chapter eighteen
Sydney stiffened as the door shut behind her.
The last of the wedding guests had finally departed. The caterers and servers had cleaned up. The kitchen sparkled, the leftovers were neatly packed up, the remains of the cake had been stored in the freezer for their first anniversary.
No trace remained of the wedding, which only made the day seem more like a dream than reality. She swayed on her bare feet and squinted as Tristan’s image blurred into two.
Yep. Shouldn’t have had that last glass of champagne.
Oh well, screw it. She was bone weary and sick at heart and craved some isolation and a soft bed. Maybe tomorrow she’d be stronger and more capable of dealing with the future. “I’m going to tuck Becca in,” she announced.
He walked into the kitchen. He’d shed his jacket. Unbuttoned the first buttons on his snowy-white shirt. His tie was unknotted. Her stomach did a low, slow flip at the strong column of his throat and the sexy mussed-up look of him. “We both will.”
She bit back her protest and forced a nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”
She turned a bit too fast, swayed again, and he clamped a hand on her arm. The shock of his touch skittered through her. “Need help?”
Damn him. She stuck her chin up like she wasn’t tipsy and aroused. “No, I’m fine.”
He dropped his hand. She stalked out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and found Becca in her new room. The walls were a muted pink, and she’d gotten a new furniture set in white. Her butterfly comforter was bright and colorful, and already she’d arranged her stuffed animals and books in neat piles on the shelves, hinting at an OCD trait she’d seemed to inherit from her father. She was dressed in her favorite Belle nightgown, with a frilly collar and a hem that hit the floor. Sydney sat on the edge of the bed, and Tristan stood behind her.
“Hey, baby. Did you enjoy today?”
“I loved it. You looked beautiful, Mama.”
“Thank you, but not as pretty as you.”
“Definitely prettier than Belle,” Tristan said seriously. She watched her daughter flush with pleasure. Emotion tightened her throat. Already the bond was tight between them, growing every hour they spent together. She was so happy the truth was revealed, and they were both free to love each other. Tristan was everything her daughter needed in a father now. She wondered whether everything would’ve been destroyed if she’d told the truth back then. They’d never know. Somehow, someway, Tristan needed to forgive her, or they’d end up tearing each other apart all over again.
Sydney sought her words carefully. “I know this was a big week for you, and lots of good things happened. We moved into the mansion and I got married, and you have a brand-new dad. Even though this is all great stuff, it’s okay to feel a bit nervous or stressed. You can talk to us about it. We won’t get mad or upset. We just want to be here for you.”
Her daughter frowned, thinking hard. “I was worried I’d have to go to a new school if we moved, but I didn’t, so I’m happy about that.”
“Good. Anything else?” Tristan asked.
“Can we get a dog now?”
“No,” Sydney said.
“Yes,” Tristan said.
They looked at each other. Becca turned hopeful, pleading eyes toward her father to break the tie.
“We’ll talk about it,” Sydney finally forced out. It was time to learn about compromise. She didn’t expect to keep making all the decisions regarding Becca, but she also didn’t want her daughter to feel like she could get anything she wanted because Tristan ached to make her happy. “Teeth brushed?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” She leaned over and kissed her, snuggling into the warmth of her body. “Hmm, minty fresh,” she teased, tickling her a bit. Becca giggled. “I’ll leave the night-light on. Mama will be next door if you need anything or get scared.”
“I have Mr. Ted Bear,” she said, hugging her teddy bear.
“I grew up in this house, honey,” Tristan said, switching places with Sydney. “Never saw a monster or bad thing in my life. Neither did Uncle Cal or Uncle Dalton. This is the safest place you’ll ever be.”
Becca smiled and held out her arms for a hug. The look on Tristan’s face stole Sydney’s breath. She backed up, shifting her gaze. It was just too . . . much.
“Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you, too, Becca. Night.”
They switched on the night-light, shut the door halfway, and headed right. Sydney’s hand paused on the doorknob, exhaustion seeping into her muscles. The throbbing in her head warned of more to come. “Well, good night,” she said, refusing to turn. “See you in the morning.”
