by L. B. Dunbar
“I’m…I think we should say good night,” I said, placing my hands on his chest to gently signal I wanted him to step back.
“Just once I’d like you to give in. Come to me.” His hands tightened on my arms, holding me in place and trapping my hands between us.
“I’m very tired, Mark,” I said, attempting to press on him, “I think it’s time for you to go.”
“Just once.” He tugged me harder and forced his mouth firmly against mine as he had done the night of my birthday. His lips were cold and wet again. He moved his mouth as if he was going to swallow me. I was instantly repelled. The bile taste rose again. I pushed firmly on his chest, but he clasped my arms even harder. He continued his assault, forcing his tongue inside my mouth to brush over my teeth. I gagged a little at the sensation and pushed with more might. Unfortunately, he held me so firmly, I winced in his mouth, which he misread and pushed me up against the wall of the entry within my parent’s apartment. As my parents were still in my father’s study, they had no way to know of the potential attack on their daughter inside their own home.
I pressed with as much force as I could to break the suction Mark had on me. He tugged me forward once then slammed me back into the wall, holding me in place with the weight of his lower body and the strength of his hands around my arms.
“You will be mine, darling, and you will like it. I’d like you to play nice because I would never hurt you, but I will make you submit to my wishes, and you will enjoy it.”
My heart was racing and my breath was growing ragged in fear. I knew how this would end. He would step back and wipe his hands through his hair, a trait that Tristan must have inherited from living with his uncle. He would swipe a hand over his face as well, in a Tristan move, and then he would apologize. He would close his eyes and take a deep breath, swearing that he would never hurt me. He loved me.
True to his nature, that process followed, but I could not respond. My breathing was coming so rapidly within my throat, I thought I might choke.
“Are you seeing him behind my back? Is that the problem?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you have a little infatuation with my nephew. I understand. He’s in a band; he’s The Heartbreaker. Women eat him up. Or as I understand it, he eats them.” His eyes danced mischievously. “But he always spits them back out. It will pass for you. You are young and he is a novelty. But it will pass.” His voice was so soothing, as if he truly understood the lust of a girl over a rock star. As if he understood the pain of a broken heart that felt it would never mend. As if he understood that if he didn’t talk me out of it, he might lose me in the end.
Despite it all, I had agreed to meet Tristan.
I entered Central Park and walked toward one of several ponds within the park, hoping he would be waiting, as he was the other day. He sat on a park bench, staring at the muddy water, his elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped before him. He looked like a god, lost in deep thought, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. I approached slowly, yet he looked up as if he knew I was there. When he smiled, gold flecks twinkled in his green eyes.
I melted on the cement walk. One look and I was a puddle on the ground.
“Hey.” He smiled.
“Hey.”
“Walk?”
“Sure.”
We walked slowly, as we had the other day, silent at first as we took in the surroundings of passersby and children playing, dogs being walked, and people jogging. It was another warming day of sunshine. A sign that summer was approaching quickly, and for a moment, I thought of my impending wedding.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, sounding distracted himself.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
“The wedding,” I breathed out.
He was quiet a moment before he spoke.
“You’re right, I don’t want to know.”
I went silent, too.
“Mark called me. He asked me to be his best man.”
I tripped on nothing, and Tristan reached for my arm to steady me. I winced when he touched me and pulled back immediately.
“What?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “What is it?”
I gently pulled away from him.
“You hurt me,” I said quietly.
He used his finger to tip up my chin and look into my sapphire eyes.
“I did…or he did?” Tristan asked softly.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.
“Fuck,” he muttered, gently placing his hands where I hurt, but not touching me. His hands hovered over me; a mere millimeter away, and he slid them down my arms, never moving the slight distance to actually caress me. He stepped toward me, so my breasts almost brushed his chest. Almost. But still he didn’t close the gap.
His hands breezed over mine and I could sense his palms rubbing my skin. If I closed my eyes, I’d be able to imagine the feel of him on me. He continued to torture and not touch. He dragged his hands back up my arms and over my shoulders. I wore a tank top with a light loose sweater over it. My shoulders were practically bare, and his hands skimmed the spot that he liked to nibble and sent me to my knees. He lingered there a moment, and traced the outline of my neck with his fingers, still never touching my skin. Gooseflesh rose as the anticipation grew.
I was ready to beg him to touch me when fingers circled my jaw, and his thumb came before my lips. The thick pad was steady as it traced my mouth without actually touching it. I swallowed and licked my lips, which caused him to pull back immediately, breaking the spell. His green eyes were forest colored and the center a dark spot of desire. He wanted to touch me as badly as I wanted him to do it.
“I think we should keep walking,” his voice was rough with desire.
I could only nod in agreement.
