Master of My Domain
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls was created by ASP and is property of Warner Bros Television/Hofflund Polone/Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Dudes. I'm sorry that this chapter is so delayed. Work has been kicking my ass. Thanks for your patience, and thanks as always for reading!Chapter 14 - The Chase
It was almost 7 by the time I logged off my computer for the night. I'd texted Tristan earlier to push back the pick-up time for our date, and I had five minutes before I was supposed to meet him downstairs.
I used the mirror in the restroom to take my hair down from its bun, and the pen I hadn't remembered I'd stuck in there was returned to its rightful place in my purse. After I finger-combed my hair and wiped the smudge of ink off my neck, I was as good as I was going to get.
I found Tristan in the parking lot, leaning against the side of a sleek silver car. He glanced up as I approached and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He finished typing into his phone and pocketed it when I got to the car. "Hey."
"Hey yourself. No driver tonight?"
"Very astute of you. You must be a good reporter, no wonder you got a promotion."
He'd barely gotten the last word out before my hand covered his mouth. "No. Stop," I insisted. "No more talk of work."
"But I-"
"None," I emphasized. "As much as it pains me to say this, I am now, in a way, your employee. I've decided to disregard the dozen or so potential violations of media ethics already perpetrated, but let's please not add to them by mixing our personal and professional lives."
He gave me a pointed look, and I lowered my hand from his lips.
"Fair enough," he agreed. He opened the passenger side door for me before walking back around to his side.
Tristan climbed in and started the car, and I deduced that we were in either a Hybrid or electric vehicle from the lack of engine sounds. Nevertheless, the car certainly had power, and we tore off in the direction of the restaurant.
"Is this the car that the guy at the Future 50 gala wanted to drive?" I asked. "What's so exciting about it?"
"I'll have you know that there are plenty of exciting things about this car, thank you very much. But no, this wasn't the one we bet on. This is just the one I drive most often."
I didn't get a chance to inquire about how many vehicles one person needed to own aside from the one they drive most often, because his phone rang over the car's speakers. He hit a button on the steering wheel to answer. "Donnel."
"Good evening, Mr. Donnel." A male voice flooded the small car. "The contracts you asked about have arrived. Everything looks to be in order."
"Good. Email them to me. Anything else?"
"No, sir, I just wanted to let you know."
Tristan pressed the button to disconnect the call without so much as a goodbye and turned his attention back to me. "Sorry about that."
"It's fine," I told him. "So why the sudden desire to visit your restaurant tonight?"
"Can't a guy ask a girl out without having his motives questioned?"
"A guy and a girl, maybe. But you and me? No."
He gave me a mockingly mournful look, shaking his head. "So cynical, and for one so young."
"Not cynical," I corrected. "Just skeptical."
"When have I ever given you reason to doubt me?"
I raised an eyebrow at him, and his lips twitched, but the phone rang again before I could respond.
I detected a note of irritation in Tristan's sigh, but he answered before the third ring. "Donnel."
"Hey, it's me."
This time it was a female voice, and I called on a bit of willpower to redirect myself from wondering who she was, and how she knew Tristan well enough to exclude her name in her greeting.
"Anita," Tristan answered, glancing at me quickly. "You're on Bluetooth, and I'm not alone in the car."
I fought the urge to raise my eyebrows, and forced myself to sit quietly. I did narrow my eyes at him slightly.
"Got it," she replied. "I just thought you should know that Erikson was able to reach Santos's team, and he let them know that the only thing we're concerned about is the logistics. They're going to work on it and get back to us."
"When?" Tristan asked.
"I told Erikson to tell them that if the issues aren't fixed by end of day Sunday, they won't have to bother because the deal will be off."
"Good. And they're aware of the importance of their discretion?"
"I also made it known that if I trace so much as a rumor back to them, they won't be able to get a job pushing slurpees at Seven Eleven by the time I'm done."
He chuckled. "Good. Thanks. Anything else?"
"That's it."
"Bye, Anita."
I remained neutral while Tristan pulled into a parking space across the street from the restaurant. We remained silent while he shifted into park and killed the engine.
