Climax (5 page)

K
at had chosen him over her father? Conflicting emotions spiraled through him: elation, worry, pride, regret. The only person she had left to call family in this world, and she'd walked away from the man for him. Would he have done the same if he'd been forced to? Leave his mother like that to keep Kat in his life? The idea of being without her…He repressed a shudder.

Kat truly belonged to him, for however long he could keep her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, holding her hands tight in his. “You shouldn't have to choose.”

I'm a bloody bastard for being happy she chose me
. Guilt turned his insides to fire, and he forced the sickening sensation down as deep as he could. It was almost Christmas, and he and Kat were together, just as he'd wanted.

She wiped her face with her free hand and laughed, but the sound was full of pain. “Well, I had to. Let's go.”

He put the bags in the trunk and glanced back at his mother's town house.

I'm sorry, Mum
.

Tristan hated leaving her behind, but she had Clayton now, and Kat needed him more. Everything that had happened to her was because she couldn't stay away from him and he couldn't keep his hands off her.

Tristan wasn't sure how long they drove in silence before he glanced at Kat. She'd stared at her phone a few times when it had buzzed and he'd seen the name “Dad” on her screen before she silenced it. Now she was reclined back in her seat with her eyes closed. Her features were a little relaxed, and she looked peaceful in her sleep. He blew out a breath, and some of the tension in his muscles eased.

I finally have what I want. Kat all to myself
. She'd left her father to be with him, for what…hot sex? They'd both sacrificed too much to stay together. All he could think about was how lucky he was that Kat saw something in him worth fighting for. She made him feel like a damned hero when she gazed up at him with those eyes so full of intensity and a promise of things he hadn't known he wanted until he'd met her.

She was a future, a future he wanted to claim as his, but he knew it wasn't something he would be allowed to keep. That day in Kew Gardens they'd both acknowledged that he was expected to marry someone groomed to be a countess. Someone his father approved of. But he didn't want to dwell on the future he knew his father wanted for him.

I can cling to this fantasy for just a little while longer, can't I?

About two hours later, they were climbing the front steps of Fox Hill. The butler, Mr. Whitney, was there to greet them.

“Whitney, this is Kat Roberts. She's my…er…”
Stepsister…girlfriend
…

“Friend,” Kat interjected, saving him.

“Welcome, Ms. Roberts. Good evening, Mr. Kingsley.” The butler shouldered Kat's duffle and held the door open to allow them in.

Rubbing her arms, Kat allowed her gaze to rove over the entryway of the house.

“What is it?” Tristan curled an arm around her, offering warmth.

When she turned her face toward his, she was smiling. It was a smile of genuine delight. “I
love
this house. It's so beautiful.”

“So do I.” He led her inside, eager to show her more. She'd stayed here before, after the party he'd held following the end of the year's exams, but they'd both been more focused on ripping each other's clothes off than on a tour.

“So this was where you spent a lot of time with your mother?”

“Yes, quite often. Kew Gardens was our refuge in London, but Fox Hill was truly hers. My father rarely set foot in this place.”

They walked farther into the house, and he tried to see everything through her eyes. The rich reds of the walls and the warmth of the wood paneling. The scent of books from the library, the creak and sighs of the house settling into place as a wind from outside rushed over the brick facade. Rows of portraits of ancestors, even one of him by the top of the stairs. Her eyes focused on that painting. She wrinkled her nose, as if deep in thought.

“What are you thinking?” Tristan was always fascinated by her mind and the thoughts that flashed through it.

“When I came here before, I didn't notice that painting. I was hurting so much for having sent you away, and when I showed up for the party, I walked right past it.” She cocked her head slightly to one side, really studying the picture. “I like it. You look like you know just who you are.”

Inside the frame, his oil counterpart stood tall and proud, chin raised, eyes clear and intense. He was wearing a blue three-piece suit and standing beside a marble fireplace. The background was dark, as if to create an illusion that he was a dark god of the underworld stepping out of his domain into the light. He'd always thought the painting was too grim, too brooding, but now he was seeing it in a different way.

There was a look of purpose in his eyes and a determined set to his chin, as though he knew just what he wanted to do with his life. Had being with Kat made him see things in a new light? He'd never embraced his destiny as the future Earl of Pembroke. Yet talking about his plans for the estate with Kat when they were alone made him want to be a good man, and a good earl. A better man than his father. Now he had a real desire to enact the plans he and Carter had dreamed up. He had been too afraid to push for change until Kat had reminded him he was strong. He could take control of his life again and run the estate to benefit everyone, not just the family's pocketbook. And he had Kat to thank for it.

“You really like it?” he asked.

She nodded seriously. “It suits you. Reminds me of the night I first saw you.” With an impish twinkle in her eyes, Kat nudged him with an elbow. “What did you think when you first saw me?”

He curled an arm around her waist and stroked her hair back from her face as he summoned his memories of that night. “I thought I was dreaming. Everything around you was like a blurry scene from a Monet and you were there, like a woman out of a Sargent painting, real, vivid laughter in your eyes and your heart on your sleeve when you opened up to me at the bar. It was like I'd taken a deep breath for the first time in years.”

The tiny pupils in her eyes grew as she blinked. “That's really what you thought?” Kat's lips twitched as though she was tempted to smile but was a little afraid of showing how much she wanted to.

“That was only the beginning. Everything now is so much more intense.”

Finally, she smiled. “It's that way for me, too.”

For a moment neither of them said anything. They just held on to each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, sharing breath and warmth.

Tristan broke the contact first because he wanted to show her more of the house. Fox Hill was full of memories for him, more often good than bad.

“Let me show you the rest.” He nodded at the hall.

Mr. Whitney emerged, in that uncanny way a good butler could, to take their coats and put them away in the closet.

