He lingered a foot away. “I don’t know about you, but I’m only too glad that I won’t have to get on the phone right away to call home with the news about the missing shipment.”
“The time change gives us a reprieve, doesn’t it? And so does this shipment error.” She pushed the hair away from her neck, her skin soft and pink.
Damn, she’d taste good. All over.
She glanced at her bangle-type watch. “I suppose I should call Sasha and meet up with her now.”
He knew she was testing him, seeing if he’d meant what he’d said back at the restaurant.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
She lowered her hand, gave him a look that wrapped his belly inside out.
“I’m staying in Tokyo,” he said. “Are you in Atami?”
“No, I’m in the big city, too, since Jiro’s gallery is there. Sasha and I are in the Shinjuku District near the train station.”
When she told him exactly where they’d booked a room, he smiled at how close they actually were.
“We’re practically neighbors,” he said. “Just like in Parisville.”
“Not the same.”
“No,” he said. “Not nearly the same.”
She shot him a glance that could’ve meant a lot of things, but he hoped it offered a subtle invitation.
To do what? He wasn’t quite sure yet, but he was set on discovering the possibilities while they could get away with it, so far from their real lives.
Until Jiro Mori had information about the painting’s location, time was all theirs.
Could he have her in his hotel room within the next couple of hours?
Clearly, it was taking him too long to decide just how to go about getting her there gracefully, because he could see Juliana adopt a look of uncertainty as she wandered away from the candy-store window.
“I imagine you’ve got a lot of plans for this trip,” she said. “When you get back to the city, I mean.”
Still testing him.
He followed, off to pursue her in this lazy chase.
But he liked this—how they were circling each other, getting closer, semi-acknowledging that no one knew who they were and wouldn’t care about their pasts or histories. Not here, not now.
“I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy,” he said, “so I don’t have any set plans.”
They came to a dark, recessed entryway that was partially blocked by a vertical half door.
She glanced at it with those vivid eyes that were twinkling with what he thought might be mischief. She had looked the same way that first night, after he’d kissed her and she’d grabbed his T-shirt to draw him against her so she could kiss him right back.
Now, she backed into the alcove.
His body didn’t wait for his brain to form another thought—not that he would’ve listened to any she’s-just-gonna-leave-you-again warnings, anyway.
He followed her until the half door and the dimness hid them both.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She smiled as she leaned back against a wall and tilted her head, as if running through those same warnings he’d rashly disregarded.
Then something in her eyes shifted, and he knew he had her.
“Back in the ramen house,” she said, “it seemed as if we’d come to an agreement.”
“About what?”
He wanted to hear her say it—that he’d always been her secret desire. His heart was shredding his chest, making so much noise that he could’ve sworn his pulse was audible.
“About…” she swallowed “…forgetting everything else and seeing what might’ve happened with us. Just this once.”
He gently took her by the silk of her shirt near the waist. In the hushed light, she slid a low glance to his hand.
“I didn’t want to say this out there,” she said.
“Where people might see and hear?”
“I do keep promising myself that I won’t cause any international incidents, Tristan. Public displays of affection aren’t the norm here.”
Her uplifted gaze dared him to do more, so he tightened his grip on her shirt, pulling her closer, breaths away.
Then a whisper.
God, her scent…
He became aware of people shuffling by outside the half door, and he let go of her shirt. Even so, his body stayed on red alert, his blood pumping.
“You know what a love hotel is, Juliana?” he asked, liking how her name sounded. He realized that he’d only said it out loud during the rare moments when it’d been necessary. That he’d mainly kept it inside.
At the mention of the hotel, her gaze got all the brighter. “It’s a Japanese institution, a so-called fashion hotel where people can rent rooms for short times for ‘rest.’ For assignations, really.”
“You did your homework.” He tugged at her shirt. “The rooms can have different themes. Anything that gets a couple going. And they’re very private.”
“Good for keeping secrets.”
He wound the material of her shirt around his fingers, bringing her near again, until their lips were inches apart.
“Maybe we can find a room that resembles that backseat,” he said.
When she laughed, her breath skimmed his mouth. “Or maybe something a little more comfortable.”
He planted his other hand against the wall, just over her shoulder, loving how her mouth moved around every word.
What else could her lips do?
“By the time we take a train back to Tokyo,” he whispered, his voice graveled, “it’ll be late afternoon. We could meet, walk to the Kabuki-cho section—the red-light district—and find us a cultural experience.”
Her breathing seemed shaky. “I heard that those hotels cater to Japanese people only. I don’t know how true that is, but we don’t even speak the language.”
“I might be able to get by.” At her curious glance, he added, “Lots of self-education.”
He hadn’t been kidding, but it’d sounded like a double entendre, and that seemed to amuse her.
“And what would I tell Sasha?” she whispered.
“Everything. Nothing.” He lowered his mouth closer to hers until they were all but touching. “Anything.”
They breathed against each other, each passing second increasing the pressure in his head, his groin.
