Closing his eyes, he finally allowed the tears he’d been holding back to slide free.
Three days later, while lying in his bunk, he wrote two letters. One thanking Lemon for writing to him while he was gone and all the ways he’d enjoyed their paper friendship.
The second letter only contained two sentences:
When I come home, I’m going to buy a white cottage with a blue door. Then I’m going marry you, Lemon McCoy.
Carefully folding each, he put them in separate envelopes, intending to send them a week apart so that by the time the second one arrived, he would be back in Jessamine.
Only eleven more days.
*
Two months later
Hair freshly trimmed and beard freshly shaven off, Tristan adjusted his tie and got out of the truck he’d borrowed from his brother, Adam.
Every light was on inside the McCoy mansion and cars were parked all along the drive as he walked up to the house. His heart knocked against his chest, harder than it ever had, in anticipation.
Apple greeted him at the door, her eyes narrowed. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Lemon,” he said and attempted to go inside, but Apple blocked him.
Almost as tall as he at six foot two, Apple had been intimidating everyone for as long as he could remember. But this time, he refused to be put off by anyone.
“You didn’t take those letters she wrote you seriously, did you?” she said with a smirk. “I mean... the notorious Tristan Lawson couldn’t have fallen for my baby sister.”
A cold heat rushed up his neck. “Unless you have something productive to tell me, then I—”
“Lemon’s engaged to Mark Smithson. He’s a doctor and can give her everything she wants in life.”
“Engaged?” But she’d never mentioned Mark in her letters. He knew the guy. Nice enough, but a little too polished. A little too perfect.
“Yes, that’s when two people who are in love make a promise—“
“I know what it means,” he snapped. “But in her letters, she—“
Apple laughed daintily. “Oh my goodness, you don’t know Lemon at all. She felt sorry for you. That’s why she answered your first letter. After that, things snowballed and she didn’t know what to do. However, she didn’t tell me about her situation until recently. Unfortunately, unlike me—or Cherry—she’s too softhearted to let us take care of things. But since you and I ran into each other tonight, I’m going to help both of you out.”
“She lied to me?” he said, growing angrier by the second.
“Oh, no.” Apple touched his arm. “She pitied you, Tristan. “
What was left of his pride went down in flames. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Apple’s eyes widened. “You’re leaving?”
“I don’t have a reason to be here.”
“But I thought you wanted to see Lemon. Don’t you want to talk to her about the deception?”
“No.” He marched down the driveway, the ring in his pocket burning a hole into his pants.
He should have known better. Everything Apple said made sense. He’d been the one to initiate things. He’d been the one to continue to write to her, to pour out his heart.
Right as he got to the truck, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, hoping and praying that Apple was wrong. That somehow Lemon knew he was here and would come bursting through the front door any minute to run right into his arms.
But nothing happened.
Another minute passed, and then another until he knew that if he stood there any longer, someone would call the cops. Just as he placed one foot inside the cab of the truck, a vision in pink seemed to float by the window. He took a step closer.
Lemon.
He could pick her out of a crowd of a million redheads without second-guessing himself. His gut clenched at the sight of her. Her curly, red hair, darker than it had been when they were younger, fell in a cloud around her shoulders as she smiled at the man who held her in his arms. That smile took his breath away.
How he hated her in that instant.
He wanted his breath back. He wanted his damned letters back. And more than anything, he wanted his heart back.
But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.
Lemon danced yet another dance with Mark Smithson. She smiled on the outside, but on the inside, she was a mess. By now, Tristan should be back home. Yet he hadn’t bothered to see her.
He hadn’t bothered replying to her last letter or Facebook message either. She wasn’t sure what she had done wrong.
Maybe her sisters were right. Maybe Tristan had led her on with his letters. Only, she couldn’t see how he led her on. He hadn’t promised her anything, except to use his brain for good and solving problems.
The memory of their chat made her heart flutter. Was it possible to be in love with a man she couldn’t stand? Was it possible to miss a man that before she couldn’t wait for him to leave town?
However, the truth was hard to ignore. She missed Tristan so much it physically hurt when she thought about him.
“May I cut in?” Apple asked Mark, although she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she took Lemon by the arm and led her to the patio off the back of the house. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder as if she expected someone to attack them from behind.
“What are you doing?” Lemon asked.
“Making sure I have the belle of the ball all to myself. All these men eye you like you are the very favorite dessert, especially the good doctor.”
Lemon rolled her eyes. She loved her sister, but overprotective was Apple’s middle name.
“Mark hasn’t tried anything. He’s been a perfect gentleman.”
“What a shame,” Apple replied.
Lemon frowned at her. “I thought you were taking me away from him because you were being an overprotective sister.”
“Hardly. While I love you, Lemonade, you have to grow a pair of lady balls when it comes to men.” Apple let go of her arm and raised her brows. “It’s past time you started acting like a McCoy woman.”
“First, stop calling me Lemonade—it’s Lemon Anne and you know it. Second, I don’t want Mark, I want Tristan.”
