Page 77

“Why did you do that?” I whirled around and shouted at him.

He scowled and leaned in close.

“Don’t ignore me,” he said through gritted teeth inches from my face. His fragrance swirled between us, concentrated… intoxicating.

“Everything all right, miss?” the locksmith called from the hallway.

“Everything’s fine,” I called back, trying to clear my head.

I took a deep breath, inhaling Tristan’s sweet scent. Its effect was immediately calming.

“Stay here,” I hissed at Tristan.

Grabbing another glass, I filled it with ice water and took it out to the locksmith. I smiled a wide, fake, there really isn’t a problem smile as I gave it to him.

“Thanks, love,” he said and returned to fixing the door.

I stomped back into the kitchen. Tristan was still glowering.

“I don’t even know where Dylan keeps all the cleaning stuff to clear up this mess you’ve made,” I snapped.

“Over there,” he said with a sullen frown and pointed with his chin to a door I’d not noticed before. It was near the entrance to the kitchen and led to a utility room where there was a washing machine, a tumble dryer, a sink, and all the cleaning materials one would expect from a man who liked clean.

Why hasn’t Dylan shown me this room?

I found a mop, a bucket, and a dustpan.

Tristan lingered in the kitchen, looking a little more contrite. I cleaned up, studiously ignoring him, and placed the dustpan with the broken glass beside the bin. I would have to find some newspaper or something to wrap it. Once I had put away the mop and bucket, I went back into the kitchen to face him.

Crossing my arms, I stood in front of him and waited for his apology.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. “Do you think I was asking you to stay out of the way for my benefit?”

I sighed. “I didn’t know what to think, Tristan.” Suddenly I felt exhausted.

“Shit, Emily. You have no idea who that was!”

“And you do?”

“I was going to find out and then you appeared.”

I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t think of anything to say. Tristan raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve transgressed so much today,” he said, and he sounded sad and exhausted too. “I’d better go.”

“Go?” Oh no! I didn’t want him to go.

“Yes,” he said.

“Go where?”

He remained silent, his expression impassive. He was giving nothing away.

“Will you be back?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He snorted with wry, self-deprecating amusement. “Emily, it would be impossible to stay away,” he whispered, his tone perplexed and earnest at once. He stood close to me, his hypnotic green eyes focused on mine, his scent surrounding us, and I wanted to reach out and touch him. My heart rate increased and my breath caught in my throat as he leaned toward me. I held my breath, and he vanished.

“Tristan?” I called into the space surrounding me, but I knew he was gone. All trace of him, including his unique fragrance, had disappeared. Sinking wearily onto one of the dining chairs, I put my head in my hands.

I had much to think about.