He swept her up in his arms, murmuring, “Turned ankle,” to the onlookers as he casually took them out of the ballroom.
“Tristan, what are you doing?”
She was quite sure she heard him mumble anI don’t know, yet he kept walking until they reached a small room.
Iris had no idea what to expect. Neither did the butterflies inside of her.
Chapter 5
“Tristan?” Her stomach was triple tied in knots. Once, for the look on his face—it was one she had never seen before. Twice, to try and harness all the butterflies loosened inside from his touch. And thrice for the fear that he might possibly be about to tell her that they had to drop this facade earlier than expected. She wanted more time. More time with him. As hers.
He pushed open the door with his backside and then kicked it shut, holding her to his chest in the dark. His breaths were rapid, shallow. Matching hers.
“Iris, I have to tell you something.”
“I think you should put me down for this.”
“I just want to hold you. Like that night.” A beat passed and he didn’t have to explain further because she knew the night he was referring to. “Under the stars. When the four of us slipped outof that house party and spent the night together. How old were you? Nineteen?”
“Nineteen.” They said at the same time. “I remember.” She tried to keep the emotion out of her voice because she didn’t know which emotion to lead with. Fear or hope. That night had been the most bittersweet of her life. The happiest, lightest, fluffiest she had ever felt, and then…nothing. Could he possibly be recalling the good part of that night? Or was this an argument in the makings?
“I just want to hold you, like that night. Even if you call another man’s name, I need you in my arms—”
“What?” she practically shrieked, scrambling out of his hold until she was standing upright. But he still didn’t let go. It wasn’t aggressive, but it was…possessive. His hands on her hips.
“I don’t care, Iris. I just need to hold you. Let me have you for a short while—”
“I didn’t say another man’s name, Tristan.” And then she recalled with perfect clarity what happened. They had snuck into the woods, into a little fort they had made as children. They wanted to spend the night all together. She couldn’t remember whose idea it was, but if there were four of them it didn’t seem as scandalous, so they all agreed.
When they climbed the tree, the space was small and the men decided that the two women should be in the middle. Tristan took the outer side next to Iris, and she couldn’t have been happier. But somehow, very quickly into the night, the other two fell asleep, and it was just her and Tristan. She could feel his every movement. His breath. And she shivered. And perhaps she inched her backsider closer to his chest because then his arms were around her. Protective. Warm. And she could feel him all around her, but she could also feel him inside of her. In her soul. The place she had always saved for him.
His nose found her ear and asked if she was warm. She shook her head, and he pulled her closer. Which she didn’t think was possible.
She wanted to touch him the same way, but she didn’t dare turn around. Instead she feigned sleep. After only a few minutes, she could feel something hard pressing against her bottom and it unleashed something wild in her. Wanting to move, she pushed closer. His groan met her soft whimper.
“Don’t move like that, Iris.”
“Mmm…” she moaned back, still pretending to be asleep. Languidly, she turned her head over her shoulder. His lips were right there. So close. She could feel them. But she couldn’t possibly kiss him. Not when they weren’t even alone. It took all of her willpower, but she turned her head back toward where her sister Violet lay next to her. Her body felt wicked despite the good girl she was.
And it was both the easiest and hardest thing to do to actually fall asleep in his arms, but she willed herself to do it, otherwise she’d find herself on top of him.
That willpower was not to last long. In the middle of the night, his body wrapped around hers, she awoke to his heat. And all she could think was that she wanted more. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand and pulled it up to her breast, squeezing. She shuddered, pushing herself back into his hard length. God, she wanted so much more.
But she couldn’t.
“Iris,” he moaned.
And then the worst thing happened. She saw Alex’s sleepy head pop up slowly. Fear tore through her. What could Alex see? What would he say? She had to calm him down quickly, reassure him that nothing was amiss. That no, she was not in the middle of exploring her undiscovered passions with her best friend. Andthat no, she was not about to turn around and devour Tristan while there were two—albeit sleepy—witnesses.
So instead of calling back to Tristan, telling him to pause, she directed her voice to the other man in the room. The more imminent threat.
It was gentle. She merely said, “Go to sleep, Alex.” And he did.
But the moment with Tristan was over. Movement had ceased. Ardour had cooled. Breathes lengthened. Still, Tristan held her all night. But that was it. The night was over.
She hadn’t realized until now that Tristan thought she mistook him for Alex.
“Tristan, I knew it was you holding me. I didn’t call you Alex. I saw him wake up and told him to go back to sleep.”