Seduction: Her British Stepbrother Read online

  Would she ever be able to erase the memories of their night together?

  No. His voice was in her head with that low, all too seductive chuckle that melted her panties right off.

  “Kat?” He rested a hand on the doorknob, staring at her.

  “Sorry, I lost track of time,” she muttered and carefully set her book on the bed beside her. His gaze flicked to the bed and back to her, but he didn’t say a word. Tristan led her down the hall. Any stray looks at his ass were not her fault. Some men were just too…yummy, as her best friend Lacy would put it, to avoid gawking at them.

  “I thought I’d let you see my favorite room. This is our library.” Tristan was grinning as he opened a door that looked more like a part of the wall. Instead of a latch or a knob, a circular gold ring was set into the paneling, which could be lifted to reveal and open the “hidden” door. Tristan had to duck his head as he entered ahead of her. She gasped when she came in behind him.

  The library. It was beautiful. A row of stained glass windows lined one wall. The center panel depicted St. George slaying a dragon. The two windows flanking it portrayed other scenes from the battle. The sheer mastery of the colored glass was astonishing. Such detail, the emotion on the subjects’ faces, gave her goose bumps.

  She moved without thinking to the center window, touching the emerald glass of the dragon’s head beneath St. George’s armored boot. The creature’s cat-like eyes gleamed at her and seemed to be alive. It was so startling that she blinked, half afraid it might blink back. Stained glass moved Tristan to tears, just as butterflies did her. A little shiver worked up her back as she remembered him standing next to her at the bar in the Pickerel Inn pub, whispering his secret to her.

  Only then did she understand what she was seeing. A little boy in this library watching the dragon, feeling small and all alone, taking heart in St. George’s valiant victory. Sorrow gathered around her own heart like a black shroud. Poor Tristan.

  “The stained glass,” she whispered, and glanced at Tristan.

  He was leaning against the closed library door, his focus on her. His gaze impossibly intense, a dozen emotions flashing so fast across his eyes that she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

  “Kat…” The feral desperation in his tone made Kat go very still, like a wild animal hearing a predator move past it in the underbrush. He was close to the edge, just as she was. They had to keep their distance, otherwise one of them would break and the other wouldn’t be far behind.

  “We can’t go on like this,” she whispered.

  “We can’t,” he agreed as he came toward her. There was no stopping it, just like in the bathroom. He stopped inches from her, and that tiny space between them hummed with energy and the promise of what was to come.

  She lifted her head just as he lowered his so their lips met. The scintillating caress turned molten-hot as he thrust his tongue inside to play with hers. Tristan’s hands gripped her hips, tugging her flush against him. Unable to stop, her body rolled against his, and that irresistible urge to get as close to him as possible was all she could think about. He owned her with that kiss, possessed every part of her. Bursts of sexual hunger began to build in her lower abdomen, and she curled her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

  He slid one hand down the back of her left thigh and lifted her leg to curl it around his hip. Kat rubbed herself against him, her mouth still locked with his. She shuddered with little bolts of pleasure as she found a way to grind herself against his muscled thigh.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a gruff whisper. “Ride me, love.”

  “Hmmm,” she whimpered in excitement as she bit his bottom lip and tugged on it, playfully. It felt too good to be with him, too wicked and wonderful.

  One of his hands slid down her back beneath her jeans and panties to cup one ass cheek. The sensation of his hot palm on her bare skin as he pressed her that much harder against his thigh…it was all she needed to come apart.

  Sparks burst forth between them, and she kissed him savagely, gasping against him as her nerve-endings between her thighs came to life, and her clit pulsed hard enough to hurt. Her inner muscles clamped on the emptiness, and she cursed softly, wishing he’d been inside her. Panting, she sagged against him, her hands still around his neck. They’d just dry-humped like a couple of teenagers in a closet, and it wasn’t enough…She could never get enough of Tristan.

