LOVE QUAKES: BOXED SET (BOOKS 1-4)
Page 4
We’re both seated across from one another on our piles. I decide to ask him more about his family. “You said earlier that you had four people in your family. What’re they like?”
Tristan warms to the topic, “My mother’s a nurse and dad’s a doctor. My older brother, Eddie, is the clown and ultimate party animal. He’s a good person basically but gets too easily riled up. He can’t keep a secret, so if you want the world to know your business, Eddie’s your man.” He snorts at some unspoken memory.
“And you had a difficult childhood?”
“Yeah. Something unfortunate happened to me when I was a child. It traumatized me so much that I quit talking for a while,” he admits with a sad smile.
“How old were you when this event happened?”
“I was about five years old,” he shares and drops his head in discomfort, then swallows. I’ve just touched an emotional hotwire.
“Tristan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop about your issues,” I apologize and imagine a small, withdrawn, sandy haired boy wandering around in misery. It breaks my heart to think that such a beautiful man could have been so vulnerable once.
“Were you put into therapy around that age then?”
“I was five years old when I was abducted and tortured. The psychotherapy came much later. Before that, I’d been a happy child,” he lets his words trail off. His face looks wrenched with pain. It’s time to change the topic.
“My father died when I was a baby,” I offer. “My mother, Carmen, married three times after that. I guess she could never get it right after my dad was killed.” Tristan looks at me with sympathy for a moment.
“We all have our issues,” he observes. “Did you like your stepfathers?”
“I really grew to love Rob, the second husband. He was a carpenter and treated me like the son he never had. I learned about self-defense and I can really handle a hammer because of him. We’re still close,” I explain with a wry twist to my mouth. “So I had a good childhood but I wasn’t at all happy during my teen years.”
“Well, who is?” he says with sarcasm.
“No, this was due to more than hormones and high school cliques, Tristan. My unhappiness started the moment Carmen divorced Rob and married husband number three.”
“What about her third husband?” he asks carefully. Now, he’s found my Achilles heel. I debate how much I want to share about Richard.
I huff, then start on my sordid story, “Maybe I should refer to him as ‘Dick’ because he certainly was that and more.”
Tristan looks at me with surprise for a beat then assures me, “You don’t have to talk about it, if it bothers you, Joanna.”
“It’s alright. I saw a therapist during college for a couple of years. She helped me work through my resentment of Carmen and sicko Dicko,” I add with sarcasm.
“What happened, did he hurt you?”
“He beat me with a belt, for starters, for the most ridiculous reasons, and I was 13 years old,” I spit out with venom. “Carmen did nothing to stop the ‘spankings’. That’s when our mother-daughter relationship began to sour.”
Tristan blanches when I mention the beatings with a belt. It affects him in a dramatic way since he recoils from my description. Maybe he was also abused in that way.
“I’m sorry you were hurt by him,” he offers and pats the hand that’s curled in my lap. Tristan’s facial expression shows confusion and frustration. What’s that about, I wonder.
“Thanks, but that’s not the worst of it. When I was fifteen, good old ‘Dick’ decided to hide in my shower one day. He was hoping to watch me take my clothes off. Luckily, I noticed something weird about the way the shower curtain hung,” I shake my head in disgust at the memory.
“Did he have a knife? Was he ready to strike you, like the fellow in Psycho?” Tristan suggests to lighten the mood. However, he’s hanging on every word of my story by now.
“I wish I’d had a knife at that point,” I exaggerate, “I would have cut something off, if I could’ve.”
“So, what happened then?” he urges. His amazing aqua eyes have grown dark and serious.
“I was looking in the mirror, probably popping a zit, and noticed the crooked curtain. I turned around and decided to straighten it. As I did so, I noticed the tips of someone’s shoes in the bathtub. Then, I pulled the curtain back quickly. Dick was hiding in my shower with his pants down to his knees and you know what, in his hands. I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran as fast as I could out of the room.” I physically shudder at the memory, as it comes to mind again.
“What did your mom do, then?”
“That was the end of marriage number three, to the pervert,” my lip curls up in disgust as I speak. “That’s when I decided to live with Rob.”
My story seems to touch something deep inside of Tristan. “Is that why you don’t date much, Joanna?”
“I’m not sure. My therapist thinks that my mother’s poor track record with men makes me overly cautious. Besides that, I fell in love with the field of psychology and learning. No man can compete with the therapists in my texts,” I confess with humor.
“I had no idea that you were so put off by men. Thanks for letting me know,” he says with feeling. I note that something between us changes at that moment. The charged atmosphere seems to settle down. Maybe I’ve put a damper on Tristan’s sexual desire. I still want him, though. Perhaps he no longer cares for me now that he knows about my issues with Dick. He probably thinks I’m such frigid, uptight virgin. I sigh with resignation.
“Well, I’m not put off of all men. But, maybe we should get some sleep,” I suggest and realize that I’m exhausted. The aftershocks continue to rumble. I show Tristan how to manipulate the self-inflating mattress and we each move toward our opposite corners of the elevator. He helps me carry my pillow and warm blanket to the bed. Then he carefully arranges my blanket over my body as I sink down on my spot and he pats my head. We’re both hands off, after my story.
“Goodnight, Joanna, sleep well. Tomorrow we’ll be free again,” he says in a soothing tone of voice.
“Yeah, I hope so. Goodnight, Tristan,” I whisper with tears in my eyes. Then I fall into a deep state of exhaustion.
