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“Zoey, whatever it is…whatever you’re afraid of revealing, I promise, I won’t run. But I won’t tolerate lies or deception. I need to know I have your trust as you have mine.”
“I know.” A tear trembled at the corner of one of her eyes, and she drew in a breath, her lips parting. He waited in silent expectation for an answer that never came.
Instead, she twisted in his arms and kissed him, cloaking his body in her strawberry scent. He only meant to return the kiss, but she opened her mouth and stretched out her arms, pressing her breasts into him, and he was lost in a sensual haze of pleasure.
He’d learn the secrets of her flesh now. There would be time to learn her other secrets later.
Lillian rested her cheek on Tristan’s chest, enjoying the way it rose and fell as he slept and the long, lean length of him. She loved the way his hairs curled, matted against his skin and how they formed a dark V on his belly and lower. She loved everything about him.
She took a breath, amazed that the ache and haziness in her head she normally felt after a healing had vanished. Was that the effect of making love to a burner?
She moved her gaze down Tristan’s body, toward his muscled thighs and calves and that part of him that gave her pleasure, marveling at his shape and how it had felt earlier to have free access to explore his body. He had watched her with dark-blue eyes glittering with want, and then he’d taken command, turning her over and thrusting deep inside until she couldn’t be sure where he ended and she began.
Did she dare stay here with him? She wanted to…oh, how she wanted to. The longer she lingered, the harder it was to contemplate leaving. Maybe she could find a way.
She untangled her legs from his body, holding her breath when he murmured something unintelligible. When he didn’t open his eyes, she released the air in her lungs. With the smallest movement possible, Lillian scooted to the edge of the bed and stood.
She paused again to look at him. In sleep, Tristan appeared boyish and vulnerable, one hand flung above his dark curls and the other resting over his heart.
She sucked in a breath and held it inside. It hurt to think of leaving…to destroy the fragile bond blossoming between them. Maybe if she confided in him they could find a way to put a stop to Kinetica? They wouldn’t have to part.
She needed some space between them so she could think. With swift movements, she made her way to the door. When she opened it, he stirred again, and she held her breath until he settled into sleep. She studied his face, lingering on his chiseled jawline and the masculine beauty of his shape.
She twisted the doorknob, and without a sound, stepped into the long hallway. She made her way to her bedroom, found her bra and panties where he had tossed them, and slipped them on along with her clothing from earlier in the day. Then she stuffed her pajamas in the suitcase, zipped it, and grabbed her purse. She would go to his office to find a pad of paper and pen and consider her options.
It didn’t take her long to reach his office door and make her way to the spot where she’d first asked Tristan to visit Hannah and he’d agreed. So much had taken place since then, it seemed a lifetime ago.
She spent a minute peeking out the large window, curious what the view from the office looked like in the daytime. A stone patio opened onto a crystal-blue zero entry pool, surrounded by white outdoor furniture and what looked like a bathhouse in matching white. Beyond the bathhouse a long stretch of land led to a wooded area. What a beautiful private oasis. Maybe she and Tristan could swim in the pool together? Maybe he could show her the garden as he’d promised?
She turned toward the desk to look for something to write on. She found a pen in a drawer, her gaze settling on a manila folder. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Why was her full name written on the folder? Not Mills, but her real name, Lillian Abigail Milano?
Adrenaline shot through her veins, and for a moment, white spots formed in front of her eyes. Everything moved in slow motion—her heart heaved in her chest, the air froze in her lungs. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bold, black print in Tristan’s familiar handwriting. She recognized it from when he’d written his address on a napkin and given it to her with an invitation to his fundraising party.Was it only a couple of days ago?
How and when had he learned her real name, and why had he written it on a folder hidden in his desk?
Her heart resumed its furious beating as she flipped open the folder and skimmed through its contents. This was a report prepared by Townsend Security, whom Tristan apparently hired to investigate her. Her name jumped out at her from the paper. Her alarm grew with every word she read.
Her hands shook, and she had to lean against the desk to keep from pitching forward. His security firm knew who she was, knew her real name, which meant Tristan also knew, although he’d called her Zoey. Her gaze flew to the date on the report.Yesterday.All the while Tristan had made love to her, he’d known her real identity.He knew, and yet he’d stayed silent.He’d used her.
She forced air into her starved lungs. He knew who she was, he knew her family. He’d known she could heal before she’d confirmed it. He knew of Kinetica’s involvement. It was all there in a typed memo, and yet, he hadn’t told her. Instead, he’d slept with her. He slept with her so she would…the truth crashed around her shoulders like an icy thunderstorm, drenching her in panic.
Her legs buckled, and she sat in the chair, still clutching the folder, her hands and heart and lungs ice cold…so cold.
My God, he’d pretended like he hadn’t known she could heal, when it was spelled out on page one of the report. He’d deliberately made her fall in love with him, then asked her to heal his mom, pretending ignorance. He’d taken advantage of what she freely offered. Could he be working with Kinetica? Was this an elaborate plan to use her to heal his mom and then hand her over to that horrendous organization?
Her stomach pitched, and she placed a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t vomit. She stood. She had to get out.Now.
She turned to go, but it was too late. Tristan stood in the doorway, watching, a frown on his handsome face.
ChapterTwenty-two
“It’s not what you think,” Tristan said.
He held out his hand for the folder, but Lillian ignored him. She curled her lip and let some of the frigid cold in her veins leak into her voice. “It’s not a detailed report on me given to you by a security firm you’ve apparently hired to investigate me?”
“I had no choice. I asked you numerous times to tell me what or who you were afraid of, and you refused to confide in me.”
She had to hand it to him—he didn’t back down. His voice rang with the confidence of a man used to going after what he wanted without regrets.
