Page 7 of Tristan’s Temptation

Dear God. How he’d love to hear her say those words to him. Not that he was into that kind of stuff—he’d much rather be the one doing the spanking. Especially to her perky, rounded ass. But still. The prospect was mind-blowing. He was going to have to add an instance to his game where his virtual Shannon said just such a thing.

While he ruminated on the prospects, Shannon rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a handful of paper towels. Before he could stop her, she knelt before him and began cleaning off his shoes.

Tristan went from zero to rock-hard in less than a breath. Jesus.

Reflexively, he stepped back, away from such temptation. How easy would it be to lace his fingers through her hair and pull her to his crotch? Easy.

She glanced up at his retreat, bewilderment puckering her features.

He shook his head and crouched beside her, taking the towels from her and mopping ineffectually at his shoes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he rasped, unable to meet her eyes.

“I am sooo sorry,” she moaned. “After you came all the way over to bring me my laptop. Oh Bosco.” She glared at the dog once more. He’d reclaimed his spot on the sofa and was observing them impassively. At her recrimination, he wagged his nubby tail. Like once.

“It’s okay.” Tristan finished up and cast about for a place to put the soggy towels.

She took them from him and deposited them in the trash in the kitchen. She washed her hands at the sink, gesturing that he do the same. He did and took the opportunity to survey her home. It was a nice little rambler with—as he’d suspected—a beautiful view of the valley. He looked across the granite countertop to the sliding glass door on the far side of the living room.

“Nice place,” he said, accepting a fluffy towel to dry his hands.

“Mmm. Yes. I love it here.”

He strolled over to the glass doors and peered into her backyard. Ironwork fencing edged the lawn before a drop-off into the canyon. He angled his gaze up the hill and with a thrill to his solar plexus saw his own ironwork fencing.

His heart skipped a beat at the realization. He could see her house from his. And he’d never even known. “Nice view.”

She slid the door open so they could wander onto the patio. “I love to come out here at night and just stare at the stars.”

Tristan set his teeth together. Son of a bitch. That’s what he did. What he used to do. From now on he’d be watching her. His insistent erection twitched as he imagined what she might do on this patio at night while watching the stars…

The knot in his belly tightened even more.

He had to get out of here.

“Well…” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I’d better be going.”

Was that disappointment limning her eyes? “Sure. Thanks for bringing my computer and, again, sorry about Bos.”

“No problem. These are old shoes.”

A lie, and they both knew it, but he could tell she appreciated his tact.

She walked him to the door and held it open for him. “I’ll have the quarterlies done by tomorrow,” she promised.

“Don’t stay up all night. Remember, we have the staff meeting at nine.” He could have kicked himself for slipping into his usual official persona but it was for the best. Desire rode him hard. It was all he could do to resist the urge to drag her into his arms, knowing they were alone—except for Bosco, who wouldn’t be telling anyone—and her bed was just a hallway away.

“I’ll have them done.”

“Do you think he’ll be better by tomorrow?”

She shot her dog a disgusted look. “No worries. He just got into the pantry and ate an entire summer sausage this morning. He should be all barfed out by tonight.”

Tristan couldn’t hold back a grin.

“The blighter eats everything he can wrap his mouth around.”

His grin faded as visions of Shannon’s mouth wrapped around a summer sausage—his summer sausage—wafted through his mind. His knees went weak.