Forbidden (3 page)

“Why ditch your cousin when you don’t even know me?” This entire evening was surreal. God-like men coming in from snowstorms to kiss her senseless…What next? Winning the lottery and moving to the Bahamas?

Tristan’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

“When a lovely woman kisses me and runs off into the snowy night…well, the temptation to go after her is irresistible. I don’t let lovely women escape, not until I’ve tasted them properly.” He licked his lips and everything south of her waist throbbed to life.

What?
Was he kidding?

“So here I am, in a bakery with you. Is there a reason we’re staring at cakes?” He moved a step closer, even though he was facing the desserts again.

His arm brushed her right shoulder. The man was tall, but not too tall. Just enough to make a girl feel small, in a good way, like he could protect her if she needed it. A masculine scent, warm and clean, filled her nose.
His
scent. It was an enticing one she could’ve inhaled forever.

Focus, Kat. Try to be normal and have a normal conversation. Do not keep starting at Mr. Sexy.

“It’s my birthday today. I’m nineteen.”

At her reply, he looked at her again.

“Well, we must get you a cake. Chocolate, I presume?” He leaned one elbow on the glass counter as he waited for her to answer.

She nodded mutely.

Tristan turned back to the woman behind the counter. “What’s the best chocolate cake you have? The richest, most decadent one.” His words were as decadent as his statement. She could practically feel the chocolate melting on her tongue.

“The Devil’s Triple Layer Cake.” The woman pulled out a small cake for two people. Raspberry sauce was drizzled over the top of the simple yet elegant icing design.

Tristan took out his wallet and slid a black credit card across the counter.

“We’ll take it. And a small candle, if you have one.”

B
ut—” Kat’s protest died when the woman took the Devil’s cake from the counter and started to box it up. She didn’t like feeling indebted to him, and he’d already made her feel off balance with his kisses.

“Consider it a thank-you.” He laughed.

“For what?” Her tone was a breathless as she watched his dark hair fall into his eyes. Her hands twitched to brush it back from his face, to touch him back the way he’d so boldly touched her earlier. Everything about this man drew her in—his face, his eyes, his rich voice speaking of kisses and passion.

“You surprised me tonight. It’s been a long time since anyone has done that.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and she saw the hint of stubble there and remembered the way it had tickled her when she’d kissed him.

I surprised myself, kissing him like that.

“Allow me to escort you home. Is it a long walk?” Tristan asked Kat, when the woman had returned with the boxed cake.

“Only a block. I’m staying in a dorm at Magdalene College.” She shouldn’t be telling him something like that. What if he got the wrong idea?

“A student at university? Excellent. So am I.” He smiled. “I’m not an undergraduate, though. I’m earning a Master’s degree in business.” He thanked the baker and collected the box with the cake. “I’ll walk you home.” It was a statement this time, not a question, and she didn’t want to argue with him, not when it meant spending more time in his presence. She’d just have to be sure he didn’t think she’d…well, she’d worry about that when they got to her dorm.

“You’re a student? How old are you?” Kat could’ve smacked herself for being so rude. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I’m twenty-five.” He held the door open with one hand, and she had to slide past him to exit the bakery. A gust carrying fresh snow hit her face, and she braced against the frigid air. Her first instinct was to turn around and bury herself against Tristan. He was so warm, she remembered from kissing him at the bar. The way his body had enveloped hers with heat, and the way his hands had gripped her hips.

“So what brings an American to Cambridge? Is this a semester of study abroad?” He walked alongside her as they went down the street, snow crunching beneath their feet. Kat stayed closer to Tristan than she would have normally, telling herself it was because she was afraid she’d slip on the ice. But the truth was that she wanted to be close to him, feel his warmth, smell that piney scent of his that made her senses come alive. She struggled to focus on their conversation, given how her thoughts kept drifting into dangerous territory.

“I’m a full-time student. My father travels for work, and he’s living in London for the next couple of years.”

Tristan made a little hum of interest. “And what does your father do?”

“He’s an investment banker at Barclays. He’s at their London office, and I wanted to be close to him.” It was so easy to talk to Tristan. Maybe it was because she knew she’d likely never see him again after tonight. But it wasn’t just that. Something about talking to him just clicked.

It reminded her of a day when she’d been a young girl, crawling through her parents’ attic searching for treasure maps and wardrobes that opened to snow-swept worlds lit by solitary lampposts. She’d come across a large, weather-beaten, locked trunk. After hours of digging through boxes, she’d found an ornate key in an antique lacquered jewelry box heavily covered with dust.

