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‘Someone like me?’
‘Someone who thinks everything is either black or white. Someone who requires tangible proof before they’ll believe anything.’
‘It’s called dealing in the real world,’ he jibed.
‘But sometimes the real world isn’t always as it seems.’
Tristan made a scoffing sound. ‘I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of your protestations of innocence.’
Lily’s eyes narrowed at his bored tone, and she breathed in deeply through her nose.
Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee.
She exhaled slowly. This would all be a lot easier if he’d just talk to her, instead of snapping off pithy comments here and there.
‘And, as pleasant as this conversation is,’ he continued, ‘I have work to do. So I’d prefer you finish your tea and sandwiches over on the sofa.’ He sat down and turned to his computer, dismissing her like some servant girl.
Oh, she’d just bet he’d prefer that. And she would have happily done so if he’d been a little nicer, but now…
‘Actually, accusations and criticisms do not add up to a conversation. And would it really hurt you to be a little more civil?’ she demanded, throwing the whole idea of polite and aloof out of one of his ultra-clean windows.
‘To what end?’
He didn’t bother looking up from his computer screen and that incensed her. ‘To…to…I don’t know. Just to be nice.’
‘I don’t do nice.’
Lily nearly laughed.
As if she hadn’t worked that one out for herself! ‘You know, for someone whose job it is to communicate with others you’re not very good at it.’
That got his attention. ‘My job is about justice, not communication. And you better be careful because I’m really good at it.’
Lily shook her head. The man needed to learn some home truths. ‘You might be hot stuff in the courtroom, Lord Garrett, but personally you’re an avoider. You’d rather shut me up than try to have a constructive conversation with me.’
‘That’s because I don’t want to have a conversation with you—constructive or otherwise.’
Lily raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s a fine way to solve a problem.’
‘I don’t have…No—wait.’ He tapped his pen impatiently on his desk. ‘I do have a problem. She’s blonde, five-foot-ten and won’t stop jabbering on at me as if I care.’
Lily’s mouth gaped, and she stuck her tongue against the back of her front teeth to prevent herself from telling him just what she thought of his rude comments and hurtful attitude.
‘You really think you’ve got me all sussed out, don’t you, Tristan?’ Her voice was husky with raw emotion. ‘I’m just some no-good dumb celebrity who takes drugs and uses the casting couch to get her roles as far as you’re concerned.’
‘Well, not if you’re screwing the dolly boy. I can’t imagine he can win you too many roles.’ He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head.
Arrogant jerk.
Lily narrowed her eyes and stabbed her finger in his direction. ‘You might have some two-bit report on your desk, but let me tell you—you know nothing about me. Absolutely nothing.’
‘I know all I need to know,’ he confirmed.
Lily shook her head. She was wasting her breath trying to talk to him. He’d made up his mind about her a long time ago and there was nothing she could do to sway it. In fact, when the police found out who the real drug smuggler was he’d probably accuse her of sleeping with the whole police force to get the result.
She gave a slight shake of her head. When she’d left England six years ago she’d instigated a policy never to rise to people’s bad opinion of her again, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to help herself with Tristan. For some reason his condescending attitude hurt more than everybody else’s put together—and she hated that.
Lily folded her arms across her chest and decided to give up all attempts to change his opinion. Let him think what he wanted.
‘You know it’s a good thing you’re not my lawyer because I’d fire you.’
‘Fire me?’ He gave a harsh burst of laughter. ‘Sweetheart, I wouldn’t touch this case if it came gold-plated.’ He sat straighter and looked down his aristocratic nose at her. ‘Because I know what you are, Honey Blossom Lily Wild—or have you conveniently forgotten what happened at Jordana’s eighteenth?’
Lily stiffened at the ominously quiet question. Here was the basis of his true hatred of her. The presumed ruination of his little sister because of her association with big, bad Lily Wild. He’d judged her on circumstantial evidence at least twice before, and she hated that he had never once given her the benefit of the doubt.
‘You know—you know,’ she spat, ignoring the inner voice that told her to calm down. ‘I could make a movie about what you don’t know, you ignorant jerk, and it would be an instant classic.’
‘Ignorant jerk?’
