Girl Behind The Scandalous Reputation

CHAPTER TWO

LORD Garrett, Viscount Hadley, the future twelfth Duke of Greythorn, stood before her, with enough tension emanating from his body to fire a rocket to the moon.

‘Tristan,’ she breathed unnecessarily, her mind at once accepting that he was the most sublimely handsome male she had ever seen and rejecting that fact at the same time. He seemed taller and more powerful than she remembered, his lean, muscular physique highlighted by the precise cut of his tailor-made charcoal suit.

His chestnut hair was long, and lent him an untamed appeal he really didn’t need, framing his olive complexion, flawlessly chiselled jaw and aristocratic nose to perfection. Her gaze skimmed up over the masculine curve of his lips and settled on cold, pale green eyes ringed with grey that were boldly assessing her in return.

His wide-legged no-nonsense stance set her heartbeat racing, and without thinking she snuck out her tongue to moisten lips that felt dryer than the paper she held between her fingers.

His eyes narrowed as they followed the movement, and Lily quickly cast her eyes downwards.

She pinched the bridge of her nose to ease the flash of pain that hammered behind her eyes, and blinked uncomprehendingly when a Mont Blanc pen was thrust in front of her face.

‘Hurry up, Honey. I don’t have all day.’

Lily wanted to remind him that she preferred Lily, but her throat was so tight she could barely swallow, let alone speak.

She grabbed the pen, flinching as her clumsy fingers collided with his, and scrawled her signature next to where he stabbed at the paper. Before she knew it the pages were whisked away, Tristan had grabbed her tote bag from Marine-man and he was ushering her out through the door with a firm guiding hand in the small of her back.

Lily stiffened away from the contact and rubbed her arms. He was well over six feet and seemed to dwarf her own five-foot-ten frame.

‘If you’re cold you should try wearing more clothing,’ he snapped, hard eyes raking her body as if she were a foul piece of garbage.

Lily looked down at her white T-shirt, black leggings and black ballet flats.

‘Ever heard of a bra, Honey?’ His voice was silky, condescending, and Lily felt her breasts tighten as his gaze rested a little too long on her chest, her nipples firming against the fabric in a way she’d do anything to stop.

Lily was taken aback by his hostility, and it was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over her body. She really wasn’t up to dealing with any more animosity right now.

But she didn’t say that. Instead she stared at the Windsor knot of his red tie and rubbed at the goosebumps that dotted her arms.

Tristan muttered something under his breath, shrugged out of his jacket, and draped it around her shoulders. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but before she could say anything he reached for her upper arm and propelled her down the long corridor, his clean, masculine scent blanketing her mind like a thick fog.

Tension bunched her stiff muscles, but she could hardly tell him to slow down when all she wanted to do was get as far away from the airport as possible. When he paused at the entrance to the duty-free hall Lily glanced up, feeling like an errant schoolgirl being dragged around by an enraged parent.

She tried to loosen his grip, put some distance between them, but he ignored her attempt, tightening his hold before marching her through the throng of passengers. It reminded her of a couple of occasions in the past when he’d stormed into nightclubs and goose-stepped herself and Jordana out. It had been mostly at her stepfather Frank Murphy’s parties, and in hindsight Tristan had done the right thing making them leave at their age, but at the time Lily had been hopping mad.

She noticed the large steel doors leading to the arrivals hall and breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully Jordana was waiting on the other side, and once through Lily could thank Tristan for his help and bid him farewell until the wedding.

Her nerves were shot, but the relief that washed through her at the thought of freedom was suddenly cut short as Tristan veered left and led her into one of the small, dimly lit bars that lined the cavernous concourse.

The bar was long and narrow, with booths lining one wall and a polished wooden bar with red padded bar stools along the other. Except for two business types, deep in conversation, and an elderly gent who looked as if he might tumble into his early-afternoon schooner, the place was empty.

Lily waited to find out what they were doing, and was surprised when Tristan ordered two whiskys, watching as he glared at the bartender, whose eyes had lingered a little too long in her direction.

As soon as he’d moved off to get their drinks Tristan turned to her, and Lily nearly recoiled at the feral anger icing his eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing back in my sister’s life?’ he demanded, his voice harsh as he lowered it so only she could hear.

Lily did recoil then and stared at him mutely.

Six years just seemed to evaporate before her eyes, and they might have been standing in his father’s study again, where he’d accused her of something she hadn’t done and called her a cheap slut.

Lily’s eyes fell to his sensual mouth, now flattened into a thin line, and she quickly lowered them down the thick column of his tanned neck to rest once again on his silk tie. Looking at his mouth brought that devastating kiss to mind. She instantly reminded herself of his equally devastating rejection of her in an attempt to marshal her body’s unexpected leap of excitement. How could she still feel so quivery over someone who had treated her so appallingly?

