Shame (Ruin 3)

“Thank you.” Heat raced into my cheeks as I stared hard at his chest. “For the ride.”

Laughing, Tristan pulled away and shoved his hands in his pocket. “Oh, Lisa, you really don’t want to say things like that to me, not when you look that beautiful, and not when my self-control already waved goodbye two hours ago.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Dinner?”

I twisted my hands in front of me, excited and nervous at the prospect of being alone with him a few more hours. “That depends.”

“On?” His smile was so sexy I almost moaned out loud.

“Your self-control.”

That sexy smile grew so wide I darn-near fainted.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman…” He held out his hand.

I took two steps.

And then he added, “…until you ask me not to be.”

With a whoosh all the air left my lungs. I took his hand and squeezed. “Overconfident today, are we?”

“Hopeful.” Tristan tugged me into his chest. “Just really damn hopeful.”

With a lame laugh I pushed past him, staggering into the hallway, feeling drunk off the looks he was giving me, off the feeling he gave me by just being him. Not caring about who I was then, but who I was now.

“So…” Tristan placed his hands on my shoulders and led me into the kitchen. “…how about I cook, and you tell me one more thing.”

“One more thing?”

“That you miss — that he stole from you.”

Yeah, I about swallowed my tongue, because there were a lot of things he’d stolen the joy from, that much was true; but there was one thing in general that had hurt the most. He’d stolen my pride in myself, what it felt like to feel beautiful to a man. He’d stolen what a guy never had the right to steal — my self-confidence.

Tristan pulled out a pan and began rummaging around the kitchen. I chewed my lower lip while he reached for a knife.

“Sex,” I blurted. “He stole sex from me.”

The knife in Tristan’s hand clattered to the countertop. His entire body tensed as his fingers pressed into the hard granite — knuckles white. He swore violently before finally turning around and facing me. I knew he’d turned because I’d been watching his body — not his face, definitely not his eyes because eyes revealed too much. And to see his pity? Well, I wasn’t really sure I could handle that, wasn’t sure if my confidence would suddenly crack, and I’d burst into tears.

“Lisa,” Tristan barked. “Look at me.”

Slowly, I lifted my chin.

Tristan’s gray eyes were blazing. I wasn’t sure if it was hatred or something else… something far more possessive. “No guy has the right to take that from you.”

I nodded, my throat swelling with emotion.

“Just like no guy has the right or power to give it back,” he whispered, his voice tinged with a bit of sadness, maybe even regret. “Listen very carefully… you are the only one with the power to take it back, but you have to make a choice.”

“I suck at choices.” I played with the empty glass in front of me, twirling it between my hands.

“No you don’t.” Tristan walked around the bar. I could feel the heat of his body behind me as he placed his hands on the counter on either side of me. His lips touched my ear. “You give power to it when you feed the fear. When you keep his memory alive.”

“You think I want that?” I snapped, trying to push away from him. I was trapped by his hands instantly.

“No.” He kept a firm hold on me. “I think you believe you can’t help it, but you can… you can help it. Don’t give him that satisfaction. Don’t feed his power by keeping his voice, the voice of a liar, in your head.”

Tristan removed his hands and walked back around the counter and started cooking again, while I sat there, stunned, a bit hurt, and confused. Why couldn’t he just make it easy and sleep with me? Why couldn’t he chase the demons away It would work. It would have to work.

Then again, what would happen in the morning? When I was all alone again…