"That was Anita," he offered.
"You don't say."
"Anita Jensen. You met her at the Future 50 gala."
"I remember."
I remember her being breathtakingly gorgeous.
"She's my COO."
"What was up with the disclaimer about not being alone in the car?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I didn't want her to start discussing anything sensitive."
"Sensitive, huh?"
"Is this you being skeptical again?" he teased.
"What's your company's fraternization policy?" My tone came out wry and accusatory, and I could see that Tristan was amused.
I couldn't decide what percent of me was teasing, and what percent was truly defensive. I was also trying to remind myself that Tristan didn't owe me anything. Did I have a right to be defensive? We'd barely embarked on our third date.
Tristan turned in his seat to face me, with his elbow resting on the steering wheel. He wore a faint smile while he appraised me, and in those few long moments I knew that the defensive side of me was winning.
"What?" I demanded.
"Anita is happily married. She and Jacob have three-year-old twin girls."
"You're avoiding my question," I accused.
"I thought your question was whether I was fraternizing with my Chief Operations Officer."
"My question was about why you felt the need to give a disclaimer to avoid 'sensitive' conversation."
He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Skeptical definitely doesn't cut it. I'm sticking with cynical."
"If you'd stop dodging the question, I wouldn't have to keep pressing."
He sighed. "It's business. We're working on a confidential project. You can't blame me for warning her before she started airing all our corporate secrets while I was sitting right next to a reporter."
That piqued my curiosity. "What kind of confidential project?"
"The key word there being confidential."
"You know I could probably do something with the names she mentioned, right? Erikson and Santos, was it?"
He gave me a dark look. "You were the one who was insisting not fifteen minutes ago that we keep our personal and professional lives separate. Drop it. Please."
I held up my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine."
We left it at that, and exited the car. Tristan was chuckling to himself as he came around the car to walk with me. I elbowed him in the side, and he grinned, throwing his arm around my shoulders.
"I have to admit, it's nice to know you care." He pressed his lips against my temple, and then guided me into the restaurant.
We made our way through the throng of people in the lobby, and the hostess broke into a grin at the sight of Tristan. I couldn't say that I blamed her - just the sight of him tended to have an odd effect on me, too.
"Good evening, Mr. Donnel," she gushed. "Your table is ready and waiting."
She led us to the same circular booth that Paris and I had occupied a few weeks before. Before we sat down, I spotted Chef Greg across the restaurant, heading back toward the kitchen. He spotted us at the same time, and he smiled, shifting course to head towards us. The hostess excused herself as Chef Greg caught up to us, and he extended his hand to Tristan.
"Good to see you," he greeted. "No one told me you were stopping by tonight."
"Someone's got to keep you on your toes. Greg, you remember Rory Gilmore."
Greg smiled warmly at me and reached for my hand. "Of course. How could I forget?"
Tristan's hand remained planted on the small of my back. Greg's eyes moved from me back to Tristan, and the two men locked eyes for a couple of seconds before Greg released my hand from his grasp. He inclined his head in a subtle nod to Tristan before turning back to me.
"Welcome back," he said. "I've been wanting to thank you for the glowing review."
"It was my pleasure. I meant every word. Look, I couldn't stay away."
"I'm very glad to hear it," Greg told me. I saw him glance to Tristan again, and whatever he saw made him back off. "I'll leave you two to enjoy your dinner. I've got to get back to the kitchen, anyway. But hey, Johnny's trying out some new recipes tonight," he told us, nodding to the bar behind him. "I'll have him bring them over for a taste test."
As Greg walked away he waved to the man behind the bar and gestured to our table. Tristan slid into the booth right behind me, and settled in so close that our thighs were nearly touching. I turned my head to look at him, from less than six inches away.
"What?" he asked innocently.
I looked pointedly around at the spacious booth, and when my gaze came back to him, I found him smiling. He settled back into the booth and spread his arms along the back of our seat, indicating his lack of intention to move.
Our waitress appeared and saved me a response. "Good evening, Mr. Donnel. It's a pleasure to see you here tonight."
