Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(24)
Author: R.K. Lilley

Even so, people were sharing rides to the airstrip and planes to their various destinations.  It only made sense.

Tristan and I hadn’t flown or driven in together, even though we’d come from the same place.

He could not understand why we couldn’t share on the way home.

He’d actually come to my room to talk about it, charged into the space, sprawling out on the room’s only chair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I supposed it was better than the bed.

I stayed by the door, determined not to do anything stupid for the five minutes it would take me to get rid of him.

“Stop being pushy,” I told him, arms crossed over my chest.  It felt surreal to be talking to him as though no time had passed, but it was happening so naturally.  “See, this is the problem.  I give an inch, you take five more.  Knock it off.”

He grinned, leaning forward in his chair.  “C’mon.  It will be fun.  We can play some road trip games.  Remember all of our games?”

I sighed.  Of course, I remembered.  “Not this time, Tristan.  I need a few days to think.  Like I said, I’ll call you.  Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“No,” he said casually, his smile dying.  “I do not excuse you.”

He stood and moved so close to me that I backed away.  “I’ll give you a few days, but if I don’t hear from you, I am coming for you.  This is fair warning.”

I glared at him.  “Dramatic much?  I said I’d call, I’ll call.  I said I needed a few days, give me a few days.”

CHAPTER TEN

I told myself that the reason we’d done that idiotic thing was because I’d kept myself too tightly leashed.  If we could see each other more often, but casually, it wouldn’t be like that.  We wouldn’t have to lose our minds, if we weren’t scared that we’d never see each other again.

I didn’t call him right away.  Not because I was a coward.

Well, okay, I was putting it off because our last encounter had left me shaken.  I’d lost my mind.  There was no other way to put it.  And that wasn’t even the scary part.

What would we do for an encore?  It didn’t bear thinking about.

But I did think about it.  Constantly, incessantly, I obsessed about what to do about him.

Even so, it was a month before I saw him again and only then because he forced the issue.

The showing was substantial in size, though not in notability.  Five artists were being featured, each with two rooms in the spacious L.A. gallery devoted to their theme.  It was very involved.  I’d been putting it together for nearly a year.

One of the artists had recently started getting some attention in the media, due to some interviews he’d done, so what had been a promising but obscure event suddenly had some star power.

It was a bit hectic, but I was dealing with it all in stride, calming down the temperamental artists, soothing the fussy celebrities that had shown up for the press.

It was shaping up to be an invigoratingly busy but overall smooth night, when Tristan walked through the door.

He was wearing a tux, hair scraped back and showing off his strong jaw with that fascinating bit of scruff that I couldn’t stop obsessing over.

He looked so handsome it made my chest ache.  The effect of seeing him out of the blue, no warning, looking how he looked, was devastating.

I took a deep breath, prayed for calm, and thanked God I’d decked myself out for the event in a fitted sleeveless crimson lace dress with a high neck and a flared skirt.  It showed my figure off to perfection.

He was alone, which was certainly better than the alternative in one respect, and terrible in another.  He had no one else to focus on, no other reason to be there, but for me.

Well, maybe he’s here for the artwork, I told myself.  But even as I had the thought, he was making a beeline to me.

His expression was unsmiling and solemn as he stopped in front of me

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice quiet and calm, but it was an effort.

“You never called.”

I just stared at him.

“You said you’d call,” he reiterated.  “So we can do this easy, or we can do it hard.  Personally, I prefer hard.”

“Does this look like the appropriate place to have this conversation to you?  I’m working.”

“I gave it a month.  I ran out of patience.  My supply was f**king depleted to begin with.”

His voice had been loud enough that I glanced around, wanting to avoid making a scene.

“We work in the same building, if you didn’t realize.  Coming all the way here, on the night of a big show, is not the way to handle this.”

“The gallery in the casino is your territory.  You’ve been very clear on how you feel about me infringing on your territory.  Are you saying I’m allowed to come there now?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” I said, to appease him.  Anything to avoid what he was doing right that second, because having him there, talking to him there, was going to turn me into a basket case in the middle of an event I’d been planning for too long to flake out on.  “Now please, you need to let me work.”

In theory, he did back off, just not far.  He didn’t leave, as I’d hoped, but stayed, going through the entire building slowly, room by room, perusing the art thoroughly, always in my peripheral, hovering close enough to be distracting.

I tried my best not to be distracted.

One of the artists had done a series of paintings on large multi paneled room partitions.  They each measured roughly six feet high, and the way they were set around the room turned it into a sort of maze.  It was a striking series.

I’d just shown it to some potential buyers.  I was taking down a few notes about some other work by the same painter that the buyers were interested in seeing before they made a decision.  They had since moved on to the next room.  I always encouraged this.  I didn’t hover, tending to let the buyer find the pieces that spoke to them on their own.

There was a small table at the back of what had turned into the maze room.  It was displaying a series of small painted fans, but had enough free space for me to set my paper-thin laptop on as I typed a few details in.

I was just straightening when big hands cupped my shoulders from behind and started rubbing.

I knew who it was instantly.  Of course I did.  I could smell him.  The warm, spicy scent of his cologne was permanently branded into my brain.