“Funny. You are dressed so pretty, but you look so furious.” Nathaniel smiled at her as she entered his house, Gabriel coming up behind her.
Everyone had been staying at Nathaniel’s house for the past month, planning the details of their trip overseas.
Scarlet frowned at her corset. “You try squeezing your bones into one of these contraptions and keeping a pleasant face.”
“No, thank you,” Nathaniel said. “I feel I’m already a hazard in my trousers and top hats. I do not need to add lace and ruffles to the madness.”
Gabriel shut the front door behind them and sighed at Nathaniel. “Fair warning, friend. Do not take this spitfire of a woman to a tailor. She will do nothing but complain and curse.”
“Then perhaps you should not try to dress her up as if she were a doll,” Tristan suggested from the back hallway.
Gabriel said, “We are heading overseas to a new land. I thought it would be prudent that Scarlet had something to wear aside from servant dresses and men’s clothing.” He shot her a pointed look.
Scarlet shrugged. “I enjoy my servant dresses. They are thin and practical and they do not threaten my life. And I find men’s shirts far more comfortable than anything I own.”
She’d developed a habit of stealing Tristan’s shirts from the clothesline and spending her days dressed as him. It was comfortable and she enjoyed smelling him on her skin. She stole a glance at Tristan, thinking about how she’d rather be in his arms than in his clothes, and found him flicking his eyes over her.
Heat rose between them, invisible and dangerous, and Tristan took a precautionary step away from her.
Ever a gentlemen, that one.
Scarlet managed not to curl her lip at his behavior. To say things had gotten worse between the two of them was an understatement. They had stopped spending time together in the forest, and the little time they spent together outside the forest was always tense. They drifted further apart from one another. Physically. Emotionally.
A few days of silence led to a few weeks of avoidance, and now here they were. In the same room, not speaking to one another.
Gabriel and Nathaniel did not seem to mind the contention between Scarlet and Tristan—probably because it was insurance that she would not be exploding into death anytime soon—but Scarlet’s heart could barely cope.
She missed Tristan. She wanted him. And she hated the curse that prevented her from satisfying either. But not speaking to him, not hearing his voice flutter over her skin and bring her soul to life, was almost easier than the constant fighting and near-touching.
Almost.
“We leave in two weeks. Are there any other preparations we must make?” Tristan changed the subject to business, per usual.
Lately, he was focused and determined. She missed his lighthearted demeanor. And his smile.
He glanced at her and she quickly looked away, feeling his eyes on the back of her bare neck where her hair was pulled up. Warmth spread across her shoulders and down her chest under his perusal and Scarlet stifled the shiver that wanted to sprint through her core. He may as well slip his hands into her dress for all the reaction her body was having.
Tristan cleared his throat.
“I believe we are all set,” Nathaniel said. “Our ship leaves from the south port, so I will ensure transportation for us and then we shall be off on a new adventure and on our way to a cure.” He grinned around the room, taking note of the tangible tension buzzing between Scarlet and Tristan. “And won’t that be pleasant? Or at least less uncomfortable?”
The only thing less uncomfortable than her tension with Tristan was her God-awful dress. She shifted and could almost hear her bones crack.
Corsets were the devil.
Tristan’s green eyes were on her again and Scarlet’s stomach fluttered. Yes. A cure would be marvelous.
***************
Later that night, Tristan sat in his guest room at Nathaniel’s house stretching his neck against the emotions he felt coming from the girl upstairs.
Scarlet was in a fit. He did not know what was responsible for the erratic feelings inside her, but they were not letting up and seemed to grow more intense by the second; blossoming inside her and darting into him.
Frustration.
Tristan could ignore that one. When was the woman not frustrated?
Helplessness.
That was a harder feeling to push aside. Scarlet was nothing if not independent. But he could not—no, he would not—check on her.
Sadness.
At this, Tristan rubbed his eyes, cursing the legs that pulled him up from his chair and walked him out of his room and up the stairs.
He stood outside Scarlet’s door, debating within himself. He and Scarlet had not spoken for weeks, which had greatly reduced the number of times he had to pull himself away from her company, but had left his heart starving. And he wasn’t sure, even now, if Scarlet would even want him to show concern for her.
Helplessness. Anger.
He should probably go back to his own room and try to sleep through her feelings—a task far more trying than it sounded.
Sadness.
With his resolve vanishing into thin air, he quietly knocked on her door.
He heard a huffing sound on the other side and then, “Who is it?”
“Me.”
A moment passed. Then two. Then the door peeked open to reveal a very frustrated pair of blue eyes.
“What is wrong?” He looked up and down the hallway for any sign of Nathaniel or Gabriel.
“What do you mean?”
He lifted a bored eyebrow.
Her face became stubborn for a moment, then turned to a look of surrender. “I need help.”
She bit her lip and Tristan knew he was already done for. It didn’t matter what she needed help with, he was completely at her mercy.
“With what?”
She glanced up and down the hallway before opening her door and pulling him inside. He stood by her bed as she closed the door and sealed them into her candlelit room.
Already, this was a poor idea.