But then she spoke.
“One condition.”
His cock was pounding by now, so he would agree to rope the moon if that’s what she wanted. “Name it.”
She drew back from him a bit, not even an inch, but enough to send a dagger to his belly.
“When we get back home,” she said, “it’ll be like nothing ever happened here. I don’t want to cause any more tension than already exists.”
For an instant, he wondered if, all these years, he’d kept his affair with Juliana quiet for nothing. He’d been too young to know as much as he did now about the history of Terrence and Emelie.
Would everyone actually applaud Tristan if they learned that he’d nailed a Thomsen—just as Terrence had once so thoroughly seduced Emelie before things had gone to hell between them?
If Tristan were to walk in his great-great-grandfather’s footsteps, would that prove the Coles were the masters of the situation? That the Thomsens were submissive?
He held back a frown. Sometimes it seemed that Gramps purposely ignored how much Terrence had loved the angry Emelie. Based on family lore, Terrence had possessed such feeling for her that no other woman had ever captured his heart again—not even his wife.
Yet Emelie had gotten her revenge by taking that painting.
At least, that’s what the family said.
But the feud didn’t matter right now. Not with the heady scent of Juliana’s hair winding through him like a corkscrew to his gut. Not with her so close, so warm, so much the fantasy that had the chance to come to fruition.
“Mum’s the word,” he said. “I won’t tell a soul.”
She exhaled, warm an
d moist against his lips. Tristan got closer, just a moan away from her mouth.
But then someone called out in what sounded like Aussie-accented English from outside, and she straightened, as if realizing where they were.
Before he could even open his mouth, she’d untangled herself from him and slipped away, out of their hiding place.
He moved out of the alcove, too, finding her standing in the alley, sunlight bringing out the silver of her long hair. He wondered if she was still just as blond between her legs.
The mere thought brought a tug to his cock.
“Let’s meet up at your hotel. I’ll call you in a few hours to tell you I’m waiting in your lobby,” he said. “Be ready, Juliana.”
She smiled, turned, and said over her shoulder while moving away, “I’ve been ready for longer than you can imagine.”
Then she flashed him a smile and was gone, just as quickly as she’d appeared only two hours before.
WHEN JULIANA MET UP with Sasha at the Adult Museum, she didn’t say a word to her friend about Tristan and the love-hotel date, even though she was as jumpy and excited as the little animated bunny that had marked her cab’s progress on the GPS screen.
Truthfully, after Juliana had apologized for not being able to call to warn Sasha, she’d been expecting her friend to tell her all about Chad showing up at the castle so unexpectedly. But when her friend didn’t initiate any discussion about it other than acknowledging that he’d come and gone, Juliana let the subject lie, knowing when to leave her alone.
Sasha internalized a lot, and she would no doubt share the details later, when she was ready.
But it wasn’t as if Juliana was talking, either. Even after they saw things like whale genitalia and mermaid breasts at the Adult Museum, visited the hot springs, then returned to Tokyo, Juliana kept the most private events of the afternoon to herself.
She would tell Sasha everything else later, too, she thought. And it wasn’t because Sasha would disapprove. No way. Juliana just didn’t want anything—not even a surprised look from her friend—to remind her that she was going against her family’s wishes.
Nothing was going to stop her from this one-time assignation. She was going to fulfill the biggest fantasy ever, going to pursue what she wanted, no matter what anyone else’s opinion might be.
For now, at least.
At her hotel, which offered pretty much the same comforts you’d expect in the West, Juliana showered, then donned an outfit she’d intended to wear when she and Sasha went out at night: knee-high black boots, a short checkered skirt and a white blouse that modestly tied at the waist.
She wanted Tristan to see that she’d dressed for him, wanted to feel sexier than she had in the conservative skirt she’d been sporting earlier.
She wanted to get it all back: the rush of a youthful, taboo encounter, the hopeful euphoria of getting away with it.
Nonchalantly, she waited by the phone for Tristan’s call while studying her phrase book. Sasha was doing online research about Atami; she was even talking about returning to the resort town for a more extensive look into the spas since their visit had been cut short today—Sasha had said she was worn out, much to Juliana’s relief.
“You sure it’s okay that I’m staying in here and not checking out the department stores with you?” Sasha asked, turning away from her laptop, which was perched on a desk.
“Not at all.” Guilt tapped at Juliana because she’d told Sasha a tiny white lie about going to the stores surrounding nearby Shinjuku Station. “You’ve got work to do, and I’m all for striking out on my own until tonight.”
“Okay then. Give me four hours to be ready for dinner and whatever else the night might hold?”
“Gotcha. I’m just going to catch up on useful shopping phrases first, then I’m out of here.”
Juliana went back to her guidebook while Sasha faced her computer. Within the next fifteen minutes, the phone on the nightstand rang.
Affecting a now-whoever-could-be-calling-us? face, Juliana answered.
Tristan’s deep voice sounded on the other end. “Hi.”
