chapter four
Sydney looked at the long trail of abandoned houses lining Bakery Street and wondered if she’d been an idiot to take on such a project.
It was bad. Real bad.
“What do you think?”
She practically felt the challenge tingeing his tone, as if he was looking forward to her freak-out. Yes, it was a massive undertaking, but she was of the mantra “Go big or go home.”
She was going big—with or without his support.
“I think we’ll have our difficulties but will deliver. Why? What do you think?”
His gorgeous lip curled up. “I think we’re fucked.”
She shoved down her irritation and spun on her heel, stabbing her pen into the air. “Listen, I don’t need your negative energy on my project. If you don’t think you can get it done, I’ll be happy to grab Dalton or Cal.”
“They can’t handle a flip like this. Dalton will get obsessed with creating the perfect cabinet, and Cal will just want to rebuild everything. You’re stuck with me.”
His smug attitude only pissed her off further. She refused to deal with his snarky comments and his ridiculous polished appearance. She’d donned ripped, old jeans and a purple flannel shirt. At least her sneakers were pink with a small wedge heel for some type of femininity. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He’d shown up sporting a designer suit in crisp navy with a pink tie. What man had the guts to wear pink, especially to a job site? He should look metrosexual. Instead, he looked sexy and a touch bored, as if he’d just grabbed the first thing in his closet and thrown it on without care. She wished briefly for her own power suit and heels for some type of armor. She felt like a sixteen-year-old in her outfit, but she bucked up and refused to back down.
“Fine. Then I’d suggest an attitude adjustment. Let’s start with number thirty-two. I want to do a complete walk-through and tweak some of my designs.”
“It’s your party.”
She gnashed her teeth and stalked toward the first house. Her folder bulged with notes, Brady’s plans, and various sketches. She strode over remnants of trash and weeds in the front lawn, avoided the broken second step, and unlocked the front door. The rusty squeak scraped at her nerve endings.
“Ever see that horror movie with the guy who lives in a run-down house on an empty block and snatches women to keep in his basement?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“That’s good. ’Cause you would be freaked out right now.”
She shot him a warning glance and climbed the set of stairs leading to the first level. The raised ranch needed the most work out of all of them. With old shag carpeting, gold fixtures, and cheap countertops, the place screamed help me. They walked down the hallway. Each room seemed squeezed into its own private space, giving off the vibe of claustrophobia. The kitchen was a cube with white-finish appliances, peeling paint, and a vinyl floor.
“We need to open this wall,” she murmured, tapping the main one blocking up the view to the kitchen. “Brady said it’s not load bearing, so it’s a possibility.”
Tristan regarded the setup, tapping his index finger against his bottom lip. “Yes, but if you remove this wall, the moment you climb the stairs you’re staring into the kitchen. Sure, it gives you open concept, but it’s not aesthetically pleasing, and that’s the first moment you get to impress a visitor.”
She cocked her head, considering. He’d always been brilliant in his vision for what worked well in a house. He respected each one for its individuality and never tried to force a concept for either ease or stubbornness.
It was so much easier to fight an attraction when the man didn’t have a brain.
She never got tired of learning about the give-and-take of redesigning a home. It was endlessly challenging and creative, with no black-and-white answers. It was strictly a personal preference, yet when flipping, the design needed to appeal to the general consumer. In this case, she needed to have Adam’s goal in mind, yet keep to cost while offering Realtors something unique to sell.
“What would you suggest, then?”
He crossed his arms, leaned against the same wall they discussed, and cocked his head. “What do you think?”
She clenched her fists under her clipboard. It was obvious he didn’t think she could handle this job and was testing her. He wanted to play games? Fine. Maybe it was time to show him what she’d learned while he was away all those years.
Sydney spoke in cold, clipped tones. “I’d suggest removing not only this wall here but this one separating out the living room. We’d do a built-in wall cabinet here so they don’t lose organization space.” Her pink Skechers made no noise as she walked farther into the kitchen. “We keep the appliances on the right wall, upgraded to stainless steel, but on the far wall, we add a small back deck with glass sliding doors. The view is gorgeous with all the trees in the background. Then when you climb the stairs, your first impression is of the deck.”
