With Julia, he always wanted more.
He leaned his hips into her body, wordlessly demanding she acknowledge his importance to her; he was the only man for her.
She moaned, and he swallowed the sound, fighting the urge to whisk her away to a private haven where he might explore her more fully. He let his thumb dabble at the corner of her mouth, a silent appeal to take him deeper. Deeper, still. He hadn’t lied to her. She affected him as no other ever had. If he could, he would give her his heart, even give her his name and the children they both secretly wanted.
Before his blood heated to the point of no return, he forced himself to pull back. Without her, his arms felt empty, void.
Arousal blazed in Julia’s eyes and gentled her expression with hazy desire. “I don’t understand. How did this convince Peter I’m not the one for him?”
“Because we stood right by the table and kissed and he did not notice. He’s too wrapped up in your sister,” he said.
She whipped her attention to the window at their left and gasped. “Peter and Faith are right there.”
“Told you.” With a possessive hand at her waist, he led her back to the table.
Peter noticed their return at least. His cheeks reddened. “Oh, um, hi.”
“Listen,” Faith said, winking at Tristan. “I’m just going to come right out and say it. Peter and I are hitting it off, and we’d like to switch dates.”
“That is wise,” Tristan said. She must truly like Peter, or she wouldn’t have made an offer to separate.
Peter shifted in his seat, as if uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” he told Julia.
She smiled a genuine smile at him. “It’s fine, Peter. Truly. I think this is for the best.”
“We’re going to head to a restaurant of our own,” Faith kissed Julia’s cheek, then gathered her purse and jacket and stood.
Peter stood as well, his chair skidding behind him. The two said a couple more goodbyes before sauntering from the restaurant.
Relaxed and solicitous now, Tristan helped Julia into her chair, then reclaimed his own. The food arrived not long after on a scented cloud of deliciousness.
“We’re going to have so much extra food,” Julia exclaimed.
“I predict we will not have a single bite left.”
Julia tossed him a new smile, one that lit the entire room. “This evening is far better than I could have ever anticipated, and I almost want to give you a lesson in doggie bags.”
He didn’t understand her meaning, but he grinned all the same and filled two glasses with the dark, crimson wine. “How about I give you a new lesson instead? One about discovery—our discovery of each other.”
She sucked in a breath, her excitement palpable.
“You know,” she said, her voice going low and husky, “I do want to be a good student. The very best.”
Blood rushed to his groin, and he shifted in his seat. “Lesson six will require intense, in-depth training at home—in bed.” With the tip of his finger, he traced a path across her cheek, along her jaw. “What think you of that?”
“I think I’m glad.” She sipped her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. The pulse in her neck quickened, and he longed to caress the beat with his tongue.
Later. He would lick her later. She’d never experienced a “real” date, so he would give her one.
The rest of the meal passed in a sexually charged silence as they ate, each anticipating what came next. When their plates were finally taken away, Tristan ordered dessert, prolonging the torment and anticipation. “Tell me about your childhood, draga. I know very little about your past.”
She set her napkin aside and regarded him happily, clearly pleased by his interest. “What exactly do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Hmm. Well, I had a typical childhood, I guess. My parents split up when I was eight. Our mother remarried. I’m not sure if our father ever remarried or not.”
When she didn’t continue, he said, “That is only part of the story. Tell me the details you don’t usually mention. The ones that truly shaped the woman you became.”
“Okay.” She traced a fingertip over the table. “I don’t know why my parents had me. Faith was their first, and she was perfect in their eyes. I was heavier set and not as talented. Basically, I was a nuisance to them, nothing I did good enough. During the divorce, they argued over who got custody of us, though not the way you’d expect. Mom wanted us to go with Dad, and he wanted us to go with Mom. We ended up with my mom and never heard from my father again.”
There was no bitterness in her tone, only acceptance and regret, and it tore at Tristan. He touched her knee, keeping the action gentle and reassuring. There was a vulnerability about her, a sadness that enveloped her and touched his heart—a heart he’d thought long dead.
“Tell me the rest,” he coaxed.
“There’s not much more to tell, really.” Tracing her circle around the rim of her glass now, she said, “About five years after the breakup, my mom remarried. Her new husband was a salesman. Not a very good one I might add, because she believed girls like us had to settle for whoever paid us attention. Anyway. He traveled a lot with his job. She liked to go with him. Faith and I spent weeks at a time alone. It’s a wonder child services didn’t take us away.”
As she spoke, he cupped her knee, offering comfort. “Do you ever speak with your mother now?”
“Rarely.”
“I am sorry.” He wanted to wipe the painful memories from her mind, but he also wanted to learn more about her. There would be time for
