Page 18 of Tristan’s Temptation

And a damn prick to boot.

The more he thought about it, the darker his mood became. By the time he reached his house, he was furious. At himself. At her. At life in general.

He popped open a beer and went to sit on his patio but found himself staring at her house, there in the distance down the hill, and brooding.

Shaking his head in disgust, he returned to his kitchen and opened the fridge, glaring at the contents. Nothing looked good.

In desperation, he went to his laptop, determined to do some work tonight if he could coerce his brain to think about something other than her slender, elegant form, the soft curve of her ass, the tantalizing tenor of her moans as he thrust his cock deep into her.

He was sitting before his computer, decidedly not working, his mind beset with visions and recriminations, when his email chimed, announcing he had an instant message. He frowned. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Maybe not ever. But he clicked over—it could be something important—and he stilled.

The message was from Shannon.

Her private email.

With numb fingers, he opened the message.

Tristan, he read. Are you all right? He snorted in response. I didn’t see you this afternoon.

He hesitated before responding, worried what might flow forth if he allowed himself free rein.

Yes, Shannon. I’m fine. How are you?

God. How lame.

Her response floored him. Horny.

A smile blossomed on his face. So she had enjoyed it. At least a little.

Didn’t you get enough in my office? The question was out and sent before he had a chance to think about it. He shouldn’t be flirting with her. He’d ended it, hadn’t he?

Her reply wiped the smug smile away.

Not nearly enough.

What? Not nearly enough? Hell.

Didn’t you enjoy it? Again, no thought involved, just a raging need to know.

Her immediate response was gratifying. Umm. I loved it. But I want more.

His cock twitched but Tristan forced himself to subdue his growing passion. We can’t do that again, he typed and hated himself.

I know, she wrote, but I’ve been thinking…

What?

Perhaps we could try something different.

Something different? What did you have in mind?

Log on to Virtual Life.

Besieged by an odd mixture of curiosity, arousal and trepidation, he did just that. He was surprised to see the group icon, heretofore untested, glowing. He clicked on it and a dropdown menu appeared. There was one choice—Shannon.

Interesting. The game had been designed for single players, online community and for private groups. But…

His IM dinged again and he flipped back to read, Turn on your Voice Over InternetProgram. He did and Shannon’s voice rolled over his speakers.