He kept his face expressionless, but the gleam of interest in his amber eyes gave him away. He followed her in and peeked out the small window hiding the glory of the backyard, now shrouded in overgrowth. “A deck and glass doors is another expense for Adam. It may be well over budget.”
“Not if we keep it average size with basic materials. We keep the luxury items to the finishes in the kitchen and bath. Dalton can build the deck and cabinetry quickly enough, with an incremental increase. It’ll be worth it.”
“Are you going to be the one to tell Dalton he needs to build an average deck and cabinet without getting creative?”
It was hard keeping the small smile from her lips. Dalton was known as the Wood Whisperer, and his projects compared to works of fine art. He had a bit of an artistic temperament and despised cookie-cutter projects that didn’t add to the visual appeal of a home.
“With a plate of brownies, I convinced Brady to deliver plans in twenty-four hours.”
Amusement laced his words. “Brady was always an easy target. Dalton is more temperamental.”
“Not if I deliver the five-layer chocolate cake,” she said with a sigh.
His brow shot up. They both knew about Dalton’s obsession with Hershey’s Kisses and any type of baked goods. “The one with the shavings and cherries in the middle?”
“That’s the one.”
“Damn, you are serious. Will you have time?”
“If I want the damn deck done, I’ll find the time.”
Their gazes met, and they shared a smile. For one second, pure understanding passed between them, bringing her back to the days when they’d meshed perfectly—both in and out of bed. She’d always appreciated his subtle sense of humor. He was more laid-back and reserved than his brothers. Too often it translated to him not being noticed amid his noisy, loud family. How many times had she gazed at him while he stood on the sidelines, wishing he realized how truly special he was?
Her smile faded, and she shoved away the memories. They no longer had a place here, and she needed to stick to work. “I have to do a quick check in the attic. Need to see whether it’s viable space that can be renovated or just enough for storage.”
“I’ll go with you.”
His phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he waved his hand in the air. “Give me a minute. I need to take this.”
He drifted away, talking to a client, and Sydney dropped her purse on the floor. Silly to wait for him when it would only take a minute. She headed down the hall, grabbing the step stool Brady had placed during his last visit, and climbed up. It took her a while to work the rusty lock the past family had installed, which made her wonder what they’d kept up here. A shiver worked down her spine. Creepy stuff.
The door was barely functional, so that would need replacement ASAP. Definitely a safety hazard.
With a quick jump, she managed to wiggle up the last foot, barely making it thanks to her lack of height, and got in. Grabbing a large stick nearby, she propped open the hatch. Damn, she’d forgotten a flashlight. She’d tell Tristan to bring up his cell phone when he was done.
She walked the attic with slow, careful steps, noting the rotted wood, low beams hanging with cobwebs, and the one dirty window. Hmm, definitely not worth restoring for an extra room. They’d need to replace the door and lock, clean it up, and call it a day.
What was that on the window?
She squinted, moving closer, then stopped. Her mouth fell open.
Bars.
Holy hell. Maybe someone had been locked up here!
Not usually spooked, she felt goose bumps pepper her arms. Nope, she was outta here. Enough recon done for now.
She turned, but a low scratching suddenly rose in the air.
What was that?
“Tristan?” she squeaked. His voice rumbled from outside. No, still on the phone. “Hello?”
Another movement. Was that red cloth thing moving? Frozen to the floor, she watched in horror as the bulge shook, and another scratch echoed.
Oh, my God.
She had just managed to unstick one of her feet to run for her life when the red cloth jumped. With a high-pitched squeak, a furry body shot out across the attic, heading right for her.
“Agh! Help!”
The scream exploded from her lips. She jumped up and down, still screaming, as the creature passed her and frantically scuttled around, bumping against the walls in a desperate attempt at escape.
Mouse.
“Sydney!” Her name split the air, and suddenly Tristan was diving upward through the space. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Mouse! Mouse!” A whimper broke through her lips. “Get it!”
“You gave me a heart attack for a mouse? Woman, I thought you were in real trouble!”
She hissed through gritted teeth, “I am! Get the damn mouse or I’m going to lose it.”
