“Make sure you don’t forget,” Rowan said.
“And you make sure you stay away from my sister,” she responded.
“Don’t worry; if she comes within fifty meters of me, I’m running in the opposite direction. I’m no Prince Charming.”
“Yes, Skip,” she said sarcastically, “you’ve quite proven that.”
A knock on the door broke the staring contest.
“Probably your escort.” Rowan moved around her, making her step away from the door. He looked through the peephole before shaking his head. “Like this day could get any worse.”
Then, he pulled it open.
Tristan looked back and forth between the two of them.
He covered his surprise and confusion quickly but not fast enough for Rowan or Ele to miss it.
His head tilted as he tried to puzzle it out. “What’s going on?”
“I was just leaving,” Ele said at the same time Rowan said, “She was just leaving.”
20
5 July
Chicago, Illinois
Tristan and Rowan shared a look and assurances.
Nothing here, mate.
I know.
Then, Tristan slid his hand into Ele’s and started to his room. They didn’t speak as they walked quickly to get out of the way of a potential audience. When they reached his room, Tristan unlocked it, holding the door for Ele.
As the door closed, Tristan let go of his tightly held control. He stopped her forward progress with a not-so-subtle yank on her arm. She came back around, and he maneuvered her up against the door, pinning her with his body. There was no gentle approach, no light kisses. His lips took hers. She opened under him, and he dipped into her mouth, communicating all of his angst from the morning.
Tristan was a doer. Standing on the sidelines this morning when Ele had been open and exposed was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. His impulse was to rush into the fray, pull her out of the masses, and get her to safety. When her fears took over and that mask of stone slammed down on her features, Tristan knew exactly what was happening to her. Only her panicked plea and Nico’s hand on his arm had made him hold his ground. The restraint of those long moments broke free in his kiss. He communicated all of that with the demands of his teeth and tongue. He couldn’t give in to it earlier. But here, in the privacy of his hotel room, he poured it all into her, and she absorbed his helplessness.
When they came up for air, she soothed him. Her hands moved up and down his back, and he accepted her assurances.
“Thank you for today,” she whispered against his neck, the movement of her mouth against his flesh a kind of sign language. “Knowing you were there helped. I know it was hard for you to do nothing, but doing nothing was actually something.”
She pulled away, and he looked down at her.
“You understand that, right? What you did, which I know you think was nothing, was exactly what I needed.”
Then, she slid right back into her space, tucked under his chin, her hands wrapped around him. Tristan dissolved into her. They remained like that for a moment, leaning up against the door, holding each other.
He’d been off all day. Through the remainder of practice and the travel back, his disorientation had grown, distancing him from what was happening around him. Other people rarely affected Tristan’s moods. He careened through life, dictating his own happiness, his own way. Having his mojo linked to Ele was something he would have to adjust to.
Ele pulled away from him. “I need to talk to you about something,” she said.
Walking into the tiny living space in his room, she sat on the love seat. She patted the space next to her. Tristan followed slowly. But instead of sitting next to her, he climbed over the back and perched on the arm. With his legs bent, he dropped his elbows onto his knees and waited for her.
“I went to Rowan’s room to explain to him what had prompted”—she fidgeted in her seat, smoothing her hands along her thighs—“the kiss.”
Tristan didn’t fight his smile. As pissed off as Rowan was about what had happened and as complicated as it made his life, that kiss was hot. It would forever be fodder against Rowan, but Tristan snickered when he thought about it.