"Hello, Mary," he greeted. I must've flinched, because Tristan glanced over at me and murmured quietly for my ears only. "Coincidence."
"What can I get you to drink? Would you like a few minutes with the menu?" she asked.
"That won't be necessary," Tristan replied. "Johnny is bringing our drinks. We'll take the flatbread of the day, and an order of the truffle cauliflower mac and cheese."
The waitress left with our order, and I turned to Tristan. "What if I wanted something different?"
"Trust me, you'll love it."
"That's not the point. I prefer making my own decisions."
He sighed. "One would think that one of these days I'd learn to stop underestimating your stubbornness."
I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, one would think."
"I never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed."
I rolled my eyes. "Says the Ivy-League CEO who's amassed an empire in less than a decade."
"More money than sense, I guess."
"Don't be self-deprecating," I chastised. "It doesn't suit you. You've always been sharp - always one step ahead of everybody else."
"Says the Ivy-League journalist who just became the youngest Features Editor the Hartford Courant has ever seen," he mocked.
I blinked in surprise. "That's not true. Is it?"
He shrugged. "I don't know about the ever part, our due-diligence reports didn't go back that far. But at least in the past forty years or so."
"I didn't know that."
Tristan's attention shifted, and I glanced up to find Johnny the bartender approaching our table with a tray full of drinks.
"Just in time," Tristan greeted him. "I owe Ms. Gilmore here a cheers for her recent promotion."
"Hey, congratulations," Johnny offered. He balanced the full tray seemingly effortlessly on one hand while he lowered it to the table, reaching out to shake my hand with the other.
"Thank you," I said. I nodded toward the tray of drinks. "It looks like you've been busy. These aren't all for us, are they?"
"I've been testing recipes, and I need guinea pigs. Greg volunteered you two."
Starting with the drink closest to him, Johnny worked his way around the tray, introducing his concoctions. The first was served in a hurricane glass, and Johnny had named it Go Away Or I Shall Taunt You A Second Time. Next up was a martini with coffee beans floating in it, called I Need A Minute. There was a colorful drink in a Collins glass that Johnny dubbed Sure Thing, followed by a deep red drink named Velvet Tongue. Johnny was setting the glasses out on the table in front of us, and I caught a whiff of cherries.
"This last one is my masterpiece," Johnny continued. "I call it That's What She Said."
Johnny looked at us expectantly, and Tristan nodded to me. I obligingly reached out to the drink and took a small sip. It was fruity - I tasted guava, and maybe strawberry. It was incredibly smooth.
"Wow, that's good," I told him.
Johnny grinned and nodded. "That's what she said."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him, and Tristan chuckled. "Thanks, Johnny," he said.
"I have to get back to the bar, but let me know what you guys think. We want to add at least two new cocktails to the menu."
We bid goodbye to Johnny and he left us with all five drinks scattered across our table. "He'd better not expect us to finish all these."
"Don't look at me," Tristan said. "I'm driving tonight, remember?"
I gave him an accusatory look. "Did you plan this? Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Contrary to what you seem to believe, I don't sit around and scheme about ways to irritate you."
"Then you must have a natural gift."
"I have many. If you're nice, I might show you some of my talents."
I was powerless to stop my body's reactions to him, and my skin broke out in goosebumps. I took another sip of the drink in front of me to cover.
I can only imagine some of the things he's good at. As I recall, kissing has got to rank pretty high up on the list.
By the time our food arrived, I'd polished off the That's What She Said and was working my way through the Velvet Tongue, much to Tristan's amusement. The drinks were so smooth that I didn't start to realize how high the alcohol content must've been until I'd finished my second in half an hour. I was feeling very pleasantly warm, and I'd begun to lose some of my capacity for tasting the food in front of me.
I leaned back from the table and felt Tristan's arm against the back of my neck. He shifted and settled his arm more firmly around my shoulders.
"I think it's probably time that I cut myself off," I acknowledged.