That seemed to rile him, and it startled her when his chair shot back, nearly tipping over with the force of his movement. He circled his desk, a predatory intent in every silent step, and Lily’s heart bumped behind her ribs. She didn’t think he’d hurt her, but still, the instinct to run was nearly overwhelming.
He stopped just in front of her, his hands balled on his hips, his green eyes ablaze with suppressed emotion.
‘Let’s see,’ he snarled, leaning over her and caging her in with his hands on the armrests of her chair. ‘You tried to hide a joint under my sister’s mattress when you were fourteen, you took her to sleazy parties in the city—underage—you caused an outrageous scandal the night of her eighteenth, snorting cocaine from the glass front of my father’s seven-hundred-year-old Giotto painting, and today you cart a truckload of charlie and disco biscuits into Heathrow.’ He leaned in closer. The pronounced muscles in his forearms bunched. ‘Tell me, Honey, how am I doing so far with what I don’t know about you?’
Lily felt the back of the chair hard against her spine and ran her tongue over her dry lips. She could explain every one of those things—but he wasn’t looking for an explanation, and frankly she was getting so sick of his rudeness she almost wanted him to dig a hole so she could bury him in it.
She remained tight-lipped, and his mocking expression said it all.
‘What? No comment all of a sudden? No further explanation as to why I walked into my father’s study and found a group of wasted idiots—my sister being one of them—and you leaning over the desk holding a rolled fifty-pound note, with some Armani-clad idiot standing behind you like he was getting ready to take you? What a surprise.’
Lily blushed profusely at his bluntness. That wasn’t how it had been at all—but had it really looked like that? And how could he think she’d even been interested in that guy after the kisses they had shared?
‘For heaven’s sake, why would I kiss you if I—? Oh.’ She stopped abruptly and nodded. ‘You think I just went from you to him. Hence the cheap slut reference.’ She shook her head as if she was truly stupid. ‘Sorry, I’m a slow learner. Maybe you can add dumb blonde to my list of credentials? That’s if you haven’t done it already, of course.’
Tristan moved as quickly as a striking snake and reached down to pull her to her feet. ‘Stop. Trying. To. Garner. My. Sympathies. You took a chance. It didn’t come off. Now, deal with it.’
Lily tried to pull her hands free, and then stopped when she realised it was a futile waste of energy. Her eyes blazed into his. ‘I don’t know what ever made me think I could reason with you,’ she bit out, adrenaline coursing through her veins. ‘You know what? Go to hell. All you do is judge me and I’ve had it. You’ve never wanted the truth where I’m concerned and—oof!’
The air left her body as Tristan pulled her hard up against him and covered her mouth with his own. She tasted anger and frustration—and something else. Something that called to her. Something that left her mind reeling. After a token struggle she felt her resistance ebb away. Her brain simply shut down, leaving her body and her heart firmly in charge, and both, it seemed, craved his touch more than air.
Tristan knew it was a mistake as soon as he did it—but, seriously, just how much self-control did she think he possessed? Did she never give up? Standing there, glorious in her anger, her eyes sparkling like cabochon amethysts.
She shoved against him and tried to twist her mouth away, but Tristan wound her ponytail around his fist and held her head fast. Some distant part of his brain tried reminding him that he didn’t behave like this. That he didn’t shut women up with his mouth like some Neolithic cave dweller.
But it was too late. He’d been hungry for the taste of her all day, and something far more primitive than logic and civility was riding him now.
She moaned, her hands pushing against his shoulders, and he immediately gentled the pressure of his mouth. A voice in his head was telling him to stop. That now he was behaving like a jerk. That he hated this woman whose mouth felt like hot velvet under his.
She represented everything wrong with mankind. She took drugs, she partied hard, she was self-centered, self-absorbed—like his mother. Just when he might have had a chance of pulling away her fingernails curled into his shoulders, no longer pushing him away but drawing him closer, and he was lost.
He eased the hand in her hair and pressed his other one to her lower back, to bring her into firmer contact with his body, and delighted in her responsive quiver.