Eyeing the lock and the key, she’d given it a chance. The satisfying click-click of the key in the lock had made her heart pound and her hands tremble as she’d opened the trunk. It had contained old books, the very best kind, of course. But she’d never forget the moment of fitting that key into place, and the feeling of connectedness it had made. Being near Tristan, talking to him, was like fitting that key into the lock all over again, and she couldn’t fathom why that was, only that it was true. It scared her a little, but she wasn’t the kind of woman to turn her back on something amazing just because it sent her nerves skittering inside her.

“And your mother?” Tristan paused as they reached the main door to her college grounds. The massive, ten-foot-high door had a smaller door built into its frame that everyone used to enter the grounds. It was a bit like a scene from
Alice in Wonderland
.

The smaller door to the college was unlocked, and Kat entered, Tristan following behind her. A cheery porter came out of his booth to greet them.

Tristan caught her arm, halting her in the middle of the snowy courtyard so she had to face him. The hold was firm, and the subtle sign of power rippling through that touch made her shiver. She remembered how he’d grabbed her in the pub, kissing her, forcing her to enjoy his kiss without escaping. It was madness to desire that, to let him take control and allow her the freedom to just…feel. But that was the thing about this man she couldn’t get out of her head. If he could affect her in public, in a pub, what would it be like when they were completely alone?

“You didn’t answer my question about your mother.” There was a gentle reprimand in his voice. Their warm breaths billowed out in soft, white clouds in the Magdalene courtyard.

Those unique eyes of his held her spellbound. It was like watching the tide pulling out to sea and being sucked deeper into the water.

“I…my mother isn’t part of my life, hasn’t been for quite some time.” For some reason, admitting that out loud stung. Thinking about the woman who’d abandoned her hurt, but saying it aloud made it too real, too painful. She and her father never talked about her mother and how empty her leaving had left Kat feeling. No one to talk to, bake with, laugh about boys with, see mushy romantic movies with…those were all the things mothers and daughters were supposed to do.
But not me
.

“I didn’t mean to open old wounds, darling.” Tristan’s eyes softened, the colors changing yet again, and she was lost in their depths. The way he’d called her “
darling
,” that intimate word surrounded her heart with a cottony warmth. This beautiful stranger was offering her comfort, and she wanted it, wanted him. And that need scared her. She’d needed her mother, and her mother had left. The only person who hadn’t let her down was her father. Kat couldn’t let herself need Tristan, not when it might lead to more heartache.

He cupped her cheek, the gesture tender. How could he be such a contradiction? Bold and seductive, then tender and compassionate.

“They’re divorced?” he asked. That focused intensity only seemed to deepen as the snowfall muffled the world around them. Like they were cocooned in the shelter of a snow globe holding only them and the falling white flakes.

She licked her lips. “Yes. For a long time now.”

Tristan nodded. “My parents are divorced, as well. My father is an overbearing, pompous arse.” He chuckled, but there was a bite to the sound that caught her attention.

“You don’t like your father?” she asked.

The flash of cold in his eyes made her shiver more than the snow falling around them. He continued to stroke her cheek with one of his hands, which softened the hard look in his eyes.

“I don’t like to talk about him.” It was clear from the steel in his voice that she wouldn’t get anything else from him about his father. But she wanted to know more about this mysterious, seductive stranger whose kisses burned straight through her. There were hidden depths to him, dark, deep, flowing underground rivers and she wanted to dive in and discover who he really was.

“What about your mother?”

The defensiveness evaporated as he grinned. “One of the best, as far as mothers go.”

“That must be nice, to have a mother around, I mean.” A part of her still felt like maybe
she
had been the cause of her parents’ breakup. Maybe she’d been too much for her mother to handle.

“It’s not your fault, you know. Sometimes it feels like it is, but it isn’t.” His hand on her cheek moved to her hair, threading through the wild strands that were slightly damp with melted snow. The heat in his eyes burned slowly, like a fire in a hearth.

Kat’s body responded, her thighs clenching together and her nipples hardening. From a single hot, tender look, she was melting for this intense, handsome stranger. A shiver racked her, and he chuckled. Did he know how much he was affecting her? He had to, with that pleased look gleaming in his eyes, and his lips twitching in bemusement.

“Let’s get you inside so you can warm up and eat your birthday cake.”

She came back to herself and realized they’d been standing inside the courtyard, unmoving, just standing so close, breaths mingled and almost whispering as they opened up about their lives.

