Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation Read online

  The words wouldn’t come and she turned to flee, making it only as far as the upholstered French settee before Tristan caught her.

  ‘I can’t let you leave like this.’ He spoke gruffly, swinging her around to face him and Lily promptly burst into tears.

  She tried to push him away but he was like an immovable force and she pounded his chest instead. ‘Let me go. Let me—’ A sob cut off her distressed plea and Tristan gathered her closer.

  ‘Lily, I’m sorry. I really am an insensitive fool, and you were right the other day. I don’t know anything.’

  Rather than making her feel better that only made it worse and she buried her face in her hands, unable to hold back her tears any more.

  ‘Shh, Lily, shh,’ Tristan urged, holding her tighter. ‘Let me soothe you,’ he husked, his voice thick with emotion.

  Lily tried to resist, but somehow all the events of the week converged and rendered her a sobbing mess, unable to put up any resistance when Tristan sank down onto the settee and pulled her into his lap.

  He continued to stroke her even after her tears had abated and Lily rested against him, her mind spinning.

  Tristan was wrong when he said she hid behind her public image. It was just easier to let people think what they wanted. They would anyway, and really she didn’t care a jot what anyone thought.

  But if that were true then why had she turned her back on the country she loved and set herself up in America, where people judged her more on her actions than on her past? Why had she always tried to do what Frank expected of her? And why had Tristan’s rejection of her hurt so much six years ago?

  Lily drew in a long, shuddering breath and then released it, her body slowly relaxing in Tristan’s warm embrace. Try as she might she couldn’t find valid reasons for her actions. Valid reasons for why she let the press write what they wanted about her. It was easy to say that no one would believe her if she corrected them. But why not?

  An image of her mother, wretched and crying, came to mind, and Lily squeezed her eyes against the devastating image.

  But then other images crowded in. Happier ones. Her mother singing to her and towelling her off after a bath. Her father putting her on his shoulders as they strolled through Borough Market eating falafels and brownies. Visiting her mother’s photo shoots and putting on make-up with her in front of her dressing-table mirror. Curling up with her father while he played around with his guitar.

  Lily gulped in air and her heart caught. More unprecedented memories of her parents stumbled through her mind and she felt breathless with surprise.

  She felt Tristan’s arms tighten around her, one of his hands stroking from the top of her head to the base of her spine as one might soothe an upset child. As her mother had once soothed her.

  Her father’s mantra came to mind, trying to rescue her. But for once it didn’t work. Because Tristan was right. She did care what people thought about her.

  Slowly she lifted her head and peered up at him. She knew she must look an absolute fright, and was shocked when Tristan pulled the sleeve of his expensive cashmere sweater over his hand and wiped her eyes and nose.

  ‘That’s gross,’ she grumbled, ducking her head self-consciously.

  She felt him shrug. ‘That’s all I had.’

  He chuckled, and Lily smiled into the curve of his neck. Being in his arms gave her a sense of security she hadn’t felt since before her parents had died, and although part of her, the self-preservation part, told her to pull away, that she had embarrassed herself enough, that she was better off handling this alone, she couldn’t get her limbs to obey. He was just so big and warm, and his rich scent was extraordinarily comforting.

  But none of this is real, she reminded herself glumly.

  ‘You can let me up now,’ she said quietly, pushing back from him as those disturbing thoughts stole through her mind.

  When Tristan made no move to release her completely she looked up at him. ‘I said you can let me go now,’ she repeated, in case he hadn’t heard her.

  ‘I heard.’ He nodded, but didn’t move.

  ‘I think…I think I should go to my room and be alone with my misery.’

  ‘Now, I was always told that misery preferred company,’ Tristan jested.

  ‘Tristan, please…’ Embarrassment was overriding pain and Lily couldn’t smile at his teasing words. ‘I can’t do this. You were right. I am a coward. I…I need time alone to think.’