Right now he didn’t give a damn about parties and drugs. Right now he was satisfying an urge that had started six years ago and got a whole lot worse today. He felt a groan rise up from his chest as her lips moved almost shyly beneath his. He wanted her. Hell, his body was aching with it. And he knew by the way her fingers clutched at his shirt that she felt the feral chemistry between them as intensely as he did.
He softened his lips even more and felt hers cling.
‘Open your mouth, Honey,’ he urged. ‘I need to taste you.’
She obeyed instantly, and his tongue slid home and drank from her as if she was the finest wine. Only she tasted better. Sweeter than he remembered. He nearly expired at the shocking pleasure that jack-knifed through his body. She was like ambrosia to his senses, and he was once again reminded how men could start wars over a woman. And then he lost the ability to think at all as her tongue snuck into his mouth and she raised herself onto her toes to deepen the contact between them.
It was all the encouragement Tristan needed, and he widened his stance to take more of her weight, burning up when she rubbed her full breasts against his chest. Her soft, breathy whimpers incited him never to stop this crazy dance. His hands were unsteady as they skimmed down her torso, skating over her breasts and pulling her restless hips more firmly against his almost painful arousal.
She gasped and pressed even closer, buried her hands in his over-long hair.
Tristan couldn’t contain another groan, and his hands rose up to push her cumbersome cardigan aside so that he could palm her breasts with both hands. She arched into him and his thumbs flicked over her peaked nipples. His senses revelled in her soft cries of pleasure. His lips drifted down over her neck as he dragged oxygen into his starved lungs, and he slid one hand down to delve underneath the elastic waistband of her tight leggings to cup her bottom. Her skin felt gloriously smooth and hot, and there was no thought of stopping now. He’d wanted this for too long, and he knew when he touched between her legs she’d be wet and wanting…
The strident buzz of his intercom resounded through the room like a death knell, and Tristan sprang back from Lily as if he’d been kicked.
‘Tristan, I know you said no interruptions, but Jordana is on line one and threatening legal action if you don’t take her call.’ His secretary’s humorous voice rang out clear, despite the blood roaring in his ears.
Hell. Everyone was a comedian all of a sudden.
‘Tristan?’
‘Fine,’ he snapped. ‘Tell her I’ll be a minute.’
He watched Lily blink a couple of times, her hands on her heaving chest, her eyes hidden as she contemplated the foot of black carpet between them as if it was a seething pit of snakes. Her lips were deeply pink and swollen from his kisses.
He shook his head at his own stupidity.
He wasn’t some hotheaded youth at the mercy of his untried hormones. What had he been thinking?
He noted the rise of hot colour that started at her neck and swept into her face. He didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or desire.
‘Hell,’ he seethed, stalking back round to his side of the desk, raking his fingers through his hair. He willed his body to calm down. ‘We are not going to do this. You are not going to look at me with that come-hither sexiness. You want to know what happens next? I’ll tell you. You sit over there on that sofa and you don’t move. You don’t talk and you don’t whine. The only thing you’re allowed to do without me is go to the bathroom, and if I think you’re up to no good in there you’ll lose that privilege as well. Is that clear enough for you?’
‘Crystal,’ she snapped, straightening her clothing and pulling her cardigan tightly around her body.
She touched her tongue to her lips and another shaft of desire shot into his aching groin. Then she raised her chin and looked at him with over-bright eyes, and once again he felt like the jerk she’d called him earlier.
‘You know,’ she began softly, ‘Jordana thinks you’re one of the good guys. Boy, does she have that wrong.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_337b86aa-dd56-5b08-81aa-9873bb35b385)
TRISTAN sat opposite his sister at one of London’s most exclusive eateries and tried not to brood over Lily’s earlier comment. Because Jordana was right, damn it. He was one of the good guys, and he didn’t know why he was letting the two-bit actress beside him, laughing over Oliver’s unfunny jokes, make him question that.
Maybe because he’d kissed her the way a man kissed a woman he planned to sleep with and then blamed her for it. As if this maddening desire he felt for her was a deliberate spell she had cast over him…Which, come to think of it, was a much better explanation than the alternative—that he just couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Which was not the case at all. What had happened in his office earlier was the result of extreme stress boiling over. Nothing more, nothing less.
