Page 31 of Tristan’s Temptation

“This weekend. I tried to call you.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Trillo. I went away this weekend. I wasn’t aware we had any projects pending.”

“I wasn’t calling about work, damn it.” He wished she wouldn’t be quite so prosaic. Wished she would show some shred of emotion. Quivering passion, perhaps. “I wanted to see you.”

She didn’t respond, other than to sip her coffee contemplatively. Finally, she murmured, “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I know,” he snapped. “But I just wanted to see you.”

She raised a brow, a delicate, elegant brow. It mocked him more than words ever could. It spoke to his inconsistency, his stubbornness and his weak, weak will. “I went away for the weekend.”

“Were you alone?” he hissed, beset with visions of Shannon and another man. He swallowed the acid surging into his mouth. It burned all the way to his gut.

“I was with my sister and some friends.”

Relief flooded him. Until her next words registered in his brain.

“Though you know, Tristan, if I was with another man, it would be none of your business. When I promise fidelity, I keep my word, but you and I have made no such promises. You’ve made the nature of our relationship very clear.”

He swallowed heavily. It was true. He had. Again and again. “Are you saying we’re finished?” How the words made it past his lips, he never knew. They were like sharp, jagged stones in his mouth.

“Of course not. You’re the one who insists our relationship can never work. I love being with you. I love every moment.”

Well, now. That was promising. He felt infinitely better.

“So can I see you tonight?” His mood plunged when she shook her head.

“Not tonight, Tristan.” She picked up her coffee mug and her steno pad and headed for the door. “Tonight I have a date. And you,” she said glancing at the clock, “have a meeting.”

She had a date.

Tristan stood back in the shadows and glared down at Shannon’s patio. He could hear the music floating on the night wind through the open doors and he clenched his fist.

She had a date.

He wished they’d come out onto the patio so he could get a good look at the bastard. He hoped he was dumpy. Bucktoothed. And bald.

And then they appeared. The two of them. They walked out onto the patio—he sauntered, the cocky prick—to take in the view. The beautiful, romantic view. Tristan fumed and glared at the view. Damn that view. Why couldn’t it be hideously repulsive?

And what was with her date?

He wasn’t dumpy. Not in the least. The guy probably lifted weights all day long to get a physique like that. And he certainly wasn’t bald. And—damn it all anyway—his teeth were perfect. They glinted in the moonlight when he smiled. Even from here. Hell.

His heart hitched as Shannon moved closer to the Adonis and slipped into his arms. Together, they twirled across the patio. Muted music wafted through the still night on an errant zephyr and he snarled. He slammed into his house and emerged a minute later with his binoculars. The guy had his hand on the small of her back, fingers splayed as they danced, and she looked happy. Happy, for Christ’s sake!

Then the guy dipped her. Dipped her.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed when she laughed up at her date as though she was enjoying this dance more than anything.

Hell. She’d enjoyed fucking him a damn sight more, he’d wager. She’d better have.

When they disappeared into the house, Tristan lost it. He trained the binoculars on the sliding glass doors but they didn’t reappear and the music became softer, more intimate. A new CD came on. Tristan had to strain to make out the slow, jazzy strains filtering out into the night, but to him it sounded like the perfect music for…

Hell.

He dragged his fingers through his hair, imagining all sorts of sleazy scenarios until, finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. Knowing he was acting like an immature ass but unable to help himself, he hopped into his car, sped down the hill to her house and laid on the doorbell.

The chime echoed through the house but no one answered the door. Where were they? And what were they doing?