Dalton gave a laugh. “Dude, you’re kidding yourself. You love her. She loves you. What’s the big deal? You’re already married. It’s usually the opposite way—men terrified of committing forever.”
His gut clenched. Loving Sydney put their relationship on a whole other level—one he never intended to reach. The word only brought confusion and too much damn vulnerability. “Love is how things get fucked-up,” he said brusquely. “Much better to keep things the way they are.”
Cal snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Sydney loves you. No rationalization is going to make that fact disappear.”
“The longer you deny your own feelings, the worse things will get,” Dalton warned. “Believe me, I figured that out from experience. Just man up and admit you love your wife.”
“And if I don’t?” he challenged.
“Then either you’re scared shitless you’ll get hurt or you haven’t really forgiven her,” Cal said.
Dalton nodded. “And either one needs to be dealt with, or things can begin falling apart. Don’t let that happen, man. You and Sydney deserve to be happy.”
He opened his mouth to deny both charges, but it was too late.
The door banged open.
Three pissed-off females stood framed in the doorway. They all wore pink satin jackets over their dresses and bright pink sneakers. Fake cigarettes dangled from their fingers. Gazes narrowed in feminine temper, they stepped outside like a gang about to kick some ass.
Ah, shit.
Morgan stuck out her lower lip and blew her lace veil off her face. Blue eyes glinted in warning. “Charming, if you’re not inside to finish up this dance in two minutes, tonight will not be what you expected.”
Cal’s mouth dropped open. “I told you I didn’t want to do this! Isn’t it my wedding, too?”
Raven practically snarled, looking mean in her pink satin. “Morgan has been dreaming about a Grease song for years. You’re telling me you can’t take a few minutes from your life to make her happy on your wedding day?”
Tristan blinked. Damn, she was good. Dalton was in big trouble.
Sydney joined in, her index finger jabbing through the air. “Have you been trying to hide the groom from us?” she asked suspiciously.
Tristan threw his hands up. “No! I came out for a quick break, and they followed me!”
“Traitor,” Cal and Dalton growled.
“Well, I don’t care. All of you get inside, put on the leather jackets, and let’s do this. Becca is jumping up and down with excitement, and Uncle Bob needs to take his medication, so he can’t dance any longer,” Sydney snapped out.
Suddenly Morgan’s face fell. Her lower lip trembled. “You don’t want to do this with me?” she asked pitifully.
And just like that, Cal crumbled.
“Aww, princess, don’t get upset. I’ll put on the jacket. Okay? But I’m not dancing. I’ll stand there, and you can dance around me.”
She smiled brilliantly. “Perfect. Thanks, Charming. Love you.”
He sighed. “Love you, too.” Cutting his brothers a furious glance, he trudged inside.
Sydney tapped her pink-clad toe and jerked her thumb. “Let’s go, T-birds.”
Tristan paused, lowering his head to whisper in her ear. “Get ready for payback later, Pink Lady.”
She grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”
He followed his brothers toward the dance of hell, pushing their conversation from his mind. Cal and Dalton were wrong. His marriage was perfect exactly the way it was.
No need to bring love into the equation and mess it all up.
chapter twenty-four
Sydney turned on the water and stepped into the shower, leaning against the Italian-tile wall. The mansion sometimes made her feel like she was Cinderella swept to the castle not to clean, but to live. The walk-in steam shower was equipped with so many jets she didn’t know how to work half of them. She groaned as the heat began to work her tired muscles. The wedding had been perfect, but she wasn’t used to staying out till two a.m.
Becca had barely roused when they transferred her from the car into her bed. Tristan volunteered for tucking-in duty, so Sydney had run straight to get changed and cleaned up.
She’d just squeezed bodywash into the loofah sponge when the door suddenly opened.
“Tristan?”
She squinted through the thick steam. Heart pounding, she waited, frozen, as he tugged off his clothes and stepped into the shower. His large naked body dwarfed the massive space, and her mouth went dry at the sight of his impressive erection and hard mass of muscle in full masculine glory.
What was he holding behind his back?
“Hey, baby. Thought I’d join you.”
Those golden eyes held a wicked glint that made her suspicious. She squirmed, hating the bright light that showed off her stretch marks and full thighs. Yes, she was comfortable in her body, and Tristan made her feel adored, but she’d never showered with him. It seemed extremely . . . intimate.
She crossed her arms over her breasts and tried to act casual. “Umm, maybe this isn’t a good idea? Becca could come looking for one of us.”
He ignored her, stepping closer so the spray hit his chest and they were an inch apart. “She’s fast asleep and won’t be waking up any time soon. I locked the door. Why are you covering yourself?”
She bit her lip. “I’m not. Umm, I’m done, so I’ll wait for you outside.”
He blocked her path, gazing down at her with raw intensity. “Are you shy?”
“No! No, I just have to—”
“You’re fucking adorable. But you’re not going anywhere. I owe you a punishment.” He turned quickly, giving her a view of his gorgeous, tight ass, and placed something on the low tiled bench. Then forced her arms down to pull her against him. Her hard nipples dragged across his hair-roughened chest, and she gasped.
“What punishment? I didn’t set up the Grease medley!”
“You were part of the plan and enjoyed it too much. If I find myself on YouTube, I promise you’ll regret it.”
She gave a hmmph. “What did you put on the bench?” she asked, trying to crane her neck.
“Something you’ll like. Something you’ve missed.”
She frowned. A warning rang out in her head, but she was foggy from hormones. Her hands opened and stroked his wet skin, kneading his shoulders and biceps, then moving to caress those eight-pack abs that made a woman drool. There was simply nothing as sexy as a man who dressed in a suit to reveal such glory underneath the civilized veneer. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted, squeezing his cock, fisting him slow underneath the spray of water.
“Missed you, too,” he murmured. He jerked in her hands and uttered a curse. “Too much. God, I love your scent. Sometimes, when I’m away from you, I swear I can smell orange blossoms, and I get hard as a rock, wishing you were there.”
It was more than he’d ever said before. His head lowered and he kissed her deep and hard and long. When her legs sagged with the effort to stay upright, he grabbed the sponge and soaped her up with thorough motions, then cleaned himself. Her body became sensitized from the sting of the spray, the heat of the steam, and his magical hands as he stroked and explored her naked flesh. Slowly he turned her around.