Tristan’s tense silence seemed to envelop her, and she realised he was still waiting for her to respond to his rude question.

In all her mental imaginings of how this meeting between them would go this had not featured.

In one scenario she’d imagined they might be able to put the past behind them and become friends. Laugh over her silly teenage crush and his mistaken belief that she had set up the private party that had been splashed all over the internet. In that particular daydream she had raised her hand and said, Please—don’t give it another thought. It’s over. It’s in the past.

But she didn’t think that would play so well in this situation, and stupidly—so it now seemed—she had forgotten to prepare the whole busted-for-drugs-at-Heathrow scenario.

How remiss of her!

Now she had to ad lib, using a brain that wanted to drool over him like a beginner art student viewing her first Rodin nude.

Only she was no longer an impressionable girl caught in the throes of her first crush, Lily reminded herself firmly. She was a mature woman in charge of her own life. And wasn’t one of her goals on this trip to meet Tristan as an equal? To look at him, talk to him, and put the juvenile attraction that had plagued her so often in the company of other men to bed? Metaphorically speaking, of course.

‘I was invited to the wedding,’ she said as politely as possible, given that his harsh question had evoked exactly the opposite response.

‘And what an error of judgement that was,’ he sneered, ‘I can’t imagine what my sister was thinking.’

Lily frowned and glanced at the bartender, pouring whisky into two glasses, so that she wouldn’t have to look at Tristan. Perhaps the best thing at this point would be to apologise for inconveniencing him and leave quick-smart.

She watched as Tristan picked up his glass and swallowed down the contents with a slight flick of his wrist; his brows drawing together when she made no attempt to do the same.

‘Drink it. You look like you need it.’

‘What I need is a soft bed,’ she murmured, only realising how he’d taken her innocent comment when his eyebrows arched.

‘If that’s an invitation you can forget it,’ he dismissed.

Invitation!

Lily expelled a rushed breath, and then inhaled just as hastily, wishing she hadn’t as Tristan’s virile and somehow familiar scent wound its way into her sinuses. She felt the shock of it curl through her body and suddenly felt too warm.

Her heart rate picked up, and before she could change the direction of her thoughts she was back at the kiss she had been trying so hard not to think about.

He’d been lean and muscle-packed where she’d pressed against him, impossibly hard, and hot colour stole into her face as she remembered her youthful eagerness in his embrace. Lord, perhaps she had even instigated it! How mortifying…Especially in light of the fact that she couldn’t recall any other man’s kisses quite so readily.

Calling herself every type of fool for indulging in such useless memories, she swiftly removed his jacket and handed it back to him.

Then she sat her tote bag on the stool behind her and pulled out her favourite oversized black knit cardigan. She put it on. Found her black-and-white Yankees baseball cap and pulled that on too. Turning back, she couldn’t see much beyond Tristan’s broad shoulders, but the last thing she wanted was to be stopped on the way out by fans or—heaven forbid—any lurking paparazzi.

She noticed his condescending glance and decided to ignore it.

She was getting more and more agitated by her own memories and his snippy attitude. Logically she knew he had every reason to be put out, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Would it really hurt him to be civil? After all, it wasn’t as if he had just been interrogated for hours on end over something he hadn’t done!

Lily tried to smile as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. ‘So, anyway, thanks for helping today. I can see that you didn’t really want to, but I appreciate it all the same.’

‘I don’t give a toss what you appreciate,’ he grated. ‘I can’t believe you would have the gall to try something like this, given your history. What were you thinking? That you could go braless and swish that golden mane around and no one would care what you had in your bag?’

Lily’s eyes flew to his. Did he seriously think she was guilty?

‘Of course I wasn’t thinking that!’

‘Well, whatever you were thinking it didn’t work.’

‘How dare you?’ Lily felt angry tears spring into her eyes at the injustice of his comment and blinked them back. ‘I didn’t know that stuff was in my bag, and I’ve already told you these are my travel clothes and I look perfectly respectable.’

His eyebrows arched. ‘That’s debatable. But I suppose I should be thankful you’re not displaying as much skin as you usually do on your billboards.’

Lily didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. Movie billboards were often more provocative than they needed to be, and most of her fellow actresses found it just as frustrating as she did.

Not that Tristan would believe that. It was clear he still thought the worst of her, just as he always had, and the sooner she was on her way the better.

She looked up to suggest exactly that, but was startled when he leaned in close, invading her space.

‘Tell me, little Honey Blossom, have you ever been in a movie that required you to actually keep your clothes on?’

Lily bristled. She hadn’t been called Honey Blossom since she was seven, and she’d been fully clothed in all but her first film. ‘My name is Lily, as you well know, and your comments are not only insulting and incorrect, but completely outrageous.’