She tried to close the door behind her, but he followed her in.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted a brow and began unbuttoning his cuffs. “Going to bed. I’m tired.”
Her eyes widened. She must be imagining things. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this was going to be my room.”
“It is.”
With deliberate movements, he began removing his shirt, heading over to the dresser and opening the top drawer. The lean muscles of his back flexed as he riffled through items. She shook her head to clear it, then tried not to wince. “Wait, then why are you in here?”
“This is our room. We’re married now, and I refuse to use separate rooms. I won’t have Becca wondering why her parents aren’t sleeping in the same bed or questioning our commitment.”
It took a moment for the true knowledge to sink in.
“Oh, hell no,” she growled. “I am not sharing a bedroom with you! We never agreed on this, and you’re not going to bully me like you always do. You can set yourself up in the next bedroom. Becca won’t notice.”
He didn’t even turn around. Never missing a beat, he unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, leaving his gorgeous, perfect ass on display, cupped in black briefs. Her mouth fell open. Some weird sound came out, but she had no idea what it was—a protest or sigh of pleasure. Why, oh why, did he have to own a legendary ass?
“She will notice. Trust me, I’m too tired to ravish you tonight. The bed is a California king so as long as you don’t roll over, you won’t know I’m there. Though you’ve always been known to be a cuddler.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!”
He shrugged. Mostly naked, he turned to face her, his drool-worthy body on display for her greedy gaze. Reminding her of how good it was between them. How her thighs had ached deliciously in the morning. How her breasts were so sensitized just the brush of her cotton shirt made her tremble. How his fingers had coaxed her to orgasm so quickly and fully she’d begged him for more and more and more . . .
“Your choice. But you will be staying in this room. Take the floor or the chair, if you’re scared you can’t keep your hands off me. I’m taking a shower.”
Her mouth dropped open. He pivoted on his bare foot and disappeared into the bathroom.
A low moan escaped her lips. No. This couldn’t be happening. He dared threaten her? He couldn’t force her to sleep in the same bed with him, could he? Her mind was fuzzy and her intentions unclear. Her body raged to sneak into the bathroom, join him in the shower, and to hell with the consequences. But she refused.
Was she really going to allow him to bully her like this?
Hell no.
Setting her jaw, she changed in record time, ripping off her wedding dress and putting on stretchy yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt in dull gray. The most unappealing wedding night outfit ever created, she thought with satisfaction. She craved a shower, but she’d have to sacrifice for freedom. Tomorrow, when her head was clearer, she’d go over the rules of this relationship and set the boundaries. The water was still running, so she darted out of the bedroom and headed down the hall to the opposite end, grabbing an extra toothbrush and paste from Becca’s adjacent bathroom. She quickly brushed her teeth, washed her face, and ripped the pins out of her hair, tugging her fingers through the tangles. Each knot made a moan of pain rumble from her chest, but she was done in record time. Tiptoeing, she picked the second door on the left.
It was a more masculine-type bedroom decorated in rich burgundy and gold, outfitted with heavy teak furniture. She locked the door, stripped back the covers, and lay down in the crisp white cotton sheets.
Heaven. Safety.
Take that, Tristan Pierce.
She fell into sleep with a satisfied smile on her lips.
The dream unfolded like the mist shrouding a sunrise: slowly, completely, overtaking all the light and softening all the sharp edges to wrap her in comfort, urging her to let go and surrender to sensation.
The hot, hard length of his body pressed against hers. Her tight nipples dragged across his chest, causing her to arch upward for more. She sighed and softened. No need to fight in a dream. She was safe here. A sense of dizziness overtook her, and she clung harder to him, digging her fingernails into his muscled arms. Her name echoed in her ears, but she frowned, not wanting to wake up yet. She was so tired, and he felt so good. No one would know how badly she craved him.
She floated briefly in the air, then fell back into softness, cloaked in the delicious scent of ocean waves and clean soap. So good. She buried her face in his neck and breathed deep, scraping her teeth down the ridge of his throat, wrapping her legs around his so they were pressed hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and his erection pushed against the material of her pants. Her name echoed again, more urgently, trying to break the spell. No, she didn’t want to wake up yet. Just a few more minutes and she’d get Becca to school. Just a few more minutes . . .
