The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(37)

The door opens, and we both turn suddenly.

Marley’s eyes widen in horror as she sees me in Tristan’s arms. “Oh . . . sorry.” She winces.

Shit.

Tristan steps back from me, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

“That’s okay.” I force a smile. “What is it, Marley?”

“I was going to see if you wanted lunch, but . . .”

“No, she’s having lunch with me,” Tristan asserts.

My eyes flick to him. “I’m fine for the moment, Marley. Thank you.”

Marley’s wide eyes dart between Tristan and me, and I can almost hear her brain ticking . . . just great. How the heck do I explain this?

Tristan glares at Marley and raises an impatient eyebrow.

“Oh,” she stammers, all flustered. “I’ll just be at reception.”

Tristan’s nostrils flare in annoyance. “Okay.”

She points outside with her thumb. “If you need me—”

“Thank you, Marley,” he interrupts her.

She smiles broadly and closes the door, and his eyes come back to me. “Where were we?”

I smile and rub my hand down his arm. “Tris. We can’t see each other anymore.”

He brushes my hand off. “What?”

“We can’t see each other.”

“You’re dumping me?”

“Nobody is dumping anybody,” I say softly. “I really, really like you. The guy I went away with was perfect.”

“So why can’t we see each other?” he scoffs.

“Because of the obvious.”

“Like what?” he snaps. His anger is building.

“Tristan, because you are Tristan Miles, and I’m too old for you. I have children and responsibilities, and you like young blondes who are into fashion.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t be fucking funny, Anderson.”

“I’m not. You told me that yourself.” I take his hand in mine. “Tris, if circumstances were different and you were . . .” I pause as I try to articulate what I want to say. “If you were older than me and say . . . had been divorced and had a few kids, we could maybe try and see each other.”

“What?” he snaps again. “You won’t see me because I don’t have children? That’s fucking ridiculous, Anderson. Can you hear yourself right now?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” I warn him.

“Shut up, and come to lunch with me.” He takes me into his arms, and his lips drop to my neck. Is he for real? “Tristan.” I sigh. Jeez. “Stop it.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like me, because I know you do.”

“I do. I’m not denying it. I adore you.”

“So?”

“I don’t like you . . . like that.”

He stares at me, as if trying to process my words. “Like what?”

I’m just going to have to come out with it. “Tris, you aren’t exactly boyfriend material for me.”

“What?” he snaps in an outrage. He points to his chest. “I’m . . . not boyfriend material?” he whispers. “I’m great fucking boyfriend material, Claire.”

I exhale . . . here we go. He’s angry now. “No. You’re not.”

“If anyone around here is not partner material, it’s you.”

I cross my arms and watch him as he begins to pace, furious at my rejection.

“You, Claire Anderson . . . are too old for me.”

“I know.”

“And you”—he points at me—“have too many children.”

“Precisely.”

“And I’m not into kids. Especially when they aren’t mine.”

I hold my hands out wide. “Like I said.”

“And I don’t want to be with someone who can’t be spontaneous, anyway.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.” I smile.

“Don’t be fucking condescending, Anderson.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you finished?”

“No. I’m not,” he growls. “You piss me off.”

“I gathered that.”

“Stop it.”

I pull him into my arms and run my fingers through his dark hair. His big beautiful brown eyes search mine, and he puts his hands on my hips. “You really are a beautiful man, Tris,” I whisper.

He pulls me closer.

“You deserve the best.” I kiss his lips as I run my fingers through his stubble. “I’m not her; I’m sorry. I wish I was. I really do. We are at different stages of our lives. You are just about to settle down and start a family, and I am finishing with mine.”

“Stop talking.”

“We both know that this isn’t going anywhere. I’m not a casual-sex kind of person, and you are.”

“Shut the fuck up, Anderson.” He kisses me softly and with just the right amount of tongue. My stomach flutters. “One last time?” he whispers against my lips.

God, it’s so tempting . . . “No.”

He pushes me up against the wall and slides his hand up my skirt. “Let me fuck you on your desk.” His mouth drops to my neck, and I giggle as I look up at the ceiling. “I told you I was going to do it. Right here, right now.”