“If I can detect threats, why didn’t I know that Dyfri was going to poison me?”
Selwyn gives me a kindly smile. Like an alcoholic actor doing a Santa gig for the money.
“As far as I can tell, your ability to sense threats is fed by affection.”
I blink and my eyebrows rise. Did he really just say that I don’t love myself? I mean, it’s accurate, but still, it is not the type of thing you just blurt out with. Especially when you barely know the person.
“I appreciate your involvement, Selwyn,” says Tristan.
He walks his brother to the door while I try to process the fact that I was just seen and perceived so very acutely. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Especially since it was in front of Tristan.
Oh stars. Selwyn also presented evidence that I am growing a little fond of Tristan. This is terrible. In a place full of secrets, it is alarmingly hard to keep my own.
Tristan drifts back over to me. He has a shit-eating grin on his face.
My eyes narrow with suspicion. “What?” Is he going to tease me about being fond of him?
“I should have known you’d turn out to be more of a guard dog than a pampered lapdog.”
“Shut up!” I snap as I fix him with my best glare. I think I’d rather be mocked for my affections.
This line of teasing is infuriating, mostly because being a pampered lapdog doesn’t sound bad at all. When Tristan first claimed me as a pet, I would have vehemently detested and fought against the idea. Now, however, it sounds appealing. Relaxing and stress-free. But I suppose being a guard dog is more respectable, as well as being far more suited to my personality.
Tristan sits down on the sofa next to me. Then he picks me up and sits me on his lap, as if I am a lapdog after all.
“What are you doing!” I squawk.
“You are getting grumpy,” states Tristan.
“I am not grumpy!” I snarl. How fucking dare he? He called me a flipping guard dog and I’m supposed to be fine with that? I don’t think so.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums, completely ignoring my indignation. His arms loop securely around my waist, pinning me in place.
“Let me go!” I demand, wriggling like an eel trying to escape a net.
“Not until you calm down,” Tristan replies, entirely unbothered. “Besides, you’re warm. I like the feel of you. And there is no reason you cannot be a pampered lapdog as well as a guard dog.”
“You insufferable bastard!” I snarl again, but there’s no real bite to my words.
I slump against him in defeat, letting the tension drain from my body. I’d never admit it aloud, but there’s something reassuring about his unyielding presence. Warmth seeps into my back where it presses against his chest, and I find myself relaxing despite my best efforts to hold onto my annoyance.
Tristan chuckles softly, clearly pleased with himself. “There we go. Much better.”
I huff but say nothing, choosing to stare resolutely at the projector screen instead. My tea, long forgotten, rests precariously on the arm of the sofa. I glance at it wistfully but decide it’s not worth the effort to retrieve it right now.
“You really are impossible,” I mutter, though my tone lacks venom.
“You love it,” Tristan retorts smugly.
And damn it, I kind of do.
“Now, I know what will really stop you from being grumpy,” he rumbles behind me.
“What?” I bark in alarm. I thought the embarrassment of sitting on his lap was the worst I was going to be subjected to.
Tristan chuckles and the movement shakes me a little. “I’m going to give you some orgasms to put you in a better mood.”
My mouth opens. My mouth shuts. My angry retort withers and dies unspoken. My heart flutters and my stomach flips over. Tristan’s plan doesn’t sound too bad. Heaven knows there have been worse ideas.
