ok, here it is, the long awaited......cliffhanger......heating up, getting faster, this one should leave you satisfied, read on and lemme know.
disclaimer.
mistakes.
Barely daring to breathe, afraid he might awaken her, he studied the innocent and girlish curves of her face as she slept fitfully; tormented by unknown airy dreams, she breathed out silently the remains of a dream-caught phrase that escaped him. Moving closer, he was suddenly startled to see her blue eyes suddenly swing wide open, watching him with a still curiosity. Silently and awkwardly, they stared for an electric second. The sunshine floated still on the morning air, mockingbirds chirping and chattering outside, making the silence a background for their unspoken words.
"Were we drunk last night? Or would you refresh my memory on why you're sleeping in my bed?" the boy cautiously asked.
Embarrassed, the girl suddenly sat up, her slim, girlish shoulders gleaming in the morning light.
"I,..I was, cold, couldn't sleep; yeah, couldn't sleep and anyway, I kept thinking how insomniacs are unhappy people and I wanted to make today a good day since you spent all this money to come out here and it's my fault, so I thought sleep would help. Plus, I was cold too and if I died of frostbite my mom would kill you and...." her voice trailed off at his amused expression.
"Excuses, Mary, I think you just want to sleep with me."
The words sounded wrong before they even left his mouth but he'd forgotten to be careful; he cringed at her bewildered than frustrated expression, and her furious blush. She instantly slid out of bed, swinging her long legs over the side, and out of impulse the boy reached out.
"Rory, don't go," he said quietly, and the unknown force that had compelled her here in the first place held her stationary for one more moment. Hesitantly, she stepped back.
Tristan stepped out of bed, yawning and stretching, a prospect the girl seemed to find disquieting. Maybe it was the lean length of his torso or the layers of hardened muscle wound tightly to bone on his lean frame. He tested his back gingerly, and then groaned as it cracked, and she turned her head to the side. Amused, he watched her reaction, enjoying the effect.
"Climb in," he commanded, and Rory did, giggling as she bounced on the huge mattress and cuddled under the fluffy down comforter. Without Tristan, the bed was comfortable and benign, not frightening at all.
"What're you doing?" she asked curiously, watching as he slipped a hand through his hair and headed for the door.
"Wait'n see," he smiled, and disappeared.
Rory took time to enjoy the morning sun, and felt a little thrill at snuggling down into the lingering warmth Tristan had left on his side. His pillow smelled faintly of a soft cologne and fresh shower scent, warm and boyish and clean; contented, she cuddled into it, and felt shocked at the realization that she liked it.
It wasn't Dean, was the thought that sprung to her mind next, but the whole ridiculousness of the situation made no sense to start with; she'd slept with the enemy. Well, not technically, but still......angered at the irrational behavior her sorrow had pushed her into, she resolved to stop making bad decisions because of Dean. Sure, it hurt. And sure, she'd picked this poor bastard out of nowhere and decided to play on his affections because she needed to escape. That was it, right? That could be forgivable, couldn't it?
But could falling for the enemy?
The thought was like a sharp, frozen slap across her face; silently, she sat up, heart racing, contemplating this terrible thought.
Had she run away with Tristan because he was a convenient escape from Dean?
Or was picking Tristan more intentional than she had thought?
The warmth of the sunbeams on her shoulders and the faint scent from the pillow seemed to give this last thought more credibility than Rory would hand it. Frustrated and afraid, the girl sank back onto the pillows.
Hearing the door rattle, she peeked out from the huge covers, and the view made a long smile stretch on her face.
Tristan had pushed a tea cart though the door, delicate china covers and silverware on it; a delicious smell emanated from under the porcelain.
"What're you doing?" she squealed in delight.
"Serving yo' ass breakfast in bed, m'lady," he grinned, and pushed the food next to her.
Guiltily she looked at the food on the platters, and then up at him.
"Don't you want to share?" she said dubiously.
He laughed.
"Jesus Rory, do you think I expected you to eat all that by yourself?"
The two fell to eating and joking around, contemplating the age old question.
"I'm telling you, the chicken came before the egg."
"Sorry, my egg came before my chicken. Would you like some sauce on yours?"
"Nah, but coffee would be nice."
"Here ya go," he grinned, and poured her a steaming cupful.
"Mm, I like you now." she grinned and breathed in the aroma.
"As in, you didn't like me before?"
"We referred to you as Evil Tristan. What do you think?" she replied sarcastically. "You seem to be converting nicely. How is hell, by the way?"
"A cross of Paris with finals with cold coffee, and a touch of you." he grimaced.
"Hey," she pouted. "I don't give you reason to dislike me."
"Like you didn't last night?" he said quietly, and a slight pallor brushed her cheek.
"I'm sorry" said Rory, looking into her coffee. Tristan sighed and pushed the food cart outside, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
Suddenly Rory sprang up and followed him into the bathroom determinedly. Swallowing hard and ignoring the fact that he was now shirtless, she joined him at the sink. Rifling through the drawers, she found a toothbrush still in the package. Breaking it out, she squeezed some toothpaste and began brushing.
Silently, the two brushed, all the while examining each other from the corner of their eyes; Rory struggled not to stare at the lean, muscled body beside her, his frame tight and slouched like a jungle cat's. His downy hair was tousled, and his eyes still held traces of sleepiness, but he was unassuming.
He followed the graceful curves of her body openly, aware of her uncomfortable stance and amused at her timidity. His eyes ran the length of her unashamed, and instinctively she crossed a hand over her stomach and focused on the sink.
He spit and rinsed, smiling at himself in the mirror; she did likewise, unabashed and unembarrashed, and the two examined their pearly whites.
"I think we should be on a Crest commercial," she grinned, earlier discomfort forgotten.