He cast her a bored smile and Lily’s blood boiled. Of all the rude, insensitive—

‘Just finish the damned drink, would you? I have work to do.’

Lily felt so tense her toes curled into her boots until they hurt. Enough was enough. Thankful or not, she didn’t have to put up with his offensive remarks.

‘I don’t want your damned drink,’ she returned icily, angling her chin and readjusting her cap. ‘And I don’t need your odious presence in my life for a second longer. Thank you for your assistance with my…unfortunate incident, but don’t bother coming to say hello at the wedding. I assure you I won’t be in the least offended.’

Lily gripped her bag tightly, and would have marched out with her head held high if Tristan hadn’t made a slight move to block her.

She hesitated and looked at him uneasily.

‘Pretty speech,’ he drawled, ‘but your unfortunate incident has landed you in my custody, and I give the orders now—not you.’

Lily’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Your custody?’ She nearly laughed at the thought.

He evidently didn’t like her response, because he leaned in even closer, his voice deadly soft. ‘What? Did you think I would just ignore the conditions of your release and let you waltz out of here by yourself? You don’t know me very well if you did.’

Lily edged back and felt the bar stool behind her thighs, a tremor of unease bumping down her spine. She hadn’t read the release form at all, and had a feeling she was about to regret that.

‘I didn’t read it,’ she admitted, sucking on the soft flesh of her upper lip—a nervous childhood gesture she’d never been able to master.

Tristan frowned down at her, and then must have realised she was serious because he had the gall to laugh. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’m glad you find it funny,’ she snapped, staring him down when his grim smile turned into a snarl.

‘Now, funny is probably the last thing I think about this situation—and here’s why. You just signed documents that place you under my protective custody until you’re either released—’ his tone implied that was about as likely as buying property on another planet ‘—or charged with possession of narcotics.’

Lily felt dizzy and leaned heavily on the bar stool at her back. ‘I don’t understand…’ She shook her head.

‘What? You thought the evidence might up and magically disappear? I’m good, Honey, but I’m not that good.’

‘No.’ She waved her hand in front of her and briefly closed her eyes. ‘The custody bit.’

‘It’s a form of house arrest.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Now you do. And now I’m ready to leave.’

‘No!’ Her hand hovered between them and her voice quavered. ‘Wait. Please. I…What does that mean, exactly?’

He looked at her as if she was a simpleton. ‘It means that we’re stuck with each other 24/7 for the foreseeable future, that’s what it means.’

Lily blinked. 24/7 with this gorgeous, angry man…? No way. She pressed her fingertips to her aching forehead and ordered herself to think. Surely there was another solution.

‘I can’t stay with you!’ She blurted out before her thoughts were properly in order.

His eyes sparkled into hers, as hard as polished gemstones. ‘Believe me, the thought couldn’t be more abhorrent to you than it is to me.’

‘But you should have told me!’

‘You should have read the paperwork,’ he dismissed.

He was right, and she hated that. Only it was because of him that she hadn’t read it in the first place.

‘You crowded me and told me to hurry.’

‘So now it’s my fault?’ he snapped.

‘I wasn’t blaming you.’ She swiped a hand across her brow. This was terrible. ‘But if you had warned me about what I was signing I wouldn’t have done so!’

He went still, his over-long tawny mane and square jaw giving the impression of a fully grown male lion that had just scented danger.

‘Warned you?’

Too late Lily realised he’d taken her comment as an insult.

‘And what exactly would you have done, hmm? Do tell.’

Lily pressed her lips together at his snide tone and tried not to notice how imposing he was, with his hands on his hips drawing his shoulders even wider. If she’d thought he hated her six years ago it was nothing compared to the contempt he clearly felt for her now.

And she wasn’t so much looking to put the past behind her any more as she was in burying it in a six-foot-deep hole! ‘I—I would have looked for an alternative,’ she stuttered. ‘Brainstormed other options.’

‘Brainstormed other options?’ He snorted and shook his head, as if the very notion was ludicrous. ‘We’re not in a movie rehearsal now, Honey!’

Lily’s heart thudded heavily in her chest. If he called her Honey one more time she might actually hit him. She took a deep, steadying breath and tried to remember that he felt he had a right to be angry, and that maybe, if their situations were reversed, she would feel the same way.

No, she wouldn’t. She’d be too worried for the other person to treat them so—so…indignantly.

‘Listen—’ she began, only to have her words cut off when he pushed off his bar stool and crowded her back against her own.

‘No. You listen,’ he bit out softly. ‘You don’t have a choice here. You’re no longer in charge. I am. And if you don’t like it I’ll give you another option. It’s called a prison cell. You want it—it’s back that way.’ He jerked his chin towards the entrance of the bar, his eyes never leaving hers.

Lily blanched. Lord, he was arrogant.

