Page 17 of Black Heart

Just a little.

Her memories of his body did not do him justice, not even a little bit. She remembered that he’d always been lean and well-built, but now, he was…he was yummy. There really was no other way to describe it. She took in his low-hanging jeans that gave a good view of narrow hips and a dark happy trail that disappeared beneath the waistband before her gaze slowly moved up and took in rope after rope of muscle before taking in the Celtic tattoo on his right pec. Did she mention yummy? Because it should definitely be mentioned. She took in the dark pink wound on his shoulder before she ran her gaze down his large biceps and the tribal tattoos that circled both arms. To top it all off, was a golden tan that highlighted all that yumminess.

The man was a god.

* * *

Tristan couldn’t moveas Marty ran her eyes over him. He swallowed hard as he watched her eyes devour him and-

“She wants ye,” Shayne whispered in his ear. “Yer totally in. Just flex a little muscle, big guy, and she’s yers.”

Tristan just barely caught himself before he told the man to fuck off. That’s all he needed was for Marty to think that he was crazy. That would just make his already fucked-up life perfect.

Marty cleared her throat as she reached up and carefully ran her fingertips around his wound, making him swallow hard as he struggled against the urge to lean into her touch.

Christ, it was addicting.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her gaze flickering up to meet his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Tristan asked, mentally kicking his own ass at how rude he sounded, but he couldn’t help but wonder why the woman that he’d been avoiding for years suddenly showed up on his front step to drive him out of his fucking mind.

Marty sighed heavily as she dropped her hand away. “I was just doing your mother a favor. Don’t worry, I won’t do it again,” she said as she turned around and started to leave only to frown while they watched his father’s truck stop in front of the house.

“I’m sorry, Marty. I have to make a run to the college to collect some…things. You know how much Tom hates for me to go there at night alone, so he’s going to take me and then we’re going out for a while. We’d thought it would be fun. Oh, and Denny’s leaving, too!” his mother yelled before his father had a chance to roll the window down all the way.

Marty opened her mouth only to have his mother cut her off.

“Also, I just spoke with Hank. Your Dad isn’t going to be home until tomorrow morning and I’m not sure when we’re going to be home,” she said as her gaze shifted to him.

“Sweetie, you don’t mind if Marty stays here until we get home, do you?” Before Tristan could respond, his mother smiled brightly and continued. “Actually, since we’re all going to be out so late, you might want to make up a room for her and let her spend the night. I know you wouldn’t turn the poor thing out and make her wait on her father’s doorstep all night.”

Tristan opened his mouth and-

“Great, I’m glad that’s all taken care of. Love you!” his mother yelled as she sat back and effectively ended the conversation, not that there had been much of one.

Tom closed the window while he mouthed what Tristan thought was “Sorry.” They stood there shocked while his parents drove away. Denny was close behind them in his SUV. He paused only long enough to shake with uncontrollable laughter and confirm his suspicions that he’d just been fucked over.

Marty pressed her palms against her eyes. “This cannot be happening.”

“What the hell was all that about?” Tristan asked as his eyes dropped to Marty’s, in his opinion, perfectly rounded ass. He managed to look up, appearing innocent by the time she turned around.

“I have a bad feeling that your mother,” Marty paused, swallowing hard before adding, “is playing matchmaker.”

Tristan cursed as Shayne burst out laughing.

“Oh, it took her long enough, didn’t it? I swear she’s the last one to notice,” he said, only to purse his lips up as he looked at Marty. “Well, maybe not the last.”

“Fucking stop!” Tristan snapped, startling Marty.

“You know what? I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I can figure out how to pick a lock,” Marty said, gesturing to the basket. “Bon appetite and have a nice life,” and with that, she turned around and stormed off.

“Wait!” Tristan found himself saying, surprising the hell out of himself. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was…I was…just bitching about my wound. It’s itching like crazy.”

Marty paused, looking over her shoulder at him as her gaze landed on his scar, looking torn.

Tristan stepped aside and gestured for her to come inside. “I’ll give you the tour and show you where you can sleep.”

She rocked back on her heels as she considered him. “I don’t want to intrude, Tristan. I know this isn’t what you want.”

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