With another huff, she said, “I need help taking my dress off.”
This was a very poor idea.
“What?”
Glaring at him, Scarlet made her way to the vanity. “Scoff all you want, but you are a man and your clothing makes sense.” She flailed her arms out helplessly. “There are so many ties and clasps and strings on this holy damned dress and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to take the nonsense off.”
He tried to cover his smile.
“I’m being serious, Tristan.” Her cheeks reddened at the crest and she wiggled in her top, trying to loosen its deadly grip around her ribcage. “The woman at the shop tied me into this ensemble today, but she failed to teach me how to find my way out of it and I have been trying to free my body for an hour. I simply cannot do it alone.”
Tristan smiled openly now.
“Do not laugh,” she warned.
He laughed.
“I need help.” Desperation. “I don’t how to live in this…time. The clothing is ridiculous and the shoes are horrendous and I don’t know what I’m doing! And this dress is just the end of it all!” She let out a frustrated cry.
Tristan wanted to wrap her in his arms and laugh at her tantrum at the same time. He nodded with mock seriousness. “Dresses are evil things indeed.”
Temper flared in her eyes. “Get out of my room, you insufferable man.”
He softened his voice as he walked up to her. “I’m truly sorry, Scar. First thing tomorrow, we will secure a handmaiden for you so you will have help dressing. And undressing.”
“That’s brilliant. But can you loosen me from the horrid dress tonight?” She looked down at her many skirts and wiggled again, her cleavage jiggling with the motion and derailing any sane thought Tristan hoped to have.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should ask Nathaniel or Gabriel for help.”
She futilely tugge
d at a loose tie at her back. “I hardly know Nathaniel. I felt it would be highly inappropriate and incredibly uncomfortable to ask the poor man to strip my dress from my skin.”
A very valid point.
“And I did not want to go to Gabriel.”
Tristan tilted his head, sinfully gleeful at that. “Why not?”
Dropping the tie, she crossed her arms. “Would you like me to ask Gabriel to take my dress of?”
Hot possessiveness shot down his spine, but Tristan tried to keep his face blank. “It would definitely be a safer option.”
“When have you ever known me to be safe?”
“Not once, actually.”
Scarlet started twisting around again, yanking on various strings. “Are you going to help me from this bloody contraption or not?”
She lifted her eyes to him. Desire burned through her body and traveled across the room into Tristan. Hot, thick and foreboding, the atmosphere crackled and suddenly it was hard to breathe.
He slowly said, “I think I need to say no.”
She sighed. “Fine, then.” She rummaged through the drawers of the vanity until coming up with a dagger.
One of Tristan’s daggers.
“Is there anything of mine that you do not steal?”
She wiggled the knife. “You left this on the downstairs table. It was fair game.”
“And what do you plan on doing with my dagger?”
“I am going to cut my way out of this maze of material.”
“You’re going to destroy the expensive dress Gabriel bought you just today? That seems rude.”
“Then perhaps you could help me before I tear this dress to shreds.” She held the dagger to the top of her ribcage and pulled at a piece of material until she had the blade positioned to cut into it.
Tristan debated for a moment then sighed. “Turn around.”
Relief flooded her body as she slowly turned around.
Maybe this would not be so bad after all. Maybe Tristan could pull at her ties and make his way out of her bedroom in a gentlemanly manner.
Another flash of desire rushed through Scarlet and into Tristan.
Or maybe not.
He stared down at her half-opened dress. “Try to hold still so I don’t touch you more than necessary.”
“Because Nathaniel says not to?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” he snapped. He began undoing the few unbroken clasps than ran down her back and watched her outer garment slowly come undone.
“I know Nathaniel thinks your touch can make my heart sick, but what if he’s wrong? I’ve been alive now for nearly a year and have shown no sign of illness. There is no reason to continue to believe that your blood is hurting me.”
This was true. Scarlet had not been ill at all and her heartbeat, while still forcefully beating in his presence, did not seem to threaten her life. Perhaps his touch was not as dangerous as Nathaniel had feared.
Two…three…four more clasps, and the outer garment was fully undone. It fell from her shoulders and gathered at her waist. Scarlet freed her arms from the ivory material as if it were shackles and let the outer dress fall to the floor, leaving her in only the corset and a single slip skirt.
He began to gently unwind the tangled ties of her corset, brushing strands of her long dark hair to the side so as not to snare it. Scarlet swept her hair over her front shoulder, baring her shoulders and upper back, and Tristan tried to keep his eyes on the ties in his hands.
“I have missed being close to you,” she said quietly.
Tristan’s heart twisted. “I have missed you as well.”
His hands felt hot as they pulled at corset strings, slowly loosening their tightness around Scarlet’s body until patches of her skin peeked through the crisscrossed laces.
She shifted beneath his careful tugging and his fingertips brushed against the naked skin of her back. A visible shiver went through her and Tristan lost all coherent thoughts.
He’d pulled apart all but the top tie, so the only thing holding the corset to her body was the single lace below her shoulder blades. He paused, not sure what to do with his hands now that his task had ended. But his fingers seemed to be content trailing up her spine.