"If you insist. But first, a toast." He reached for two of the remaining drinks, pressing closer to me as he leaned across the table. I held my breath until he pulled away, and my heart was beating faster when he held out one of the drinks to me. I took it obligingly, and held it up to mirror his own.
"Congratulations on your promotion. You deserve it. Cheers."
We clinked, and I took a healthy gulp of my drink. It was the coffee one, and it was delicious. Tristan took a sip of his, then set it aside and returned to his water.
"It still seems a little surreal," I admitted. "Being Editor, I mean. We just announced it to the staff today, so maybe that will help it sink in a little more."
"When did you find out?"
"Monday. I'll be staying on my regular desk for another week before fully moving into the new role."
"No wonder you've been so busy."
I winced at the reminder. "It's been a little hectic. I'm sorry, again, that we missed each other this week."
He squeezed my shoulder. "That's not what I meant. Believe me, I get it. My schedule has been known to get a little hectic, too."
"I bet. So, slow week for you, huh? So much so that you had the time to pore over online dating articles to find out how many messages you should leave me?"
He smiled, and shook his head. "It's actually been a pretty busy time for us, too. We're working on a project I'm pretty excited about, and my team has been putting in extra time to keep things moving fast enough to keep me off their backs. I'm not known for my patience."
"How did you have time to keep chasing me down, then?" I teased.
"I haven't had much of a choice," he admitted. "I've found myself a bit… distracted, these past few weeks."
His blue eyes were glued to mine, and my breathing grew shallow under his intense gaze. I tore my eyes away from his and reached again for my drink.
"Please let the record show that I in no way coerced you into drinking tonight."
I turned back to him, enjoying my pleasant buzz. "No coercion necessary. These drinks are all amazing, they should all be on the menu."
"Johnny will be happy to hear that you approve."
"So how involved are you in the operations here? Do they consult you for all the menu changes?"
He shook his head. "Not at all. It's just a coincidence that we're here on a night they're testing drinks. I'm a silent partner. All the operations are completely up to Greg and Sharon, the General Manager."
"That's what you said about the Harper House publisher acquisition, too. It sounds like the hands-off approach is most common for you."
"That's true, for the most part. I have a few projects that mean a lot to me, and I'm more involved in those," he said. Then he smiled at me, and his hand fell from my shoulder to my waist, then skimmed down to my hip, and he pulled me closer to him until our thighs were flush against each other. "There are a couple areas in my life where I'd like to be a little more hands-on."
I swallowed against my pulse pounding in my throat, and drew in a shaky breath. "Oh, yeah?"
"Just waiting for I's to be dotted and T's to be crossed."
He'd somehow gotten closer, much closer, and his low voice sent a pleasant hum through my body. We were pressed together in the dark booth, with the high sides shielding us from view of the rest of the restaurant. Had it been this dark in here a minute ago? Had it been this quiet? I worried that Tristan would be able to hear my heart racing.
I was seconds away from saying screw it to this damn game we were playing and closing the last few inches between us to find out whether his kisses were as mind-blowing as I remembered.
Instead, I drew on the last vestiges of my control, scraped the bottom of the barrel for some remaining inhibitions, and chose sarcasm to hide my true feelings.
"Don't forget that we just had a discussion half an hour ago about my stubbornness. I'm not a foregone conclusion."
"We've also had discussions about my lack of patience and sense, and yet even I know that some things are worth waiting for."
Our waitress appeared, and I was grateful when Tristan turned his attention to her, giving me a few extra inches of space to try to pull myself together. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
He nudged my leg with his, and I found him looking at me questioningly. My head was fuzzy from the alcohol, and I blinked as if to clear it. "Sorry, what?"
"Dessert?" he questioned. I shook my head, and Tristan relayed our answer to the waitress and dismissed her.
"You okay?" he asked, turning back to me. His arm was still around me, his hand at my hip, and he slid his fingers up my waist. He gave me a squeeze in what was surely meant as a comforting gesture. I squealed and my body curled in on itself, trying to pull away from his hand, which just meant that I was pressing myself closer against his body. He jerked his arms away and tried to pull away from me, attempting to give me space. "What? What's wrong?"
