by Katy Ames
And, damn, had it.
Tristan shifted beside her, his front coming flush to her side, the long, hard length of his erection digging into her waist as he placed an open-mouthed kiss beneath her ear.
Tessa was completely caught. He kept her hands locked against the counter, the mess of flour and dough long forgotten, her arms useless as she molded herself against him. She was wearing her comfy work shoes and he was so tall beside her, his large frame curling around hers.
Tristan bent his knees, his mouth never leaving her skin.
She’d been right. He was starving.
Tessa’s jaw fell open, a rush of air escaping as his lips worked a heated trail from the sensitive skin behind her ear down to where the base of her throat was exposed by her shirt.
Tristan spread his legs wide, one strong thigh pressing against her ass, the other pushing against the front of her hip. His cock was a pulsing heat against the soft curve of her side.
“Jesus.” Tristan broke away long enough to swear against her skin, his tongue swiping a path towards her jaw. “I knew you smelled unreal. But I never thought….” Tristan’s teeth caught the skin of her chin.
Tessa’s lips burned, her tongue restless, the desire to feel the heavy flick of his enough to make her want to scream.
Tristan’s fingers curled between hers, his nails cutting through the dough to bite lightly at the inside of her palms. The top of his left arm was caught between them. Tessa pressed her breast against his tense tricep, the friction catching her nipples and sending sharper, more exquisite heat to the place between her thighs.
They were twisted, tangled, parts pressed together where they didn’t quite fit. And Tessa hadn’t felt anything so right, so mind-bendingly perfect in her entire life.
Tristan’s mouth caught the corner of hers, tickling her skin as he confessed, “I had no idea it was possible for anything to taste this good.”
“Tristan.” Tessa let his name slip out, hot and hungry. And loud enough that it startled him out of their lust-laden haze.
“Fuck!” He jumped back so fast she almost fell. She would have if her hands hadn’t practically been glued to the counter by the tacky dough.
Tristan backed into the corner before Tessa realized what was happening. He’d ripped the apron off, streaks of flour and dough cutting across his chest like claw marks, the jagged lines no more white than his neck, which rippled as he tried to force down air.
All of Tessa’s arousal fled her body when she saw Tristan’s face.
Terrified didn’t begin to cover it.
She’d never seen him so pale or his eyes so flat. His hands were locked around the counter on either side of him, a tremor working its way up his arms, along his spine, and down his legs in great waves.
The man who’d been kissing her, who’d been about to consume her, was gone. In his place was something as close to a skittish, wild animal as Tessa had ever seen.
“Tristan,” she said slowly as she took a step towards him, her dough-caked hands held out in front of her.
“Tessa. No.” They were more grunts than words, but Tessa understood enough to stop.
“Tristan?” Her voice wobbled that time, her throat closing up. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she watched him fight to keep himself in one piece. All by himself. Refusing to let her get close enough to help.
“No.” He shook his head so violently his hair flew forward, the thick black locks jarring where they covered his face.
His beautiful, haunted face that held no semblance of the man he’d been just moments ago.
“Please,” she whispered, taking one more tentative step forward.
“No. Never.”
Tessa blinked and he was gone.
9
Tessa paced back and forth, slowing every few steps to chug more coffee. She was exhausted. No surprise, given how the previous night had ended.
Tristan had run out of the kitchen so fast he’d disappeared before she’d been able to follow. But that hadn’t stopped her from looking.
Thank God, it hadn’t taken long to find him.
He’d gone into the sea. She’d screamed his name, but even across the still night water he hadn’t heard her. Or had chosen not to.
He’d been past the jetty before her feet had hit the sand, his arms moving in sweeping, furious strokes. He’d become a dark speck on an even darker ocean.
She’d found his clothes in the sand, a trail he’d made as he stripped them off along the way. Shoes by an empty beach chair. Socks, first one, then the other, where the sand was still dry and soft. His shirt right after. His pants where the tide had found them and soaked them through, water weighing down the heavy denim. Tristan had powered into the ocean in nothing more than his underwear, with only the moon to guide him. And whatever roiling anger—or other emotion—that had driven him away from her in the first place.
Tessa had laid his clothes across the chair so he’d be able to find them. Then she’d climbed up the rocks to her regular perch and watched. The farther away he’d gotten, the harder it had been to see him. But she’d refused to leave him in the ocean, all by himself, in the middle of the night.
He’d stayed in the water more than an hour. Tessa had started to panic, her fingers hovering over her phone, on, then off, giving him just one more minute before she called in an emergency.
She’d had the phone to her ear when she’d seen him pass through the jetty opening and into the calmer water in front of the hotel.
She’d sworn under her breath, longer and more vulgar than she could remember having done in her life.
Tessa had waited until he’d returned, both feet on land, before heading back to the kitchen. When she’d run after him, she’d left the lights on, the dishes in the sink, the ruined dough spread across the counter in thick, globby lumps. The cake she’d made earlier in the day had gone untouched. They hadn’t even gotten to dessert.