Tristan prided himself on his emotional objectivity when it came to the fairer sex, and really this constant analysis of what had happened earlier was ludicrous. Yes, he was a man who liked his ‘i’s’ dotted and his ‘t’s’ crossed, but Lily was just an anomaly. An outlier on an otherwise predictable curve.
So what if his reaction to her was at the extreme end of the scale? It happened. Not often to him before, granted, but…once she was gone and his world had returned to normal he’d forget about her—as he had done the last time.
As he had done every other woman who had graced his bed.
Only Lily hadn’t graced his bed, and maybe that went some way to explaining his almost obsessive thoughts about her. He’d never had her. Had, in fact, made her off-limits to himself. And he wanted her. No point denying the obvious. Maybe if he had her—no! Forget it. Not going to happen.
But that didn’t change the fact that now that his ferocious anger at being caught up in her situation had abated, and now he’d had a chance to observe her with Oliver and his sister all night, he had to admit he was starting to question his earlier assessment of her.
There was something so earthy and genuine about her. Something so lacking in artifice. He’d noticed it when she had engaged in a conversation with his PA and three of his paralegal secretaries.
She hadn’t tried to brush them off, or spoken down to them. She’d been warm and friendly and called them by name. Something he would not have expected a drug-addicted diva to remember, let alone do.
He couldn’t comprehend that he might have been wrong about her—but nor could he ignore the sixth sense that told him that something didn’t add up.
Especially since the police believed that the haul found in Lily’s bag, although small, had been intended for resale purposes. Lily just didn’t strike him as the type who worked for a drug cartel, and nor did she appear to need money. Which left the possibility that she was innocent, had been framed, or had been an unknowing drug mule.
Or she’d brought the drugs in for a lover.
In his business Tristan had come across people who did far worse things for love, and he told himself the only reason he cared about this possibility was because he felt sorry for her. If she was so in love with some jerk she’d committed a crime for him she would definitely do jail-time. Lots of jail-time.
As if all that wasn’t bad enough, the langoustines poached in miso—Élan’s signature dish, which he had enjoyed many times before—had failed to get the taste of her out of his mouth. And that was just damned annoying.
Lily shifted on the black leather bench seat beside him and for the millionth time he wished she’d just sit still. They had been given a corner booth, overlooking Hyde Park, and whenever she so much as blinked, or turned to take in the view, his mind thought it was a good idea to let him know about it.
He glanced around at the über-modern, low-lit interior and recognised some of the more celebrated restaurant clientele, who all seemed to be having a better time of it than him. Laughter and perfume wafted through the air, along with the sound of flatware on Limoges china, but none of it could distract him from his unhealthy awareness of her.
He reached for his glass and took a long pull of classic 1956 Mouton Rothschild Medoc, forcing his attention from the spoon Lily was trying to lick the last morsel of ice cream from, as if it was thousand-pound-an-ounce caviar, and back to Oliver’s discourse about his barbaric Scottish ancestors and some battle he’d no doubt claim they had won against the English.
God, his friend could talk. Had he known that about him?
Lily leaned forward and laughed, and Tristan refused to look at the way her low-cut silk blouse dipped invitingly, wondering where her tent-like cardigan had disappeared to.
When they had arrived at Jordana’s prior to dinner the two girls had cried and hugged for an eternity. Then Jordana had whisked Lily away to shower and change, berating him for not thinking of it himself. Tristan hadn’t told her that the last thing he needed was to have Lily Wild naked in his shower!
Now she was dressed in a red gypsy blouse, fitted denims and ankle boots, all provided by his sister. Her hair was brushed and fell in shiny waves down her back and she’d put on a bra. Pink. Demi-cup. Though he’d be a lot happier not knowing that. Because she had fabulous breasts and he couldn’t help wondering what they would look like naked.
‘It was love at first sight.’
Jordana’s words sounded overly loud to his ears, and brought his awareness sharply back to the conversation.
What was?
Tristan looked at his sister, who was thankfully gazing at her fiancé and not at him, and released a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding.
‘That’s rubbish,’ Oliver grouched. ‘It took a month of haranguing you to help me find the perfect anniversary present for my parents before you even agreed to a real date.’
