WHY DID VICTORIA KEEP setting herself up like this? Every time she sought Tristan out, it ended up with her furious and retreating. She’d canceled her therapy appointment last minute today, to come up here and find him. She told herself it was because he needed this information right away.

She wanted to sit, but the bus stop bench was covered with snow. The frozen tears on her cheeks were because it was so chilly, her eyes were watering, nothing more.

The moment his voice had turned kind, she let herself forget their past. And it had backfired on her again.

“Victoria.” His voice cut through the night and made her pulse skip.

She’d refuse to react if she had a choice. She pasted on a flat expression and faced Tristan. “What?”

“Why are you waiting for the bus?”

That was what he asked first? At least it made it easier to stay mad at him. “Because Uber is fucking expensive up here on snow days.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to lead with that. I’m sorry—that’s what I should have said. What I wanted to say.”

“That’s nice.” She spoke through clenched teeth, as much to keep them from chattering as anything.

He took her hands between his, and the warmth that seeped through her gloves wasn’t all physical. “I’ll take you back to your car, if you’ll let me.”

“So you have another five or ten minutes to pepper me with sweetness and insults?” She was tempted, and not just because she was cold. She refused to let him screw with her head anymore.

“There are things I want to say, but I won’t if you’re not interested in listening.”

She should pull her hands back, but couldn’t find the desire. “You can say it here as well as you can there.”

“Come up to the cabin with me?” His eyes were soft and his tone sincere, and he looked so good. “Pizza rolls are in the car.”

“It’s not about pizza rolls.” She stepped back, breaking the contact between them.

“I know. It’s about the hot and cold. The fact that I’ve spent my entire life metering my words, and around you my filters fly out the window.”

“This is my fault?”

“I don’t think that for a second, but I can’t promise not to stick my foot in my mouth again. I’d still like your company and input for the night.”

His honesty sent cracks running through her defenses. “All right. But only because you’re pretty when you grovel.”

He chuckled and bowed, gesturing toward the parking lot. “I’ll take it.”

As she walked past, he rested his hand on the small of her back. It was a gesture she’d felt her entire life. Sometimes it made her skin crawl, mostly she ignored it. But every time Tristan did it, a dangerous current raced through her, trying to convince her she could get used to that kind of familiarity with him.

Best way to get past that was to stay on task. She was here to discuss the pending investigation. See if they could find the cause, if they knocked their heads together. “Do you have a plan of attack?” she asked, as he drove.

“I’m formulating one. Give me a few minutes, and you’ll be in awe of my genius.”

“I’m sure I will.” She tucked her amusement away, only letting enough out to be polite.

The conversations lulled as he drove, sinking into her lungs and making her want to gasp. It was an almost claustrophobic sensation—she wanted to find the easy banter they’d managed a couple of times. On the other hand, she didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or provoke him into saying the wrong thing.

Indecision bounced in her skull until she wanted to scream. She was used to being selective when speaking her mind, but this was ridiculous. She didn’t tiptoe around conversations for him or anyone.

“Mischa and I used to come up here.” She cringed the moment the words were out. There were some things she could bring up with more tact.

The twitch of Tristan’s eyebrow made her think he felt the same. “Did he take you up to the clearing?”

“No. What does that mean? It sounds creepy.”

A smile ghosted across his face. “I guess it does.”

“We came up here a few times in the spring. He insisted it was a good place and time of year to find my peace of mind.” She shouldn’t have gone down this path. It wasn’t one of her least favorite memories, but it did have some unpleasantness attached to it. “I only made the trip with him a couple of times. I hated it.”

“Why?”

Might as well finish the thought, since she started it. “I didn’t want to meditate my worries away. I wanted to talk to someone about them. I needed him to listen. To—” She swallowed the words before she could babble out of control and expose too much of herself.

At least she didn’t let slip that the only reason she ever agreed to the trips were they offered a twisted connection to Tristan. The biggest reason Mischa was familiar with the place was because Tristan had introduced him to it. “I like it better up here in the winter anyway.”

“A California girl like you?”

The light playfulness was enough for her to grasp and climb from the dip into her past. “I’m not a native. And yes.”

“Spring is supposed to be all about rebirth and hope though, isn’t it?” Tristan asked. “There’s a symbolism in that? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure that’s what Mischa would say.”

And he had. “It’s true. Everything is born anew in the spring. But by then, its path is already determined. If it fails, everyone sees, and it doesn’t have a choice but to continue on that path.”

Tristan glanced at her. “We’re talking about... flowers?”

“Sure. Why not?” She felt a smile threatening. “In the winter, nothing is decided yet. Will that flower hold on and bloom in the spring? Will it move to North Carolina instead?”