“Whitney, we'll be around the house a bit. Is there anything to eat in the kitchen for later?”

The butler nodded. “Mrs. March left out some cookies she was planning to frost, and there's homemade cocoa in the tin by the teapot. If you don't mind, I'll pop down to town for a few hours to take care of a few things before this evening.” Then Mr. Whitney made himself scarce, which was good because Tristan wanted to take Kat straight to bed.

“Cookies? Oh, Tristan, I haven't frosted cookies since I was a kid. Can we?” Kat's bright smile banished away the lingering ghosts of his worries.

“We just arrived home and rather than”—he made a subtle hand gesture that earned him a sweet blush—“you want to frost cookies?” He didn't know whether to be irritated or amused at her ability to string him out. He wanted to drag her to bed and fuck her bloody brains out.

“Yes. Cookies. Then…” She mimicked the gesture with her hands, a wicked smile that suited her too well hovering on her lips. “Wouldn't you like to see what interesting things we can do with frosting?” She made a deliberate show of licking her lips.

And just like that, his cock was punching at the front of his jeans and his blood heated. He reached out to grip her waist with his hands and tug her close to whisper, “Fine. I'll agree to the terms. Cookies, then you in my bed wearing nothing and on your hands and knees like a good little girl, because I have an entire Christmas list of bad, very bad things I want to do to you.”

This time her face turned beet-red and her lips parted.

“How bad?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

“So bad, I'll get a stocking full of coal for the next century.” His fingers tightened on her hips and he kissed the shell of her ear while rubbing his erection against her stomach.

Another panting breath, and her body quivered in his hold.

Now
he
wanted to be the one who tortured her after all the times she'd nearly killed him with her sweet sensuality. He knew after years of seduction when a woman was heavily aroused. Kat's eyes were slightly dilated and her breath came out in shallow pants. “How about those cookies?” He rotated her body so she was facing the direction that would take them to the kitchen, and he took her arm in his as they walked together. She was glaring at him, but there wasn't any real anger there.

“You got me all revved up on purpose, didn't you.” It wasn't a question.

“Tit for tat, darling. I never said I play fair.” Tristan gave her arse a rather rough little pat before he crossed the kitchen to fetch the teapot. When he turned back around, she was staring at him, more specifically staring at his lower body.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she replied as though still distracted. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking at your ass and picturing my hands digging into it while you're on top of me…
inside
me.” She bit her bottom lip to hide a smile.

“Little minx. You realize, I'm this close…” He held up his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger in the air, leaving only half an inch between them.

She was teasing him sexually, and it was driving him wild, not just physically. He'd never really had a woman be this playful about sex. Sure, there had been lots of woman who'd played the game with him, the coy smiles, the questing palms in dark corners of clubs, the hand jobs in the bathrooms of expensive restaurants…but this…with Kat? It was different. It was more exciting, more intense, more rewarding than anything else had been with those other women.

“Why don't you make us the cocoa and I'll find the frosting and the cookies.” Kat changed the subject just when he'd decided to hell with it. The look she sent him, eyes alight with mischief, as though she'd known how hard he was from her teasing, was too damned adorable.

Tristan stared at her as he held the teapot in one hand. Adorable? He'd never used the word before with a woman, but he kept using it with Kat. She located the cookies in a red and white Christmas tin and then dug around in the cupboards for plates. Tristan knew he wasn't going to cut the cookies and cocoa out of their plans, so he filled the kettle and twisted the knobs on the stovetop to heat the water.

Kat had placed all the cookies on plates and was digging through the drawers until, with a little “aha!” she pulled out a pair of small butter knives.

“Where do you suppose she put the jar of frosting?” she asked, her eyes darting around the kitchen.

With a little chuckle, Tristan shook his head at her. “You think any cook who works for my mother would use premade frosting? Good Lord, Kat. We're the aristocracy, not common folk.” He raised his chin in a mock-haughty manner, but at the look on her face, as though she half believed him, he burst out laughing.

“Well, seriously though, darling. Mrs. March would never use canned frosting. She's an excellent cook and takes pride in her work.”

“Hmm.” Kat pursed her lips and pulled out her phone, typing on it.

“What on earth are you doing?” He walked over to her and peered down at her screen.

This time she laughed. “I'm Googling frosting.”

“Googling?” He almost choked on the word. “You're trusting the fate of Mrs. March's Christmas cookies to a search engine?” He looked up at the ceiling, sighing dramatically, but Kat nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow.

“Google has never failed me before.” She snickered at some private joke and then held up her screen. “Homemade frosting recipe using powdered sugar. All we need is buttermilk, a block of cream cheese, and powdered sugar.”

Tristan squeezed Kat's waist lightly before he let her go, and then they both dug through the fridge and cabinets until they found the ingredients. As it turned out, creating frosting from scratch was a sticky business. Once it was all done and the cookies were frosted, Kat's russet-brown hair was lightly dusted with the sugary powder, and he had handprint-shaped stains on his jeans from where he'd patted his hands without thinking.

“God, we've made a mess!” Kat glanced at the smattering of bowls and the plates covered in bits of discarded frosting.

“Mrs. March will be furious,” he agreed.

With one arched brow, Kat stared at him. “Oh no, Mr. Future Earl, you're doing the dishes with me. I'm not leaving poor Mrs. March to deal with all of this when she gets back.”

Doing his best, he followed Kat's lead on the dishes, but he quickly discovered that he did not like to wash things in the sink. The entire time she was giggling and trying to hide it, as though his inability to use a scrub brush was hilarious.

“You know I'm going to make you pay for this. In bed. With lots of sex.” He winked at her. There were a hundred ways he wanted to punish his little Kitty-Kat, and he had a drawerful of toys in his bedroom to use on her.

“Everyone should know how to clean dishes. Even aristocrats.”