“Good to know that my best feature is sarcasm.”
Lemon scrunched her nose. “Ooh. You are a seriously sassy thing. Use it to your advantage.”
Harper shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m happy with my life as it is.”
She was, too, Lemon realized. The thought was startling. Slightly disturbing, even. Could her happiness be that closely tied to a man who grated on her every nerve for years?
She wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge—fully embrace it or take a step back. Either way, she had some serious thinking to do.
Every Friday afternoon, Tristan visited the VFW and played cards with Clarence. A Korean War Veteran, Clarence was a thousand years old and handed Tristan his ass in every card game known to man. He was unbeatable.
“Rummy.”
He was a damn card shark.
“What did you do when you got out, Clarence?” Tristan asked as he forked over three IOUs that each listed a different job Tristan would be performing over the next few weeks.
Honestly, he didn’t mind power washing his house, picking up his groceries for a week, and changing the oil of Clarence’s town car. In Tristan’s eyes, it was the least he could do to honor the man.
“Worked at The Tropicana.”
“As a dealer?”
Clarence grinned. “Something like that.”
“Explains everything.”
“Doesn’t explain why you and your brother are shitty players. Is that a twin thing?”
Tristan made a face. “I thought you told Mason I could beat you.”
“You could, but you won’t,” Clarence countered.
Tristan tipped up his warm beer. “Never say never.”
“Yeah, it could happen after I kick the bucket.”
Tristan almost spit out his beer. “Nice burn, Clarence.”
“Doing what I can.” Clarence tipped his head to one side. “Heard you got married.”
Nodding, Tristan fiddled with his wedding band. It felt odd... heavy, yet secure on his finger. “Yes, to Lemon McCoy.”
“Plan on changing your name like all the other fellows did?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“My first wife, she was a dancer at The Tropicana—had legs all the up to her ass—didn’t take mine.”
“Your first wife?”
“Yeah, I was married for three glorious days and four hot nights.”
The last words Tristan wanted to hear from Clarence were hot nights. “What happened?”
“Mafia.”
Nonplussed, Tristan tipped back his drink and finished it off.
The door swung open and his twin walked in, a surly expression on his face.
“Having a good day, I see,” Tristan said as Mason joined him and Clarence.
“I need to go, boys.” Clarence announced. He leveled a look at Tristan. “See you this weekend.”
Tristan gave him a smart salute. “Sunday afternoon is all yours,” he called out as Clarence shuffled toward the door. As it shut, he turned his attention back to Mason. “What brings you by?”
“Skylar made me take down the wall,” he grumbled.
“Too intimidating for her, or false advertisement?”
Mason flipped him off. “Anyway, I came to talk to you.”
“Okay.” His twin rarely sought him out, so this had to be important.
“I think you should make an appointment with my therapist.”
“Did the Force tell you that?” Tristan attempted to act impressed, but all he could do was wonder how his brother could know his thoughts from last weekend.
Wait, he wouldn’t know... unless Skylar told him, and the only way Skylar would know was if Lemon told her.
“Your wife asked my fiancée about my therapy—can’t help if I read the text she sent while Skylar showered. I connected the dots and waited for you to get back to your schedule.” His brother muttered something under his breath about easy pickings.
“Glad your math skills have advanced to Kindergarten level.”
“Normally, I’d say something about your big mouth trying to make up for the size of your dick, but I’m not going to go there.”
Tristan shook his head in not-so-amazed amazement. “How mature of you.”
“You have Skylar to thank for that.” Mason drummed his fingers. “All trash-talk aside, you need to talk to someone.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
Mason leaned forward. “Look, just because your issues don’t manifest like mine, doesn’t mean you’re not suffering. I know why you didn’t sleep by yourself for an entire year after you got back. I get it.”
Shit. His brother made him sound like a nymphomaniac with insomnia when they hadn’t been the case at all. “And I get why you’re here. But I’m fine. I talked to a doc when I first got back. I was discharged from her care.”
“Then you slept with her.”
“So?” He’d done a lot of things wrong when he’d gotten out of the Marines.
“So you don’t sleep with your fucking therapist.”
“Former therapist, and that was years ago. I was only twenty-one.”
“Whatever. I don’t give a damn how long ago it was, or that you’ve changed your ways. Lemon and my niece or nephew deserve better. You deserve better.”
Tristan had nothing to say to that.
“Doesn’t make you weak to admit—”
“Don’t use my line on me. I know it doesn’t.” Tristan slammed his hand down on the table. “You deal with things your way, and I’ll deal with things my way.”
“Cause that worked out so well for us,” his twin reminded him. “I had to change the way I dealt with my PTSD.”
“Look, it was working for me... until recently, and I’ll concede that to you, but that’s life.”
Mason’s jaw worked. “Shit. Now I know why you peckerheads got so frustrated with me. Can’t make a jackass understand that he needs to stop running into a brick wall.” His brother stood and started to leave.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Only to jackasses it doesn’t.” Mason opened the door and disappeared into the waning sunlight.
