Climax (6 page)

Her laughter, which followed, was musical, and the sweet sound of it punched him in the gut. His heart gave a strange rush of quick beats before it calmed again. Lord, she was beautiful, and it wasn't just her killer curves, but the way a twinkle brightened her gray eyes and how her smile made her face light up.

As Kat set the last dish into the dishwasher, Tristan tossed the brush into the sink and groaned. “Tell me we're done with this.” He waved a hand at the counter.

She studied the kitchen; it looked almost as spotless as when they had entered. “I think so. What do you want to do next?” Kat wiped her hands dry on a towel and turned to face him.

Tristan cocked a brow. “I seem to remember someone promising to be in my bed, naked, on hands and knees…Ring any bells?” he teased.

“Right.” Kat flushed and glanced down, a tad bashful.

He curled his arms around her back, holding her close. “What's this? Getting shy on me? I'm afraid we can't have that.” He met her gaze. “Why don't we play a game of billiards?” That sounded innocent enough. She wouldn't know until it was too late that he intended to break down some of those modesty barriers in a creative way.

“Pool? I'd like that. I'm not very good, but I can play.” She grinned.

“Excellent.” He was damned good at pool and had a very good idea of how to strip his little American stepsister out of all those pesky clothes she didn't need.

Merry Christmas to me…

T
ristan took Kat to the large entertainment room on the first floor. It had once been his grandfather's cigar and brandy room, but had since been converted to a sort of “man cave,” with a billiard table, leather couches, and a sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV on one wall. The low-hanging lamps above the billiard table illuminated the green felt when Tristan turned on the lights.

“Select a few cues. I'll pour us some brandy.” He headed to the liquor cabinet by the TV and poured two glasses before coming back to her.

A pair of cues rested on the felt and Kat was positioning the balls inside the wooden triangle.

“Solids or stripes?” she asked as she tucked the last ball inside with the others.

“Solids.” He set the white ball down on the black dot and lifted his cue. “But let's make it interesting.”

“Okay.” Kat carefully extracted the wooden triangle and set it back on the rack by the extra cues. “Like a wager on who wins?”

“Something like that. How about”—Tristan leaned over the table, cue ready for his shot—“whoever sinks their ball in a pocket gets to pick an item of clothing to remove from the other person.”

Kat's eyes glinted as she regarded him silently for a long moment. “One question. Do socks count as two items or the pair as one?”

Chuckling, Tristan smacked the white ball hard and it knocked all the other balls into a wild disarray on the table.

“Definitely one.” He wanted to get her naked as fast as he could.

“My turn.” Kat bumped him away from the table with her hip and prepared for her shot. Rather than watch her take her turn, he stared at her delectable arse, wishing it was bare so he could stroke the soft skin.

“Yes!” Kat whooped and straightened, pointing her cue at a striped ball that had just dropped into a corner pocket. “Take off your shirt.” She nudged him with her pole. “That's right, take it off.” She encouraged him with a sultry little laugh that shocked him with a bolt of desire.

He was going to get her for that. Definitely. He unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of the couch.

“My turn.” He sank the next hit, three solids going into pockets and one striped.

“You hit one of mine in and that means you get to take something else off,” Kat announced, and pointed at his boots. “Pairs as one, just like the socks.”

Without a complaint, he toed off his boots. “Fine. Boots off. Now you get to take something off.” He walked around her in a slow circle, studying her jeans, her sweater, and the little black boots she wore. “Boots…socks…sweater.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the billiard table while he waited for her to do as he asked.

Muttering adorable curses under her breath, Kat tugged off her boots and socks and then lifted her sweater up and off, dropping it on the couch next to his shirt.

Fuck
. He'd been hoping she'd have nothing but a bra on underneath. Instead, she was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged her breasts. So much for his big win.

Then she padded around him on her little bare feet and studied the current lay of the balls on the table before picking her position. Right when she started to take her shot, he lifted the end of his cue and caressed it lightly along the inside of her right leg. With a little startled yelp, she knocked the balls in a dozen directions, but without enough force to send them toward the pockets.

She spun on him, furious. “Why, you cheating—”

Tristan silenced her by covering her mouth with his. He used his lips and tongue roughly, sensually teasing her, reminding her that he was in control of this little game and that she would be begging for him in seconds.

Kat curled her arms around his neck, kissing him back, her mouth hungry, desperate, echoing what he was feeling.

