker,” Tristan murmured around a soft groan.

She playfully slapped him on his good shoulder. “I wasn’t a stalker!”

“Yes, you were!” Tristan said, chuckling.

“Hey, I wasn’t half as bad as the girls who used to follow you around when we were in school,” Marty pointed out as she continued to rub his back. She felt him relax while they reminisced about the days where she used to spend every waking moment with him, the days when she felt whole.

She really missed those days.

He groaned loudly. “Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares of giggling girls with acne and braces chasing me down and trying to steal a kiss,” Tristan said with a mock shudder, making her lips twitch.

“I wasn’t that bad. I only demanded kisses when I got hurt,” Marty pointed out, unable to help but smile when he chuckled. She loved the sound of his laughter, absolutely adored it.

“That’s true, except for all those extra kisses that you demanded for all of your invisible injuries.”

She sighed dramatically. “I was a sneaky one.”

“Yes, you were,” Tristan murmured in agreement.

“I still remember the last time you kissed me,” Marty said, smiling as she thought about her first kiss.

* * *

“Do you?” Tristan asked, surprised that she remembered. He remembered the last time he’d kissed her but for a completely different reason.

“Mmmhmm,” Marty murmured absently, pausing to squeeze more lotion into her hands.

“How could I ever forget the kiss that made my life a living hell?” she said with a heartfelt sigh that had him swallowing hard.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tristan asked, only to groan when she started running her hands over him again.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Marty asked, gently massaging his shoulder.

“Refresh my memory,” Tristan said since his memory apparently wasn’t as good as he’d thought it was because that kiss always brought a smile to his face whenever he thought about it.

“It was at the high school bonfire after the dance. You were a senior and I was nothing but a lowly freshman. To my shock and your date’s horror, you gave me a ride to the dance and even danced with me a few times,” Marty said with a forlorn sigh as she ran her hands over his back and chest.

Tristan’s hands clenched tightly on the desk. It was the first and only school dance that he’d ever attended and it had nothing to do with his date, whoever it was. All she did was bitch, but that’s all he remembered about her. He went for one reason and one reason only. He wanted to dance with Marty. More to the point, he wanted to hold her in his arms.

“After the dance, the three of us walked to the bonfire, where your date, Karen Manor, a junior, bitched and threw a tantrum demanding that you ditch me.”

“And I didn’t,” Tristan said because that night he’d decided to find out if he could handle more with Marty. Unfortunately for his date, she’d just been a decoy, an excuse to attend the dance and spend time with Marty without any pressure or having to worry about her father killing him.

“You were always so sweet and protective of me. You said you weren’t going to leave me to fend for myself around a bunch of drunk jocks.”

That was part of the reason.

Even at fifteen, she’d been so fucking beautiful. He wasn’t the only one to notice. But the real reason had been quite simple. After spending three hours holding Marty in his arms, he’d decided that he was going to find out the real reason why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“So, there we were. The two of us sipping sodas and hanging out near the fire. Karen was with Matt Cabal a few feet away, trying to make you jealous.” He didn’t remember anything about that moment other than sitting with Marty and using the cool night air as an excuse to wrap his arm around her.

“Anyway, some genius decided to throw a beer bottle into the fire. It shattered against one of the logs and a small sliver slashed my cheek,” she said as Tristan carefully pushed back in his chair and stood up, moving away from her. He didn’t want to be near her when she finished the story.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning.

“I’m fine,” Tristan said absently as he pulled on his shirt and tie.

“After you punched the boy for hurting me, even though it was an accident, you walked back to me and pressed a kiss to the cut…and missed, kissing me full on the mouth. It sent your date into hysterics and for the next year and a half, her friends went out of their way to make my life a living hell.”

He hadn’t missed.

He’d meant to kiss her. If she hadn’t stumbled back when a drunk junior bumped into them, he would have continued that one perfect kiss. He remembered reaching for her so that he could pull her back into his arms when the spirit of a child walked up to him, reminding him why it could never be. That was the night when he decided that he had to do the right thing by her and walk away.

It was also the night when the weird dreams started.

Not that he would really call them dreams. They were more like flickers of scenes that played through his head while he slept. They never lasted long enough for him to figure out what was happening, but he sensed that they were about her, about them . They didn’t happen often, but when they did, they were enough to wake him up in the middle of the night, sweating and panting, feeling heartache so deep that he actually thought he’d die, wished for it.

He’d do anything to avoid experiencing that type of soul-crushing pain again.

Whenever he experienced one of those dreams, he had to fight the urge to go to her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her until the pain stopped, but he couldn’t. He was a freak and she deserved so much better than him. He’d realized that years ago when he’d pushed her away to protect her.

Same as now.

“I guess some things never change,” Tristan drawled, watching her frown in confusion.

“How so?” Marty asked, wiping her hands dry on a paper towel.

“Your father’s still making me let you tag along,” Tristan said, knowing that it would piss her off enough to make her walk away.

It was a lie and it killed him to say it. Not once in their childhood had anyone forced him to let her tag along or made him be nice to her. They’d never needed to do that. Even back then, she was special to him.

He watched as his words had the desired effect. Her eyes teared up as she stared back at him. Still, he made no moves to correct the lie or comfort her even though it was tearing him apart inside to watch her cry.

“You’re lying,” Marty said hollowly. “No one ever made you be nice to me.”

Tristan simply shrugged as he adjusted the gun in his side holster.

“You really are an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said with absolutely no hesitation.