Chapter Twelve
Tristan was uncharacteristically quiet as they ate dinner that night. Instead of talking, he nursed a tumbler of scotch on the rocks and every so often, she would find him staring at her.
A nervous flutter made her formerly ravenous appetite disappear.
Pushing the homemade zucchini noodles around, she attempted to engage him in conversation. “I spoke to Harper Bell today at the salon.”
His gaze flickered to hers, his eyes a deep, dark blue that reminded her of a sapphire ring she’d been given as an eighteenth birthday present as they traveled over her.
“She said for you to call her or she would text you to get a list of things you’d like in a house,” Lemon continued. “My only requirement was near the Pamlico Sound and a nice-sized yard. What are your thoughts?”
“Anyone else you talk to recently that I need to know about?” he asked, his voice rough as he completely disregarded her question.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Mark hasn’t contacted me, if that’s what you’re after.”
“Wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities, but it is now. Thanks,” he said blandly.
Carefully placing her fork along the side of her plate, she asked, “Is there something I’ve said or done that you’re unhappy about?” She searched through her memories, trying in vain to think of times she was more than a little snarky to him, but she came up blank.
“You could say that.”
“I want you to say that. I want you tell me what’s wrong.” Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand, but he slid it out of her grasp. Dread touched her heart first, then traveled to her stomach. “At least give me the chance to defend myself.”
He took a long drink before setting the tumbler down. “You asked Skylar about Mason’s therapist.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need a damn therapist.”
She crossed her arms “It wasn’t for you.”
“The hell it wasn’t.” Shoving his chair back, he stood. “You had no right. You don’t know me that well, and I don’t need you second guessing how I manage... things.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you as well as I’d like to. I only know angry Tristan. Sarcastic Tristan. Wants-to-get-in-my-panties Tristan. The sweet boy who wrote to me during his deployment—I’ve only seen glimpses of him.” Uncrossing her arms at the obstinate expression on his face, she picked up her plate and made her way to the kitchen, pulling out a plastic container and scraping her leftovers into it. “And just so we’re clear, I wasn’t asking Skylar about Mason’s therapy. I was asking about hers.”
“She goes to therapy?”
“With Mason,” Lemon replied, rinsing off her plate and then placing it in the dishwasher. “Without him too. He doesn’t care. He thinks it’s great that she wants to be able to help him without making him feel weak.”
“He said that?” Tristan’s hands came down on her shoulders, gently turning her around.
She tipped up her chin and stared into his sexy face. “Basically.” In not so many words, he had told her that while taking her and Skylar out for a cruise in his boat. Sure, Skylar had been the one to bring it up, but she saw the love and pride on his face.
“You really didn’t want information for me?” he asked slowly.
“No. It was for me.” She shrugged a little. “I wanted to help you without you knowing, honestly. We all have our pride, but men seem to die on that hill a lot. I didn’t want you to have to make that choice.”
“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.
She nodded. “I know you went through hell, even if I don’t know what the demons tortured you with.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and when they opened, they were full of regret, which quickly changed to determination. “Want to get out of here for the weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go back to Wilmington. There’s a bed and breakfast I want to make love to you in,” he said, pulling her along as he moved to the bedroom. “You won’t need much to wear.”
Slightly discombobulated at his mercurial change in mood, she could only stare as he let go of her hand and packed. “Are you okay?” she finally asked.
“I will be.” He gave her a hard kiss, then said, “Go on and pack. I’ll be ready to leave in five minutes.”
*
On the outskirts of Wilmington, she finally broke the silence.
“Is there a reason for our little vacation?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m less of an asshole down here.”
Nonplussed, she blinked at him. “I don’t expect you to never get mad at me, Tristan. Or for me never to get mad with you. We’re not perfect. We’re going to have disagreements.”
“There’s a difference between being mad and being filled with fury. I was furious with you, Lemon, and I didn’t give a damn about a solution. That should always be our goal when we disagree.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is right.” He gripped the wheel of his truck tightly, then flexed his fingers. “If you could have heard the thoughts in my head... you wouldn’t be with me right now.”
“Are you trying to make things better or worse?”
“I’m trying to be honest while attempting to make things better.” He pulled into an oyster-shell and gravel-filled parking lot. “Here we are. I texted the owner while you packed, so he’s expecting us.”
“Friend of yours?”
“Mutual Julie Andrews fan from Afghanistan.”
Before she could ask him to clarify, he had parked the truck, gotten out, and jogged over to the passenger side to assist her. She slid down the seat and into his arms.
He didn’t let her go. Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head and held her tight. Sensing his need for forgiveness, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed the warm skin at the hollow.
“It’s okay, Tristan.”
“Not yet, but it will be,” he said, letting her go long enough to grab their suitcase and then her hand. “Let’s check in and get you to bed.”
“Tristan Lawson,” a big, burly man roared as soon as they walked inside. “How the hell how are you?”