“Bloody hell, woman. Forget the game,” he growled, and lifted her up, dropping her on her arse on the edge of the pool table.

The frantic shedding of clothes had them both laughing and pausing briefly to steal kisses before he had his pants around his ankles and Kat completely bare. The lamplight played upon her skin, creating soft shadows in the curves of her body, the curves he wanted to spend hours worshipping with his mouth. She shivered and gazed up at him as he gently but firmly pressed her to lie flat on the table. A few billiard balls rolled away as she settled onto the surface, and her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath.

“Tristan, you're so…perfect.” Her cheeks reddened, and she didn't say anything else but smiled up at him.

In that moment he would have conquered the world for her. Done anything she'd asked. He wanted to shout from the rooftops, crow like a young lad with triumph, and he couldn't even say why. There was just a strange warmth in his chest that made him feel a tad light-headed, almost giddy.

Nudging her legs apart, he pulled her to the edge of the table and, watching her eyes, began to penetrate her slowly, entering inch by inch as she stared back at him. Invisible strands seemed to weave their bodies together, connecting them completely. He rocked slowly, breathing hard as he struggled to be gentle at first. Kat held up one hand, reaching for him, and he understood what she wanted. Bending over her, he covered her body with his and kissed her while he fucked her. It felt different somehow. Just the two of them at Fox Hill, able to be together without worrying that one or both of their parents would stumble in on them by accident.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he whispered against her throat.

Her body was hot and tight around his, drawing him deeper and deeper into her with each thrusting move. It was glorious, this wild rush of pleasure. He poured himself into her with every kiss, every teasing touch of his fingers over the curves of her hips and breasts. She was incredible, arching up, throwing her head back…He was lost in the way the light rippled along the tangle of her hair over the green felt. Her nails dug into his back, and she gasped his name over and over again like a fervent prayer.

There was no containing the explosion within him at the sound of his name as she burned up in a blaze of passion while she climaxed. His body tensed. Everything in him seemed to drive straight to his cock, and his blood roared against his eardrums. He shouted out her name as he let go and came inside her. She took everything in that moment, even his soul, and he didn't want it to end, the rippling pleasure of her body around his, the twitching of every muscle in his legs as he struggled to stay on his feet.

There weren't words for either of them for several seconds. He propped himself up and brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek, smiling.

“We should…” Her voice was broken by her breathing. “Play pool again soon.”

“I agree.” He chuckled.

It was a long while later when they'd finally left the billiard room and were properly dressed again. He held her hand as they walked down the hall.

“Are you going to show me the rest of the house?” She gave his hand a playful squeeze.

“Let me show you the library. It's better than the one at Pembroke, if you can believe that. It's smaller, but…Well, you can tell me what you think.” This was the place he'd longed to show her since he'd first seen her dorm room and realized what books meant to her. The library at Fox Hill would be a dream for a woman like Kat.

“It's really better than your dad's?”

“It is, but I plan to change the library when I'm in control of the estate. I want more first editions, more classics. We could have some stunning collector's items, and it could help draw visitors. There's a viscount my father knows who has an entire collection of Rudyard Kipling first editions. It draws a steady crowd to his estate every year. We could do the same at Pembroke.”

“You really have it figured out, what you want to do when you become the earl?” Kat paused at the entrance to the library and watched him. Her gray eyes pierced clear through him, as though nothing could be hidden from her. Ancient eyes, yet so full of an intoxicating air of innocence. Tristan had never met anyone like her before in his life, and he'd opened up his heart to her, sharing his dreams with her.

I once had dreams, dreams my father crushed. But you've given me hope
. He'd never imagined any woman would make him want to talk about his future and what he hoped he could do with his life, but Kat did.

The words could never be spoken. She'd never understand, and he couldn't show that vulnerability to her, not yet. Some things were too dark, too painful to share right away.

“Tristan?” Kat's voice called him back to the present.

“Sorry,” he murmured, and joined her at the entrance to the library. “What did you say?”

“Your dad's estate, what's it like?”

He started to answer, but the distant sound of a doorbell chiming jogged his memory.

“Should we get that since Mr. Whitney isn't here?”

“Er…yes, I ought to.” He covered her hand with his, and they walked away from the library back toward the front door.

“So, your father's estate, what's it like?” Kat pressed again.