  “Steady on, darling.” He nuzzled her cheek, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he simply held her close, embracing her body as it pulsed with little quivering aftershocks.

  It took a minute, but when she was strong enough to stand without his help, she shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

  “What—”

  “No, we can’t, Tristan. We just…” She choked on the words. “We can’t.”

  Her entire body vibrated with the flood of emotions. They’d already gone too far too fast. First at Fox Hill, then today in the bathroom when he’d gone down on her, and now here. There was too much fire between them, and it was going to burn them both.

  She closed her eyes, blinking away the sting of tears. “I can’t be with you.” It’s too much of a risk, but he’ll never understand. He doesn’t care about me, not like I do about him. It’s a game for him, and right now he’s upset he’s not getting what he wants. But my heart’s on the line. So much for the two of them behaving like rational adults about this.

  For a long second neither of them spoke, but finally he severed eye contact and let out a slow, measured breath as though drawing in upon himself and exerting that control she didn’t seem to have. Then he spun on his heel and strode across the room, back to the door. His long legs ate up the floor, putting a universe between them.

  She rushed to keep up with him and, just as they both reached the door, Kat caught his arm. He glanced down at her hand, and she hastily withdrew it.

  After what seemed like forever, he spoke. “Come on. I’ve much to show you before dinner.”

  Kat followed on his heels, keeping a respectable distance between them. Not that it made a difference.

  He took her through the rest of the house before bringing her downstairs to the kitchen on the way to the dining room. She met the cook, Mrs. George, and a few other members of the household staff. The kitchen was a warm, cheery part of the town house, with pots hanging from a central rack over the main marble island. Fresh basil and rosemary grew in small pots on a windowsill, catching the winter sun. Kat loved how friendly Mrs. George was when she shook Kat’s hand in greeting.

  “So happy to meet you, dearie. Your father is quite a man, we’re all happy he’s here. It’s been good for Elizabeth.” Mrs. George’s nose turned a little red, and her eyes were shining with a hint of tears.

  Tristan slid an arm around her waist for a brief instant, steering her toward a plate of fresh cookies on the counter. Heat blossomed from that brief caress, and she fought the instinct to lean into him.

  “Here now, Tristan, don’t be eating those!” Mrs. George turned away from the ovens where she was putting in a dish that smelled of heavenly spices.

  With a wicked laugh, Tristan tugged the cookie plate closer and snatched up a few, handing them over to Kat.

  “Quick, lick them before Mrs. George can take them back!”

  Laughing, Kat shook her head. “I’m not licking them. We’re not five years old.” But she did raise one Christmas tree–shaped cookie coated in green frosting to her mouth and took a bite.

  The plump cook smiled indulgently at them and rolled her eyes.

  “Did you get all my presents for the staff wrapped, Mrs. George?” Tristan asked as he leaned back against the counter. With a subtle little move, he pulled Kat against his side so their bodies connected hip to hip. His scent tickled Kat’s nose and heat rushed to her cheeks.

  It was so easy to pretend that this was natural, that they were a couple, enjoying a Christmas in the kitchen, eating cookies, sharing smiles, excit
ed about being alone together later. A fierce ache rose up inside her like a howling wind, filling her with despair. This wasn’t to be; it was an impossible fantasy, and she shouldn’t let herself even pretend that life could be this wonderful. The ghosts of their pain in the library were momentarily banished as she let herself pretend she could have this wonderful dream.

  “I did get them wrapped! Thank you, Tristan. The maids will love their new fur-lined gloves.” The cook grinned. “And of course, I had a peek at mine. You shouldn’t have bought that knitting set.”

  “Nonsense, Mrs. George. How am I to get a new scarf every year if you don’t have the tools to make one?” He winked at the cook, who just laughed.

  “Off with you now, and don’t let your mother see you eating my cookies.”

