S H A D E S

Sir.

Knowing the drill, I looped my arms around his neck, fingers brushing through thick black silk, giving the illusion of lovers enjoying an intimate moment. And though I could feel the burn of everyone's eyes in the room, the only ones I couldn't detect were Tristan's.

He'd barely looked my way the entire evening, other than to say hello when Mike and I arrived. And to add insult to injury he didn't even have the decency to show even the slightest whisper of surprise. Or jealousy.

"Darling," Mike trailed a finger down the bridge of my nose, popping my thoughts like a bubble. "He's here. Isn't he?"

I didn't answer, but my look must have said it all because those dazzling blue eyes softened.

"Give us a kiss." Mike crooked that finger under my chin, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "And him something to think about."

My gaze dropped to that gorgeous, tempting mouth, my every breath wishing it was Tristan's. Knowing it would never be...

I leaned in a little closer, until I could smell the hint of citrus and vodka on his breath.

"Why not?"

***

I teetered on my heels, giggling as I found the lock with my key. An evening of fine company, fantastic food and wine danced in my head. I'd lost track of the hour, and Tristan. He'd slipped out of the party, leaving without a word. Jerk. I snorted mid-giggle as I burst into my place.

"Laura." My name snapped out in the dark, the grating and disapproving tone of Tristan's voice, unmistakable.

"Shade," I answered, my tongue thick in my mouth. Shutting the door, I leaned bodily against it until my legs regained composure. He moved in the dark, a glimmer and a shadow in the streams of naked moonlight.

My heart raced as he drew closer, a lion in the darkness, silver eyes gleaming with warning and danger. Where Mike was all spiced cologne, Tristan's scent was sharp. Clean. Intoxicating. He pressed a hand to the door, the space between us snapping with electricity and heat.

"You're drunk."

"A bit." My teeth grazed my bottom lip. I reached for him, my hands tangling in his crisp shirt. Seeking. Searching for the scorch of iron beneath his flesh.

"No," he said, prying my hands away from him. Anchoring them at my sides. "I'm not happy with you, Laura."

And he wasn't. I could hear it in his voice, but his face was passively cool. Frustratingly so. Did nothing touch him?

"I don't appreciate a woman playing games."

"I wasn't." I shot my jaw out defensively, gave my wrists a tug, testing him.

"You were," he said, yanking me forwards. "And I want to know why?" He brought me over to the back of the couch, turning me around until I was pressed against him, his arms banded around me, holding mine in place.

"Why, Laura?"

"Why what?"

In the dark, he was all heat: from his voice to his body to his temper. Heat. Scorching, controlled, vibrant heat and I wanted nothing more than to sink my teeth into it, to slip it between my thighs and ride him until I was nothing more than ash.

"Jealousy is a weak, petty emotion. I thought you were above such things."

"I'm not jealous."

"No. But tonight you wanted me to be." His hand glided up my thigh, bringing up the length of my dress with his fingers until he found warm, naked skin. "I've shown you nothing but complete devotion," he said, his teeth biting below my ear. "Now it's your turn. Bend over."