After a few moments, I asked him about his song and the band. He fell into banter about their approval and the bands recording sessions within Camelot Records. He’d done a duet with Perkins’ girl, Hollister. He went on to explain how Leo DeGrance was helping them to finish the album and release it, as if Arturo was present. He mentioned how Arturo had appeared to them on the day I came to The Round Table. Tristan had the impression that neither Leo nor his daughter knew that Arturo was alive and well, walking around New York City. He continued to ramble about the band’s plans to host a public practice at The Round Table, in a few weeks. It was a trial concert of sorts; a performance to try out the songs and see how people responded to the band being a trio. I let him talk as we wandered, enjoying the casual sound of his voice. I missed talking with him. I missed hearing him hum or practice his guitar. His music was everything to him.
When he seemed to finish, he asked me about my classes and how I was able to pull off the transfer. It was apparent that I would not be returning to California, but staying in New York, especially as I was the new lead model for a lingerie ad campaign. He made several comments about the campaign and asked how much of me would actually be exposed for the world to drool over.
I laughed. “I have a no nudity clause, meaning I refuse to be naked, but I’m not opposed to showing the edges of my breasts or my ass.”
Tristan had me pushed up against a tree before I finished, and he was breathing in my face. He was careful not to grab my arms where Mark had the night before. And unlike the night before, this was not aggression, but possession.
“I don’t like the world seeing so much of you, but I’ll have to remind myself they can only look,” he breathed, pressing into me with his lower body. My body responded on its own. I pressed back.
His eyes opened wide and his mouth came close to mine. He tried to hold my focus, but his eyes kept glancing down at my lips. When I licked them again, he groaned. He pushed against me and I felt his hard length. I responded in kind to him.
“Irish, you’re asking for trouble,” he growled.
I smiled. “I want the trouble,” I bit back.
“Not like this. Not this trouble.” He pushed back from me and wiped his hand over his face, as if to clear his thoughts. He held out a hand to me and I placed mine in his.
We continued to walk until we came to a bridge. A corner of it was hidden from the general passageway and casual walkers couldn’t see the spot until they were upon it. The area seemed unnoticed, and no one came in the direction of where we stopped. It was in this moment of privacy that Tristan, still holding my hand, tugged me against him and kissed me lightly on the lips.
It wasn’t enough.
His hands came to my cheeks and he stroked my mouth with his. It was sweet and gentle. I felt that kiss over every inch of my body. His lips moved slowly, caressing mine with light pulls and delicate tugs that only increased the urgency in my body. His movement was calculated, showing his concern for me, his care for me. He kissed and kissed and kissed.
Eventually his tongue gave a soft greeting to my lips, and I opened with a sigh as he slipped tenderly inside. He strummed my tongue as if he was playing a melancholy melody, and I hummed with him. He pulled back on a torturously slow tug of my tongue, ending with his teeth grazing it, before he gave me one final peck and released my lips.
His mossy eyes were fireworks of gold as he looked at me. If he released my face, I’d fall to the hard ground. His touch was all that held me upright.
“I’ve missed this,” he said, as he rested his forehead against mine.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.
“Run away with me,” he said in response, just as quietly.
“You know I can’t run away again. And you can’t give up the band.”
My voice of reason threatened to choke me, and he rubbed his forehead against mine agreeing.
“I need to be with you,” his voice was seductive.
“I…I want that, too.”
Neither of us moved, almost as if agreeing to be together again would prolong the heartache. It only increased the desire.
Chapter 33
[Tristan]
Sinister forces pushed the man to act.
I sulked on the couch in my living room as Lansing sat across from me, head back and eyes closed. We each nursed a bottle of beer, while music played from the large flat screen television. Videos performed from a shuffle of songs, and each of us seemed lost in our thoughts as we waited for Perkins to arrive. Kaye was sending over food, and he’d be joining us later to discuss future plans for the new trio.
I was heavy in my own thoughts when Lansing finally spoke.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Lansing shook his head as if he understood. He knew a thing or two about women, disappointing them and tempting them, only to have his heart broken, as well. He had recovered, though. His story was rewritten. He had found what he was looking for all along.
“The thing is I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do,” I blurted out.
Lansing shook his head again.
“She’s marrying Mark. My uncle, Mark. I can’t take her from him. Despite the fact I know he’s hurt her. He’ll hurt her more,” my voice rose in frustration.
Lansing pinched his eyebrows at me, a pained look on his face. He didn’t like to think of hurting women. He’d hurt enough of them without ever laying an aggressive hand on them.
“I can’t just sweep in there and steal her like some white knight,” I said in exasperation, my head thumping backward on the couch cushions.
“Why not?”
“Cause that sounds stupid, and what would I do with her? Bring her here?” I eyed my own apartment. It was large, but it wasn’t heavily furnished. It was made for parties. Couches could be pushed out of the way, a bar in the corner. My uncle bought it for me. It wasn’t as prestigious an address like the others, but it still faced The Park. I had two bedrooms: one for only me, the other for my music. I never brought girls home with me. I was a love ‘em and leave ‘em at their own home, kind of guy.
“You don’t want to bring her here?” Lansing questioned.
I thought about it for a moment.
“Actually, yeah, I do want to bring her here. But Mark is a powerful man and her parents seem to have quite a hold on her, despite the death of Marshall. I thought taking him out of the picture would make things easier for her.”