Muttering under his breath, he turned toward the frantic creature and grabbed a wooden stick. “Come on, buddy, out this way.”
“You’re not going to kill it?”
“Do you want me to hurt an innocent creature of God?”
She shot him a withering look. “Fine, just get it. I have to get out of here!”
He took the stick, urging the mouse toward the open hole of the exit, and she watched in horror as the creature dove out of the attic, falling through the empty space, and disappeared.
She jumped up and down, rubbing her hands over her arms to rid herself of the chills. “Oh, my God, that was so gross. Now he’s in the house!”
Tristan shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re afraid of a mouse. I swear, Syd, don’t do that to me again.” He walked over to the attic door and turned, and the stick knocked out the flimsy support, swinging the hatch closed.
The loud crash made her jump, and she glared at him. “Nice work,” she gibed. “This place is creepy. I want out of here now.”
He glared with pure disgust. “Fine. I told you to wait for me in the first place, but no, not you. Miss Independent has to climb into the attic all by herself and disturb the poor mouse.”
Irritated and still jumpy, she pushed him aside and leaned over to pull open the door. “I’ll be sure not to call you if I ever need saving,” she shot out, yanking at the flimsy handle.
The door didn’t budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“I’ll get it.” He pulled. Nothing. Frowning, he knelt down and jerked the handle hard.
The metal ripped off the rotted wood.
Blinking in confusion, he stared at the handle in his hands. Then down at the door. “It broke.”
“Yeah, so just bust through it or something.”
He gave her a withering look. “I can’t just bust through it like in the movies. The damn handle came off. That’s how we get out.”
She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. “What do you mean? Just get us out!”
“Give me a minute, okay?” He took his time trying to jiggle the door open, then examined the handle. When there seemed to be no movement, he took the stick and began crashing it against the wood.
The door held tight.
He rose to his knees. “I think we’re locked in.”
“No. We can’t be locked in here. It’s impossible.”
“Well, since the door isn’t opening and we’re stuck in the attic, I guess it is possible.”
She took the stick and began smashing it against the door, like a crazed person on a mission to break open a birthday piñata. “Whoa—slow down, slugger,” he said, grabbing her arms. Out of breath, she glared at him, then the door. “Are you afraid of small spaces or something? You never had those fears before.”
“No, but I think something bad happened in this attic. There are bars on the window. And that lock on the outside is just plain weird. What if there are ghosts in here?”
His lips twitched. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Just relax. We’ll call someone. Where’s your cell?”
“In my purse.”
“Where’s your purse?”
She glowered. “Downstairs.”
“Fuck.” The amusement faded to frustration. “Why would you leave your purse downstairs? You take it everywhere.”
She blew out a breath. “Not in an attic! Let’s just use your cell to call someone. Have them come spring us.”
A strange expression flickered over his face. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I dropped my cell phone in a race to save your life when you started screaming.”
It took a few moments to realize they were trapped together in a haunted attic with no idea who would eventually come looking for them—or when.
Then she really did want to scream.
Tristan had an urge to pull her against his chest, wrap his arms tight, and whisper in her ear that everything would be okay. She infused a raw need in him to either fuck her senseless or shower her with tenderness. It was like a pendulum—he never knew which need would hit him first, but it always came with a degree of intensity that surprised him.
Like it did right now.
Instead, he kept his hands firmly tucked away from temptation and spoke with authority. “I mentioned our trip to Cal, so I’m sure he’ll know where to look when we don’t answer our cell phones. Is your daughter okay?”
“Yes. Thank God, she’s with the sitter.”
“Good. So, all we have to do is sit tight and wait for someone to get us.”
“Great. Unless the demon ghost kills us first,” she muttered. She began pacing. The wood under her feet creaked dangerously.
“Let’s not test the floor foundation, too,” he said. Dragging over a dusty trunk, he swiped the surface halfway clean. “Sit.”
Blowing out a breath, she plunked herself down on the trunk and stretched her pink-clad feet out in front of her. Her ponytail had flopped to the side of her head, and fiery curls had sprung loose. Her purple flannel shirt was wrinkled and missing a bottom button. Her jeans had a hole in the knee.