“Neither of them deserves you.”
“Okay, but how does that translate to being a McCoy woman? I don’t want to date a bunch of guys.”
Apple crossed her arms over her chest. “You always were a strange, little thing.”
Yes, she was, and hadn’t her parents done her the greatest of services by naming her after the sourest fruit known to man? Then made her become a beauty queen, as was tradition for the youngest McCoy daughter.
Stupid traditions.
“I don’t want to do what every McCoy has done before me. I plan on doing my own thing,” Lemon declared with all the bravado a nineteen-year-old could muster.
Apple’s face softened, and genuine concern shone in her eyes. “I’m only looking out for you.”
Lemon wasn’t sure how her sister was looking out for her by pressuring her to be more aggressive when it came to men. “I appreciate that, but it’s not needed,” she said firmly.
“If you say so, but at least take my advice when it comes to Tristan Lawson. That boy is no good—he dropped out of college to join the Army.”
“Marines,” Lemon corrected. “And he didn’t drop out. He’s been taking classes all along.”
“Whatever. Stay away from him if he comes sniffing around you. I have it on good authority that he’s back with Whitney.”
Lemon felt her heart shred into pieces. “What?”
“He’s with Whitney again.”
“But she wasn’t even writing him,” Lemon whispered.
“Do you really think he came home from war just to write with a woman?”
Lemon slowly shook her head. “No—I...I don’t know.”
“I do know. Whitney didn’t have time for him, so he wrote to you, and as sweet as you are, you wrote him back. Ne
ver in this world imagining he could be using you. But my sources never lie. He is with her.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Lemon said thickly. “I think—I think I’m going to—excuse me.”
Lemon ran inside as quickly as her heels would allow, swallowing down tears as she took the back staircase to her room.
She couldn’t take another minute of the party. Couldn’t take a second more of her sister’s pity and advice. All she wanted to do was soak in the tub and eat her weight in strawberry shortcake.
Come tomorrow, however, she was driving out to the Lawson farm and finding out for herself.
*
The next afternoon, Lemon put on her prettiest dress and curled her hair. She wanted to look perfect just in case she ran into Tristan. The town’s Facebook page had been abuzz with news about his return, so she at least knew he was stateside...and that her sister hadn’t lied about that.
With one last glance into the mirror, she headed to her car and drove to the outskirts of Jessamine. The Lawson’s farmhouse stood way back off the road, surrounded by fields and fields of corn.
Slowing down, she turned down their driveway. The road was bumpy as she navigated it, and she had to drive at a crawl.
Apprehension made her knees shake as she got out and surveyed all the trucks parked near the house.
Music filled air.
The scent of BBQ cooking on the grill filled her nose, and her stomach growled in response. She hadn’t been able to eat breakfast due to her nerves.
“You can do this. You have to do this,” she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath, she began walking around the side of the house.
“What are you doing here?”
Tristan. She whirled around, nearly stumbling in her haste. “You’re home,” she gasped and threw herself against him. “I’m so glad.” Her arms went around his neck, but he didn’t touch her at all. It was as if she were hugging a tree.
“Word travels fast,” was his only reply.
She tipped back her head to get a good look at him.
He looked older, more imposing if that were possible, as he gazed down at her. His blue eyes were as wicked as ever, but his gaze was sharp. He didn’t seem very happy to see her, and he still hadn’t hugged her back.
With an awkward smile, she unwrapped herself from him and took a step back. “Why didn’t you call me?”
His jaw, so finely hewn and dusted with a bit of scruff, worked. “Because you didn’t decree it, beauty queen.”
Beauty queen. She physically recoiled from him. “I didn’t realize I needed to.”
He smirked at her, a look as familiar to her as the nose on her face. She’d always hated her nose. Her stomach dropped. “Thinking’s taxing for you, I know.”
“My sister was right about you,” she said, slowly backing away.
“That she was.”
“I can’t believe I wrote you back...I thought—” She whirled away from him, desperate to remove herself from the situation, but he grabbed her arm.
His blue eyes blazed. “I never wanted your pity, Lemon.”
“I never wanted you at all,” she lied. “Go back to Whitney.”
“Not a problem,” he said.
She tossed her head. “I loathe you.”
“I loathe you more,” he gritted out.
They glared at one another for long minutes, his grip pulling her closer and closer to him until the only thing separating them was a thick curtain made of tension, anger, and betrayal.
And desire.
She could see, feel it, and she wanted to taste it. Taste him. But that would never happen.
“I loathe you more than you could ever imagine,” she practically growled at him. “In the history of people loathing one another, I would win because I loooooaaaathe you so hard.”
With a muffled curse, Tristan fused his mouth to hers. Her eyes opened wide. She felt positively lightheaded. He kept kissing her too, coaxing her lips open with each sensuous pass. Her lashes fluttered closed, and her knees dissolved like sugar in hot tea.
She felt like she was floating, until she gently hit the wall behind her. His hand cupped the back of her head, preventing it from bumping against the siding. Of their own accord, her hands traveled up his arms, reveling in the feel of his lean muscles, until she could touch the bare skin at the nape of his neck.