"Ticklish," I gasped. I hugged my arms around myself, an unconscious gesture to protect my sensitive sides and stomach.
Tristan's eyebrows rose and he laughed. "You jumped like you'd been shocked!"
I pushed off of him a bit harder than necessary to bring myself back to normal posture, and he laughed again. I reached for my drink and took another sip before I remembered that I was going to cut myself off.
Oh, well. Far be it for me to let a coffee martini go to waste. What's the worst that could happen?
I was happy to blame the alcohol for the eagerness with which I settled back into the seat and leaned my head back against Tristan's arm. Although we were done eating and he didn't have a drink to finish, he seemed just as happy as I was to prolong the evening. He asked about Dani, and we fell back into easy conversation.
His arm hung loosely over my shoulders, and his fingers toyed absently with my hair. I tried to focus on the story he was telling about meeting Devon in grad school, but my brain was fuzzy from the booze and I was growing increasingly distracted by my proximity to his body.
He was wearing a black jacket and a light blue shirt, open at the collar with no tie. I wondered whether he'd had a tie when he started his day. The buttons on his shirt reflected light from the candle on the table and the low track lighting from overhead. I reached out to touch one of the shiny buttons in the middle of his chest. It was smooth and cool to the touch as I ran my thumb over it. I moved my fingers down to the next one, and then the next. I dimly registered Tristan saying my name, but it didn't occur to me to respond. Each button was as smooth and cool as the last.
"Rory," Tristan repeated.
My fingers went still over his stomach. I looked at him, and he was smiling down at me. "Hmm?"
"Did you hear what I said?"
I returned his smile. I was feeling pretty serene. "No."
His half-smile turned into a full grin, and he trapped my hand against his body with one of his. My hand was pressed momentarily against his stomach, and he felt solid and warm under my touch. Then he enveloped my hand in his and slid away from me as he exited the booth.
"Come on, let's go."
"Don't we have to pay?" I asked.
He just looked at me, and I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, right. You own the place. That's one of the benefits of being the boss, I guess."
"Right. Come on."
He kept his grip on my hand as he pulled me gently from the booth, and then steadied me as I climbed to my feet. I only swayed slightly. Point for me.
We buckled ourselves back into his car and he headed uptown, in the opposite direction we'd come from. I didn't question the direction - obviously, we weren't going back for my car. I certainly wouldn't be driving tonight.
I didn't remember dozing off, but I opened my eyes when I felt the car come to a stop, and we were in relative darkness. "Where are we?"
"My place," Tristan answered. "I can have Graham take you home from here."
I glanced around at my surroundings and sure enough, we were in the parking garage of Tristan's building. The wall in front of us had a Reserved sign plastered on it. We were parked between a luxury SUV and another sleek silver car, this one clearly a sports car. Both of those spaces were Reserved, as well.
"Is one of these the car that guy wanted to drive?" I asked, nodding my head to either side of us as I climbed out of the car.
"Yes," he answered. He leaned forward to press the elevator call button, keeping a hand on my elbow. The doors opened immediately.
"Which one?"
"The sports car."
"What's so special about it?" I asked.
He grinned. "It's fast. It's expensive. It's fun."
"Must be a guy thing," I muttered.
"Probably."
The elevator doors opened on Tristan's floor, and I blinked in surprise. I hadn't realized we'd been on the private elevator. I'd expected that we'd have to transfer in the lobby.
Tristan kept a light hold on my arm while he opened the door to his apartment and led me inside. He was probably afraid I'd trip, which was a likely possibility. Johnny's drinks definitely rivaled the infamous margaritas at Cafe Mex.
"Make yourself comfortable," he told me, depositing me on the couch. "I'll get you some water."
I kicked off my heels and drew my feet up under me, sinking back into the couch. I had the semblance of self to make sure my dress was tucked neatly around my legs, so I wasn't flashing the room. I watched Tristan walk back into the living room with a glass of water and a beer for himself.
"Thanks," I told him, accepting the water and taking a sip.
"How are you feeling?" he checked.
