by Melissa Blue
“Be yourself,” he told her.
Herself? She wasn't herself with him. Outside of the nerves and sex. Okay. She wasn't herself for the most part, but enough to make him believe she could con this couple. Or any couple while spending one-on-one time together. She could fake it, barely, in groups, but this was a different animal.
He climbed onto the boat. It rocked softly, but he moved with ease. Watching him over the past two days she realized that was just the way he moved. Since that morning, she'd spent an inordinate amount of time wondering if he was born that way or had learned to be so damn calm about everything from conning.
She didn't know and it started to matter. What they did in bed didn't mean hearts and romance. She still needed the...intimacy, or maybe the openness they had. But could he fake that with ease? Who was he when he was a con man? Who was he now? The questions vexed her, because it shouldn't have mattered.
He put out his hand to help her onto the boat. Heels were not the ideal footwear for this kind of outing but she hadn't brought anything else. She hesitated at the foothold and suddenly she was weightless. A surprised yelp escaped her.
Tristan's arm wrapped around her waist. Her head was still spinning by the time he placed her on the deck. His thick arms were warm around her. The heat of him and the steel of his chest felt like a dichotomy against her soft breasts. She'd never felt so feminine until she met him. She never imagined there was ever any appeal to fragility. She had to take such care in her job with relics but this was different.
His lips brushed over her cheekbone to her ear. “You don't look like you want to bite me.”
Was this pretend or could she be honest? It felt right to go with her gut. “You were treating me like I'm fragile. You sort of surprised me.”
“I worry I might break you.” The answer sounded honest.
She frowned, pulled back to read the truth on his face.
“Cool your jets.” A man's voice came from their left.
Tristan loosened his hold but kept one arm just above her hips. “Ron?” At the man's nod, he offered his hand. “Good to meet you and your lovely wife, Janet.”
Seamlessly he'd given her their names. She plastered on a smile and nodded to them both. They were dressed for the day. Janet's sarong wrapped loosely around her hips and the one-piece bathing suit showed off her tanned skin. Ron's sandal-clad feet looked plucked of any hair, along with his chest that peeked through a low-cut V-neck shirt.
Janet elbowed her husband once on the boat. “They haven't reached bickering-is-their-foreplay part of their marriage. Let the newlyweds have their honeymoon. Jocelyn, right?”
Keri made a noise that sounded like a yes.
Ron had already moved on. “Motored? They should have coughed up the money for a real boat. You sail?” he tossed over his shoulder to Tristan.
Men tended to talk to the other available male as though a woman wasn't standing there. She bit into her lip to keep the observation and her irritation to herself.
“I have a time or two,” Tristan said. “It's been a while. Unlike you I see the beauty in motored boats. Let me show you.”
And then he left her alone with Janet.
Shit.
The other woman sprawled on the seat next to the cooler. She cracked it open and pulled out two beers. She gestured to the red vinyl seat beside her. “Next hour or three will involve a lot of man talk. We'll need these to get through it.”
Think like a modern, hip woman. Keri plopped down beside her and opened her beer. Before she could ramble into small talk, Tristan throttled something that pushed her back in the vinyl seats, sloshing her beer on her fingers. Ron let out a whoop of excitement. Janet steadied the cooler. Tristan showed no sign of unease. His full concentration was on their maiden voyage into the bay.
Capable.
The sun beat down into the compact ship, but the spring breeze lessened the intensity of the mid-afternoon heat.
“So tell me how you met?” Janet asked.
Her mind froze on the truth and it started to spill out until Tristan glanced back. What had he said? He'd told her a little about conning before they left the hotel room. Use your truth and what they believe is true. Ian and Jocelyn had met at work. Her cousin had shied away from the exact details. Keri stole a glance at Tristan. If the brothers were remotely the same then yeah...Jocelyn had already told some half-truths about their “romance.”
“We met in the parking lot. At...” Did she consider this a job? Sort of. “Work. We meshed. Despite everything, he felt...right.”
Janet's smile warmed before she took a swig of beer. “Yeah, that's how it is.”
“What is?”
“Finding the man you're going to marry.” She nodded to Ron. “He's my second.”
Keri took in the woman. Well, she could believe that. Not by the woman's appearance or demeanor, but the woman gave off the feeling of being around the block a few times. Then once more.
She pressed the cool glass to her throat and considered what the woman was offering—conversation. Well, that wasn't scary as long as she kept the focus away from herself. “What happened with the first?”
Janet chuckled. “We were young and not willing to give when we needed to.” She pointed with her glass bottle. “But him, I was sure he'd last maybe a month.” She laughed. “I'm his second too.”
How nosy could she be? She wouldn't know until she asked the wrong question. “What happened with him?”
“He cheated.”
Keri took in Ron this time. He didn't give off the ladies' man vibe. But the moment she saw Tristan she definitely hadn't thought carpenter, much less con man. “And you trust him?”
“It is and isn't logical. That's faith. He wanted to be a better man. For himself first, and then we met.” She took a long pull on her drink. “And that was about fifteen years ago. So I feel safe in saying my gut was right.”