His dick shot to life, and he smothered a groan. Great. She rocked the sexy librarian role in the office, and the girl-next-door look was even more appealing. His fingers itched to grab that ponytail, drag her toward him, and feast on those luscious, sulky lips. Unbutton that farmer-type shirt, yank her jeans down, and figure out the quickest way to stroke her to orgasm. It had never taken him long before. In fact, he’d just kiss her, and she’d be dripping wet, ready for his fingers to slide into her tight heat until she begged for more.
But that was then, and this was now.
He turned his back on her and pretended to check out the window so she wouldn’t spot his current condition.
“Hey, can you break the window and call for help?”
“Hard to shatter glass between steel bars. And since the block is deserted, yelling won’t help.”
“At least I’m trying to come up with ideas,” she shot back. “Why’d you have to go waving that stick around like a messed-up Jedi? If you hadn’t hit the door, we wouldn’t be in this mess and stuck with each other.”
He turned back around. Guess being locked in a room with him wasn’t her favorite thing. Her desperation to get away from him would’ve been funny if it didn’t bring a touch of annoyance. “Are you kidding me? First you didn’t listen to me when I told you to wait. Then you lost it over a silly mouse. This whole thing is your fault.”
Her chin rose a few notches. Emerald fire shot out at him. “You’ve been testing me from the moment we got here. I think you want me to fail so you can go back to your brothers and tell them ‘I told you so.’ You voted against me for CFO!”
The jab hit home. Guilt sprung up. “I don’t want you to fail,” he retorted. “And I just wasn’t sure if you were ready, that’s all. I had no idea you wanted more.”
“Why would you? You don’t know who I am anymore. You haven’t even talked to me since you got back home two years ago!”
He jerked back. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. Obviously she hadn’t planned to let out such a truth. They’d become masters at the art of non-conversation, avoidance, and the occasional snipe. When he’d been forced to return to Harrington for his father’s will and found himself back working for the company, he’d intended to keep the tension between them to a minimum. In the beginning, her betrayal had still bothered him. He was reminded of that scene each time he looked at her or her daughter.
But she wasn’t the same person who’d sent him away. Nor was he the same person who’d left. And maybe this distance was tearing apart pieces of them in a long, torturous process. Maybe it was time to try to move forward instead of living in the past.
“I didn’t know it bothered you,” he said quietly. She tore her gaze away. He waited for a few moments in silence, gathering his thoughts. “Syd?”
“It didn’t. Not at first. But I’m getting tired of the boxing match.” He lifted a brow in question. “A jab here. Uppercut there. I keep waiting for the knockout punch, but then we may not be able to work together. And we need to find a way to do that, Tristan.”
He let out a breath, then slowly nodded. She was right. He’d been so focused on fighting their physical attraction he’d forgotten his ruthless ability to close himself off. It was easier to treat her with a cold distance to keep her locked safely in the box of his past. He hadn’t allowed himself to really get to know the woman she’d become while he was away those five years.
“You’re right.” She looked at him with surprise. “I don’t think either of us were able to deal with each other at first. Then it became habit to avoid you or keep communication limited.”
“I want to be able to work together again.” A tentative smile touched her lips. “Or at least, I want us to try. I need you on my team for this project to succeed. I’m not pretending I can do this all alone, but I want a chance to prove myself and show what I can do for Pierce Brothers.”
His gut clenched. He might still have doubts, but he admired her tenacity and determination. She’d changed from the shy, uncertain girl who’d once looked to him to make all her decisions. This company meant something important to her. And God knows, she’d grown up in his household—more of a family member than a casual friend. She deserved his respect, and it was time he stopped questioning her abilities.
“I can give you that,” he said. “I want us to be able to work together. Move forward. I can try if you will.”
“I can try.” Her husky voice scraped across his nerve endings. The tentative smile grew bigger, until those lush lips were stretched into a joyous grin that did strange things to his insides. She’d always been an emotional giver—never afraid to soothe, nurture, touch. She cried big, laughed loud, and refused to shy away from silliness. It had been a long time since he’d been on the receiving end of one of her true smiles, and he remembered how special it felt, as if he were the only man in the world to make her happy.