  Tristan curled his arm around her shoulders, preventing her from pulling further away.

  ‘Thinking is probably the worst thing you can do right now. And I never said you were a coward.’ He feathered her ponytail through his fingers as if learning its silky texture. ‘You’re one of the bravest people I know. And you’re loyal and warm and smart. You’ve faced false drug allegations with dignity and you have a generous spirit. It’s why people are so drawn to you.’

  ‘People are drawn to me because of the way I look and because of who my parents were,’ she argued.

  He tapped her on the end of her shiny nose and she squirmed. ‘You’re too young to be cynical. And you’re more than the sum of your parts, Lily Wild.’

  Lily felt more tears well up at his kind words and buried her face against his shoulder again. ‘You’re a nice person. How come you don’t show that side of yourself more often?’

  He tensed momentarily. ‘I already told you I’m not nice,’ he said, his voice gruff. ‘I’m just saying all this to make you feel better.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lily laughed as she was meant to. But he didn’t fool her. He was nice. Too nice.

  She shifted off his lap so she was sitting beside him, wanting to tell him what was going through her mind even though she’d revealed more about herself tonight than she had to anyone else.

  ‘You were right before,’ she began haltingly. ‘I have used my past as a type of shield.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable, given your experiences.’

  Lily paused. ‘Maybe. But it’s also helped me avoid recognising things like…like the fact that for years I’ve been so ashamed of who my parents were and how they died that I hated them. And I’ve let their destructive love for each other cloud the way I relate to people. You see, my mother kept diaries for years. Basically she and Johnny would binge on each other and then he’d go off with his groupies and my mother would cry and rail and swear off him—until he came back and the whole cycle would start over again.’

  Tristan was quiet, and Lily’s fingers absently pleated the soft wool of his sweater as she leaned against him and soaked up his strength and sureness.

  ‘That sounds like the problem was less about how they felt about each other and more about how they felt about themselves.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she queried, leaning back a little to look up at him, her eyes drinking in the patrician beauty of his face in the soft light.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m guessing Johnny Wild loved himself a little too much and your mother didn’t love herself nearly enough.’

  Lily digested his words and then blew out a noisy breath. ‘Of course. Why did I never see that?’

  ‘Too close to the trees, perhaps?’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re really smart—you know that?’

  No, if he was smart he’d get up and go to bed right now, instead of wondering what she would do if he reached up and released her silky mass of hair from the confines of her hair tie. If he was smart he’d be questioning this need to comfort her and touch her rather than just going along with it as if he had a right to do those things.

  ‘Not always,’ he acknowledged, feeling the air between them thicken as he tried to ignore her soft hands on his chest. ‘You need to stop doing that.’

  He heard the hitch in her breathing at his growled words and the sound sent a jolt of lust to his already hardened groin.

  Or…?’

  He clenched his teeth against the invitation apparent in that one tiny word. ‘There is no “or”.’
>
  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Lily, your emotions are running high.’

  She looked him square in the eye, her purple gaze luminous despite her reddened eyelids. ‘And yours aren’t running at all?’

  He needed her to stop looking at him as if he was better than he was. ‘That’s not emotion, sweetheart—that’s sex. And the two should never be confused.’

  ‘Believe me, I know that.’ She expelled a shaky breath but didn’t remove her hand. Instead she slid it further up his chest and ran the tip of her finger underneath the crew neck of his sweater, along his clavicle.

  ‘Lily—’

  ‘I want to make love with you.’

  Tristan wanted that too—but could he risk it?

  She’d noticed his hesitation and her eyes had clouded over.

  ‘Sorry. I—Look, if you don’t want to I’ll understand…’

  ‘Don’t want to!’ His hands felt unsteady as they automatically reached out to stop her from getting up. ‘Lily, you drive me crazy.’

  She shot him a surprised look and he nearly laughed. Didn’t she know the effect she had on him? Didn’t she know why he had stayed away from her for four days? Why he should have stayed away tonight as well…?