Keri sipped her beer and then closed her eyes. The bay smelled like fresh water, fish and sun. What did her gut say about Tristan? She couldn't tell. So much of what she felt for him was wrapped up in lust. He confused the hell out of her, but she'd yet to feel like there was anything wrong with her. Yes, the knee-jerk insecurities hadn't faded, but he didn't make her feel like she was broken and needed fixing. Hell, she muttered questions during oral sex and he answered, not missing a damn step. He asked for nothing and she was starting to want to do something, anything, for him in return.
“Just a tip,” Janet said.
She opened her eyes. “Yeah?” She braced herself for more marital advice that she couldn't use given she wasn't really married.
“Take off your shoes.”
“Oh,” she said on a laugh, having not expected that. “I didn't pack for this.”
Still she slipped out of her heels on a sigh. The strap had left an indentation across her pinkie toe.
Janet nodded. “Now you're ready to have fun.”
The engine quieted and as best she could tell they'd “parked” in the middle of the bay. Looking out, she could see the same kind of boats not far from them. Some circled around the shores. Mostly, the others had stopped too. Their day was to lounge on the water, eat whatever Tristan had packed in the cooler and spend time with this seemingly nice couple. If not for the last part, the tension in her shoulders would have ebbed. She wondered about that and Tristan.
How many times had he had to pretend to be someone he wasn't? What did that do to a man? Despite the obvious moral issue, what made him finally walk away? Questions she shouldn’t even ponder, but... She took another swig of beer and reminded herself the answers didn't matter.
*****
Ron didn't take much stock in letting someone get a word in. That was fine with Tristan. The less he had the say, the better. No more lies needed to be added to keep up the con. If that wasn't proof enough he needed to stay out of the game, the fact he hadn't even thought about if his brother sailed too should have sealed the deal.
More telling, he
would have been annoyed at Keri. She was green—not that the boat made her sick, but she couldn't con to save her life. That probably had more to do with her not being a people person. The second beer had relaxed her, but that simply made her act like any person in the same situation.
Ron continued to jabber and point at buttons to ask what they did. In the past Tristan would have endured it, for hours on end, but he didn't owe his brother that much. His endgame was to simply make sure these people liked them and didn't stand in the way of his brother's application getting approved.
He sent a glance over his shoulder to Keri and prayed she could read the plea on his face. “Aye,” he said, noting the sudden ebb in the litany of Ron's words.
“I've been doing nothing but talking at you.”
He thought of his brother. “I'm a man of few words.” Since he'd turned off the engine he couldn't even pretend like he needed to concentrate.
Just then the heavens opened. Keri rose from her seat and walked over to him. He sighed in relief. She must have toed off her heels earlier, because she came up to his chin, barely.
“Ah. I see,” Ron said. “I'll excuse myself. Janet's looking restless anyway.”
Keri didn't curl into his embrace like he wanted, but she definitely warmed his left side. She smiled at him and his heart thudded. She kept her voice low and said, “You looked like you wanted to be shot so I came over.”
Best not to laugh, but he smiled back. “Was it the glazed eyes or the expression that screamed 'help me’? Either one should have cued you in fifteen minutes ago.”
Her shoulders shook and she sipped her beer for a second. “I did see the look fifteen minutes ago but you didn't look like you wanted to bite me. Figured I should let you flounder.”
He grinned. Fifteen minutes ago Janet had probably asked some question Keri wouldn't have known how to answer. “Did your boat partner want to know when we'd have babes of our own?”
She snorted. “I tried to think what my cousin would say and drew a blank.”
“My brother actually wants babes. Your cousin has done something to my brother that is irrevocable.”
Her gaze narrowed on his face. “You sound happy about it.”
“He's my brother,” he said simply.
He worried many years his brother would be a dick, just like him. One of the many reasons he walked away from being a con man had everything to do with wanting to be a better example for his brother. If anyone had hope of finding happiness, it was Ian, which was like betting on the horse that had the least odds. But he'd been right.
So, Tristan couldn't be that far off in believing he had no chance. Ever. He sighed. He'd wasted a good portion of his life trying to find the answer to why a woman would walk away from her children. Why would she let anyone talk her out of staying? He'd blamed his mum for many things until he woken up and realized he'd made the choice to become a con man. Over and over, he hurt people and parted them from their money. He'd studied them like lab rats, not as people.
What did he finally learn? She was a shite mum. The beginning and end. That had nothing to do with him, but the cons were all his sins. He managed to make peace with the former, not the latter. That acceptance hurt like a bitch, but it was the truth.
Spending this time with Keri wasn't...real. He could want the way she looked at him with awe and heat to last forever, but it never could. If he couldn't accept his past, how could anyone else? Worries to be had when they didn't have an audience.
Until then and because he wanted to, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her closer. She sighed and laid her head on his chest.
Huh. He'd never had this. He had sex. He dated long enough to tell a woman what he used to be and that usually ended the dating. Not since he'd gone straight had he ever experienced just holding a woman. This kind of intimacy led nowhere. Yet this seemed so natural for her. For him, with her.
