He brushed his lips over hers again. “You first then.”
“We’ve spent our entire lives being who we thought other people expected us to be, and resenting them for it. When I left Hollywood, I said I wouldn’t do that anymore, and I’m done. I don’t care if being together costs me my job. I mean, I do, but we’ll deal with it together. And the rest of it, we’ll figure that out too. But only if you’ll work with me on it.”
He tugged her fingers from around his neck, grasped her hand, and led her to the receptionist desk. Hands on her hips, he lifted her to sit on top, then kissed her on the nose. “You look tired.”
“You’re being condescending.”
“No. I’m being an asshole by making you wait for an answer, but you do look tired. When was the last time you slept?
“When was the last time I was at your house?”
He hated how much stress this caused her. He shouldn’t add to it by teasing. Tristan kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then pressed his lips to hers. “Yes, to everything you said. I agree. Also, I love you.”
Her smile was one he’d pay everything to see again and again. “So we’ll figure this out together?” she asked.
“Always. But not this time. Not the firm stuff, anyway.
A frown sneaked in. “I don’t like that. Also, why are you here so late?”
“I’m figuring things out.”
Her smile was back. She draped her arms over his shoulders again, and pulled him close. He nudged her legs apart with his knee and slid between her thighs.
“I missed you.” He trailed his lips up her neck, inhaling the faint scent of peaches. The sweats and baggy T-shirt she wore, reminded him of their first night together. That moment when he saw a glimpse of the woman he’d fallen for.
“Don’t change the subject.” When she pressed into him, the weight of her breasts was warm and soft against his chest. “What did you figure out?”
“I’ve put together enough pieces to try to put a hold on the investigation, and most likely clear things up. That includes the accusations against you, for embezzlement.”
She teased her fingertips along the short hairs on the back of his neck, sending a pleasant shiver through him. “You’ve been busy. How are you going to do any of that?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s keeping two sets of books. And according to Ash, that’s a minor thing compared to what he’s been doing. But I’ve got potential proof of forgery, and that’s what we need to get the IRS off our backs.”
“Holy shit. I should dump you more often.”
That sounded like such a horrible idea, he wouldn’t point out splitting up was a mutual decision. “Don’t you dare.”
“Never ever again.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder.
He placed a finger under her chin, and raised her head to meet her gaze. “We should celebrate.”
“Hmm. What do you have in mind?”
He glided his other hand under her shirt and up her spine. She arched her back, pressing tighter against him.
“Seeing how much abuse the receptionist desk can take.” He slid to her torso, then cupped her breast through the fabric of her bra.
Her lips parted in a silent sigh. “What if someone comes by?” Her question was breathy.
“It’s eleven at night.” He dipped his head to suck on the soft skin of her neck. Tonight he didn’t care about leaving marks.
“I came by.”
“Then they can watch, but I’m not sharing.”
“Good.” She wasn’t interested in anyone but him, and she couldn’t imagine that changing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TRISTAN WAS GRATEFUL to see Victoria. To hear her confession. To know he wasn’t the only one who’d been sucked into this intense, amazing thing.
He should be patient and stretch things out. He’d rather take his time with her. But there would be a lot of opportunities for that. Nights spent worshipping her. Days spent on the beach, soaking up the sun and each other’s attention.
Right now, he needed to feel her.
He tugged at her sweats, and she took the hint, raising her ass of the desk enough for him to yank them down her legs.
The elastic cuffs got caught on her shoes, but she kicked it all aside.
She cupped his erection through his jeans, drawing him past hard, and making him jerk against her hand.
Yeah, he wasn’t in the mood to draw things out tonight. He yanked down his zipper, and teased her opening with the head of his cock. Her heat was enticing, drawing him in. Shattering any restraint he had left.
He thrust inside her, and she pushed back. “You feel so good,” he groaned. Warm. Slick. His.
He tried to slow himself down, but being close to her made reason fly out the window.
He bit her neck, then her earlobe. “Play with yourself.” He wanted to feel her pussy clench around him when she came.
She took one of his hands and glided it under her shirt to cup her breast. When he brushed his thumb over her nipple, she tightened around his cock.
He lost himself in the light caresses against her breast. The teasing. Biting her neck and slamming inside her.
She wedged her fingers between them, stroking herself and grazing his cock.
When she came, she screamed. Fuck he loved that sound. It cut the final treads of his restraint. He moved his hands to her hips, driving into her. Orgasm built inside. Stars danced behind his lids when he came.
He slowed to a stop, struggling to catch his breath. “Fuck, I love you.”
“Easy to say after you get off.” Her giggle was musical.
He pinched her thigh, and she squealed. “I love you regardless,” he said.
“Even if I cut you off?”
He could tease back, but he wanted her to know he meant it. He claimed her mouth, soft and gentle, and then harder, before breaking away. “Even if. Always and forever. I love you.”