She’d hoped to crash as soon as she’d gotten back to her apartment, but Tessa had tossed and turned, trying to figure out what had happened. She’d been trying to coax Tristan out of his shell by teaching him how to make bread. The repetitive kneading motion was relaxing, and Tessa was positive Tristan was in some serious need of relaxation.
She’d never expected it to turn so sensual so fast. Tessa had never felt anything like the sensation of being cradled by Tristan’s hard body. It had been comforting and heart-pounding all at once. And when she’d felt his mouth skim the side of hers…. God, Tessa had wanted to kiss him so damn much, every self-preservation instinct shot to hell by the possibility of tasting Tristan Hurst.
Then he’d fled. And she didn’t think she’d ever forget the expression on his face. That look of panic was the reason sleep hadn’t come.
Now, in the morning, Tessa felt like she’d been awake for a week and she was on her fifth cup of coffee. She couldn’t tell if it was her memories from last night or the overdose of caffeine that made her want to jump out of her skin.
Tessa’s phone vibrated in her hand. The call she’d been waiting for.
“What’s up?” Grace asked as soon as Tessa answered. “You wanted to talk?”
“Thanks for calling.” Tessa paced another lap around the kitchen’s delivery entrance. With the restaurant closed for renovations, the daily food deliveries had gone down to only a few times a week. Tessa could have this conversation on the loading dock without worrying about being overheard. “Tell me about Tristan.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you can tell me.”
“Tessa, what’s going on?” Grace was instantly worried.
“Nothing specific,” Tessa hedged. “Just, he and I have had dinner a few times.”
“Yeah, I’m glad he agreed to that. He tends to be a recluse. How did they go?”
“That’s the thing. They were awkward. Both times. I barely know the guy, but even I can tell something’s off. The first time he left before he was done eating. And,
well, last night….” Tessa trailed off, not sure how to explain something she didn’t understand herself.
“What happened last night?”
“It started off fine. I cooked dinner for us in the kitchen. He was kinda quiet, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then we made bread.”
“You did what?”
“It wasn’t as weird as it sounds. At least, not at first. It can be incredibly calming. And pretty fun. And Tristan seems like he could use a little bit of both.”
“You aren’t wrong.”
“Anyway, he wasn’t getting the hang of it, so I showed him how to knead the dough. And, well, we were touching, and super close together, and before I knew it—”
“You hit on Mark’s cousin?” Grace squealed.
“No!” Tessa yelled back, embarrassed. “Grace, swear to God, I hadn’t planned anything. I had my hands on his, and then he had his hands on mine, and one thing lead to another.”
“Tessa.” Grace sounded absolutely floored. “Did you guys kiss?”
“No.”
“No?” Grace didn’t believe her.
“No,” Tessa repeated. “We almost did. It was so close, Grace. But he bolted. I mean, ran out of the door so fucking fast I couldn’t stop him. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Grace made an astonished sound. “You’re telling me that you tried to kiss Tristan Hurst and he ran away?”
Tessa shook her head. “I’m telling you that Tristan Hurst almost kissed me and then ran away. Into the ocean.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I mean, the kiss was unexpected. Definitely. But the way he acted after.” Tessa remembered the look in his eyes and she knew the sick feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with the coffee. “I ran after him, watched him swim out past the jetty. Grace.” Tessa’s voice was tight. “He swam way off shore in the middle of the night. Like it never even crossed his mind that he could get seriously hurt. Or he didn’t care. I swear it looked like….” Her voice was so thin it cut out.
“What, Tessa?” Grace demanded softly.
“It looked like it was some sort of penance. Like he was punishing himself for doing something wrong.”
“That’s—”
“Insane. I know that. Like I said, Grace. I don’t really know him. But I’ve seen Tristan swim out there every morning for a week. And there’s always a moment when he gets way out and stops. He’s too far away for me to know exactly what he’s doing, but I think he floats there. Like he’s deciding whether or not to come back. And last night…I really didn’t know if he would.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
Tessa heard Grace shift around. Maybe she was moving away from Mark; maybe she was figuring out what to say next. “I haven’t known Tristan long. But Mark’s told me a little bit about his past. Tessa.” Grace was solemn. “You can’t tell him I told you this. Based on everything I know about Tristan, he wouldn’t want you to know. At least, he wouldn’t want you to hear it from someone else. But it might explain a few things. And, if you’re willing, it might make it easier for you to help him.”
“Yes,” Tessa answered instantly. “Tell me. I want to help.”
After another second, Grace continued, “I don’t know the specifics. No one does, not even Mark. He’d just left for college, so he and Tristan were apart for the first time in their entire lives. They’d always been close, almost like brothers. But then Mark defied his father and went to college on the west coast and Tristan was on his own with his family back east. And something happened, something big enough that Tristan ran away. He was sixteen.”
“What?” Tessa sagged against the rough shingled wall. “Where did he go?”
“No one knows. Tristan won’t talk about it. Mark thinks his mom might know, but he’s never been able to get any details. Tristan was gone for months. And when he came back—well, Mark says he hasn’t been the same since. Serious. Distant. A little flat. Sometimes, kinda….”
