At my lack of answer, her arms cross over her chest, one slipper-clad foot tapping the floor. The movement draws my attention back to her bare legs. Oh, man.

  I swallow hard, scrambling for coherent thoughts. This was a bad idea. I should leave before I do something reckless. Like cross the room and pin her against that dresser. I mean, I already have kitchen counter and basement worktable in my repertoire, what’s a little bedroom dresser addition?

  I take a step back, intent on retreating while I still can. But then Nina’s gaze dips to my mouth, her teeth sinking into her plump lower lip. And just like that, all rational thoughts evaporate.

  Sleep deprivation. That’s what this is. Sleep deprivation and forced proximity and the maddening effect this woman has always had on me. A perfect storm of bad influences eroding my self-control. I’m drunk on exhaustion and stupidity and want—a want so visceral it scares me. But suddenly, I know exactly what I’m doing in her room and I go to her, determined to see my madness through.

  13

  NINA

  Forty minutes earlier

  Humiliation, thy name is Nina Thompson. I scarf down the last of the Doritos, licking the cheese dust off my fingers. But even that fails to console my wounded pride after Tristan’s latest rejection. My stomach grumbles, unsatisfied.

  I get on tiptoe to check what else Dad has stashed aside and spot, tucked behind the jumbo box of Fruit Loops, his contraband chocolate peanut caramel bars. Bingo. I devour two in rapid succession, letting the gooey sweetness momentarily chase away the bitter aftertaste of Tristan’s snub.

  When the sugar high fades, I’m left with ripped pants, a belly full of junk, and the urge to hide in this basement forever. Mom’s idea to banish me was actually a small mercy. At this point, I’m too ashamed to face half the people in this house. Make it all the people in the house except for myself. Tristan is Tristan. My parents are disappointed with me because of the vase. And I don’t suppose Dylan would be happy if he knew the naughty fantasies I’ve been harboring about his best friend. Or that we almost kissed.

  But I can’t stay here all afternoon. The book I was reading is upstairs and the only things down here are an old, sagging couch and Dylan’s gaming console. Time to sneak back to my room.

  I tiptoe up the stairs, ears straining for any sign of human activity. The house is quieter than one of Dad’s mandatory fishing trips. At the top of the basement stairs, I dart across the hall and up the second flight of stairs to the first floor, ready to hole back up in my room until I’ll eventually have to show my face for dinner and repent. I almost half expect to find a septa crawling in the hallway while ringing a bell to the chant of, “Shame, shame…”

  I’m about to reach the relative safety of my room, when I freeze just outside my door, pulse drumming in my ears. Tristan’s door stands ajar, an open invitation. It must be the faulty hinge—that door always swings open on its own. From here, I can only see his feet—shoes still on—at the edge of the bed. The view mocks me, daring me to sneak one more peek at the slumbering devil.

  I hover indecisively, tugged by temptation, knowing I should bolt to the security of my room. But my feet betray me, inching closer to his lair. One harmless little glance can’t hurt, right?

  My feet keep moving of their own accord, and I find myself poised at Tristan’s threshold. The sight of him, dark lashes sealed in sleep, full lips parted, hair falling over his forehead, skewers my insides like a bolt of lightning. I drink him in, unable to tear my eyes away. He looks utterly peaceful, almost innocent. More fallen angel than ousted devil.

  I inch closer, captivated by the rise and fall of his chest. In sleep, the ever-present smirk is wiped from his face, replaced by a boyish vulnerability that makes my treacherous heart flutter. Damn him. Even in an unconscious state, Tristan has me under his spell.

  A sigh escapes his lips and I freeze, terrified he’ll wake and catch me creeping. But he merely shifts, his sweater riding higher over his sculpted stomach, and settles back into dreaming. My eyes linger where they shouldn’t, tracing the contours of his body and that sliver of exposed skin like I have any right to commit them to memory.

