***
The off-white carpet, tasteful decor and spotless furniture forced Lenina to rethink her opinion of single men even further.
Tristen ushered her along the front passageway into a large, open room. Within, a three-piece sofa suite separated the living space from the dining area. The smell of new leather filled the room. She left her handbag on the dining table and aimed for one of the armchairs.
‘Would you like a drink?’ He loitered near an open arch on the left, leading through to the kitchen.
The thought of putting anything else in her mouth made her stomach growl. ‘No, thanks. I just want to lie down.’
‘I’ll clean the bedroom first, then you can go upstairs.’
She watched him leave, cupping her face in her hands. How had she come to be here? How did everything deteriorate so quickly? The band of her engagement ring scraped her eyebrow, a quick stab of pain. Lenina’s breathing caught in her throat as she twirled the band around her finger, watching the light caress the diamonds on its crest.
Nick hadn’t deserved to die. Had Jason been the one to kill him, the loss might be easier to bear, but Lenina couldn’t blame him. His bite had started it all, but the choices were hers. Replaying the events in her mind made no difference to the fact.
Something inside her wanted to hurt Nick. Something longed to hear him scream and beg and refused to release her until she fed those desires. A dark creature lurking deep inside over which she had little or no control.
That thought frightened her, far more than the memory of what she did to the man she supposedly loved.
But I did love him. Didn’t I? We were getting married.
She heard Tristen moving directly overhead, opening and closing cupboards. His features swam before her mind’s eye, kind and gentle. The teasing tilt to his smile. The low lure in his voice.
The truth hurt so much she whimpered and grasped her chest.
How could she have loved Nick when there mere sight of Tristen made her want to pull off his clothes? When his touch sent warm thrills of pleasure shooting through every limb?
Leaping to her feet, Lenina snatched up her handbag. She ran for the hallway. No choice remained but to leave. To run away. Put as much distance as she could between herself and any other innocent. And Tristen.
A flash of red caught her eye and she spun towards it, hands curled into fists. A mirror threw her own startled reflection back at her, dry trails of blood still forming streaks across her cheeks and forehead. The stitches beneath the dressing resisted her attempts to frown.
Slowly she pulled the sticky, white dressing away to reveal the wound beneath. She gasped.
The wound started as a deep gouge below her left eye. It curved across her cheek bone before tapering into nothing, a finger’s breadth from the corner of her lip. Along its length, the ugly black stubs of surgical thread twitched like insectile legs. It bisected the previous scratch made by Jason’s dagger, though that first wound couldn’t compare to the second round of damage. All the make-up in the world wouldn’t hide that from a photographer’s lens.
A moment later Lenina realised that she needn’t worry about photos. Without Nick there could be no wedding.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks.’ Tristen’s voice came from the top of the stairs. He descended holding a toothbrush and a large white towel. Though his tone remained light, the intensity in his eyes deepened as he stared at her left cheek. ‘You weren’t supposed to take the dressing off until tomorrow.’
Though unsure, Lenina thought she saw a flash of anger in his eyes. Before she could dwell on it, he sighed and held out the towel and toothbrush.
‘I wanted to see. What if it scars?’
‘It won’t.’ His voice quivered and that strange look returned to his eye. This time Lenina was quick enough to recognise regret. ‘And it doesn’t matter, you’re still beautiful.’ He touched her chin. ‘I’m sorry this happened to you, Lenina.’
The way he said her name made her knees quake. He leaned closer and Lenina saw a flush rise in his cheeks and neck. His breath tickled against her nose and lips, and his heartbeat began a lively triple step.
Each exhalation brought her a little wave of mint and faint traces of something else. Something sweet. Smooth. Warm. Lenina knew it was the smell of desire. As if her brain had flicked a switch to assign emotions to familiar scents, she knew the name of this one instantly. Tristen placed his hands on her hips. His fingers worked beneath the hem of her oversized sweatshirt until they touched bare skin.
‘Wait,’ she whispered.
He did. But his hands didn’t move.
When she met his gaze, she saw raw need burning in the brilliant green depths, speaking a language she knew and understood with the basest parts of her anatomy.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmured. ‘I’m here. I’ll look after you.’
It would be so easy to let him. To fall into Tristen’s arms and let this strong, kind, sweet-smelling distraction whisk her away to a place where the crazy events of the last two days had no power.
‘It’s my fault,’ she burst out, gnawing her trembling bottom lip. ‘I did this.’
‘Don’t say that.’ His hands tightened on her hips. Pulled her closer. ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’
Curls of dark hair brushed her nose. The soft strands carried that familiar scent of peppermint and caressed her cheek like velvet.
‘I’m a horrible person,’ she wailed.
Tristen stopped her words with a tender kiss. When he pulled away again, his chest heaved as if he’d run the minute-mile. ‘It’s not your fault.’
The next kiss was gentle but insistent. He cupped her uninjured cheek and tilted her face towards his. Lenina opened her mouth, and he took the invitation to deepen the embrace.
His free hand dived beneath the hem of her sweatshirt and groped the swell of her breast. He groaned deep in the back of the throat. ‘Is this okay?’
No. Lenina wanted to scream. To push him away and run as fast as she could. But she also wanted to touch him. Hold him. Kiss him. Taste him.
The warring desires left her gasping. Trembling.
‘Touch me,’ she said.
Tristen lifted the sweatshirt over her head and ran his fingers over her skin. ‘So beautiful,’ he murmured. Leaning close, he brushed his nose through the hair at the back of her neck, separating the braids with his fingers. ‘You smell so . . .’
More kisses, along the side of her neck, her ear, the hollow of her throat, growing steadily more frantic with every touch of his lips.
The light touch of his fingers sent electric thrills shooting along every nerve. His taste on her lips was the sweetest she had ever known and in that moment Lenina wanted it more than anything else.
His overshirt made no noise at it hit the floor. Neither did his t-shirt.
Lenina let her hands travel over his bare chest, picking out the subtle shapes of muscle beneath his skin. When he crushed her close to his chest, she kissed the side of his throat, and allowed her teeth to scrape his skin. She ran her fingers through his hair.
He moaned. A whispered, ‘Yes,’ bubbled from his lips.
The rest of his clothes vanished as quickly.
Lenina had a vague impression of green, silky boxers flying through the air before Tristen knelt before her, tucking his fingers into the waistband of her borrowed trousers. He eased them over her hips as though unearthing an invaluable treasure, his gaze never once leaving hers.
Hooking one arm beneath her knees, Tristen swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs.
The neatly made bed squealed as he settled her on it, stretching his naked body over hers with another slow kiss.
Chapter Nineteen