VICTORIA RESTED HER forehead against Tristan’s shoulder. The desk was cold under her butt. She didn’t care, though. As long as she was wrapped in his arms. “Are you done for the night?”
“If you weren’t here, I’d been digging deeper into Wolfram’s past. Mostly to keep me from thinking about you. So, yeah, I’m done for the night.” Tristan hooked his fingers at the small of her back, and traced tiny circles with his thumb.
“Let’s get out of here, then.”
“My condo is about five minutes away.”
She smiled. “Is this the mysterious for social gatherings only spot?”
“Not that mysterious, given the number of events it’s hosted, but otherwise yes.” He brushed his lips over hers, then stepped back. He grabbed her sweats from where they’d been discarded, and handed them to her. “It’s also my I don’t want to let go of you for too long spot for the night.”
She liked the sound of that. “Sounds perfect.” She tugged on her pants, then yanked on her sneakers.
He grasped her fingers as she hopped to her feet. From locking up the building, to the short drive to his condo, he only let go of her hand when absolutely necessary.
She seared the contact into her memories. Not because she thought it was her last chance—that wasn’t a concern—but this was one of those moments she never wanted to forget.
They reached his place, and he let them in. Victoria cast her gaze around an open floor plan that was literally black and white. Leather, glass, and stainless steel. The artwork could have come out of any modern art catalog.
A few months ago, she would have guessed this was what Tristan’s place looked like. Now, she couldn’t imagine him in such a sterile environment.
“What?” he asked.
She realized she was wrinkling her nose. “It’s so stuffy.”
“It’s just for tonight, and the bed is comfortable.”
A yawn snuck up on her, threatening to split her jaw and making her eyes water.
“Come on.” Tristan led her to the bedroom. “We can’t have yo
u sleep deprived.”
The bedroom was just as catalog-cold, but she didn’t care. He sat her on the bed, then knelt at her feet.
He removed her shoes and set them aside. “Sweats next,” he said.
She complied, kicking the bottoms to the ground.
He kissed her fingertips. “Wait here for two seconds.”
“One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi,” she counted aloud as he turned around. He glanced back over his shoulder, brows raised. She couldn’t help her giggle.
Tristan rifled through a draw in the dresser, picked something, and returned to her. “Shirt off.”
She tugged the top over her head, and he handed her the T-shirt he’d grabbed. “This will be more comfortable to sleep in.”
“All right.” She pulled the clothing on. The faded knit was soft against her skin, and the familiar scent of his cologne mingled with fabric softener. She could get used to this real quick.
He discarded all of his clothes except his boxers, pulled her to lay next to him in bed, and pulled the comforter over them.
“Get some sleep.” He kissed the back of her neck.
She snuggled into his arms. “All right.”
This felt better, Right. Like something she’d been missing for too long, but could never name.
Her mind refused to be silent though. She tried not to stare at the clock next to the bed. Closed her eyes, but they popped back open a few minutes later. They had some pending solutions, but there were still so many things unresolved.
The most important one was far more personal.
“You can’t sleep.” Tristan’s voice was soft, his breath warm on her skin.
“I want to.”
“Talk to me. I’m listening.”
That made her smile. “We’ve never actually finished the baby conversation.”
“I’ve said how I feel about it. That hasn’t changed.”
“Right.” She summoned the conversation from the cabin. “Full involvement. Joint custody—”
“Maybe not that part. Or rather, I’d like it to be full time joint for both of us.”
It felt good to laugh. “That was convoluted.” She knew what he meant, but she wanted him to say it. This was one of those things there couldn’t be any misunderstanding about.
“You and me, living in the same house, as a couple, raising our child. Better?” he said.
She tugged his arm tighter around her. “Perfect.”
“You’re not going to argue?” he teased.
“I am if you want to live here.”
His snort was derisive. “Are you kidding? A toddler plus white carpets?”
“Not funny.” She didn’t care for the implication he’d put décor above a child.
“Kind of funny, but only because I don’t mean it.” He glided his palm along her stomach, touch light and tender. “Carpets can be replaced. Walls can be repainted. Furniture can be reupholstered. I don’t care where we live as long as the two of you are comfortable.”
Why had she fought him on this? Sure, at the time there were more bad memories than good, and she didn’t have any idea what he wanted, and she didn’t trust it was something as simple as to live my life, but now she got it. “Okay.”
“Is that an agreement to all of it?”
“Yes. Definitely. All of it.”
He glided his palm up to rest between her breasts. The gesture was as comforting as it was seductive. “What if I want a second kid, somewhere down the road?”
“You’re not getting any younger.” If he could tease, so could she.
“I’m not talking ten or thirteen years apart. More like two or three.”
She liked the sound of that. Not only the second child, but this long-term planning thing. “You’re making it too easy to say yes.”
“Good.” He pressed against her back. “Do you feel better?”
“Much. Thank you for listening.”
“Always.”
She had zero doubt he meant it.