“Missing?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Mark was so torn up about it. Still is, deep down. It was one of the reasons why he bought the hotel.”
Tessa’s head was spinning. “I don’t understand.”
“Mark blames himself for what happened. He thinks it would have been better—or at least different—if he’d been home. If he’d gone to college on the east coast like he was supposed to. He’d have been close enough to help Tristan with whatever happened. Instead, he was thousands of miles away and wrapped up with the idea of starting a company with Jack after graduation.”
“That doesn’t explain why he bought a hotel.”
“Mark knows how tense Tristan’s relationship is with his father, Max. When Tristan returned from wherever the hell he’d gone, he finished school, went to college and then moved into the family company. Exactly like everyone expected. Exactly like nothing had happened. But Tristan—the guy Mark remembers—never really came back. And as things at Hurst Corporation have gotten worse, so has Tristan. To Mark, the Seven Winds became the perfect solution. He could achieve two things at once: show his uncle that he could run a company free from Hurst influence and provide Tristan with a job and home far away from Max. Win-win.
“And he’s been better, Tessa. Mark says Tristan is already so much better than he’s seen him in years. He still doesn’t smile, not really, and I think we’ve only heard him laugh once or twice, but he’s in there. Mark sees him, the kid he grew up with, every once in a while. And even though I’ve only known him for a month, I agree with Mark. Tristan is still so stoic, but some days I catch a glimpse of something in his face and I feel like he’s…thawing.”
“Okay.” Tessa closed her eyes against the bright morning light, the pulsing behind her lids getting worse. “So what you’re telling me is that Tristan’s been here a month, has been showing signs of improvement, then after two dinners with me and one failed attempt at making bread, he dives into the ocean in the middle of the night and maybe considers not coming back again.” Tessa felt like there was a two-ton brick on her chest. “I don’t think I can help, Grace. It sounds like I only make it worse.”
“No.” Grace was emphatic. “That’s not what I’m saying, not at all. I told you because I think it plays into what happened last night. Tristan is so contained, Tessa. Like, he never gets excited, never gets mad, never gets frustrated. But the few times I’ve seen him get emotional—like the night Marcus attacked us—he vanishes. Like, the second Tristan realizes that he’s about to feel something, he disappears.”
“So you’re saying—”
“I’m saying that whatever crazy sort of baking activity you forced that man into, it pushed him over his carefully controlled edge.”
“And straight into the ocean. Well that’s fucking awful.”
“No, no.” Grace sounded like she was smiling and Tessa wondered, not for the first time, if her friend had lost her mind. “It’s kinda perfect.”
“How is me making your boyfriend’s cousin practically suicidal kinda perfect?”
“He can’t keep going like this.” Grace was instantly sober. “Tristan is a strong, intelligent, caring man who, somewhere along the way, decided that the monotony of surviving was better than the rollercoaster ride of living. He’s shut himself off, Tessa. He might let Mark in, and me just a little. But not enough to make a difference. And what happens to a man like that, when the burden of avoiding any kind of feeling becomes too much?”
Tessa was silent, afraid of Grace’s answer.
“He goes out there one day, running away from everything, and just doesn’t come back.”
No, no, no. The thought alone was enough to make Tessa want to vomit. “What do I do, Grace? How can I help?”
“Well, if you’re up for it, just keep doing what you’re doing.”
“No more baking lessons. I don’t think either of us would survive.”
“No.” Grace gave
a small laugh. “Nothing so hands-on. Just keep seeing him, having dinner with him. Keeping him company. He needs a friend, Tessa. Not just family.”
“I’m in.” She was. Wholeheartedly. Of all the shit she was dealing with, of all the obligations she couldn’t escape, this one required no thought. Her heart had answered before her brain had even formed the words. It didn’t matter what she had to do, Tessa was going to make sure he came back. “But I’m going to need some help from you and Mark.”
“Just tell me what you want us to do.”
* * *
Tessa was about to drop her stuff into her cubby when her phone rang again. She answered without looking at the screen.
“Grace, something you forgot?” She thought they’d covered everything, but who knew what new inspiration—or sneaky plan—her friend had come up with.
“This isn’t Grace. And I know I didn’t forget anything. I never do.”
Tessa almost dropped the phone. That voice. It brought the reality of life beyond the island crashing down.
“What do you want?” Tessa winced; she sounded far more anxious and far less irritated than she wanted.
“You already know the answer to that question, Ms. Armstrong.”
“You haven’t given me specifics yet.”
“Which is exactly why I’m calling.”
Of course he was. Because it was exactly what she didn’t need that morning. And his timing was never anything but impeccable.
“Fine,” she spat out. “Tell me.”
“Direct and to the point. I like that in a woman.”
Tessa’s stomach curdled. The last thing she wanted was to think about that horrible bully of a man in any scenario involving a woman. Especially her.
“Please get to the point. I’m late for work.” She almost choked saying “please,” but she knew better than to piss him off. That would only make everything so much worse.