I smiled at his concern. "I'm okay. Just buzzed."
He took a seat on the couch next to me, with one leg bent so he was facing me. I noticed that he'd also ditched his shoes, plus his jacket, and he'd rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. He took a pull from his beer, and I found myself watching his mouth.
God, I want to kiss him.
My eyes moved from his mouth to his jaw, where he was sporting a very faint five o'clock shadow. My gaze trailed down his neck, past the open collar of his shirt, and back to the buttons. I remembered how cool they'd felt in the warm restaurant, and I found myself reaching out again.
I toyed with the buttons over his lower chest, and then his upper abdomen. When my fingers traced down lower, Tristan's hand came up to cover mine.
"Rory." His voice was low and husky, and held a hint of a warning.
"What? Is this against the rules of our arrangement?"
"I don't know," he granted. "I'm taking my cues from you. You're the one who sets the boundaries."
"I don't think this is against the rules," I told him.
"Okay. But remember that turnabout is fair play."
"But I don't have buttons on my shirt." In my alcohol-laden brain, the logic was sound.
"I'm pretty sure I can work around that," he assured me.
He took his hand off of mine, which was still on his stomach, and reached out to me. His fingers slid into my hair just behind my ear, and his thumb traced slowly back and forth over my cheek. He leaned close, and then closer. My breathing was shallow, and it might even have stopped at one point. He was a fraction of an inch away, and I closed my eyes in anticipation of his kiss.
Only he didn't kiss me. I felt his breath move along my jawline, ever-so-slowly, until finally his lips brushed against my ear. The moment his mouth met my skin, I erupted in goosebumps. I felt him move lower, and then his lips were on my neck.
He kissed me there, with the barest brush of his lips before he drew back. He moved down my neck millimeters at a time, planting chaste kisses and spreading warmth… everywhere. I drew in a shuddering breath, and I felt him pull back. I opened my eyes, not having realized that they were still closed.
The corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile, but his eyes were serious. "Is this against the rules?"
"I don't know," I stuttered.
He lowered his head again, and I felt him drag his lips slowly across my collarbone. He spoke against my skin. "What about this? Is this against the rules?"
Goddamn. Give the man and inch, and he takes a whole freaking mile!
My hand tightened over his shirt, gripping the fabric between my fingers, which raked over his stomach in the process and I felt his muscles tighten in response.
"Whose idea were these rules, anyway?" I asked, a little breathlessly.
"Yours."
"I've had better ideas," I admitted.
He pulled back to look at me again. "Does this mean you're ready to rescind them?"
I tried to scramble through the alcohol and now also Tristan-induced fog to come up with an answer. Was there a reason I shouldn't be doing this? I couldn't for the life of me think of one.
Except, maybe…
"I have a question first."
"Yes?"
"How much of this is just about the chase for you?"
"Excuse me?" he asked.
"You know what I mean. Are we here because the chase is exciting? Is this just an opportunity for you to relive your high school crush, and once you catch me, I won't be interesting anymore?"
He furrowed his brow and studied me for a long moment. "You're serious."
I nodded. He was giving me a strange look, and I moved my hands away from him and back into my own lap.
He shook his head in disbelief. "It's never been about the chase. Not with you."
"But in high school -"
"Never," he interrupted. "Even then. The chase is a means to an end. I want you, yes, but I also like you. I've always liked you. You know that."
"Do I?" I questioned.
He seemed to consider that for several heartbeats. "Now you do. So now I have a question for you."
My heartbeat had been coming back down from the stratosphere after he'd removed his lips from me, but it kicked back up again. "Okay."
"You do eventually want to be caught, right?"
I felt an answering smile curve my lips, and I kept my eyes locked on his. There was only one possible answer. "Kiss me. Please."
I was rewarded with Tristan's best smile. He reached for me again, this time cupping my neck with his fingers and skimming his thumb lightly over my bottom lip. "Are you sure?"
