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“Emily, please.” He was dismissing me.

Suddenly, I caught a trace of Tristan’s distracting aroma. He was here, somewhere. I drank it in—boy, for someone long dead, he sure smelled good.

“Good night,” I said to Dylan.

“Good night,” Dylan answered. I thought I heard relief in his voice and maybe surprise at my sudden change of mood.

I passed Lulu as I dashed toward the stairs. She stopped, surprised to see me.

“Good night, Lulu,” I said, noting her stunning diaphanous nightgown. She looked movie-star beautiful.

“Good night, Emily.” She frowned as I shot past her.

I glanced behind me as I reached the top of the stairs and saw her dour expression as she looked up at me.

What’s eating her?

“Dylan, are you coming to bed?” she called, turning away from me.

When I turned around, Tristan stood at the end of the landing, in front of my bedroom door. I paused for a moment, drinking him in. He smirked as I moved toward him. I put my finger to my lips to indicate that he should be quiet as Lulu was close.

He threw his head back and laughed. “For fuck’s sake, Beauchamp, you’re the only one who can hear me.” He threw his arms out wide as if to catch me, his eyes full of wicked amusement.

Halting in front of him, the strains of Dylan’s guitar piece still ringing in my head, I gazed up at him in wonder.

He. Was. Beautiful.

He sobered, green eyes wide.

“Hey,” I mouthed.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. We stood staring at each other, marveling at each other. He studied my face, his expression rapt yet wary. He raised his hand, then closed his eyes, regret written on his face. He lowered his hand. “I wish I could touch you,” he whispered.

“I wish you could too.” The words were out of my mouth before I could engage my brain.

Emily! What are you saying?

He smiled, the same rueful smile Dylan had just given me, and ran his hand through his hair as he stood aside.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation in the privacy of your room.”

I shook my head, trying to break the spell between us. “Yes. Of course.”

I opened the door, and he was standing at the foot of my bed and my bedside light was on.

How did he do that?

“I thought you were going to run right through me,” he said with a wicked smile as I closed the door.

“Do you want me to?” I said as a challenge and returned his smile.

He leaned back on his heels and his lips parted in surprise. “Very much so,” he whispered.

Without further thought, I ran at him, expecting to meet solid muscle, skin, and bone, but there was nothing—just space and air. Except, I heard his just-audible gasp, and that one sound connected with something deep inside me, tightening everything in its path.

Whoa.

I whirled around and he was standing staring at me. Wide-eyed, intense, slack-mouthed, and inhaling deeply.