  Tristan curled his arm around Kat’s hips as he led her out of the kitchen. Kat didn’t protest or try to move his hand, even though she knew she shouldn’t let him touch her like that. It was a risk. They could be seen…but she wanted that contact badly enough to risk it.

  She and Tristan were almost behaving normally, not like two people who wanted desperately to sleep together but couldn’t. It should’ve been a relief, but instead a hollowness was steadily growing inside her chest.

  “Is it normal for someone like your mom to have servants?” Kat asked Tristan. “I mean, she isn’t married to an earl anymore…”

  Several gold frames covered the walls of the main hall, the art within depicting men and women from different eras, posing for the artists. Kat couldn’t help but admire that—having one’s ancestors captured in oil paintings. She and her father only had a few grainy snapshots of great-grandparents in front of log cabins.

  “Mum needs them to help out, and most women of her status have a couple of servants. At my father’s estate the staff is three times as large. He doesn’t need them all, but he’s rather traditional,” Tristan explained.

  “Oh.” She followed him as they entered the dining hall.

  Three tall windows let evening sun in, warming the walnut of the dining-room table. A glass chandelier above the table glittered, casting sparkles of light against the walls. Kat noticed the pale green walls, which had tree branches and vines with blooming flowers painted on them. If she ignored the snow outside, she could pretend she was in a forest.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful.” She sighed.

  Tristan’s lips twitched, but the expression was fleeting. “I’m glad it meets with your approval.”

  “Tristan…”

  Before she could say anything else, their parents strolled in, arm in arm, laughing and smiling. At the sight of their kids, they dropped their arms.

  “Hey honey, did you get a chance to see the rest of the house?” Her dad grinned and walked over to her, trapping her in a strong hug.

  Kat nodded and with a little nervous flutter she spoke to Lizzy. “Your house is beautiful.”

  A blush stained Lizzy’s cheeks, and she smiled shyly. “Thank you. I want you to feel at home here.”

  Lizzy’s genuine heartfelt response warmed Kat inside.

  “I hope Tristan told you some of the history of the house?” Lizzy said as she gestured for everyone to sit. They picked the far end of the large table, making dining more intimate.

  “Yes, he did.” Kat tensed as Tristan placed a hand on her lower back and guided her to a chair across from his mother. That single touch, so intimate, so familiar, sent little shivers through her body and burned her skin with memories of the other times he’d touched her. She already knew with a sinking heart that she was going to miss being with Tristan. And not just physically. The way she felt around him, like anything was possible, and she could go out and take risks—all of that might vanish, too. And she didn’t want it to.

  Chapter 5

  Kat glanced at Tristan as he pulled her chair out for her and then scooted it in when she sat down. Tristan’s expression was contemplative, but his eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

  Her father sat down next to Lizzy, and Tristan chose the seat next to Kat. His chair was too close to hers, but neither of their parents seemed to notice. Their knees were almost touching, and she wanted that contact so badly; her whole body silently begged her, with little sparks and flashes of heat, to get even closer to him so he could set her ablaze.

  Have to stay in control. Can’t let him know how much I want to touch him, to rub my cheek on his shoulder and breathe in his scent. Tristan was addictive, but she couldn’t let herself take another hit. Forcing her thoughts away from Tristan—not that she was entirely successful—she turned her attention back to their parents.

  It was almost comical, the adults facing their kids across the table. But there was no way she could laugh right now. Not when Tristan’s leg was pressing against hers from knee to hip. Heat emanated from her leg where it touched his, and yet she couldn’t bear to move away.

  It was impossible for her to deny herself these small touches.

  Sometimes a girl can’t help herself…

  So she kept her leg where it was but didn’t dare look his way.

  “So…” her father said, breaking the awkward silence. “What’s on the menu for tonight?” He caught Kat’s eye and patted his stomach. “I’ve gotten spoiled by Mrs. George.” Despite his words, Kat could tell he was still healthy and fit.