He smiled back.
The connection always humming in the background exploded full force, filling the musty attic with an electric sexual surge that practically charged the air. Suddenly lust hit him, sending him to his knees with the urge to close the distance between them and kiss her, strip her, claim her. Because she’d always been his.
He stumbled back a step. The raw, primitive thoughts tangled with his arousal and put him into a brief panic. No, dammit. He’d just agreed to a truce, and he wasn’t going to get sidelined again by a connection fueled by the past.
“Can I ask you something?”
He shuddered and prayed she wouldn’t. What if she felt the same energy pulsing between them? What if she asked him questions he couldn’t answer—questions that haunted him in the night when his defenses were gone? His voice came out rusty. “What?”
Her beautiful face tilted up toward him. Her lips parted. Her eyes flickered with longing.
“You don’t happen to have a granola bar in your pocket, do you?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
“I’m so damn hungry.”
Her meaning cut through his clogged thoughts.
And then he laughed. She joined in, and for a little while, everything was good.
“What time is it?”
He shifted his weight. “About five minutes after the last time you asked me.”
She groaned. “It smells in here. I’m still hungry. And bored. What time is it?”
He glanced at the watch on his right wrist. “Five twenty-five. Six minutes after the last time you asked me.”
“Why do you wear expensive suits and jewelry to a job site?”
He frowned. “I don’t wear jewelry. You must have confused me with Dalton.”
“That silver watch has some bling,” she pointed out. “And your matching cuff links can be spotted a mile away.”
Irritation trickled through him. “This is man stuff, not jewelry. Dalton wore an earring and a man bun. Go give him a hard time.”
“I don’t like it when you look better than me,” she grumbled.
“Why don’t women understand how hot they are in a natural state? Sure, I love the suits and heels and red lips, but this is real. I’ll take this outfit on you any time.” Her mouth fell open, and he quickly backtracked, realizing he’d given too much away. “I mean, on all women,” he said.
“Right. Well, right now I have a headache, and I’d give my left arm for a bottle of water.” She reached up, ripping out her hair tie, and those fiery red strands broke free in abandoned glory. His gut clenched with the need to reach out and touch her hair. It had been so long. He’d always been obsessed with her curls and the way they wrapped tight around his fingers and hung on.
His mouth dried up. “Yeah, wish I had water, too,” he muttered. “We should be rescued soon. I heard my cell phone ringing down there steadily.”
She massaged her temples and stretched. “Distract me.”
Unfortunately, he could think of many pleasurable ways to distract her. Most of them involved his mouth, hands, and tongue. He bit back a groan and tried to focus. “Wanna tell scary stories?”
She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. “Hell no. Are you happy about Morgan and Cal getting married?”
He relaxed. This subject he could handle. “Definitely. It’s going to get lonely rattling around in the mansion alone. Dalton just moved in with Raven, and Cal will be closing on the new house. Lots of changes lately.”
“Is Cal taking the dogs?”
He nodded. “They belong to Cal, though we all love those goofballs.” Cal had rescued two mastiff puppies found chained to a tree and taken them in as his own. Now those puppies towered as big and tall as Tristan. They’d flunked out of obedience school twice and failed at listening to any commands, but they were full of love and affection, making everyone around them smile.
“Maybe you can get a dog, too.”
“Maybe. I’m more worried about what I’m going to do about dinner. Morgan spoiled all of us.”
“You didn’t cook when you were in the city?”
“Most of the time I was too busy. There were a ton of restaurants that delivered, and I ate out a lot with clients.”
“Your mom would be ashamed.”
He smiled, even though his heart felt a pang. His mom had been the only soft spot in his life, always there to support, comfort, or listen. Many times he wished for just one more day with her so he’d be able to apologize for ever taking her for granted. “She would’ve just told me to get married so my wife would cook.”
Sydney rolled her eyes. “That comment alone would’ve gotten you smacked. Your mom didn’t raise you to be like Brady.”
“True. Though, Brady has certainly changed since meeting Charlie.” He’d never seen his architect so smitten with a woman. Usually he was the one who was walking away if she didn’t follow the rules of what he believed was the perfect mate for him. “I wish Mom could’ve met Morgan, Raven, and Charlie. I think she would’ve liked them.”