They walked up to the front of the red brick dormitory, and he followed her up the small set of steps to her door on the first floor. She turned, ready to thank him for walking her home, but he caught the door, preventing it from shutting.

“May I come inside?” He tilted his head toward the door, and she saw he was still carrying the cake.

“I…” She swallowed down the nervous lump in her throat. She wasn’t ready to say good night, or good-bye. But she didn’t want him thinking she was the sort of girl who slept with someone she just met. He seemed to sense her indecision.

“Just for cake,” he said. “You have my gentleman’s promise.” He used his index finger to draw a cross over his heart.

A gentleman’s promise? She remembered the things those girls had said back in the pub. Was he the sort of man to break a promise? Or just a girl’s heart?

Take a chance
, a little voice whispered inside her head.
He’s a risk worth taking, at least tonight.
If she did let him inside, she’d get to spend more time with him. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, not until she’d figured him out. She’d always loved puzzles, and this strange, sexy man was more of a puzzle than anything she’d ever seen.

“Okay. But just for a few minutes.” She let him follow her inside. It was large for a dormitory room, with a tiny kitchen counter against one wall and a small bathroom. Flicking on the one overhead light, she took the bakery box from Tristan and set it on her desk before turning around to face him. She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d think of the world she’d built in the few short months she’d lived here.

The walls were a pale, eggshell white, and she’d covered most of them with posters of famous British people. Tristan eyed one above her bed.

“Lord Nelson? Good God, that sure explains your drink tonight at the Pickerel.” He burst out laughing. “What is it like to wake up to that each morning?” The rich sound of his amusement warmed her insides all over again, and she started laughing, too.

“My father got it for me as a joke, and I loved it. I thought he deserved a place of honor.”

The throaty laugh that escaped his lips was husky this time. “Above a woman’s bed is certainly a place of honor.” His gaze roved over her full-sized bed, with its dark royal blue and white fleur-de-lis pattern.

Simple and elegant.
Just like him. He’d look so good on my bed.
The thought made her blush.

It was the first time she’d really let herself go there. When she’d dated in high school, she’d never let herself think about sex. It was pointless to build that connection with someone when her father might be transferred to a new location at any time, and they’d have to pack up their lives again. But she wasn’t going to be moving for the next three years. Maybe now was the time to give it a chance.

Tristan stripped off his coat and laid it over the back of her desk chair. She had a brief moment to admire his body from behind, the lean lines of his legs, the broad, muscular shoulders outlined by his sweater, before he would notice her staring. The man was gorgeous. Too gorgeous. It was intimidating, yet she didn’t want to look away.

She was still staring when he straightened and faced her. Oh, what he could do to her with that body…Tristan was making her feel a little crazy. Okay, really crazy. She wanted to touch him, to put her hands on his chest, feel that heat she remembered from the pub, and kiss him again. God, she wanted to kiss him, and it almost made her hurt with hunger.

“How about we taste that cake?” He grinned almost lazily, as if he’d known she’d been thinking sinful thoughts.

“Uh…right.” She dug through her cabinet and found a pair of blue plates, a knife, and two forks. She cut two slices and held one out to him.

He didn’t take his plate right away, instead reaching into the bag from the bakery and retrieving the little packet of candles. He nestled one on the top of her slice.

“You don’t need to—”

“Of course I do.” He produced a small lighter with a silver crest embossed on it and flicked it on, the flame sparking as he put it to the wick of the candle. The crest matched the one engraved on the gold signet ring on his left hand.

Another part of the mystery. What sort of man wore a signet ring? Given what she knew about history, especially English history, she had to wonder if he might be…No that was silly. He couldn’t be royalty. She knew enough about the current monarchy to know he wasn’t related to Prince William or Prince Harry. Was he titled? A lord? If so, what was he doing studying at Cambridge? It wasn’t unusual for nobles to send their children to study at Oxford or Cambridge, but after they’d gotten their undergraduate degree they didn’t normally pursue graduate studies. Of course, the simpler explanation was that he was simply wearing the ring as a fashion statement. A lot of British movie stars wore signet rings to give themselves an aura of mystery.

“What’s the symbol on your ring?” she asked, nodding at his hand.

A shadow flickered across his eyes, and he glanced away before he replied. “A family heirloom.”

That only created a hundred other questions, but she was prevented from asking anything else because he’d successfully lit the candle.

Once the wick caught fire and burned steadily, he pocketed the lighter and took the plate from her hands.

“Now make a wish and blow it out.” Tristan’s eyes locked with hers, and that enchanting blue-green was now bright with fire. They were so close, only the plate separating them, as he watched her, waiting.