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ His hot gaze swept down over her tear-smudged face, baggy T-shirt and worn sweatpants. ‘Stir crazy…’ he whispered.

  He felt her tentative hands creep into his hair, and groaned when she leaned in and placed her soft, full mouth against his own. Oh, God, this was heaven—and he couldn’t fight both of them.

  He cupped her face briefly, deepening the kiss and sealing his mouth to hers. He flipped her over on the settee and shoved his hands under her T-shirt. She moaned and arched into his hands, and Tristan felt like a starving man being offered a king’s dinner. He yanked her T-shirt up and fastened his lips on one pert breast, tugging at her sweet flesh, licking, sucking, drowning in the aroused perfume of her body.

  ‘Tristan!’

  Her loud gasp and uncontrolled writhing fed his urgent need, and he attacked her sweatpants and panties and drew them down her legs, frustrated when they became tangled.

  He sat up and pulled them all the way off, and then knelt on the floor in front of her, not even caring that the floorboards were hard on his knees. He parted her thighs so that he could feast on her in a way that had kept him hard for more nights than he cared to count, but he stopped when he felt her stiffen.

  ‘Tristan…’

  Her voice was uncertain, and he remembered that she had been a virgin until a few nights ago and that maybe no one had ever done this for her before.

  His hands instantly gentled on her inner thighs, and his fingers massaged her silken skin until he felt her muscles lose their rigidity.

  ‘Take down your hair,’ he whispered softly, gazing at her breasts rising beneath her T-shirt with her movement. A soft cloud of pure gold swirled around her shoulders and he inhaled deeply. ‘Now the T-shirt.’

  His thumbs kept stroking her inner thighs, slowly drawing them further apart, and he could feel tiny shivers of anticipation running along the surface of her skin. His own skin felt hot and tight, and it got even worse when she swept the grey T-shirt up over her head. Her breasts were standing proudly for his inspection, her nipples hardening into tight pink buds. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought of reaching up and capturing one, but he had other endeavours on his mind.

  He glanced down at the soft nest of golden curls at the apex of her body, and then back up to her face.

  ‘Let me,’ he husked, desire beating like a fever in his blood. ‘I’ve wanted you like this for ever.’

  She wet her lips and arched involuntarily as his sure fingers moved higher up her softened thighs, bringing her closer to the edge of the settee as he delved between her damp curls.

  She was slick and ready, and Tristan lowered his head and devoured her with his lips, his tongue, his fingers. She made the sexiest noises he’d ever heard, and when she came he thought he might too, lapping at her until he had fully sated himself with her taste. Then he rose, and felt like an emperor as he looked down upon her pliant flushed nudity.

  His heart lurched, and desperation and need grabbed him by the throat as he quickly divested himself of his clothing and rolled a condom over his now painful erection.

  She sat up and reached for him, but Tristan shook his head. He’d wanted to take things slowly this time, and already slow had gone the way of the birds. If she touched him he doubted he’d even make it inside her body.

  ‘Next time,’ he promised hoarsely, picking her up and carrying her back in front of the fire. ‘I need to be inside you now.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She held her hands out to him, and Tristan settled over her and drove deeply inside her body on one long, powerful thrust. Her body accepted him more easily this time, but still she was tight and he tried to give her a minute to adjust.

  Only she didn’t want that and immediately wrapped her legs around his hips. ‘More,’ she pleaded, trying to move under him.

  Tristan couldn’t resist the urgent request and drove into her over and over, while he brought them both to a shattering climax that took him to the stars and beyond.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘I’LL be back,’ he murmured against her mouth, and Lily flopped back against her pillows as Tristan quietly closed the bedroom door behind him.

  She’d almost felt sick earlier, when she’d woken in the early-morning light to find Tristan trying to slip out of her bed without waking her. He’d pulled on his jeans, a frown marring his perfect features, and then he’d noticed her watching him. He’d looked remote, but then his eyes had devoured her and he’d walked over and let his lips follow suit.