Tristan rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, reveling in how soft her skin was.

“Vast. There are miles of forest, fields, so much land. And the house is immense—tan stone, Georgian architecture. I wish—” He could never take Kat there. His father would ruin the last good thing he was trying to keep for himself.

“What?” Kat leaned in to him and gazed up with those lovely eyes, silently begging him to open up. The doorbell chimed again, and he scowled in irritation as they walked toward it.

“If my father weren't there, I'd take you.”

Her brows furrowed. She seemed frustrated and hurt.

“It has nothing to do with you or what I think of you.” He lifted her chin so he could see her eyes. “My father disapproves of
every
woman I've ever shown the slightest interest in, except Brianna Wolverton. He thinks he'll arrange my marriage to her and he'll get in the way of me and any woman I desire that he doesn't approve of.” He sighed and pressed his forehead to hers again for a brief second before he backed away and opened the door, still looking at her as he spoke. “I don't ever want you to meet my father. He's cold, arrogant. Ruthless. He'll tear you down simply because I care about you. I want to protect you.”

The frustration cleared from her expression, softening her gray eyes. “He's really that bad?”

“Worse. He'll do anything to make me come to heel. I don't want you anywhere near him.”

“Well, you've already failed at that, boy.” A cold voice sliced through Tristan.

He turned back to look at the open doorway, his hand still on the knob as he stared into the cold, arrogant face of his father, Edward Kingsley.

F
ather,” he uttered harshly. His chest tightened and his hands clenched into fists as he struggled to remain calm.

He slowly moved to block Kat from his father's view. What the hell was his father doing at Fox Hill? He should have been back at the estate. Unless…he was furious that Tristan had returned to London and Kat, in which case…his father had tracked him down here.

Fucking hell
.

Without so much as an “excuse me,” his father pushed him out of the way and strode into the entrance hall, glowering.

“So, the rumors are true. Sleeping with the daughter of the man your mother married only this afternoon? Really, Tristan. I've taught you to control your urges better than that. Did you know they are calling you ‘Lord of Scandal' back in London? Your picture and
hers
”—Edward nodded at Kat with a scowl—“are in every paper. Bloody TMZ was at the estate this afternoon hounding the guards at the front gates, asking about your affair with your stepsister.” His father's voice grew louder as he talked, like a storm building upon the horizon.

Rather than shrinking behind Tristan as any other woman might when his father started to yell, Kat squared her shoulders and faced him, joining Tristan at his side.

“Father, get the bloody hell out of my house.” His tone was ice-cold and he was one step away from shouting. It was one thing for Edward to attack him—he was used to being a target—but Kat was off-limits.

Edward chuckled. “Your house? Boy, this isn't—and never will be—
your house
. Just like everything else, what you think you own belongs to either your mother or me. The car you drive? Mine. The clothes on your back? Mine. The funds currently putting you through Cambridge?
Also mine
.”

His father spat the last few words with such venom that it took every ounce of Tristan's control not to flinch.

“I own you, dear boy. Every part of you. Now, send that little American tramp back to London and come home with me to Pembroke immediately.”

Kat's fingers curled around his, and he realized he'd balled them into fists and taken a step toward his father. Her touch gave him a strange mixture of strength and patience.

“I'm not sending her anywhere, Father.”

A hard sneer covered his father's face. “Yes. You. Are. Because if you don't, you can say good-bye to everything I've given you. The car, the clothes, the program in Cambridge. Oh, and I'll sack Mr. Martin and his son, effective immediately.”

“What?” Tristan hissed. Fury began to churn inside him, spinning madly.

This time his father smiled. “You wouldn't want to lose your beloved Carter and his father, would you? Without references from me, they'll be out of decent work. Lord knows what they'll have to do to make ends meet. After twenty-nine years of service, Mr. Martin will be cast out. No aristocratic family will dare to hire him, not when I've expressed my views on his poor job performance.”

Tristan couldn't breathe. Carter and his father…tossed off the estate. Their entire lives were at Pembroke. He couldn't ruin that for…

Kat's hand fell away from his, and it felt like he was falling through a black tunnel, no end in sight. Just crushing darkness.

“You have one night, Tristan. Be back at Pembroke first thing tomorrow morning without her, or I'll destroy the Martins and take everything else you love away from you. Clear enough?” Edward straightened his suit, then pulled a pair of leather gloves out from his coat pocket and slid them on in a slow but controlled movement, like a military general.