“Hi” could have meant something other than a greeting the way he’d said it. He made the word into a promise.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” Then just to fool Sasha that much more, she added, “Um, I’m sorry, I don’t speak Japanese.”
She hung up the phone and shrugged at her friend, who was watching with interest.
“Wrong number.” Juliana rose from the bed and stretched, then stowed her little guidebook in her purse. “I’m off and running now.”
“Have fun. Be careful out there.”
“Me?” She grinned and moved toward the door. “I’m as careful as they come.”
Sasha smiled and waved goodbye, and Juliana felt like a turd.
But she’d tell her friend all about Tristan and the love hotel when she got back. Heck, she was betting she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut after the time she’d have with him, and if there was one person she could trust to keep things quiet, it was her pal.
She took the elevator to the lobby, then glanced around to find Tristan leaning against a wall near the front desk.
Her heart—and just about everything else—gave a jump at the sight of him.
He’d obviously showered off the humidity, too, because in addition to a change of clothes—he was wearing a dark button-down shirt with dark jeans—his devil-may-care hair was wet and combed away from his face. The style only served to make the angles of his cheekbones more lethal, the gray of his eyes more knee-buckling.
Lordy.
As she walked over to him, he straightened, his eyes darkening to a shade that almost scared her, it was so intense.
The bad boy, she thought. Hers for a few wonderful hours.
“Hey.” She realized she was clutching her purse, so she relaxed.
“Hey. You look…”
His tongue seemed to be tied.
“Non-rumpled?” she asked with a laugh. “I thought I should change clothes.”
“I was going to say you look good. But you know what I mean by good, right?”
“I suppose so.”
He shook his head, chuckled, and her heart melted a bit, because he seemed sort of adorable, as though they really were in high school and he’d come to the door to take her on their first date, which would be out there for everyone to see in a perfect world.
But she could guarantee that this “date” would involve more than an innocent movie or Red Lobster dinner.
They started to walk out of the lobby, and when they came to the doors, he held one open for her.
A right-raised gentleman, she thought, wondering how many sides there were to this quiet, mysterious man she’d barely gotten to know, even when they’d been so intimate with their bodies.
He must have changed over the years, and she found herself wondering how.
Outside, the air was still thick, but with the added smell of the city stitched into it. While they headed for the red-light district, she caught him giving the eye to her short skirt.
“What, do you have a schoolgirl complex?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t say that as much as your skirt shows your legs off real well. There isn’t a man alive who wouldn’t appreciate that.”
His compliment sounded so sincere that she wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just said, “Thank you,” and kept walking.
Soon, they passed the department stores where she was supposed to be shopping and, after having to look at a map only once, they found the Kabuki-cho, where the late-afternoon sun bathed neon-flared pachinko parlors, restaurants and bars. The streets seemed to be lined with signage, character-filled squares piled upon each other like techno building blocks. Japan was so full of silent mysteries, loaded significance behind each gesture. Even the graceful curves of the alphabet seemed like stories left untold to her eyes.
Here it began, she thought. Where she started to explore.
>
Who knew what would be hiding behind all those closed doors?
They came upon a place with a blue light shining over its walls.
“This is one of them?” she asked. “I thought the façade would be a little crazier.”
“Outside the city, there’re love hotels shaped like UFOs and ships—anything to draw attention.”
“How about…inside?”
He gave her a knowing glance. “I guess there’s been some ‘public morals’ overhaul, and a lot of hotels had to tone it down. But this is a red-light district, and it should be just the escape we’re looking for. I chose this one off the Internet, just to be sure.”
They found a discreet entrance, and he opened the door for her, but she hesitated.
Now that they were down to it, she was almost afraid to go inside. What if sex with Tristan turned out to be a disaster? What if reality took away every dream that’d gotten her through all the disappointing dates of the past few years?
But when Tristan held out his hand, that was all it took.
With a held breath, she accepted the invitation, letting him lead her over the threshold into an otherwise empty lobby dominated by an automated payment system and a large board featuring lit pictures of the available rooms.
Her choice of fantasies, she thought. But, really, any room would do as long as Tristan was in it, in the flesh.
She barely saw the options: an S&M-themed dungeon-looking thing. A disco palace. A Hello Kitty haven.
Nothing with a car however.
Then she saw the room with a pool and waterfall, and she knew it was the one.
Tristan, all wet. All hers.
Without any discussion, he pushed the button, which resulted in the appearance of a key card and a light that switched on over a door to the side.
Looked like they wouldn’t have to speak Japanese after all.
They went through the door, down the hall, until they came to another room with a light on to indicate this was theirs.
With a confident grin, Tristan opened it, ushering her in first as her heart stamped in an uneven rhythm.
This is it, she thought as she heard the tumble of a waterfall beckoning from behind a wall that blocked their view of it. The place smelled of cleaning products and a subtle jasmine scent. This is your chance to let nothing else but water come between you and him.
When the Sun Goes Down... Page 5