The worry he'd break her settled in again. What made her want to seek comfort in his embrace? Sex? He rested his chin on the top of her head. She was soft and warm and he never wanted her to move.
His stomach had a weightless, nervous sensation. He wanted this to be real and knew it couldn't possibly be. “Keri, how many beers have you had?”
“Enough that I'll let you talk me out my panties when we get back to the hotel.”
He chuckled. “I don't need beer for that.”
“No, but it makes me feel like I have a bit of control knowing you'd have to sweet talk me. Just a little bit.”
He glanced at the other couple. They paid them no mind but that didn't mean they weren't doing their best to listen in. People were nosy by nature. “You have more control than you think.” The honesty in his reply stilled him.
As a con man he was used to being the fantasy and whatever that entailed. They weren't just having sex or doing anything close to dating. That left him with no footing or game plan. He didn't have a clue what parts of himself to reveal, so he was being himself, no matter how deviant, inappropriate or cheeky that was. At any time she could change her mind and end everything they did when prying eyes weren't watching their every move. He sighed again. He hated this feeling.
She lifted her head at the sound, meeting his gaze. “What's wrong?” she asked.
If this was what it was like to be vulnerable, he understood why no matter what he did, there was no redemption for him. “Nothing.”
She raised a brow in question. “Doesn't look like nothing.”
“Don't worry about it. Take heart, we look like a married couple in love. You can relax.”
She frowned up at him. “You're the one who looks like he needs to relax.” She ran her hand up his arm and he clenched his jaw.
She welcomed his embrace now. He'd take it, revel in it, but the first opportunity he had to walk away, he'd take that too. She didn't want Tristan, former con man. She didn't know that man. No one, not even sweet, nervous Keri, would want that man.
“I'm fine, Keri. Want me to teach you how to drive a boat?”
She finished her beer and put the empty in the cup holder near the gears. “I'd love that.”
“First, you need to know the name of everything.” He tightened his embrace. While he could hold her, he would. He'd enjoy this time with her without reservation and revel.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Somehow she'd survived the boat ride and the couple's gentle probing into their fake personal life. Still, she exhaled when they entered the pub. The place smelled of yeast and wood. A player tumbled out of the white line on the flat-screen and a loud collective groan rose up. She smiled. The perfect place.
During breakfast she made plenty of excuses to get up from the table to get to the buffet. While there and to kill time, she'd asked several of the hotel's staff where she could find a pub. They'd told her of the strong Irish ties on the south side of the city.
She'd never confess to Tristan she couldn't tell the cultural difference between a Scot and an Irish if you discounted the haggis, bagpipes and kilts, but it was a pub, and they played rugby games on the big screens instead of American football.
Spreading out her hands, she grinned up at him. “A pub.”
He shook his head and snorted. “You sound proud.”
The excitement didn't ebb from her voice. “Well, yeah, you can find a bar, but a pub?”
He laughed. “My father runs one. Excuse me if my panties don't get moist.”
She punched his chest lightly. “I found you a pub, in America, that plays rugby. Moisten those panties, dammit.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and directed her toward a table that sat right under a flat-screen. “I'm not that cheap of a date. You have to talk me into bed first.”
“Didn't take much that first time.”
He chuckled and leaned forward. His breath caressed her ear. “Aye, but you haven't gotten into my pants.”
Not that she hadn't thought of that distinction. Her face heated, but she gave herself a purpose and hopped onto
the high bar stool. He settled in across from her. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp blue shirt and pressed his elbows against the scarred wood table.
She clasped her hands underneath the table so he wouldn't see the nerves. She hadn't thought past bringing him to the pub. In order to be cool she had to act cool. Pulling the peanuts closer to her, she grabbed a handful to do something other than wringing her hands. “So, tell me about this thing you have for rugby.”
“Like I said, my da owns a pub. It's practically a year-round sport. One that practically plays year-round in his place. Spent enough time having to watch it that I played well enough for school and college.”
She knew a carpenter would go to college but that was his honest work after retiring. “A con man needs college?”
“This one did.” He reached over and stole one of her peanuts. His jaw tightened for a second, but then he smiled. “I'm older than Ian by four years. Couldn't tell him to go while I conned for a living.”
He was pretty honest about his past, but not once had he shared details. She didn't think that was accidental. “I didn't play any sports,” she told him.
He grinned at her. “I have a feeling you won a lot of science fairs.”
She sniffed. “That's a stereotype and I'm offended.”
“Then tell me I'm wrong.”
Since she couldn't, she pushed more peanuts his way. “So, what was the appeal?”
He laughed. “Everything. The rules and stretching them. Being on a team. They were my family. Well, my third family.” He'd littered his side of the table with open peanut shells. Finally, having opened all of them, he ate the nuts one by one.
Such a small thing to notice and smile about. She shook her head. “One I'm guessing was Ian and your da?”
“The gang I was in was the second.”
Her mind screeched to a halt. “Gang?”
He nodded. “Nothing like Americans or rebel forces, but three other boys, men really, who got together to commit crimes.”