ON SUNDAY, TRISTAN took Victoria back to her car, with the promise from her she was going home long enough to fetch clothes, and then she’d meet him at his place.
She Monday and Tuesday there as well. He liked knowing she’d be there at night when work was over. He could see that waiting for work to call her back, and lift her suspension, was driving her stir crazy.
One of those things he couldn’t fix, as much as he wanted to.
Wednesday night, they sat on his couch, her leaning into him as they watched the first Friday the 13th movie.
“You ever make up with your boyfriend?” Victoria asked.
Tristan rolled his eyes at the phrasing, but he was smiling. “I didn’t tell you about that.”
“Ash did.”
He might gripe about the news being spread around. He was glad the women were friends, though. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Call him now.” She untangled herself from his arms, and sat up.
“Fine.” He huffed, but he was already dialing Mischa’s number. He wandered away as he listened to the phone ring, aware of Victoria’s gaze following him.
“Алло.” Mischa’s tone was cheerful.
Maybe he didn’t need to apologize. They could gloss over things. Tristan couldn’t do that though. “You got a minute?”
“Depends.” Now the edge was there.
“I want to apologize. For what I said. For meaning it at the time.”
“Hm.” Mischa grunted. “In that case me too.”
“Just like that?”
“Eh. I was going to forgive you anyway. You sound like you mean it. No reason to drag the moment out.”
“Okay, so, we’re cool.”
“Sure.” Mischa’s cheer was back. “Though, I’ll probably bring this up at random inconvenient times in the future.”
Tristan didn’t have a reasonable counter for that. “I suppose that’s fair.”
He disconnected and joined Victoria on the couch again. The moment he was seated, she kissed him on the cheek, and rested against his chest. “All better?” she asked?
“Very much so.” Everything about this was better. Right. Having her here with him. The future that beckoned. Regardless of how much he’d planned, to reach this point, he never could have anticipated how wonderful this would be.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
SEVEN MONTHS LATER
Victoria leaned against the doorway of the baby’s nursery, watching Tristan settle their little boy in his crib. Eli would be two months old in a couple of days.
This entire thing was almost Norman Rockwell-esque. Except upon closer examination, the fairies on the walls rode boards and blades, courtesy of Mischa. Every time she looked, she found something new in the artwork.
She never imagined this kind of life. Vicky next door had neighbors like this, but those weren’t real people.
Tristan looked up and caught her gaze. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Just enjoying the view. And you need to come see the news.” She was saving that bit for last. It would catch him off-guard in a good way, but there was no reason to interrupt bedtime for it.
He frowned. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not spoiling the surprise. You need to see this for yourself.”
He followed her into the bedroom. They’d converted the adjoining office into the baby’s room.
She grabbed the remote from the bed and pointed at the TV. There was no reason to unmute the cable news station—the scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen said it all.
Ralph Wolfram, founder of the Wolfram Angel Investor Group, was being indicted on several counts of fraud. Among other charges. A handful of his employees were being charged with him.
“Fuck me.” Tristan sank onto the bed. “I’m a little torn about this.”
She sat next to him, and tangled her fingers with his. “Why?”
“I helped do that to him, and most of me wants
to pop the champagne and celebrate, but there’s a teensy bit of me that doesn’t think it’s appropriate to cheer for someone losing their freedom.”
“He did this to himself.”
“I know.” Tristan grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “I’m only a little torn. Consider me ninety-nine-point-nine percent cheering.”
They watched as different channels talked to analyst, colleagues, and clients. Some were stunned about the news, some not so much.
The official statement from his law team was, “There is no basis to these claims. Justice will prevail.”
“Let me know how that works out for you,” Tristan said to the screen.
Victoria scooted back on the bed until she sat propped up against the headboard. “Something like this destroys the reputation of a firm.”
“Ralph was always big on appearance.” Tristan joined her. “He told me once that he wasn’t a comic book super villain, but this is playing out like some Netflix exclusive kind of thing.”
“Real life is stranger than fiction.”
Tristan seemed to consider this. “If he’s the villain, what does that make us? Besides stunning in tights?”
Victoria laughed. “I think that makes me Lois Lane.”
“I did the investigating. That makes me Lois Lane. Unless you’re saying I’m Superman...” He waggled his eyebrows.
She loved everything about this. “You’re more like Jimmy Olsen.”
“Really.” Tristan’s tone was flat, but amusement still danced behind his eyes.
“Lois doesn’t want a guy like Superman. Not long-term.” Victoria was making this up as she went along, but it sounded good. “He’s all flash-bang, and set on saving the world. He’s not going to have time for her. The needs of many and all that.”
“That’s Star Trek, not Superman.”
She twisted her mouth. “It’s a universal concept. I think Superman would live it if he were familiar with it. But you’re ruining my story.”
“I swear to God, if you compare Mischa to Superman—”
“I’m not, and I wasn’t going to.” Victoria stuck her tongue out.
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