Page 22

CHAPTER 21

Alana

Tristin’s hands are warm on my waist as he presses me gently against the closed door of my bedroom, mouth finding mine.

Familiar. Practiced.

A kiss I know too well.

It’s soft at first, coaxing.

He knows how to play this game.

His fingers trace the line of my jaw, the curve of my neck, slipping into the hair at my nape to tilt my head back just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

My hands move to his chest, sliding up the crisp lines of his shirt.

He tastes like wine and mint and memory.

He walks us back toward the bed, unhurried.

Confident. His lips move down my neck, leaving a trail of heat that should feel electric.

It used to.

Tristin’s fingers find the zipper of my dress.

He pauses just enough to glance up at me, eyes dark with intent.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

I nod automatically.

My body reacts before my brain does.

It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this.

The zipper lowers slowly.

The satin parts. His hand finds my bare skin and drifts across my ribs.

But something flickers.

Not heat. Not anticipation.

Something colder. Hollow.

I close my eyes, trying to push past it.

To lose myself in him.

In this. Tristin leans in again, kissing behind my ear.

I let him. But when his hands start to tug my dress off my shoulders, I realise that I can’t do this.

Am I frustrated? Yes.

Horny? Absolutely. But this thing with Tristin?

It’s doing nothing for me.

Not because he’s doing anything wrong.

But it’s not what I want.

Not tonight. Not anymore.

I thought this would help.

I thought this would take the edge off.

Turns out it’s just…

sad. The realization lands hard.

Cold. Like someone dumped ice water down my spine.

I place my hand gently on Tristin’s chest. “Wait.”

He stills, pulling back just enough to look at me.

His expression shifts.

Confused, but not annoyed.

“You okay?” he asks, breath warm against my cheek.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I thought I could… but I can’t.”

He blinks.

That polished exterior falters just slightly.

“Did I—”

“No,” I interrupt, shaking my head.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I’m not here tonight.”

He studies me, then exhales through his nose, stepping back.

His hands fall away from me with surprising gentleness.

“Right,” he says. “Okay.”

I pull my dress back up slowly, the silence settling between us like a cooling ember.

Not awkward. Just… finished.

Tristin picks up his jacket and runs a hand through his dark blonde hair.

“I’ll head back to my hotel. Maybe pop in downstairs and catch up with Tessa. No worries.”

“Thank you,” I say softly.

He pauses at the door.

“If you ever change your mind…”

“I know.”

He nods once, offers a small smile and then he’s gone.

I stand there for a moment.

Dress half-zipped, red lipstick smudged, staring at myself in the mirror.

God, I just gave myself the ick.

Full-body cringe.

I climb out of the dress, wipe off the lipstick, wash my face and try to scrub away the shame spiral.

It clings like waterproof mascara.

I need a drink. I slide on my Uggs and pad to the kitchen, still slightly sweaty and wildly unimpressed with myself.

I yank open the freezer and pull out the emergency bottle of tequila.

“Cheers to bad decisions and even worse impulse control,” I mutter.

Cork off. Bottle to lips.

Four gulps. Burn-your-throat, make-your-eyes-water gulps.

I feel the liquid fire burn through me.

Where’s Hunter? When is he coming back?

I sit. Wait another 10 minutes.

Take another swig of tequila.

Salem climbs up the kitchen counter and scowls at the tequila bottle like it personally offended him.

“Keep your thoughts to yourself Salem. I don’t want to hear it.”

Fuck this, I think.

Fuck the rules. Fuck Hunter.

Oh god, I’d actually very much like to fuck Hunter.

The thought hits me like a freight train and apparently, my legs get the memo before my brain can intervene.

I move down the hall, past the soft hum of the other apartment units, straight into the gym.

It’s empty. Most residents don’t use the gym at all, especially not at 11 p.m. on a Friday night.

Maybe I should’ve stayed in bed.

Or watched a movie. But I don’t want distraction.

I want danger. I want him.

“Hunter?” I call out, a little breathless.

No answer. But I hear something.

Water running. A shower.

There are only two bathrooms in the building’s gym.

Private. Each one has a toilet, a basin, a full walk-in shower.

Modern. Clean. I turn the corner.

One door is ajar. Steam curls from underneath the door like it’s summoning someone stupid and I take the bait.

I reach for the handle and gently push it open.

And there he is. Standing under the spray like something carved out of marble.

Water slicks down every defined muscle.

Shoulders, arms, chest, tattooed abs so sharp they could cut glass.

He’s turned slightly to the side, head tilted forward under the water, hands braced on the tile like he’s holding something in.

Or holding something back.

I follow the trickle of water down and down and—holy shit.

I gulp.

I spin to make a run for it, heart racing, brain short-circuiting and slam into the door.

The water shuts off.

I freeze. Maybe if I stay completely still, he won’t see me.

I can hear him moving behind me.

“Eyes on me, Little Diamond.”

My core goes molten.

I turn around. Slowly.

He stands there with his towel slung low around his hips, water dripping down the ridges of his abs, chest rising and falling like he just went ten rounds in the ring.

His eyes? Burning. Not with anger.

With something far more dangerous.

I should say something.

Anything. But my brain’s offline, my mouth’s dry and the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

“I—” I start, then stop.

Because what the hell am I even doing?

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Just watches me. Silence crackles between us like a fuse.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

That’s it. That’s the match.

I cross the space in a breath, rise onto my toes and kiss him.

His lips are impossibly soft.

He tastes like redemption and I need to be closer.

I reach around him, fingers grazing wet, deliciously sinful skin…