  “Well.” Lizzy clasped her hands together. “Mrs. George wanted an Indian theme night after Clayton said you both liked Indian food. Tikka masala and kedgeree are on the menu, as well as spiced beef tongue.”

  Beef tongue? Kat did love Indian food, but she drew the line at tongues of animals.

  “Sounds…great,” she said, swallowing down the urge to gag. Ugh. This was going to be a nightmare.

  As the footman brought in plates of tikka masala and a basket of naan bread, Kat decided she’d fill up on these items first and see if she could avoid the tongue.

  “Lizzy, I thought we might go to a concert on New Year’s Eve. The London Symphony has a wonderful Chopin arrangement planned,” her father suggested.

  “What a wonderful idea,” Lizzy replied, passing the naan basket toward her and Tristan

  Kat lost track of what they were saying when Tristan put an arm around the back of her chair. Then he lazily leaned forward to hook a finger around the edge of the basket of naan, dragging it closer to them.

  “You don’t have to eat everything, you know,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

  “What?” she muttered, hating that she had to lean closer to him to do it. That intoxicating Tristan scent enveloped her and made her a little dizzy.

  “The tongue. You went white as ash when Mum mentioned it. You don’t have to eat it.” He nudged the naan in front of her and waited patiently for her to collect two pieces and set them on her plate. Then he took some for himself and pushed the basket toward their parents. As he did this, he removed his arm from her chair and brushed his hand against her arm, then her hip as he lowered it back beneath the table. It took everything inside her to keep from jerking as her body responded to the electric tingles from that contact.

  “Kat.” Lizzy caught her attention. “Your father tells me you love history?”

  Kat scooted forward in her chair and nodded, relieved to have someone to talk to besides Tristan and a safe topic with which to distract herself. “Yes, I’m getting my degree in it.”

  “That’s wonderful! What do you see yourself doing after you finish your program?” Lizzy sipped her wine and leaned toward the table.

  “She’s hoping to teach someday, be a professor,” Tristan cut in, then froze. He’d spoken so naturally, as though he’d been settling into the pleasant atmosphere of the dinner. But he’d forgotten one thing: He wasn’t supposed to know anything about her. Not her hopes and dreams, just as she wasn’t supposed to know his.

  We must be polite strangers. Not people whose souls have touched.

  Kat swallowed the lump of panic in her throat. “Er…yes. I was telling Trist
an during the tour that I’d love to be a college professor and teach history classes.”

  Her father and Lizzy shared bemused looks before Tristan’s mother spoke. “Well, I’m so glad you two have had a chance to get to know each other. London is full of history. Have you had a chance to take in the sights?”

  “She hasn’t.” Her father cut in and winked not-so-subtly at Lizzy. “Wouldn’t it be nice if someone showed her around while she’s here for the holidays?”

  “Yes!” Lizzy’s exclamation was a little too eager as she replied to Clayton. “Tristan thought he might have a chance to show Kat around since you and I will be busy with wedding arrangements.” She turned to Kat, beaming. “You two can get better acquainted.”

  “Yes, I’d be delighted to take Kat around London.” He turned his focus her way. His body emanated a subtle heat, reminding her just how close they were. “Well, what do you say? A bit of tourism to appease the parents?” His tone was light, teasing, but damned if his eyes weren’t burning hot in a way that made her flush all over.

  She’d once been afraid of their fire, of the way their passion sparked things, dark delicious things inside her. Now she missed it, craved it like she’d never craved anything else. He was keeping his distance, though, because she was terrified of getting her heart broken.

  “I’m in.” Kat’s voice was strong and clear as she met his gaze with her own.

  It was all so frustrating and confusing. She was crazy for holding him at arm’s length but still wanting to be around him. She knew it would only end badly. Kat refused to be the only one suffering from repressing whatever it was that kept sparking between them. He was torturing her with those lingering glances, and the gentle, familiar caresses, as though he wanted to drive her mad with the memories of how wonderful it had been between them.