Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(74)

"I missed the show," I say and my voice is rough.

She smiles at me, but it seems like she knows I freaked out. "You sure did." Tendrils of her hair are curling from steam, and her skin is shiny and slick from water. She reaches over and grabs her robe, slipping it on before removing the towel wrapped around her body. She's hiding herself from me.

"What did you need?" I ask.

"For you to come out here and realize I'm not going to bite you."

I laugh uncomfortably as I root through my bag for a clean pair of boxers, grateful I used Emmy's washer and dryer earlier. I was definitely on my last set of clean clothes.

"Trystan."

"Yep."

"I know you're kind of freaking out. I'd be an idiot not to realize you don't normally do this."

"Do what?" I say as if I have no idea what she's talking about.

"Spend the night with someone you just slept with."

I'm about to deny it but stop.

"I realized that at the hotel." She lifts a shoulder and bends over to use the towel to dry each of her legs. Then she lifts a foot and balances it on the edge of the bath, turquoise toes curling over the rim. She reaches for a bottle of lotion. "But here's something you may not have realized. I don't do this either."

I laugh humorlessly. "I knew that. Not the same thing."

"Probably not," she says, eyes flashing briefly at my tone, and smooths cream up and down her legs from her ankle up to her thighs and then her butt. I swallow. She changes legs and repeats. The scent of the lotion finally reaches me. It's her signature scent. I inhale deeply, feeling the stirring of arousal, remembering the first time I smelled the concentration in her sheets and heard her lose control. Now I've seen it in person. I know she flushes head to toe, arches her back. I can't remember if she closed her eyes or the exact sound she made. Next time I'll—Christ, that went sideways fast.

"But I'm not sleeping on the couch,” she says. “Or going back to Armand's—"

"I'd never—"

She laughs. "I know. You're a good guy. You normally remove yourself, don't you?" She somehow manages to finish the contortion of lotioning up her body underneath her robe. "I think we're more alike than you think." She looks at me squarely and lifts an eyebrow in challenge. "But how about you don't sleep on the couch either?"

"It's uncomfortable to sleep on anyway." I rub a thumb over my lip.

"Is not," she argues, offended.

"It is." I turn to climb in the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" Her question stops me.

"What?"

She rolls her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "That's my side."

I straighten, hands up in surrender. "My bad."

"Scoot." She shoos me past her, and I go around the bed, shaking my head in amusement. I don't know how she does it, but my earlier flight response is nowhere to be found. I'd rather stay here and argue with Emmy Dubois than be anywhere else right now.

"I hope you don't mind if I sleep naked?" Her hand releases the hair tied up on her head so it comes cascading to her shoulders. Then she unbelts the loosely-tied robe and lets it fall to her feet before lifting the duvet and climbing in. "Are you just going to stand there? Tuna will be out of a job, you'll catch all the bugs with that open mouth of yours."

She rolls onto her side away from me and reaches out a long toned arm to the bedside lamp I'd turned on earlier and plunges us into darkness.

I smile in the dark and climb under her covers. I'm probably going to freak out again in the morning, but for now I'll just go with it.





35





Emmy





I stretched, my muscles aching. I danced hard last night. It felt great.

Trystan.

His name, his face and a thousand memories, dark and light, innocent and explicit, were like an explosion in my mind, blanking out everything else. I blinked slowly in the darkness. The heaviness of my body and stickiness of my eyelids told me I'd only been asleep a few hours and could definitely sleep a few more. It was close to dawn.

I turned and made out the outline of Trystan lying on his back. He was breathing deeply, steadily. I wished it was lighter so I could see his face at rest, his beautiful features relaxed, his eyelashes resting against his cheeks.

Last night after we’d slept together was like luring a stray dog inside for a warm meal. Chances were he'd bolt at daybreak.

Besides, he’d already told me he was leaving today. A week ago I had no idea he even existed. Now he was in every crevice of my life. My home. My family. My friends. My mind. My heart.

I never saw him coming, but I knew he had quickly become an addiction that would be impossible to quit. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I acknowledged the choice wouldn't be mine. I'd have to be happy with the time we'd had. I wasn't sure how he'd made it past my defenses. Emotionally I was right in the place I always avoided.

Sighing, I gave in to the longing to be held close, and I slipped up against his warm body, my head nestling into his shoulder. What did I have to lose? He'd either wake up now and leave, or later and . . . leave.

He groaned, and I held my breath. Then his arm lifted and curled around me, warm and tight, and he let out a long sigh before his breathing returned to normal.