Lansing looked at me for a moment, opening his mouth, as if to ask a question, and then changing his mind. I seemed to understand his concern.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said softly. I hadn’t killed Marshall. It had all been an accident. He was the fool afterward. My point simply was without Marshall, I didn’t understand the weight still on Ireland.
“Do you love her, man?” Lansing hesitated as he asked the question.
“Yeah. I think I do.”
“Do you? Or is it that you can’t have her, so that makes you think you do?”
I looked at Lansing for a moment, pinching my own eyebrows in question now. Lansing continued.
“I mean because you can’t have her, does it make her more tempting? Like you want her because you can’t want her? See, you’ve never settled before because women come so easily to you. I wonder if you’re only interested in her because she can’t come to you.”
I remained thoughtful for another minute.
“Once you’ve tasted the forbidden fruit, it’s all you want,” Lansing added.
“Was that how it was for you?” I snapped, not meaning to sound as harsh toward my friend as it came out. Lansing understood. His desire for the wrong woman led to all kinds of trouble, yet untold.
“Not anymore,” he answered honestly, not responding to my tone.
“I’m sorry, man.” I ran a hand over my face then through my sandy brown hair. “How’s all that going?”
“I was in the same spot as you,” he shrugged. “But I love Lila. I know that with every ounce of my being. Lila is my destiny.”
“Are you worried now that Arturo’s back?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Arturo or not, she made her decision. The guilt was killing her. I’m more worried about Lila when the shit hits the fan.”
Lansing and Guinevere had been together, in some manner or another. I didn’t know all the details, but I didn’t have to. At Christmas time, I learned enough. I was all for sharing girls when it was more than one, but it was too weird to think my friends had both been with the same girl. They both loved her; only Lansing didn’t want to openly admit it. He’d harbored his tortured feelings for a long time, but it still showed on his face briefly. Then it passed. He spoke of Lila and the expression changed. He was happy.
“You think that’s it, that because she’s forbidden, I want her all the more.”
“Probably.” Lansing looked down at his feet as he sat forward in the chair.
I sat forward as well, balancing my elbows on my knees and dangling the beer bottle through my fingers.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right man. It’s only because I can’t have her that I want her so much.”
We nodded in agreement, as if we really believed what Lansing said. In reality, we each knew that wasn’t the truth of it at all.
I was called to my uncle’s office the following afternoon to discuss my responsibility as the best man. As owner of Cornwall Industries, Mark had what I assumed was the typical high-pressure, executive office with a corner window and large, sleek furnishings. I stood for a moment, while my uncle finished a phone call, where his voice dripped of false cheer at doing business with some unknown developer. Mark pointed for me to sit and abruptly began his purpose for summoning me when he hung up the phone.
“I still don’t have a wedding band for Isolde. I was wondering if you could pick something out for me.”
Swallowing hard the lump in my throat, I held the gasp that threatened to escape.
“Don’t you think you should let her decide? I heard chicks like to pick out those things themselves,” I choked, as I sa
t on the black leather chair, while my uncle stood behind his large mahogany desk, slipping his hands in his suit pants’ pockets. I noticed how my uncle was aging gracefully. He still looked young, but not as young as his twenty-two year old bride-to-be.
“No. She’s very preoccupied lately. The less she has to do, the better.”
“How about your secretary? Doesn’t she often buy gifts for you?” I knew she did, as she was the one to pick out numerous birthday and Christmas presents for me, over the years. I also knew that she would willingly do any additional favor Mark asked of her.
“No, I need someone I can trust with something this important. The ring has to be just right. No one knows me better than you. You know what I like and what I would buy.”
I felt sick to my stomach. I couldn’t do this for Mark. For Ireland.
“Why don’t we go together? I could just help you select something.”
“I have a three o’clock and a long list of things to do for the wedding in two weeks. This is on the list for today. I need it done.”
Mark sat down and leaned back in his reclining desk chair. He looked out the window to his left.
“I never knew planning a wedding involved so much work. I guess it’s the timing of it all. Planning it with such short notice.”
“What’s the rush?” I asked. I couldn’t help myself.
Mark gazed at me with his gray eyes. They weren’t cold today; they were something I didn’t recognize in Mark. Scared? Worried? Concerned?
“I’m not getting younger Tristan, and I need an heir. You refuse to take your place in my business, and I need to mentor someone. I have someone lined up, but I’d like to be able to eventually pass my company to family. A son.”
I had to lean forward to protect the punch I felt in my stomach at the thought of Mark and Ireland consummating a marriage and producing a child. I saw a little boy with bright blond hair and sapphire eyes running down a beach. The wind was almost knocked out of me with the image.
“I never meant to disappoint you, Mark.”
“You didn’t. You remind me so much of your mother. She rebelled against it all, as well.” He didn’t add, but look what it got her, as he often did when I was younger. I didn’t need to be reminded that my parents, one of which was Mark’s sister, were dead.