  And that’s when it hits me—the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here I am, gawking at my nemesis while he’s blissfully unaware, half an hour after swearing off him for good. Pathetic. The humiliation from the basement comes rushing back in technicolor—Tristan’s rejection. “Just stay out of my way, Nina.”

  That’s exactly what I should do. White-hot anger surges through my veins, momentarily eclipsing my fascination. How dare he make me feel this way, even now? I clench my fists, overcome by the petty urge to shatter his peaceful rest.

  I back away from the door, mind whirring with the perfect plan for vengeance. It’s juvenile, sure, but I’m past the point of caring. Tristan brought this on himself.

  With a final scowl in his direction, I whirl around and stomp into my room with all the grace of a crazed elephant—aha, he wanted an elephant, I’ll give him one.

  Bang!

  The door slams behind me with a satisfying crash, rattling the very walls with my fury. Take that, you insufferable man-devil.

  I can only imagine the rude awakening he’s getting right now, bolting upright in bed with his dark hair deliciously rumpled and eyes wide with confusion. The mental image brings a smirk of savage satisfaction to my face. Immature? Absolutely. But revenge is sweet.

  I’ve just managed to shimmy out of my torn leggings and slip on my fuzzy green slippers when my bedroom door suddenly flies open with a second bang. I turn around, my mouth falling open as I discover Tristan framed in the doorway like some dark avenging angel. He steps inside and shuts the door firmly behind him. Those piercing blue eyes narrowed on me.

  “Tristan?” I squeak, trying to play it cool despite the frantic pounding of my pulse. “What are you doing here?”

  He runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, looking momentarily taken aback by the question. As if he’s not sure himself. “I… you woke me. With the door. Slamming.”

  Tristan’s gaze rakes over me, lingering on my bare legs before snapping back to my face. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I swear the temperature in the room ratchets up a few degrees.

  I arch an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance even as my stomach does cartwheels under his penetrating stare. “And you decided to, what, storm into my room and give me a good spanking?”

  The words slip out before I can stop them, whipping across the space between us like a challenge. What is wrong with me? I mentally face-palm, bracing for Tristan’s scathing comeback.

  But he just stands there, an odd expression flickering across his chiseled features. Is that… uncertainty? From the unflappable Tristan Montgomery?

  No, I must be imagining things. This is the man who takes perverse pleasure in tormenting me at every turn. The one who callously shattered my dignity less than an hour ago in the basement.

  I straighten my spine, determined not to let him see how much he affects me. How the mere sight of him sets my blood thrumming and my knees wobbling. I’ll be damned if I give him the satisfaction.

  I tap my foot and he looks at it, then back at my legs.

  What is that look in his eyes? It’s intense, almost… hungry. Like a predator sizing up its prey. My skin prickles with awareness, and I’m suddenly acutely aware of my state of undress. Did I shave this morning in the shower? Please tell me I shaved.

  Get a grip, Nina. This is Tristan we’re talking about. The bane of your existence. The man who seems to delight in pushing your buttons at every opportunity.

  But then why is he looking at me like that, his blue eyes darkening with some unreadable emotion? Why isn’t he firing back with a witty retort or mocking jab?

  The distance between us grows, filled with an undefinable strain that words can’t capture. My heart is a wild thing in my chest as all the hair on my body—hopefully none on my legs—stands to attention.

  Finally, Tristan backtracks. It looks like he’s decided to stand down for once. And since he’s about to leave, I let my gaze drop to his mouth. To those full, luscious lips that were about to kiss me and that he denied me.

  He seems to notice because the retreat stops.

  Instead of going away, Tristan takes a step forward, then another, his gaze never leaving mine. A new determination is etched on his beautiful face. I instinctively back up until the solid press of the wall behind me stops me. I’m trapped.

  He looms over me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. Smell the intoxicating scent of him—warm male and crisp cotton tinged with the barest hint of spice.

  Time seems to stall as he braces a hand against the wall beside my head, caging me in. His other hand comes to rest on my hip, his touch searing even through the thick fabric of my sweater.