“Do you think that happens a lot?”

“Probably.” She shrugged. “Not that I’ve had a lot of tulips as close friends, but if you were a flower, wouldn’t you rather bloom in North Carolina than freeze-your-ass-off-Utah?”

“It’s not that bad. I live here by choice.”

“You’re not a delicate flower.”

“You don’t think? I’m wounded,” he teased.

She laughed out loud, catching herself off-guard. “Definitely not. You’re something more rugged. Like well-oiled leather treated with attitude.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I like it. And here we are, home-sweet-rental-home.”

The car slowed, and he pulled into the driveway. The cabin was one in a line of almost-identical; wood exterior, lamps and trim cast in wrought iron, and a sloped roof.

He waited for her at the front of the car, holding his duffel bag and the groceries as she climbed out. He held out his hand. “Maintenance shoveled, but there are still slick patches.”

“Thanks.” She rested her palm against his, and the familiar warmth from earlier seeped through her gloves. She didn’t care if ice was the excuse, and it was a good one in the heels she wore, she liked this feeling.

He let them inside. “I’d give the grand tour, but it’s not a big place. You can see the kitchen. The entrance to one bedroom is on the other side, other bedroom off the living room. I’m going to shed the rest of my gear. Make yourself comfortable.”

Easier said than done. Victoria left her shoes by the door, and hung her coat in the front closet. She wandered further into the house, tracing her fingers over the decor without making contact. The entire place screamed rental. Neutral colors. Paintings of the mountains, but no people.

What did Tristan’s house look like inside? The thought caught her off-guard, but curiosity kept her focused on the question. His office was an exercise in order. Shelves with books in alphabetical order, faced to the same distance from the edge. No stray paperwork.

To a casual observer, it might look as sterile as this property, but the digital frames he kept on his desk and shelves, with pictures of friends and family, were the hint of color that set it apart.

She shook the tangent aside, grabbed the groceries, and headed to the kitchen. She shoved the cold food in the freezer, then moved to the second bag. When she pulled out a box of donuts, a tray of brownies, and a small chocolate cake, she couldn’t help her smile.

“I wasn’t sure what kind you wanted.” Tristan’s voice startled her.

She whirled, a nervous laugh escaping. “Which one did you want?”

“The chocolate donuts. Spencer—another friend—used to make batches of donuts when we were growing up. When I was feeling rebellious, I’d indulge.”

An image flashed through her mind of teenage Tristan, trying so hard to stick to an athletic regimen, cramming a pastry in his mouth before he got caught. “I like it.”

Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she turned toward the flash of color. The corner of a magazine peeked out of a drawer. She tugged, and the issue of Teen People slipped free.

“I’ll-take-that.” Tristan grabbed for it, urgency in his voice.

She was about to hand it over, when she took a closer look at the cover. “Holy shit. This is you.” About fifteen years younger, with blond hair flopped over one eye, and wearing an Olympic sweater. The headline was Tristan Hough. Brains & Looks.

She shouldn’t laugh, she’d had enough of these with her face on them over the years, but a giggle slipped out. “You keep this in your rental property?”

“No.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, whirled her enough to threaten her balance, and snatched the magazine away.

She leaned more of her weight into him than she probably needed, to steady herself. “It just landed there by coincidence.”

He sighed and tucked the publication under his arm. “My sister stayed up here a few months ago. I’m pretty sure she has boxes of different magazines with me on them. She thinks it’s funny to leave them in random places for me to find.”

“Sounds like my kind of person. Love to meet her.” Did Victoria just invite herself to meet the family? “Unless you’re worried she’ll tell me all your deepest darkest secrets.”

“That’s some serious extortion-type material. She doesn’t know any of that.” He was grinning. “Anyway. You ready to hear my brilliant plan?” He nodded at his laptop on the dining room table.

“Absolutely.”

He plugged the computer in and set it in front of a seat at one end of the dining table. “We’re going to draw up a timeline around the property donation.” He scooted a second chair over, and gestured to it, pushing it in as she sat. “I want everything on it from both your side and ours.” He took his place in front of the laptop.

“I’ll give you whatever I have.”

“Perfect.” Tristan opened a spreadsheet and started typing. All traces of irritation and falseness were gone. His eyes shone with determination.

She fed him dates when he asked for them, specifying when she wasn’t sure. The longer he worked, the more she focused on his face than on the screen.

“The interview with—” His words stalled when he caught her gaze. “What’s up?”

In about two-point-five milliseconds, she considered and examined a dozen different options for brushing off his question. If she was going to stop second-guessing herself around him, now was the perfect time to start. “You make order look sexy.”