Tristan smiled, the first real one she’d seen that night, and the two hugged, pounding one another on the back. “Doing good.” He turned to Lemon. “Butch Cannady, this is my wife, Lemon. Butch and I served together in the Marines.”
If this man could make Tristan smile, then she already liked him. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to shake Butch’s. His grip was firm but gentle, even as his entire hand engulfed hers.
“That Lemon?” he asked, slicing his gaze to Tristan.
“Oh, yeah,” Tristan said, pride filling his voice. “She’s the one who sent all those desserts.”
“Good thing you married her because for a long time, I had half a mind to track her down and do the ugly deed myself.” Butch laughed at his joke, and she had to join in—it was that contagious. “Anyhoo, the place is empty for the weekend since Karen and I are headed out of town to visit her family.” He tossed Tristan a set of keys. “Place is yours, brother.”
“Thanks.”
“Left the pantry and fridge stocked so you won’t have to leave until you’re good and ready,” Butch said with a wink.
“We’ll get together after you get back, if I can pin you down for a weekend.”
Butch nodded, already moving to the front door. “Shoot me a text.”
A soon as the door closed behind him, Tristan said, “Go upstairs and pick a room, I’ll be up after I make sure everything is secure.”
Body humming in anticipation, Lemon checked out all five rooms, then settled on the one with a king-sized bed and a claw-foot tub that looked big enough for two. After taking care of her most pressing needs, she waited for him and cut on another light by the bed.
Tristan’s footsteps sounded in the hallway.
“In here,” she called out, then wiped her damp palms on her skirt.
A couple of seconds later, he entered the room and began to take off his shirt. The light and shadows in the dimly lit room only served to highlight his body as he revealed it to her with agonizing slowness.
“Go to the bed and bend over, keep everything on but your panties.”
“I’m not wearing any,” she said and licked her lips. “Cherry said I should surprise you every now and then. Surprise.”
His eyes glinted. “The bed, sweetheart.”
Heart pounding against her chest as she began to throb between her legs, she walked slowly to the bed and bent over.
“Like this?”
The material of her skirt was unceremoniously shoved to her waist, but his large, warm hands took ages to caress her from ankle to hip. He kissed the backs of her knees, made her giggle, and then made her sigh when his tongue made a wet path to her inner thighs.
By the time his fingers parted her, she was trembling and breathless, unable to do more than let him caress her. Let him bring her to heights she’d previously thought were unattainable while she clawed at the bedspread and moaned his name.
When he stood and his erection brushed against her bottom, she almost cried out with relief. He hoisted her hips higher, his palm coming to rest on her stomach.
“My baby okay in there?” he asked, his teeth finding a spot on her ear that made her gasp.
“Yes.”
With infinite patience, he entered her, one exquisite, thick inch at a time. His thrusts were slow, deep...as if he had all the time in the world and hadn’t hauled her away on a last-minute whim.
His free hand smoothed over the flesh of her bottom, then glided between her and the bed, his fingers finding that hot, needy center of her body with unerring exactness.
/> He used his knee to widen her stance, sending him deeper still. Deep-seated nudges sent out thrills of erotic pleasure that danced on her nerve endings until she became inundated with sensation after sensation.
The rough hairs of his thighs brushed against her skin. His heavy weight kept her securely in place.
“You can’t leave me when we’re like this,” he said, his lips skimming the nape of her neck.
“Don’t want to leave you,” she said, her voice breathless with need.
The feel of his hand gliding up her ribcage to cup her breasts turned her nipples hard. She wished he’d asked her to strip for him.
He plucked at her fabric-covered nipple over and over, until she grabbed his hand and held on tightly out of pure frustration.
Without warning, he slid out of her. “No. What are you—?” He turned her around and began to remove her dress, his lashes a dark arc against his flushed cheeks.
Several thousand heartbeats later, he picked her up and laid her down on the bed, lacing his fingers through hers as he slid inside of her in one thrust.
Her body jolted at his invasion. She still wasn’t quite accustomed to the size of him and he had to take his time thrusting inside of her... something she knew made him harder than granite. He began to move, this time with strokes that set her body ablaze in seconds. He angled his body so that every time he thrust deep, his stroked her swollen clit until she came apart.
His name tumbled from her lips.
His muscles strained until his body became one taut line. He growled low in his throat as he found his own release.
She stroked his broad shoulders as she fused her mouth to his. They were locked up tight in every way possible. Her tongue stroked his, slid against his lips until he stopped shuddering in her arms.
Pulling away slightly, his gaze met hers, and he smiled at her tenderly. “I was an ass, baby. Forgive me.”
“My sisters say that pillow talk isn’t serious talk.”
“Your sisters don’t know me. They don’t know me at all.”
“I’m glad.” A couple of tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. “I was kinda worried they did,” she confessed. It was one of her most closely guarded fears and admitting it to him was giving him power over her. Never would she tell anyone, not even Skylar, how much it bothered her that they flirted with Tristan.
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