Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(42)

“I have to warn you, this is going to burn your throat and you might throw up.”

I ignored him, pushing the spoon into my mouth, planning to swallow fast.

I hadn’t even pulled it out before cinnamon was shooting out of my mouth and nose as I went into a painful fit of coughing.  I grabbed for the water, took a long swig, and spit that out too.

My throat felt on fire, eyes tearing up and running in mere seconds.

“Oh my God, it burns!” I gasped, going for another drink.  I did this three times, then started to look around for paper towels.  Not seeing them right away, I moved to Tristan and started rubbing my tongue on his very nice shirt.

The bastard deserved that and worse.

He was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

“I hate you,” I told him.

“Hey now!”

“This is disgusting.  It’s stuck to the roof of my mouth!  Ick!”

I went to the sink and started rinsing again, then back to his shirt to scrape my tongue again.

“My nose is running!  My mouth is burning!”

It took a while, but when I felt recovered enough, I whirled on him.  “That was awful.  I can’t believe you made me do that.”

His eyes were twinkling; he couldn’t stop smiling.  “You know I adore you, but there are times when I just like to torture you.  It makes me happy.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.  I focused on the obnoxious part and ignored the part that made my stupid heart pound faster.  “Well you don’t have to look so satisfied about it!”

There it was, that most Troublesome smile.  “Oh, boo, you of all people should know that this isn’t how I look when I’m satisfied.”

I supposed I’d walked right into that one.  Infuriatingly, I blushed.  “Don’t you use that tone on me,” I warned, but it was so feeble that I knew it didn’t faze him.

We watched our show while the cake baked.  He behaved himself, staying on his couch.  I didn’t even have to insist.  He just did it.  I eyed him suspiciously all the while, not trusting it.

We were eating his chocolate cake when I caught him staring at me.

Not just staring.  Eating me up.  He was gazing at me with an unabashed longing in his eyes that I couldn’t let stand.  I could only take so much.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I told him, setting down my fork, my voice turned as cold as I could manage.

He kept doing it, until his faced transformed into a too warm smile, a soft, affectionate stare.

“Like what?” he asked, and I knew that he was toying with me.

Torturing us both just to get a taste of the old feelings.

“You know.  I will leave.  I mean it.”

“I’m not doing anything.  I’ve just…missed you.  I’m glad to spend time with you again.”

I knew he was full of it.  “We can’t go back, Tristan.  We can’t take any of it back.  We can’t pretend that you are just you, and I am just me.  There is too much bad history between us to pretend.”

Something passed over his face.  It was hard to name all of the things I saw there with just one brief glimpse. Pain, regret, hope?

I discounted it all, even while I felt it myself.

“This is nostalgia that you’re feeling.  It is transient.  It will go away.”

He swallowed hard, looking anguished for one brief moment before he washed his features back into that soft smile.  “For you, maybe.  But not for me.  Want to know how I know?”

I started shaking my head, but the question had been rhetorical.  He was going to tell me, regardless.  “Because it never went away.  Nostalgia suggests that the feelings are coming back, and they can’t do that, when they never went away.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I stood up, then started to look around, trying to remember where I’d left my bag, and what I needed, before I got out of there.

He stood, his hands going out in front of him, as though in appeal.  “I’m sorry.  That was out of line.  I’ll behave myself, just don’t leave yet, not when you’re upset like this, okay?”

“We should make another don’t list, cause this is already getting out of hand.”

He laughed, long and hard.

I didn’t mean it to come out as a punch line, but hell, it was a punch line.  I shook my head, and I couldn’t hold back a baffled smile.  “I’m doing my level best here, but you need to promise me you’ll get a grip.  No more of those impossible looks, okay?

He didn’t hesitate.  “Yeah, yes, of course.  I can do that.  Just don’t shut me out again.”

We finished the cake, and he walked me out to my car.  He behaved himself, mostly, not kissing me, instead folding me into his chest for a long hug.  He inhaled deeply once, as though he were about to say something, but he held it back.

“I still taste cinnamon,” I said into his chest.

He laughed and I smiled.

I was curling up in my own bed when I realized that I’d still never gotten that tour of his house.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He came by the gallery the next day, wanting to cook me dinner again.