A masculine groan rumbled in her ear. She spread her thighs wider in invitation, running her tongue along the length of his jaw, relishing his slight shudder. “Kiss me,” she demanded.
His lips crushed hers. His tongue dove deep and gathered her taste. She kissed him back, nipping his lower lip, soaking in the dirty curse words that emitted from his carved lips, wanting him to do everything bad to her, every delicious, sexy fantasy he’d ever had . . .
“Baby, if you don’t want me to rip off those pants and slide inside you right now, you better wake up and tell me no.”
Her hands slipped down and squeezed his pulsing length, so hard and thick, so ready. God, she loved dreams. He thrust into her palms, and then his mouth was taking hers again, pressing her hard into the mattress. Loose strands of her hair tickled her face, and she felt reality bite into the fantasy, a warning in her brain springing to life, telling her to wake up, wake up, wake up . . .
Her eyes flew open. Whiskey-colored eyes blazed into hers, fogged with lust and a fierce hunger that drove the breath from her lungs. Lips an inch away, face tight with tension, as if he was just holding himself back from the edge. Sexual arousal beat from him in waves. She stiffened, suddenly fearful. Blinking furiously, she tried to catch up, tried to remember why this was a bad idea, and then—
“No!” Panic hit. He’d carried her back to the master bedroom and laid her on the bed. She frantically tried to push him off her, and that hungry gaze narrowed in warning. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised himself up on his elbow, staring at her with a hard ruthlessness that stripped away her barriers. “That’s not what you were just telling me a second ago,” he reminded her. His gaze swept over her needy, aching body. Her nipples poked from the thin material of her shirt, begging for his mouth.
“I was sleeping and you took advantage of me.” She pushed again, trying to scramble out from underneath his body. Oh, God, she ached everywhere. Her panties were soaked, and her heart beat so hard she swore he saw. His nostrils flared as if he caught the scent of her arousal, and a hard smile touched his lips.
“Liar.”
“I mean it, Tristan. I’m not sleeping with you.” Her body raged in protest at her words, wanting him so badly she had to grit her teeth and hang on.
“You have to. I will not have my daughter questioning why her newly married, happy parents don’t sleep in the same room together. Do you really want to confuse her like that?”
She bristled with frustration. “No. But I’m not about to let you use me to slake a physical itch you have.”
His lower lip twitched. “Physical itch, huh? And you’re saying you don’t have the same spot you’d like scratched?”
“That’s right.”
“Then answer me one question.”
“What?”
His eyes burned a hot whiskey gold. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “If I slipped my finger into your panties, how wet would I find you?”
She let out a cry of outrage and punched at his chest. He only grinned in amusement at her temper, easily holding her off. “Get off me now!”
“Sure, baby.” He rolled over, his impressive erection straining his briefs. With a casual disregard, he walked to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers. He let out a deep sigh and turned to his side. “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you. Unless you ask nicely, of course. But just know, I happen to have a master key to every room in the house.” He plumped the pillow and let out a sigh of contentment. “Oh, and try not to snore tonight, okay?”
“I don’t snore!”
“Yeah, you do. Hopefully I’m too exhausted to care. Been a hell of a wedding day.”
She fumed in silence, her body stiff and unyielding as she lay beside him. If he even thought of trying to touch her, she’d kill him. Her heart pounded wildly as she listened to his breathing. Within minutes, Sydney realized he was fast asleep.
Oh, she hated him. Still pissed off, she climbed out of bed, gathering up all the extra pillows from the closet. She carefully stacked them down the middle of the bed, creating a wall between them. The temptation to sneak out again was great, but she was so damn tired.
She got back into bed, and her body slowly relaxed into the mattress. She was wet and achy between her thighs. Maybe she’d sleep for a bit, then leave. She’d have to find the damn skeleton key first. Still, when he woke up and found her gone, it would teach him a valuable lesson. He had a point about Becca, but she hated the way he ordered her around. He needed to be taken down a few pegs. She’d sleep with him when she was ready—on her terms. One day.
Yes, just a few minutes and then she’d prove her point.
In just a few minutes . . .
She drifted off to sleep.