“If organization turns you on, I’m a fucking Adonis.”

“I already knew that, but this doesn’t hurt the image any.” She liked the taste of the flirting as it rolled off her tongue.

“I knew you liked me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

She giggled at the expression. “Don’t push your luck. I said you were sexy. There’s a difference,” she teased.

He tilted his head closer, stopping with his mouth inches from hers. “I can make you like me.”

“It’s not a challenge.” She was grateful her voice didn’t crack on the words. How did they go from playful to smoldering so fast?

“Too bad.” He didn’t pull away.

She searched his eyes, not certain what she was looking for, and falling into their depths instead. “Unless you’d like it to be.”

“I’m not some simplistic creature driven solely by the need to be the best... That I’m willing to admit.” The hesitation in his voice vanished behind his seductive tone by the end of the sentence.

“I’m just saying...” What was she saying? She lost the point. She closed the space between them, and pressed her lips to his. Her heart stalled when he didn’t kiss back.

*

TRISTAN WANTED TO BREAK away, but Victoria’s mouth, soft but demanding, erased any reasons he could think of for doing so. He rested a hand at the back of her neck, to dive into the kiss.

Her whimper, sharper and sweeter than those that teased his dreams, flowed through him. He pushed his chair back, not breaking away, and nudged her hip.

Taking the hint, she moved to straddle his legs. She ground against him, drawing his erection to full mast. Fuck, her weight against him was incredible. The faint hint of coffee on her lips. The soft scent of peaches filling his head. Why didn’t they do this more often?

The question wormed its way past desire, and he pulled back enough to look at her, still holding her head captive. “I don’t want to do this again.” The words came out heavier than he intended.

“Oh?” Her frown was like a knife to the gut.

“I don’t like the idea of pretending we’re not fucking, where we deny it at the end of the night. That didn’t work for me last time.” Was it really a thing if they’d only done it once before? Maybe not, but he wanted to make it one.

“Oh.” A smile whispered over her lips, but it vanished behind a scowl. “You do remember we’re being audited, don’t you? If we thought everything leading up to now was a huge pile of circumstantial evidence...”

That was the other half of his hesitation. “I know.”

“Do you want to stop?” The hurt in her question echoed in her eyes.

“No. Fuck no.” He gripped her hips and pulled her into him. “But... between us I don’t want to lie about what we’re doing. It might be risky to tell the world, and I’m not saying we need to define it beyond fucking, but if we are, I’m not willing to pretend otherwise.”

The lines in her forehead vanished. “There are parts of that I don’t like, but I agree with all of them.”

“Good.” He trailed a finger down the front of her blouse, undoing the first two buttons, and teasing the skin underneath.

She covered his hand with hers, pressing his palm to her chest. “I’m not going to be the only one whose clothes come off tonight.”

He tugged his shirt over his head, then tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. “Better?”

“Much better.” Her throaty response drove straight to his cock, which was already hard under her weight. She traced along his skin so lightly it was more of a suggestion, following lines and creases.

His hips rocked without his permission, gyrating against her body. His shorts were thin, and her slacks weren’t much heavier, so her heat teased his length. She shifted against him and low groan tore from his throat.

The playful smile it elicited was as enticing as the rest of her.

“You like torturing me?” He forced a playful edge into his question.

“I like turning you on.” Her voice caught.

He skated his palms up her torso, over her breasts, to brush the hard nubs poking through her bra. Her gasp was exhilarating, sparking over his skin.

“You walk in the room and it turns me on,” he said.

She bit her bottom lip. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” Gasps punctuated her words as he grazed along her breasts. There were too many clothes between him and her, but the tease of it was its own intoxication.

“I don’t. Can you imagine—or maybe you can’t—how awkward it would be to get a hard-on every time a woman walked in the room?”

Her fingers on his bare skin made him feel like a single, lit-up nerve. “I thought that was the way men worked,” she teased.

“Nope.” He grasped her wrist, so he could brush his lips over her fingertips. “Some of us have quite discerning tastes.” He kissed along her neck, to her collar. “For instance, I’m craving the taste of peach-flavored Vicky.”

When he licked up her skin, she arched her back, and the grinding against his erection picked up in pace and intensity.

Tristan dug his fingers into her hips, to stop the rocking. There was a kind of carefree, almost-innocent feeling to the dry humping, but, “If you keep doing that, you’re going to make me come and rub me raw. Possibly in that order, but there’s no way to guess.”

“That could be fun, but I was hoping for a little more.”

He helped her stand, then led her into the bedroom. Tugging her hand, he pulled her to a stop a few feet from the bed, then moved behind her. He pressed his chest against her back, and rested his palms on her stomach. “Define more.”