  I stare up at him with a mix of awe and trepidation. Speckles of glitter are still trapped in his eyelashes and a few dust his cheeks. It should be ridiculous, but it’s mesmerizing instead.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Nina,” he rasps, his voice low and rough like sandpaper. “If you don’t want me to, say so now.”

  My mind goes blank, all sentient thoughts evaporating under the fiery determination in his stare. I know I should protest, push him away, tell him exactly where he can stick his kiss…

  But I can’t seem to form the words. Or do anything but gaze up at him, my lips parting on a shaky exhale.

  Tristan’s eyes flare with triumph, with a heat that sets my blood on fire. He dips his head, his mouth hovering a hairsbreadth from mine.

  “Last chance, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath fanning across my lips. A final, playful warning.

  We stare at each other in a sort of standoff. I should say something. Laugh in his face, push him away. Instead, I’m enthralled in his blue glaciers and can only swallow and wet my lips as an invisible pressure threatens to make me implode.

  The move doesn’t escape Tristan. His gaze drops to my mouth only to snap back to me, darker now. Almost feral. He tilts his head in a final, silent question, and when I still say nothing, he pulls me into him with a force contrasting the gentle way his lips press on mine.

  Oh gosh, his mouth feels as damning as it looks. Soft and firm all at once. My pulse skyrockets while small explosions go off in my belly. And he hasn’t even started to really kiss me yet. He’s just toying with me.

  Just as his mouth presses more insistently on mine, demanding access, there’s a knock on my door and my brother’s voice filters through. “Nina, you in there?”

  My heart can’t take it. Between the clandestine kiss, and my brother now at the door ready to discover us, I dissolve into a cloud of panic.

  14

  TRISTAN

  The sound of Dylan knocking on the door jolts through me like a live wire. I pull away from Nina’s intoxicating kiss—not sure if I’ve been saved or doomed by the interruption. My entire body is buzzing as I take in her emerald eyes that have never looked bigger and her pouty lips, swollen and still parted for me. Damn, she looks like my personal heaven and hell rolled into one.

  She isn’t moving or saying anything, she’s just staring at me. And it’s like looking into a green forest, a shocked, enthralling woodland.

  Dylan knocks again, impatient. When Nina still doesn’t move, I lean in, my lips grazing the shell of her ear.

  “Tell him you need a minute,” I whisper. Goosebumps prickle across her skin. She nods, dazed, eyes unwaveringly locked on mine.

  “Just a second!” she calls, her voice hitching. I glance around the room, searching for a place to hide. There’s no way I’m crawling out the window like some pimply teenager. Especially not when it’s in the low twenties outside.

  “Is there somewhere to hide?” I ask. Nina’s gaze darts to the bed. I narrow my eyes. “I’m not hiding under your bed,” I hiss.

  She huffs and shoves me toward the walk-in closet instead. I stumble inside, nearly tripping over a pile of shoes before Nina slams the door in my face.

  Next, I hear her yank open the bedroom door. I can almost picture Dylan standing on the other side, arms crossed impatiently.

  “Hello, brother,” she says, overly bright. I wince. Could she be any more obvious? This is going to hell fast. I’m a dead man. Dylan will discover me and mount my head on his bedroom wall.

  Irrationally—Dylan can’t see me either way—I press my back against the back of the closet, the ridges of Nina’s shoe rack digging into my spine. Holding my breath, I strain to hear their voices through the door.

  “Hello, sister,” Dylan replies, drawing out the words. He’s definitely suspicious. I picture his eyebrows shooting up, the way they always do when he’s onto something. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

  Yeah, great question, buddy. I’m curious to hear the answer myself.

  “Oh, I ripped them.” Nina’s voice is an octave too high. “In the basement. I was just changing.”

  Silence. I can practically hear the gears turning in Dylan’s head.

  “The basement?” Dylan asks slowly. “Funny, that’s why I came up. Mom found the vase you glued back together. She’s not mad anymore. You should go down and apologize to her while she’s mollified.”

  My nose itches, and I fight the urge to sneeze. Getting busted because of dusty cashmere would be a new low, even for me.