Tristan's throat constricted, but he gave no sign to his father that he agreed. Everything inside him was raw and yet numb at the same time.

“Happy Christmas.” His father's words were dark, and all too cold, given the season. An amusing parting shot, no doubt, as he ripped Tristan's world apart.

It was a long moment after his father left the house before Tristan recovered from the shock. Numbly, he walked slowly toward the library, the room in Fox Hill that he took the greatest comfort in. Kat followed silently, her eyes wide and face ashen. He leaned heavily against one of the reading tables, trying to clear his head of the thoughts rushing madly through his mind.

Kat had moved to stand in front of one of the large windows, hugging herself as she gazed out at the snow-covered gardens of Fox Hill.

“Kat…” Her name burned his lips.

She turned his way, and he glimpsed tears coursing down her cheeks. She tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. Was she dying inside like he was?

“I guess it's really over this time, isn't it?” She started to turn away again, but Tristan strode over and spun her, catching her against him.

If he held fast to her, he might not have to let her go. A foolish hope, but it was there all the same.

A muffled sob came from her, and she clung to him.

I have had everything a man could want my entire life. Until her. And she'll never belong to me…The one thing I—

He squeezed Kat tighter to him. Every moment of his life seemed to have led to this, and his father was taking her away.

“Tristan, I can't go back to my dad, not after what happened, but I can't stay here either.”

The pain lancing through him flared his temper. “Why not? My father can't take you from me. He can't—”

Kat reached up to place a fingertip to his lips. “We both know he would do what he threatened to. And I'm not going to let you choose me, not when you know in your heart you have to protect Carter and his dad. It's the right thing to do.”

“To hell with what's right. I want you, Kat. I don't need anyone but
you
.”

When she pushed him away, it cut his soul in two.

“The man you are, the man I fell for, does the right thing, even when he doesn't want to. I know I teased you about being a bit high and mighty, but the truth is…” She rubbed her eyes, wiping away stray tears. “The truth is, you're one of the best people I've ever met. Even though you try to hide it, your heart is so full of love, for your mother, for Celia, Carter…The people you love are a part of what makes you so wonderful. I will not be the woman who steals them from your life.”

Kat was killing him. His lungs tightened and his anger boiled to the surface.

“So you'll condemn me to the fate my father has planned? Don't tell me that you can sit back and watch me walk away. I'll have to marry someone else. That's what he wants. Political allies, a strategic marriage, a life of silent desperation. You would do that to me?”

How could she not see that if they gave in to his father's wishes this time, they'd lose each other and their chance at shared happiness? Edward Kingsley had played his trump card and wouldn't hesitate to exploit anyone to get anything he wanted.

“We have to grow up, Tristan. Not everything is a fairy tale. We had a glimpse of something few other people ever have in their entire lives. But we have to give it up because it's the right thing to do.” Her voice was quiet but firm, and it cut his heart to ribbons.

There it was, that glimmer in her eyes of an ancient knowledge of having endured this before, in another life, another time. How could she be so brave? It was destroying him, but she stood tall in the face of losing their chance of being happy together. Everything they'd done today seemed a thousand years away, as though a stranger, not him, had experienced that joy, that freedom to just…
be
with the woman he cared about.

“We have one night. Let's not waste it.” She held out a hand to him.

Tristan curled his fingers around hers and tugged her toward him. Being in his arms was like coming home, the way she felt as a little girl, climbing down the steps of her bus and running across the thick summer grass, spying her house in the distance. The house she'd lived in as a child. Before her mother left…before everything changed.

She tilted her head back and gazed into Tristan's eyes.

One of us has to be strong enough to keep things together for one more day.

“Pretend with me,” she breathed as she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his.

“Pretend?” His hand gripped the back of her neck, lightly massaging away the knots of tension.

“Yes.” Kat kissed him lightly. “Pretend it's just you and me. No one else exists in this world. What happens with this last day, it will
always
be ours. No one can take that away from us.”

His mouth, usually so stern and proud, curved into a gentle, wry smile. Slowly, so slowly the anticipation drove her mad, Tristan lowered his head until their lips touched.