  ‘I’m going to make you a cup of tea,’ he’d whispered, and she’d smiled and trailed her hand down his naked chest.

  She didn’t really want tea, just him, but she was glad now of the momentary reprieve as she stared at the ceiling and memories of last night swept blissfully into her consciousness.

  Last night he’d told her she drove him crazy, and a slow grin spread across her face as she recalled the tortured way he had gasped her name when he climaxed. She liked the idea of driving him crazy. She liked it a lot. Because she felt the same way. She only had to think of him walking into a room for her hormones to sit up and beg.

  Last night he had made love to her in front of the open fire and afterwards carried her to bed, where she had promptly curled against him and fallen into the deepest sleep she’d had since arriving back in the country.

  He’d promised her slow, but she had no complaints about their lovemaking. In fact she’d loved it! The urgency, the excitement…the way he’d touched her, cared for her. In fact she loved everything about him.

  Lily put her fingers over her face.

  She loved him.

  Oh, Lord. Did she?

  She tested the words out silently in her head. And her heart swelled to bursting.

  No. She couldn’t. But she did. Completely and utterly.

  And it had been there all along. It was the reason she’d been so nervous about seeing him again. It was the reason she had been so upset when he’d thought she was guilty of carrying drugs into Heathrow. That he’d thought her guilty of being a drug addict.

  It was the reason she had been so morose these last few days, and the reason she had allowed herself to be swept away in the library last night. No, had wanted to be swept away—by him.

  Lily swallowed, her heart pounding. They had made love so reverently, and she had given everything to him and he had seemed to do the same back.

  He’d told her she drove him crazy with desire, and although he hadn’t said he loved her she couldn’t believe he didn’t have any feelings for her.

  But even if he did what did that mean?

  Nothing. Because he didn’t do love. He’d made that clear enough. And he wouldn’t want her to love him either. Only…what if he felt differe
ntly with her?

  Right. And how many other women haven’t wanted that to be true?

  Oh, Lord, she was starting to go back and forth like an entry in her mother’s diary. He loves me. He loves me not.

  The man had just spent four days avoiding her—he was hardly likely to go down on bended knee after one night in bed with her.

  Something she couldn’t deny that she now wanted. Lily blew out a breath.

  In admitting that she had fallen in love with Tristan it was as if a wall against all her secret hopes and dreams had come down. She wanted what Jo and Oliver had. She wanted somewhere to belong, someone to love her. She wanted something lasting.

  She groaned audibly and rolled onto her stomach and grabbed her pillow. What did she do now?

  Seriously she didn’t expect him to declare his undying love for her, but she couldn’t stop herself from wanting that. Yearning for it. But he hadn’t looked pleased to see her this morning, had he? No. He’d seemed distracted. Troubled. She’d dismissed it after his ferocious kiss, but…

  Enough! She raised a big red stop sign in her head. She wouldn’t do this. Play mental ping-pong over a man. The best thing to do would be to wait. Because really she had no idea how Tristan was feeling, and until she asked him she was just making up stories in her head. Lovely, sugar-coated romantic stories. But stories nonetheless.

  Deciding to stop mooching around, she checked the bedside clock and was shocked to see that it was already nine-thirty. And, even worse, it was Friday. Jordana was due at the Abbey this morning to start all her pre-wedding pampering treatments, followed by lunch with a couple of girlfriends, and then a rehearsal dinner for close family and friends!

  Maybe she should have a quick shower before Tristan got back? Or maybe she should go and find him and remind him that Jordana was due.

  But then her phone rang and took the dilemma of what to do next out of her hands.

  Pushing the tangled sheet aside, she jumped out of bed and reached for her tote bag beside the dressing table. Fumbling around inside, she finally located her mobile and quickly checked the caller ID. It was the detective working on her case.