He was so warm, so hard—his tongue swept inside her mouth— and tasted so delicious that she bit his bottom lip.
“Tart,” he said, pulling away slightly, then he cupped the side of her face with his free hand and went back for more.
Everything fell away. Years of animosity, hurt...even his recent betrayal.
Lemon had always thought of herself as the type not to be swept up by a man, only she’d never been kissed by one before.
Boys yes, but never a man like Tristan Lawson.
His hard body pressed firmly against hers, trapping her against the house. But it wasn’t a trap she wanted to escape. He could hold her prisoner for as long as he wanted—well, as long as he was kissing her like this.
The wind blew, the sun beat down, and the birds called to one another in the distance. Voices grew closer and suddenly, all that delicious heat and mouth was denied her.
With a frown, she struggled to capture it again, but ended up grasping at air instead. Her eyes popped open.
Tristan stared down at her with a look she couldn’t read.
“Was that a pity kiss?” he asked.
She crossed her arms and looked down her nose at him—something very hard to do considering their height disparity. “Was that you leading me on?”
“What do you think?” he said, then shook his head. “Go back to your palace. No one around here has the stomach to serve you.”
I will not cry. I will not cry. She bit down on her bottom lip and steeled her shoulders, then took a deep breath.
“One day, Tristan Lawson, some woman’s going to break your heart and put you through the wringer. Mark my words.”
He stalked away from her and she could have sworn he’d answered with, “You already did.”
But that wasn’t possible. Hate didn’t come from love, and love could never hate. Love was stronger than that. She would be stronger than that.
McCoy women always were.
Chapter Three
Five years later
“You are the most infuriating woman I know,” Tristan growled as he buttoned his shirt and rolled up the cuffs.
Lemon narrowed her eyes and tossed her head, her glorious red hair sliding over one bare shoulder. “And you’re the most conceited man I’ve ever met.”
Even when he stepped closer, that damn woman didn’t retreat. He wanted her to, though. Needed her to put some distance between them because with her eyes flashing and the way her lips quivered, she was absolutely the sexiest creature he’d ever seen. He wanted to capture that passion.
Again.
His gaze slid to her chest. In the cool morning air, her nipples tightened and her skin turned the most gorgeous shade of pink.
He grew hard in response. “Shit,” he muttered.
“This is not happening again,” she said, hurriedly throwing on her clothes. She presented him with her back, smooth and creamy skin with a smattering of freckles tempted him to kiss her there. “Please zip me up.”
Deliberately, he dragged his knuckles against her skin as he zipped the dress closed. He wanted her to remember his touch. Wanted her branded and ruined. A bit of savage thinking, but he didn’t give a damn anymore.
“Done.”
She whirled around, facing him with her chin tipped up. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, as if they hadn’t spent the entire night making love.
He touched her face, and she flinched. “Don’t,” he whispered, lowering his head to press a kiss to her cheek. “I would never hurt you.”
“Stop being nice to me,” she ordered. “You got what you wanted.”
He took a step back. “Are
you accusing me of leading you on?” Hadn’t she accused him of that very thing seven years ago?
“Didn’t you?” She grabbed her purse and stepped into her shoes, then began to fix her hair into a haphazard bun. “Is that your thing?”
“As I recall it, you were just as involved as I was. In fact, you were the one to rip my—”
Her eyes snapped shut. “Don’t say what I did. I wasn’t myself.”
“No wonder I liked you so much,” he said wryly.
Her eyes flew open. “There he is. The man I’m used to dealing with.” She exhaled and smiled tightly, as if all was right in the world again. “I’d say don’t be a stranger, but we both know I’d be lying.”
“Just as well. I hate to think of you as a human being with feelings, princess.”
She stiffened. “I hate you.”
His heart kicked against his chest at her words. They sounded alien coming from her lips. Lips that had moaned his name and eased his mind. Her tart little mouth had tasted so sweet that he thought he’d died and gone to heaven each time she kissed him.
And when he’d finally sank inside her. Bliss. Fucking bliss.
But now, he was in hell. A hell of his own making.
Striding to the front of his studio apartment, he yanked open the door. Lemon pursed her lips, walking past him and outside.
“I trust you’ll keep what happened last night between only us,” she said, sounding so damn snooty that he couldn’t help but shoot off at the mouth.
“Thanks for the memories—I mean, nightmares. Maybe one day, you’ll be as good as your sisters. Until then, keep trying. The Karma Sutra is excellent reference material.”
Lemon spun on her foot, pulled her hand back and smacked him hard across the face. His cheek stung, pain radiating out from the center. He deserved it. God, he deserved it and more.
“Do not talk about my sisters like that,” she hissed.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was—”
“Please.”
Her tone was his undoing. He laid his forehead against hers. “Lemon.”
“Even if I thought you and I had a chance, we really don’t. We always go back to our default setting,” she said softly. “Last night was a one-time thing. It has to be.”
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