Sweet kisses, soft but firm hands stroking, a shared exhale…

It began to build, like the sky burning with shades of fire as the dawn approached. Kat gasped as Tristan suddenly lifted her up and she curled her legs around his waist. He carried her to a bookshelf that had a wide waist-high shelf. When she hit the wood, he pressed against her, his mouth devouring hers while his hands fumbled with the buttons of his jeans.

“Let…me…” She panted between searing kisses and hopped down to stand.

He stepped back and pulled his sweater off, tossing it away while she toed out of her boots and stripped out of her clothes. When she was down to her panties and bra, he was on her again, placing her back on the ledge. She wound her arms around his neck, stroking her fingers through his hair and tracing the shapes of his shoulder muscles. He was so beautiful.

My own fallen angel
. She smiled against his lips.

Tristan kissed his way down to the tops of her breasts, and with a little tug on her bra, he freed them from the black cotton bra cups. One of his palms cupped her left breast, while his mouth closed over the peak of the right. Sucking hard on the tip, he tortured her sweetly. She writhed against the bookshelf behind her, feeling the spines of the old books rasping against her skin. Digging her hands into his hair, she tugged on the strands.

Rather than relent, he moved his lips down her belly. With a low growl, he ripped the panties off. The scraps dropped to the ground, and he flattened his palms on her inner thighs, shoving them wide apart. Kat let go of his hair so she could grasp the edges of the bookcase to keep herself from falling. He pressed kisses, feathery and light, followed by little love bites, against her inner thighs as he worked his way toward her mound. Kat shivered and arched against the shelf, gripping the wood to stay upright. She glanced down, seeing his dark hair glinting in the soft glow of the library light. Every kiss, every little stroking touch of his hands and lips upon her skin, set fire to her body.

Tristan's lips moved closer and closer to her mons, and her head spun a little when she realized where his mouth was headed. When he found her clit and he sucked on the sensitive bud, sparks shot through her, and she cried out at the harsh stab of arousal and the rush of wet heat. He licked her, kissed her, tortured her with his mouth until she was chanting—more like begging—his name in reverent breaths. The climax hit her slowly, softly, a cresting wave of pleasure, drawing her out to sea and lulling her into relaxing.

“Don't quit on me yet, darling.” He chuckled as he rose and towered over her. He went to unbutton his jeans. Kat reached for him, but he caught her wrists and pinned them above her head with one of his hands. His other hand freed his cock and then positioned himself at her entrance. He kissed her hard, brutal almost, as he thrust into her body. She bit his lip as pleasure at the sudden invasion tore through her.

Nothing will ever feel this good again…

She could barely think coherently as he withdrew from her and then slammed back in. He kept her wrists pinned and her body open for his taking. Everything was too much, too overwhelming, the emotions, the sensations, the need to move and to feel him move inside her.

“Who do you belong to?” His voice was low, rough, and commanding.

Their gazes locked and the primal part of her British bad boy was there, like churning fires in the mouth of a volcano. And she wanted to be burned. Bad.

“You,” she moaned. She arched her back, undulating her body against his. The savage sound that tore from his lips as he fully claimed her made her explode.

He pounded into her, relentless, their hips colliding with such force she knew she'd be bruised tomorrow. The bookcase rocked on its edges, the wood creaking in between the sounds of their bodies coming together. Several books crashed down to the floor around them, but neither of them cared.

“I'm yours, Tristan, forever,” she whispered as he buried his face in her neck.

Then, as the orgasm fully knocked into her, she threw her head back. A second later Tristan cried out, his body rigid as he came. He let go of her wrists and clasped her face in his hands and kissed her, his breathing harsh. His chest pressed to hers and their hearts beat wildly. When their mouths broke apart, Kat had to catch her breath.

That was when she noticed that a portion of the upper library windows were stained glass. The middle panel depicted a medieval woman and man in an embrace. The vivid colors were glowing with the setting sun outside, and the couple seemed to come alive, love evident on their etched features. Beneath them was an inscription, and Kat murmured the words aloud.

“
Amor omnia vincit improbus
. What does it mean?” she asked him.

“What?” Tristan nuzzled her cheek, their bodies still joined.

“
Amor omnia vincit improbus
,” she repeated, her eyes drifting between his face and the medieval stained glass.

“Love conquers all.”

When he spoke those words, she heard the pain buried just beneath the surface of his tone. She placed a hand on his cheek and stroked his jaw, the faint stubble scraping her skin.

Stay with me, Tristan. Don't lose control now
.