"How's my breath? Minty fresh?" he smiled, blowing a tiny breeze on her face.
"Mmm" she inhaled. "Like a York Peppermint patty. I have that sensation-"
"Cut it out," he elbowed, and she giggled. "Nice of you to accompany me in my toothbrushing this morning. Is this buddy day? Cause if you're trying to set a trend, a shower's up next.." he leered.
Scrunching up her nose in disgust, she scowled at him.
"You're vile."
"And you're strange. Have I ever told you?" he replied.
"Countless times," she snorted. "As though the sheer truth of it might make your strangeness seem less."
"Oh now I'm strange. I don't recall dragging a person I barely know to another city impromptu." he grinned.
"Yeah, but you followed, didn't you?" she smiled innocently, and skipped out of the bathroom.
Alone, Tristan stared in the mirror.
"My best mistake," he said to his toothbrush.
Or my worst mistake, he contemplated as he stepped out of the shower. Drying his hair with a towel and a few seconds with the blow-dryer, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out into his room.
Mistake.
She was leaning the window innocently, staring at the scenery below; a colorful vista on the quiet New Orleans street greeted her, and the jazz player on the corner serenaded her smile.
Mistake.
Walking up as casually and quietly as possible, meaning to join her and startle her, maybe to scare her and get a little rise out of her. It was amusing watching her awkwardness sometimes.
Watching the way she stood on her tiptoes to lean out further, the slender curves of her legs to her thighs rounding out under the swingy, thin green skirt and the cream colored peasant blouse slightly raising to reveal a this strip of smooth skin on her back. Her shoulders peeked out from the embroidered cloth, her brown hair luxuriantly slipping around her head like mahogany waterfalls.
Mistake.
Reaching out and touching her, a tiny, soft touch that sent a jolt of electricity through both of them, causing her to spin around; her eyes went wide and frozen, and her fingers trembled.
Suddenly feeling lost as though his game was completely forgotten, Tristan watched her intently, trying to gather his wits.
"I'm sorry, I'll get out, I just wanted to know if it was ok to borrow this shirt and I thought you were already changed, I'll just leave right now....." she stammered, but with one last desperate effort, he managed to unfreeze.
"Whatcha lookin at?" he asked casually, leaning over the window's edge.
Incredulous, she watched him, confused at the lack of tenseness he was displaying.
"You know if you stand like that in the window, people will think you're wearing nothing." she remarked dryly, finding her voice.
"Must not reflect too good on you, standing next to me," he smirked, and she suddenly backed away.
Small avalanches of chills ran down her arms and into her stomach, and she tried to look away but it was no use. She'd been caught. Her glance wandered over every inch of him, sending him reeling; she licked her dry lips unconsciously as she swallowed hollowly, her eyes' unbidden glance caressing him unknowingly. There was an innocence, a freshness to her wondering discovery as she studied him, a sense of newness and experimentation as she cocked her head to one side, letting her gaze travel over the well defined body before her, the muscle moving like a current deep under the surface of a river. His hardened curves stood there hesitantly as her eyes touched him, and in a sense he felt guilty.
Breaking the stare, Rory flushed, and backed away, trying to get past, but there was a hollow need inside him that could not allow her to .
Slowly, he backed her up against the wall, inch by inch, until his warm, damp and still slightly scented frame overpowered hers; he did not touch her, but held her there under the magic spell of his closeness, feeling her tremble under the power he held over her.
He put his arms against the wall on either side of her, and looking down on her flushed face and trembling lips, lost for a moment, he whispered.
"Let me kiss you." and the phrase was a statement, a question, an order and a plea in one; she found herself frozen under his words, the way they came unsteady from his mouth, and the pain that they were uttered with.
"Why?" she managed, dizzy from the proximity of his warm body, buy still managing to question.
Tristan bit his lip and closed his eyes, and pain was etched on his features along with the longing that burned deep and hard under the surface.
"Because it hurts not to," he responded, his voice broken; and forgetting her next words in a dizzying moment she flung reason aside and grabbed his face in her hands, crushing her lips to his hard. The kiss was full of pain and beauty, their mouths finding their resonance against each other, echoes of the soft, breathless murmurs that left her knees weak. His lip were seeking, warm and soft, firm and tender. Her body rebelling and forgetting, she let her tongue slide under his upper lip, softly pleading entry, and he allowed her mouth to capture his and hold it hostage, the fires of long sought passion flowing under their veins and maddening them both.
A tiny moan broke from her throat as he gently slid his fingers over her ribs, tracing the soft concave of her stomach, then down to her hips as he guided them towards his. Her hands wanted to know the contours of him, and they traveled over the gold expanse of velvet skin on his back and shoulders, and over the curve of each tightened muscle. She let out small pleased sounds at the discovery of the steel under the velvet skin as he tensed up, his chest plates hardening. Breathless, she traced them, eliciting a soft gasp from Tristan as he realized he was slowly getting too far.
Suddenly unbelieving and shocked, Rory broke away; her mind seemed to instantly kick in again, and the shock of what she'd just done registered. Without another word, she turned and fled from the room, and he was left standing there, suddenly cold.
Quickly, he dropped the towel and slipped on boxers and jeans, then an undershirt. His mind rapidly worked on a million apologies which died on his lips the instant he felt her small, innocent hands tracing the tightly wound muscles of his arms, flowing over each contour, admiring each swell and rise and fall with her fingertips.....GOD! there had to be some way to repent!
Hurrying to her room, he knocked on her door, and got no answer.
"Rory, you have got to let me in."
Knocking again, suddenly he had a chilling realization.
"Rory open the door!"
Waiting another minute, the viciously twisted the lock, breaking it, and dashed into the room.
The open window curtain fluttered softly in the breeze, and he walked out on the balcony.
She was gone.