  “Right. Yes. I’ll go now.” Nina’s voice wobbles.

  I don’t even mind that she hasn’t given me credit for helping with the vase. Dylan can’t know. No one can know. Especially not after that half-kiss that I’m dying and dreading to finish.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Dylan asks. I can practically see the frown on his face.

  “Yeah, sure, I’m golden. Nothing is going on.”

  Gosh, Nina, why don’t you tell him you have his best friend stashed in your closet? You’d sound less guilty. But as long as Dylan doesn’t open this door, we’re fine. I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I’m starting to feel the walls inch closer. The air turns stale in my lungs. It’s okay. I can handle five more minutes in my best friend’s sister’s closet.

  “I’ll go apologize to Mom, at once,” Nina says, still sounding agitated.

  “Wait.” What now? “Shouldn’t you wear pants first?”

  “Pants, sure.” Nina lets out a hysterical chuckle. “I’ll just grab a pair from my closet.” She practically screams those last words.

  “Right.” Dylan clears his throat. He must be super weirded-out.

  That’s my clue to slink further into the shadows. I flatten myself against the darkest corner of the closet where I shouldn’t be visible even with the door open.

  As if on cue, the door flies open, and Nina slips inside. In the dim light, her eyes shine like emeralds, wide and luminous. She glowers at me, I smirk.

  Still staring daggers at me, she steps closer, reaching for the shelf above my head. Her soft, fuzzy sweater rides up, revealing even more smooth skin on her toned legs. I swallow hard.

  Nina rises on tiptoe, her body grazing mine. The heat of her seeps through my sweater, igniting a fire in my veins. She stretches higher, and her chest brushes against me. I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to haul her against me and pick up where we left off.

  Focus, Montgomery. Your best friend is standing just outside that door and would beat you into a pulp if he found you in his sister’s room looking ready to devour her like a wolf eyeing a particularly juicy lamb chop.

  But as Nina fumbles for her pants, her breath warm on my neck, I can’t help myself. I flatten my palm against the small of her back, steadying her. She tenses, her eyes snapping to mine.

  I let my hand wander up her spine, relishing the shiver that runs through her. I go higher, skimming her nape, then softly thread my fingers through her hair. Goosebumps erupt on her skin.

  Nina parts her lips, a protest forming. I silence her with a look, my hand sliding down, down, until I’m moving over the curve of her ass and lower still. My fingertips graze the inside of her thigh.

  She goes very still, eyes wide and questioning. I drink it in, tracing lazy circles on her soft skin. Moving higher, slowly, an inch at a time. Her breath hitches.

  “Hey, Nina?” Dylan’s voice shatters the moment. “Have you seen Tristan?”

  Nina jolts back, snatching her pants from the shelf. “What? No! Why would I have seen Tristan?”

  She stumbles out of the closet, leaving the door ajar. I press myself into the rack, holding my breath.

  “I’ve been looking for him, but he’s not in his room and I can’t find him anywhere.”

  “He’s probably off to polish his horns or something.” Her laugh is reedy, cracking at the edges.

  She glares at me from the closet doorway, her mouth pressed into a tight line of disapproval. I can’t resist. I blow her a kiss, my smirk widening as her eyes narrow to slits.

  “Look, I know you two don’t like each other,” Dylan says, his voice laced with exasperation. “But could you please stop trying to maim my best friend and just be civil for the rest of the holidays?”

  Nina huffs, tearing her gaze from mine to face her brother. “I can’t make any promises.”

  I watch her pull up her pants and something burns in my chest, a new feeling I don’t dare name. It’s more than just attraction, more than the thrill of the chase. It’s something deeper, something that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.

  Dylan sighs. “Just… try, okay? For me.”

  “Fine,” Nina grumbles. “But if he starts something, I reserve the right to retaliate.”

  I bite back a laugh. Oh, I’ll start something, alright. And her retaliation will be my prize.

  “Whatever.” Dylan sighs. “If you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.”