Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(87)

"Well, you didn't read it, so I guess not."

"You know what?" I asked.

"What?"

"We did better when we were separated by eight hundred fifty miles and just had a cell phone connection."

Trystan folded his arms across his chest, his T-shirt stretched around his biceps, the muscles in his forearms flexed. He set his jaw. "Is that right?"

The way he wore those broken-in jeans, the soft T-shirt, and stood there all hot and annoyed was . . .

I grabbed the glass of wine and took a swig. "That's right."

Trystan approached slowly until he was a few feet away. "Because the way you sobbed my name in ecstasy upstairs the last time I was here would say otherwise."

Heat flashed through me, and I caught my breath. "That's not fair," I whispered.

"Not fair? What's not fair is you not even giving me a chance."

"A chance to break me?"

"A chance to love you."

I swallowed. Hard. With a shaking hand, I set down my glass before I spilled it all over myself. "Why would you even say that? You don't."

His mouth opened. Closed. His jaw ticked and his eyes flickered.

Then his lips hardened. "I could," he said.

"You . . . could? Wow. I'm flattered."

"Emmy."

"It's fine, Trystan. Lovely. But it's not certain. We've known each other for less than two weeks. And I . . . I . . ."

"Nothing is certain, Emmy. God knows I learned that the hard way too." He unfolded his arms and caged me in against the counter, looking down at me.

I lowered my face and closed my eyes. God, he smelled good.

"Emmy, look at us. We're both products of really fucked up upbringings. You clung to family. I shoved it away. But now when it comes to us, to the chance of us being something, you're the one shoving it away, and I'm the one hanging on and hoping like hell. How is that sane, or fair?"

I shook my head. "How we met was crazy. Accidental. It was a twist of fate. We were caught up in it. But it's not real."

Trystan grabbed my face in his hands, tilting me to look at him. His hands were hot. His eyes were ice and fire, angry and hungry all at the same time. They roamed my face and settled on my mouth.

Before I could even process that I wanted him to kiss me, his lips were on me.

He crushed his mouth to mine, sending a missile of arousal through me like a lightning bolt.

Whereas the first time he'd kissed me had been slow and searching, building to a fever, this started on the edge of desperation.

I was instantly overwhelmed with the feel and taste of him. His hard body against mine, pinning me to the counter, and the heat of his tongue as it swept into my mouth. Fire raced along my skin, and my hands were wrapped around his head before I could even think.

Anger and fear had my lips and tongue working to punish him. To take what I wanted while I had it. But it pierced my awareness I was kissing him like I wanted to consume him, like I never, ever wanted to stop. I couldn't stop. God, it was so good. Why couldn't I stop? He tasted like summer and rain, cold beer and hot sex.

Trystan's hands swept down my sides, up my back, fisted in my hair, and then I was lifted onto the counter and my body closed around his—legs and arms gripping tightly, his body in my embrace, and it felt incredible.

He pulled back, and I made some sound of desperation to get him back.

"God, Emmy." His words were an aching whisper against my mouth before his lips were on mine again.

My hands left his hair and roamed over his T-shirt-covered muscled shoulders then down his back, and I had to feel his hot skin once. Our desperation had slowed slightly, but every movement seemed deeper, harder, more deliberate.

He grunted against my mouth as my fingers met skin. His hips rocked slow and hard against me, his own hand hauling my lower body tight and close. His tongue dipped deeply against mine before retreating. God, he was making love to my mouth. He was making love to me fully clothed. His lips left mine and slid toward my ear, his hot breath searing goosebumps over my skin like a blowtorch. "We're not imagining this. Please don't push me away."

"This feels good."

"So good."

"But this isn't enough." I set my hands on his chest and pushed gently.

He let up.

My body throbbed with need. With unexpended passion. Trystan . . ." my voice wobbled. "Chemistry is great. Yes, I admit it. But—"

"You think I'm shallow? Is that it? That I can't or won't take us seriously? You're not just a hookup, Emmy. What do I need to do to prove to you I'm willing to give this a shot?"

"I don't know." I blew out a breath and pushed at him so I could hop off the counter.

He didn't budge, one hand was on my bare knee, the other scorching a brand on my thigh. "Let me just stand here. I won't kiss you, I promise."

I didn’t want that promise. I ached and throbbed between my thighs. I wanted to flick open his jeans and pull him out, and . . . Emmy, keep your wits.

"Fine." I leaned back on two hands, working hard not to show how much I wanted him inside me. His eyes dropped to my chest that my position had thrust forward, then returned to mine.

He swallowed heavily. "You think you're the only one afraid of this?"