No.
He needed to leave and keep Scarlet safe. Now.
Just as he lifted his fingers from her skin, a tendril of her hair escaped the mass swept over her shoulder and swung against her back. He deftly twisted it in his hand and wrapped it to the side with every intention of releasing it. But with the back of her neck exposed beneath the lock in his hand he couldn’t seem to let go.
He absently leaned forward, his mouth just inches from the delicate spot where her neck met her shoulder, and exhaled against her skin.
Another delightful shiver ran down Scarlet’s body as she leaned back into him until her body was up against his. Fighting between the desire to keep her safe and the desire to hold onto her forever, Tristan stood frozen.
He slowly, carefully pressed his lips to the very spot he’d breathed upon and reveled in the soft gasp that escaped Scarlet’s mouth.
She tilted her head to the side, granting him access to her throat and shoulder, and he trailed whisper-soft kisses along the skin she shared with him.
Releasing the lock of hair from his fingers, Tristan slid his hands over her bare shoulders, lightly traced his fingers down her arms, and settled his hands against her hips, barely holding her as he barely kissed her.
She shifted against him, her corset lifting away from her body so his hands were now on the warm, bare skin of her waist beneath. He paused for a moment, his mouth right beside her ear as he tried to talk some sense into himself.
He brushed his lips against the sensitive spot above her jaw, felt Scarlet tremble with the touch, and all sense was lost.
There was something he wasn’t supposed to do, but he couldn’t remember what it was. Something about this was dangerous, yet his mind failed to acknowledge anything aside from the feel of Scarlet in his arms.
***************
Eyes closed against the warmth of Tristan’s mouth, Scarlet found herself short of breath as she leaned against him. Reaching her hand back, she slid her fingers into his dark hair, holding his head against the curve of her neck where he was burning kisses into her skin.
Under her loose corset, his hands slid from her hips to her bare stomach, stroking her skin.
And suddenly it wasn’t enough.
His mouth, his touch. She wanted more.
Twisting around, she moved against the warm hands on her belly until they pulled out of her corset and she and Tristan were face to face. He slowly brought his hands up, cradling her face in a gentle way that brought back long lost memories.
For a moment they stared at each other, green eyes piercing blue eyes, chests rising and falling with heavy breath. He brushed his lips against hers, kissing her. Softly at first, then deeper. Then hungry and breathless; lips against lips, tongue against tongue. Scarlet moved her hands to his back, pulling him as close to her body as possible, pressing herself into him.
Sliding her hands under his shirt, Scarlet pulled the material up his hard muscles trying to remove it from his body. He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to pull off his shirt and toss it to the floor, before putting his hands back on her hips and bringing her back to him.
But Scarlet gasped, stunned by what she saw on his body.
A dark design started at the top of his left ribcage, crawled down to his hip, and disappeared into the front waistband of his trousers.
Tristan followed her gaze to his torso.
“My drawing,” she whispered. “You have my drawing on your skin.” She reached a hand out and tentatively touched the dark image, not believing what she was seeing. “How is this possible?” She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the design she had long ago marked onto his body with the sap of a leaf. “How has it not washed away?”
All at once, a thousand memories were call
ed up in her mind. She and Tristan in the forest, hunting together, swimming together, laughing, running, loving, living—all with reckless abandon.
“It is called a tattoo and it is a permanent ink.” Tristan let her fingers trace the lines, standing still for her perusal. “I had it stitched by a monk when I went to war in your last life.”
Her lips parted. “You darkened my drawing to remember me?”
He nodded. “I wanted a piece of you to be a piece of me.”
She stroked her fingers up and down the lines, pulling his waistband down so she could see more of the drawing. Her heart swelled knowing Tristan had been wandering the world for over a hundred years with a memory of her inked into his side.
She looked up at him as emotion flooded her soul and, for the first time since she’d come back to life, she was grateful he could feel her emotions. She wanted him to feel every part of her that felt deeply for him and know she loved him just as fiercely as he loved her.
With devotion in his eyes, he smiled at her and Scarlet kissed him with every fiber of her being. Her mouth went wild against his and she ran her hands down his bare chest.
She pulled back from their kiss, just far enough to breathe, their mouths so close every hot, damp breath of Tristan’s feathered out against her cheeks. She opened her mouth to—well, she didn’t know, exactly…beg, perhaps?—but his lips were against her again, silencing any words she may have had and driving need through her veins.
Running his hands past her hips, Tristan lifted her onto the flat surface of the vanity behind her and stood between her legs. His lips traveled across her collarbone as his fingers pressed into the bare skin of her lower back and hips.
She held his head against her throat as he kissed her, the loose corset around her chest shifting with every ragged breath she took. With her legs wrapped around his waist she pulled him closer and pressed her body against his.
He groaned and moved his hot mouth back to hers. “You are going to kill me, woman.”
She whispered, “Never.”
His hands slid down to her thighs, running the length of them until he had the hem of her slip in his fingers. He slowly pulled the slip up, his hands brushing against her bare legs.