My answer to that was to move forward on the couch, pressing as close to him as I could in our current position. I rose up on my knees to lean closer and moved my hands to his shoulders for balance. I let my fingers trail over the back of his neck, combing through his hair. Tristan kept his eyes on me, watching me carefully. I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture, before I closed the remaining distance between us.
The kiss was gentle and exploratory. Tristan seemed content to let me set the pace. He'd brought his hands to my hips, but his touch was light, as if he was afraid I'd spook. When my tongue tentatively brushed his bottom lip, he opened to me. My right hand stayed at the nape of his neck, but my left trailed down his shoulder, to his chest, and I gripped his shirt to try to pull him closer to me.
We deepened the kiss by slow, excruciating degrees. I wasn't sure of the tipping point, but I felt Tristan's hands tighten on my hips. He made a sound low in his throat, and then he was shifting us, hauling me up and over him until I was straddling his lap. We both gasped for air before he pulled my mouth back to his, taking over the control. I was only too happy to hand the reins over to him, because damn, did he know what he was doing.
I could feel that he was just as affected as I was, and the knowledge that he wanted me like I wanted him sent a jolt of heat through me that settled like a weight low in my body. I squirmed against him, and was rewarded with another sound from the back of his throat. He slid one of his hands down my back, very low, and pressed me closer against him.
He tore his lips away from mine, both of us sucking in air. We looked at each other, both breathing heavily, and then he groaned again, leaning his back against the couch and closing his eyes. He gripped my upper thighs and slid me backwards up his legs, creating space between us.
He spoke with his eyes still closed, and his voice was rough. "That's enough."
What?!
"I beg to differ," I told him. I tried to move closer again, but he held me in place.
"You're drunk," he argued. "We shouldn't be doing this right now."
"I'm not drunk, just buzzed."
His mouth tilted up in a smirk and he opened his eyes to show me his darkened gaze. "You're a little drunk. I don't want you to wake up regretting anything tomorrow and having a good excuse to blame me."
"Would I do that?" I asked innocently.
He gave me a pointed look, and I giggled.
Since when do I giggle? Okay, so maybe he's right. Maybe I'm a teensy bit drunk. But still - he's seriously going to stop here?!
"You're seriously going to stop here?" My thoughts came tumbling out, clear evidence of my current lack of brain-to-mouth filter.
"Listen, I've had a lot of time to think about how this," he used his hand to gesture between the two of us, "Was going to happen. This isn't it."
"I think we were doing pretty good."
To prove my point, I leaned in to kiss him again. He let me for a couple seconds, but then he pulled away and gently moved me back.
"I agree with you wholeheartedly," he assured me with a smile. "But come on, work with me here. This is me trying to be a gentleman."
I snorted. "You've picked a hell of a time to start trying to be a gentleman."
He grinned. "I know, I'm kicking myself for it, too."
"I bet I could change your mind in two minutes." My right hand was resting against him, and I trailed it down his stomach, inching closer to his belt buckle.
He let out a breath in a huff of laughter and grabbed my hand. "You definitely could, and I'm afraid you would also have a minute and forty-five seconds to spare."
That made me smile, but Tristan still had a resolute look in his eyes. I sighed. "Fine. So now what?"
Tristan lifted me easily and shifted us so we were sitting next to each other again. He turned his body to face me. "I can have Graham drive you home, if you want. Or you can stay."
In the few seconds while I contemplated my options, a yawn escaped me. Tristan reached out to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear, and let his fingers toy with the ends while he changed tactics.
"Stay here tonight," he offered. "Graham or I can drop you off at your car tomorrow."
"Where will I sleep?" I asked.
He smiled. "Wherever you want. I have three bedrooms."
"But yours is the most comfortable," I said, repeating what he'd told me a few weeks ago when I'd first woken up in his apartment.
His grin ratched up a notch. "That's true."
Just the talk of sleep seemed to bring my exhaustion to the surface. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the let-down from all the oxytocin and other hormones that had just flooded my system, thanks to Tristan. Regardless of the cause, my eyelids felt heavy, and I yawned again.
Without further discussion, he stood and reached a hand down to me. I took it and let him pull me to my feet, and then lead me to his bedroom.