Tristan shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re afraid of a mouse. I swear, Syd, don’t do that to me again.” He walked over to the attic door and turned, and the stick knocked out the flimsy support, swinging the hatch closed.
The loud crash made her jump, and she glared at him. “Nice work,” she gibed. “This place is creepy. I want out of here now.”
He glared with pure disgust. “Fine. I told you to wait for me in the first place, but no, not you. Miss Independent has to climb into the attic all by herself and disturb the poor mouse.”
Irritated and still jumpy, she pushed him aside and leaned over to pull open the door. “I’ll be sure not to call you if I ever need saving,” she shot out, yanking at the flimsy handle.
The door didn’t budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“I’ll get it.” He pulled. Nothing. Frowning, he knelt down and jerked the handle hard.
The metal ripped off the rotted wood.
Blinking in confusion, he stared at the handle in his hands. Then down at the door. “It broke.”
“Yeah, so just bust through it or something.”
He gave her a withering look. “I can’t just bust through it like in the movies. The damn handle came off. That’s how we get out.”
She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. “What do you mean? Just get us out!”
“Give me a minute, okay?” He took his time trying to jiggle the door open, then examined the handle. When there seemed to be no movement, he took the stick and began crashing it against the wood.
The door held tight.
He rose to his knees. “I think we’re locked in.”
“No. We can’t be locked in here. It’s impossible.”
“Well, since the door isn’t opening and we’re stuck in the attic, I guess it is possible.”
She took the stick and began smashing it against the door, like a crazed person on a mission to break open a birthday pi?ata. “Whoa—slow down, slugger,” he said, grabbing her arms. Out of breath, she glared at him, then the door. “Are you afraid of small spaces or something? You never had those fears before.”
“No, but I think something bad happened in this attic. There are bars on the window. And that lock on the outside is just plain weird. What if there are ghosts in here?”
His lips twitched. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Just relax. We’ll call someone. Where’s your cell?”
“In my purse.”
“Where’s your purse?”
She glowered. “Downstairs.”
“Fuck.” The amusement faded to frustration. “Why would you leave your purse downstairs? You take it everywhere.”
She blew out a breath. “Not in an attic! Let’s just use your cell to call someone. Have them come spring us.”
A strange expression flickered over his face. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I dropped my cell phone in a race to save your life when you started screaming.”
It took a few moments to realize they were trapped together in a haunted attic with no idea who would eventually come looking for them—or when.
Then she really did want to scream.
Tristan had an urge to pull her against his chest, wrap his arms tight, and whisper in her ear that everything would be okay. She infused a raw need in him to either fuck her senseless or shower her with tenderness. It was like a pendulum—he never knew which need would hit him first, but it always came with a degree of intensity that surprised him.
Like it did right now.
Instead, he kept his hands firmly tucked away from temptation and spoke with authority. “I mentioned our trip to Cal, so I’m sure he’ll know where to look when we don’t answer our cell phones. Is your daughter okay?”
“Yes. Thank God, she’s with the sitter.”
“Good. So, all we have to do is sit tight and wait for someone to get us.”
“Great. Unless the demon ghost kills us first,” she muttered. She began pacing. The wood under her feet creaked dangerously.
“Let’s not test the floor foundation, too,” he said. Dragging over a dusty trunk, he swiped the surface halfway clean. “Sit.”
Blowing out a breath, she plunked herself down on the trunk and stretched her pink-clad feet out in front of her. Her ponytail had flopped to the side of her head, and fiery curls had sprung loose. Her purple flannel shirt was wrinkled and missing a bottom button. Her jeans had a hole in the knee.
His dick shot to life, and he smothered a groan. Great. She rocked the sexy librarian role in the office, and the girl-next-door look was even more appealing. His fingers itched to grab that ponytail, drag her toward him, and feast on those luscious, sulky lips. Unbutton that farmer-type shirt, yank her jeans down, and figure out the quickest way to stroke her to orgasm. It had never taken him long before. In fact, he’d just kiss her, and she’d be dripping wet, ready for his fingers to slide into her tight heat until she begged for more.
But that was then, and this was now.
He turned his back on her and pretended to check out the window so she wouldn’t spot his current condition.
“Hey, can you break the window and call for help?”
“Hard to shatter glass between steel bars. And since the block is deserted, yelling won’t help.”
“At least I’m trying to come up with ideas,” she shot back. “Why’d you have to go waving that stick around like a messed-up Jedi? If you hadn’t hit the door, we wouldn’t be in this mess and stuck with each other.”
He turned back around. Guess being locked in a room with him wasn’t her favorite thing. Her desperation to get away from him would’ve been funny if it didn’t bring a touch of annoyance. “Are you kidding me? First you didn’t listen to me when I told you to wait. Then you lost it over a silly mouse. This whole thing is your fault.”
Her chin rose a few notches. Emerald fire shot out at him. “You’ve been testing me from the moment we got here. I think you want me to fail so you can go back to your brothers and tell them ‘I told you so.’ You voted against me for CFO!”
The jab hit home. Guilt sprung up. “I don’t want you to fail,” he retorted. “And I just wasn’t sure if you were ready, that’s all. I had no idea you wanted more.”
“Why would you? You don’t know who I am anymore. You haven’t even talked to me since you got back home two years ago!”
He jerked back. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. Obviously she hadn’t planned to let out such a truth. They’d become masters at the art of non-conversation, avoidance, and the occasional snipe. When he’d been forced to return to Harrington for his father’s will and found himself back working for the company, he’d intended to keep the tension between them to a minimum. In the beginning, her betrayal had still bothered him. He was reminded of that scene each time he looked at her or her daughter.
But she wasn’t the same person who’d sent him away. Nor was he the same person who’d left. And maybe this distance was tearing apart pieces of them in a long, torturous process. Maybe it was time to try to move forward instead of living in the past.