“Me too.” A short silence descended. “I miss her so much. I miss sitting in her kitchen and watching her cook while she talked about you guys.”
His breath caught at the surge of warmth flowing between them. How many times had he entered his house to find Sydney in the kitchen laughing with his mom? She’d been the one to hold and comfort him when they found out about Diane’s death. She was the only one to truly understand what a hole his mother had left in all of their lives. His throat tightened with emotion. “I miss her, too,” he said softly. “You were like the daughter she never had. She used to warn me all the time about you.”
“Me? What could she have possibly warned you about?”
The words burst free, refusing to be caged. “She told me not to break your heart.”
Sydney sucked in her breath. Shock kept him still. His confession had come from deep within, but he wasn’t ready to accept or examine the memory. It was too raw, too fresh, and too terrifying.
He opened his mouth to change the subject or to make a lame joke—anything to change the emotional charge sizzling between them.
A loud creaking noise rose in the air, as if a rocking chair had begun to move or a footstep had struck a loose floorboard. An icy draft whooshed through, carrying a deep chill that prickled his skin with goose bumps.
WTF?
Sydney froze, eyes wide with fear. “Tristan?” she whispered, lips trembling. “Wh-wh-what was that?”
“Nothing. Just the attic settling. It’s an old house.”
A loud bang exploded in the room.
Suddenly Sydney screamed and hurtled through the air, right into his arms.
He staggered back a step, her legs and arms wrapped around him, clinging to him while she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He found his balance, hitched her higher, and settled his hands on her ass to keep her close.
“We’re going to die,” she moaned, her thighs clenching around his hips.
In that moment, Tristan realized he might.
Five foot five inches of pure woman surrounded him. The scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils, and her wild curls caressed his mouth and cheeks. The imprint of her full lips burned into the skin of his neck, her breath hot and ragged. Her ripe breasts pressed against his chest, the flannel a flimsy barrier to mask the hard tips of her nipples. His hands sank into the glorious full curves of her ass, and his dick notched in the perfect opening of her thighs.
His head exploded with sensual stimuli. He battled through the muck, desperately seeking focus. “Not gonna die,” he managed to mutter. “Just the wind.”
“That’s no wind or house settling. It’s a ghost, and he’s pissed at us for encroaching on his territory.” Her arms entwined around his shoulders, ripping a tortured groan from his lips.
“Sweetheart, you’re not going to die. I got you. See, the noise stopped already.”
Slowly she lifted her head.
Their gazes crashed together.
He watched her pupils dilate as fear turned to arousal. Her lips parted, and she arched into him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the simmering heat cranked up to a scorching fire, and in moments he was rock hard and crazed for more. The past merged with the present until nothing mattered but tasting her honeyed sweetness just once. Just once . . .
“Tristan?”
It was a question. It was a demand. It was surrender.
He ducked his head and covered her lips with his.
Home.
The word repeated in his mind like a mantra as he plunged his tongue between her lips and rediscovered her. She was hot and wet, tasting like spun sugar, and he explored her mouth, licking and sucking in a mad quest to devour her whole. This was no polite introduction or tentative curiosity. This was no-holds-barred hunger, dragging him down into a dark abyss where pleasure demanded and ruled.
She welcomed every stroke of his tongue and gave it all back, moaning wildly against him, clutching at his shoulders and squeezing her thighs tight in her own feminine demand. Man to woman, mate to mate, the primitive carnality of the kiss shook him to the core, ripping away his illusions of his previous lovers and leaving him aching for her and only her—the woman who’d broken his heart years ago. The woman who he’d never truly been able to forget.
He bit her lower lip, captured her sexy little moan, and slid his tongue back in, plundering the depths of her mouth in a possessive, explosive kiss that went on and on and—
“Sydney! Tris! You up there?”
The voices penetrated the sexual fog like the clean slice of a knife. He ripped his mouth from hers, breathing hard, and stared down at her. Shock filled her dazed emerald eyes. Her lips were swollen and moist, and her breath came in tiny pants. As if in a dream, he slowly let her slide down his length until her feet hit the ground.