‘I didn’t do it,’ she enunciated, trying to keep her voice low.

‘Tell it to the judge, sweetheart, because I’m not interested in hearing your protestations of innocence.’

‘Don’t patronise me, Tristan. I’m not a child.’

‘Then stop acting like one.’

‘Damn you, I have rights.’

‘No, you had rights.’ His tone was soft, but merciless. ‘You gave up those rights the minute you waltzed through Heathrow carrying a bag full of narcotics. Your rights belong to me now, and when I say jump I expect you to ask how high.’

Lily froze. He had some nerve. ‘In your dreams,’ she scoffed, now just as angry as he was.

CHAPTER THREE

NO, TRISTAN thought disgustedly, when he dreamt of her she was not jumping up and down; she was usually naked, her lithe body spread out over his bed, and her soft mouth was begging him to take her. But this was no dream, and right now making love to her couldn’t be further from his mind.

Kissing that insolent curl from her luscious mouth—now, that was closer. But completely giving in to the insane desire that still uncomfortably rode his back—no. Not in this lifetime.

Not that he was at all surprised to find himself still attracted to her. Hell, she looked even better now than she had six years ago—if that was actually possible.

Even the bartender was having trouble keeping his distance—and not just because he’d probably recognised her face. Tristan doubted he’d be ogling any other actress with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and there were many far more worthy of a second glance than this sexy little troublemaker.

No, the bartender was staring because Lily Wild looked like every man’s secret fantasy come to life—even with those dark smudges beneath those wide purple eyes. But she damned well wasn’t his. Not this time.

He should have just said no to Jordana, he realised distractedly. Should have made up a story about how it couldn’t be done.

But he had too much integrity to lie, and in the end a close friend who specialised in criminal law had pulled a rabbit from a hat and here they were. But only by the grace of some clapped-out piece of nineteenth-century legislation that he would recommend be amended at the next parliamentary sitting.

‘Did you hear me, Tristan?’ she prompted, her glorious eyes flashing with unconcealed irritation. ‘I won’t let you bully me like you did once before.’

Tristan cast her the withering glance that he usually reserved for the seediest of his courtroom opponents.

Oh, he’d heard her all right, but she had no choice in the matter, and the sooner she got that through her thick, beautiful skull the better.

‘Don’t push me, Lily,’ he grated warningly, and saw her teeth clench.

Her hands were fisted by her sides and he knew she probably wanted to thump him. Despite himself he admired her temerity. Most women in her position—hell, most men—would be grovelling or backing away, or both. Instead this little spitfire was arguing the toss, as if she might actually choose jail over him.

‘Then don’t push me!’ she returned hotly.

He looked at her and tried to remind himself that he was a first-rate lawyer who never let emotion govern his actions. ‘You signed the contract. Deal with it,’ he said curtly.

She slapped her hands on her hips, the movement dragging her oversized cardigan open and bringing his attention back to her full, unbound breasts. ‘I told you—I didn’t know what I was signing,’ she declared, as if that might actually make a difference.

Yeah, yeah—just as she didn’t know how the drugs ended up in her bag. He had yet to come across a criminal who actually admitted any form of guilt, and her vehement denial was boringly predictable.

He noticed that the two businessmen who earlier had been deep in conversation were now stealing surreptitious glances at her. Not that he couldn’t appreciate what they were looking at: tousled pearl-blond hair, soft, kissable lips, a mouthwatering silhouette, and legs that went all the way into next week.

They’d looked even longer coming down his parents’ staircase at Jo’s eighteenth party, in a tiny dress and designer heels. And just like that he was back at Hillesden Abbey, the family estate, at the precise moment she had approached him.

‘Hey, wanna dance?’ she’d invited, standing before him in a silver mini-dress that clung in all the right places, hip cocked, bee-stung pout covered in war paint.

He’d declined, of course. Just looking at her had stirred up a dark lust inside him that, at seventeen, she had been way too young to handle.

‘But you danced with Jordana,’ she’d complained, fluttering ridiculously long eyelashes like a woman on the make. ‘And the girl with the blue dress.’

‘That’s right.’ His friend Gabriel had elbowed him. ‘You did.’

‘So? What about it?’ Lily had shifted her weight to her other hip, her dress riding up just that tiny bit more, head tilted in artful provocation.

He’d been about to refuse again, but Gabriel had interrupted and said he’d dance with her if Tristan wouldn’t, and for some reason that had got his back up.

He’d thrown his friend a baleful glare before focusing on Lily. ‘Let’s go.’

She’d smiled her now famous million dollar smile at Gabriel and Tristan had gritted his teeth and followed her onto the dance floor.

As if on cue the music had turned dreamy and he’d almost changed his mind. Then she’d turned that million dollar number his way, stepped into his arms, and he’d no longer had a mind to change.