While the world was spinning, Tristan moved, and then she was gasping against his chest as he cradled her, murmuring as he turned off the water. After he toweled her hair and body, he pulled her jammies over her head and held her while she stepped into the shorts, and then he carried Colleen to her mattress on the floor and knelt to lay her on it.
“You should take the bed,” she whispered.
“You’re not allowed to say that,” he said, stroking her hair back from her forehead. “What do you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And shall I join you?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered, already drifting off because she was so tired.
After a moment, the lamp clicked off, and then Tristan slid onto the twin mattress beside her, curling his strong body around hers. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, and when he laid his arm across her waist, his weight comforted her.
His lips brushed her temple as exhaustion took over and dropped Colleen into sleep.
She breathed, cradled in the darkness by his steady warmth.
But the following day, she was ready for battle.
In the corner of her apartment with the kitchen, she fretted about the few supplies she had on hand. “I’m sorry that I don’t have bacon or sausage or anything—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Tristan said, yawning.
“But I have cereal, and there still should be some milk in there. I only left here the day before yesterday.”
“That’s great. I’ll have something delivered if we’re going to be here more than a few hours.”
She flipped the cereal box out of the cabinet and caught it. “And while we’re eating breakfast, Tristan, you are going to tell meexactlywhat was in that goddamn letter that has you so riled up. I want to knoweverything.”
16
Tristan King Explains It All for You
Tristan
Colleen was glaring at him, her fists braced on her hips while they stood in the corner of her apartment that served as a kitchen, demanding to know what was in that damned letter that had screwed up his life.
Tristan sighed. “Yeah. I suppose it’s time.”
He found a second cereal bowl on a high shelf in the back corner of the cabinets and waited while Colleen played hostess, setting out the cereal and milk on the tiny patch of countertop. At any other time, he would have insisted on taking her to a fine hotel and ordering room service, but these were not normal times.
The studio apartment, which appeared to be fifteen feet wide and about as long, didn’t have a dining table and chairs to eat at, so Colleen rearranged her computer desk, piling the keyboard and mousepad to the side near the desktop system. She said, “I don’t have dinner parties. I eat while sitting at my computer, moderating the Sherwood Forest forum and some other boards. You sit in the chair. I’ll stand. There’s plenty of room on my desk for the bowls.”
“Why don’t you have a monitor?” he asked, settling himself in the computer chair because arguing with her seemed ridiculous. He had every intention of pulling her into his lap when they were done eating anyway. The chair creaked a little under his weight.
“I lent it to Anjali while I was gone. Anjali’s monitor is dying. It’s got stripes, and it flickers.”
That made sense.
Colleen chewed a mouthful of the cereal and swallowed. “Okay, Tristan. Seriously, we didn’t finish talking about the letter. Out with it.There was a letter.”
He poked his spoon into the bowl. “Yes. There was a letter.”
“And you didn’t tell your friend on the phone about it yesterday on the plane,” she said, watching his eyes as she asked.
“No,” he admitted.
“So what was in the letter, Tristan?”