Oh, fuck.
What had they done?
She backed away like he was the ghost who’d terrified her and quickly turned from him.
He cleared his throat. “Here!” he managed to call out. “We’re up here in the attic!”
The clatter of the ladder and a curse drifted upward. After a few hard bangs, the door crashed open. Footsteps clattered on the steps.
His brother’s head poked in. “What the hell happened?” Cal demanded. “Everyone’s been worried sick, trying to track you down.”
“We got stuck,” he said.
Cal glanced back and forth between them, a frown creasing his brow. “You gotta be kidding me. Where’re your cell phones?”
“We left them downstairs,” Sydney said. Her voice was back to regular pitch, solid and coolly calm. Not breathy, with that sexy little hitch she gave when he kissed her. “The door handle broke off. Thank God you figured out where we were.”
Cal shook his head. “Took us a while to realize you were both MIA. This is one for the record books. Wait till Dalton finds out.”
Tristan groaned at his brother’s poorly hidden glee. “Yeah, and you can’t wait to tell him, like a little tattletale. Now move. We want to get the hell out of here.”
Cal disappeared. Tristan looked at Sydney. Her face told him everything he needed to know.
The kiss had never happened.
Slowly he acknowledged the hit, refusing to analyze the strange curl of pain in his gut. She met his gaze with a calm detachment that pissed him off. Like she’d never jumped into his arms, kissed him back, and practically begged for more.
He followed her down the stairs and told himself it was better this way. But on the car ride home, the memories leaked through, reminding him of how things had started . . .
“Where’s the Ackerson contract?” Tristan called out. His fingers flipped through the cabinet with pure impatience. “It’s missing. Is anyone listening to me?”
“I am.” The throaty voice came from behind his left shoulder. The scent of orange blossoms and musk drifted in the air. It took him a moment to realize it was her. When had she stopped smelling like baby powder? And her high-pitched voice had somehow deepened, reminding him of smoke and sex. “Here it is. Cal had it to finalize some of the building permits.”
He spun around and found her way too close. Practically bumping into the cabinet, he took the file and tried to ignore the naked interest in her green eyes as she looked at him. That had changed, too. From a girlish adoration to a young woman’s eagerness to experiment. His pants tightened, and he barely held back an embarrassed flush. Holy shit, when had he started thinking of Sydney Greene as a woman? She was a baby, right? Well, not that eighteen was a baby any longer, but this shift of dynamics was starting to throw him.
She was off-limits, and he’d better get his shit together.
“Thanks. Sorry, I’m in a hurry.”
“You always are.” Her smile was less look at me and more I’m in charge. Even her wardrobe had changed. She’d taken to wearing business suits, with short skirts, white button-down blouses, and proper jackets. The combination had a strange effect of making him want to discover what lay beneath. Her bare legs and heels were now a tease. “Hey, I need to go over some things with you. Have time to share a sandwich with me?”
Uneasiness slithered down his spine. Of course, it was stupid. He usually shared lunch with Sydney when they needed to work. It was no big deal. “Sure. Order me a—”
“Chicken with roasted peppers. Got it.”
She tilted her head, and those curls slid over her cheek. He used to pull on them when he teased her. Lately he’d held back, because he wanted to linger and see if they felt as silky as they looked. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She retreated, her ass swinging, and he smothered a groan. If his brothers had a clue about the way his thoughts were rearing, they’d beat the crap out of him. His father, too. Sydney was like his daughter, and he treated her like a pampered princess. And his mother? Well, his mother already seemed to suspect his sudden interest. The last time Syd had come to dinner, Diane spent most of the night staring at both of them with a thoughtful expression on her face.
Maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been a while.
He pushed away his confusing thoughts and worked for the next hour, trying to set up a proposal to get his father to finally allow him to flip a property and see how they could make money. It was getting old the way Christian only listened to Cal. Dalton was happy enough working on the wood aspects, but Tristan was left cleaning up all the leftover details, from paperwork and accounting to dealing with suppliers. He wanted to get dirty and renovate houses, implementing some new designs.
The door opened, and Sydney came in. As usual, she’d laid out the sandwiches on plates and plopped an iced tea on the blotter. She slid gracefully into the leather chair opposite his desk and glanced at her planner. He tried not to focus on the couple of inches of bare thigh exposed by her crossed legs.
“Your dad wants you to take a meeting tomorrow at three p.m. with the new granite place,” she said, pursing her red lips. When had she switched from bubblegum gloss? He shifted in his chair and grabbed his sandwich.
“Not doing it. I have a meeting to see if I can secure some property.”
A tiny frown creased her brow. “He’s gonna be mad.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m getting tired of not having my voice heard around here. I’m not a lackey to take his meetings.”
Pure empathy radiated from her jade-green eyes. He relaxed an inch. Sydney always understood and backed him at every turn. Even now he could tell her brain was clicking to try to find a way to help him. “Do you want me to take the meeting? I can take notes, and if there’s a problem, I can text or call you.”
He could go toe-to-toe with his father again or allow her to do it. This time it’d be easier to keep the peace until he knew he could purchase the property. “Thanks, Syd. That would be great.”
“Welcome.” She smiled, and their gazes met, and his heart suddenly started beating way too fast. “I need to get out of here on time tonight, though.”
“Sure. Going out with your friends?”
“Nope. Got a date.”
He stilled. “Didn’t know you were dating someone,” he said casually. “What’s the matter? Hiding him from us for some reason?”
His teasing seemed to fall flat, but she just shrugged, shifting a little so her skirt slid higher. He couldn’t keep his gaze from flicking down for one brief moment. Her golden skin looked smooth and soft, and those wicked heels seemed too mature for her to wear. What was going on with her lately?
What the hell was going on with him? Sydney was . . . family. An annoying little sister but someone he loved. Lately she made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t know how to handle it.
“Christian wouldn’t approve,” she flung out. “He’s a bit of a bad boy. Rides a bike.”
A low growl rose from his chest. “Syd, that’s not a good idea. Where the hell did you meet him?”
“That bar down on South.”
His ears rang. His blood pressure cranked up a notch. “You’re not legal drinking age! Are you fucking kidding me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Tris, you and your brothers have been drinking at that bar since you were seventeen. I’m careful. I always go with a group of girlfriends.”
“Are they going on your date with you tonight?” A touch of bitterness leaked into his voice.
“No. But I can take care of myself.”
“No, you can’t, dammit. Cancel.”
Suddenly she leaned forward. Her proper white blouse gaped open, giving him a glimpse of her lacy white bra cupping full breasts. Dear God, when had she filled out? “If you want me to cancel, Tris, you need to give me a good reason.”
Shock hit him. The woman across the desk was barely recognizable, from her flirty eyes to her pouty mouth and crackling sensuality. For a while, he couldn’t move. He just stared into her heated green eyes and fought a surging arousal that was strangling him, pulling him down into a seething pit of pure temptation. He imagined himself walking around his desk, pulling her to her feet, and taking her mouth in a punishing kiss.
He also knew she wouldn’t fight him. Oh, no, she’d open her mouth under his and take his tongue deep and arch into him, her hot little body for the taking.
Because she was meant for him.
The shock morphed into panic. His sandwich dropped from his hands, and he rolled his chair back, desperately needing more distance. “Umm, how about we talk about this later? Listen, I’m sorry, I forgot I have to make an important call on this deal.”
Disappointment flashed in her eyes. “Sure. No problem.” She grabbed her stuff and stood up. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Her words dripped with meaning. His dick pulsed, making him feel like a damn teen boy. “Yep. Thanks,” he choked out.
When she shut the door behind her, he was able to breathe, but he knew in that moment everything had changed.
Sydney had grown up, and he’d finally noticed. The real problem would be keeping the necessary distance between them until the urge faded. Besides being part of his family, she worked at Pierce Brothers. Getting involved with her would be an epic disaster, and he had enough to deal with lately with his father and brothers. They were fighting all the time, having different views of how the company should go. The closeness among them had vanished. Even his mother was having trouble getting them to communicate or even to spend a meal together any longer. Something was going to break, and soon.
He needed to make sure he stayed away from Sydney.