It’s sometime in the middle of the night, when I’m awakened by a strange sound. They’re the gasps of someone struggling to breathe. It’s someone having a frightful nightmare. I sit straight up and realize that the heavy breathing and thrashing sounds are still coming from the corner of the elevator. Tristan suffers through a night terror. His arms and body are flailing about. I crawl over to where he’s struggling and coo softly in his ear.
“It’s alright, Tristan. You’re safe, you’re here with Joanna,” I chant over and over again. “It’s OK, calm down.” When his movements stop, I place my hand on his head. It’s covered with sweat. Then I put my hand on his arm. That seems to soothe him within seconds. I already know how much he likes my reassuring touch, so I decide to pet him. He settles into a deep sleep after I touch him for a while.
Then, I decide to move my make shift bed next to his. If he has another nightmare, I want to hold him. He seems to need reassurance from my touch. I fall asleep again while our elevator shakes from another quake. Sometime during the night, Tristan pulls me into his arms. I awaken with Tristan Grant’s body wrapped around mine. He has the most peaceful look on his face and he’s sleeping soundly. It feels absolutely wonderful.
Chapter Five - Rescue
It feels so soothing to awaken in the arms of this gorgeous man. He’s the first guy to get my hormones sparking, ever. Why do I have to lust after someone who’s nearly impossible to catch? Or, is he? Tristan has issues, terrifying issues, apparently. Hopefully, we can explore them, once he wakes up.
I’m more than curious now; call it obsessed, about his childhood. I take one long last look at his beautifully sculpted face before I move to answer Mother Nature’s call. I want to kiss those amazing lips again, after he’s used mouthwash.
“I haven’t slept this well or late for a long time. It must be the contact with your body, Joanna,” he exclaims while hugging me close. “I see you decided to join me overnight. What changed your mind? Were you cold?” He rubs my arm as if to massage me.
He’s not aware that he had a nightmare. I wonder if he’s used to these events. If so, he’s haunted by some serious psychological demons. Hmmm. I shift to face him. I hate to break the news to him and change his mood.
“You were thrashing around with a bad dream,” I begin tentatively, “and I came over to calm you down. I didn’t want the elevator to get unstuck due to your moves,” I joke, to lighten the mood.
Tristan’s face falls and his look darkens, “Was it that bad? I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep, Joanna,” he apologizes sincerely.
“I’m glad I was able to calm you down, Tristan. You sounded as though you could hardly breathe,” I explain with kindness.
“Thanks, Joanna. Whatever you did to settle me down, worked, really well. That’s a breakthrough!” he admits with some discomfort and then kisses my cheek with gratitude. I feel the area near my vagina clinch with desire. It’s time for me to use the toilet bag.
I smile with delight as I slip out of his arms and head toward the privy. He looks disappointed. “I’ll be back soon,” I promise to soothe him. He gives me a dazzling smile.
Once inside the toilet area, I take my time going through my morning rituals of urinating, combing my hair, wiping off my face with a Purell sheet and using a toothbrush. I need to change into the jeans, top and new underwear sent by the rescue crew but that can wait until Tristan’s in the stall. When I leave our bathroom a few minutes later, Tristan’s already texting and using his IPhone.
“Your turn,” I announce with a grin as I pull the curtain back and remove my used toilet bag. He looks at me with real appreciation. Does he like what he sees? I feel so much better now that I’ve cleaned up a bit. He throws his covers off and stands up. I can see evidence of his morning wood through his sweats. Tristan looks good enough to jump. I look away with difficulty as he makes his way inside the curtain.
While Tristan attends to his business, I slip out of my socks and sweats and into my new clothes. They fit so well and feel expensive. I’m impressed. Then, I roll our beds up and fold everything into two neat piles. I hear the tap of our cable on the ceiling of the elevator and guess that our bagged breakfasts are here at last.
I retrieve them along with a container of juice and two thermoses of hot liquid. One is filled with coffee while the other contains hot water for tea. A bag of tea has been taped to its side. I love my herbal tea in the morning. I may give the crew a tip as well. I set up our food in the corner furthest from the bathroom. This is as good as it gets – given the circumstances.
Tristan emerges wearing jeans and a tight white t-shirt. He’s looking refreshed and gorgeous. His sandy hair is tousled but his green eyes are radiant. He’d make a good addition to my breakfast, as a pastry. He plops both our toilet bags into the cable’s basket and signals the crew to take them away. Then, he ambles over to the breakfast spread that I’ve arranged.
“Joanna, you’re looking very rested and lovely this morning,” he gushes while squatting down to eat. “What’s on the menu?” I wink at him and smile.
“You have your choice of either a bagged omelet with veggies or the same omelet, with ham,” I announce while mimicking the tone of a flight attendant and pointing to each bag. I give him an innocent look. He chuckles.
“I’ll take the ham omelet, if you don’t mind,” he states decisively. We both scoop the food from our bags and eat without speaking for a few minutes. I pass Tristan his thermos of coffee and soak my tea bag in hot water for a bit. We’re camping out, in an elevator. I’m ready to talk, once my omelet has been eaten and I’m drinking my cup of tea. We’re both sitting on our bedding.
“I’d like to kiss the rescue crew working above us. They’ve done so much to make us comfortable,” I gush enthusiastically.
“There’ll be no kissing involved, Joanna, at least between you and the rescue crew,” he commands with a smirk. “The reason they’re so thorough is that I’ve been texting them detailed instructions about what we want and need. And, don’t worry; I’m paying them well for their efforts.”
“Then, maybe it’s you that should be thanked with a kiss,” I venture and hope it’s what he wants to hear. Tristan immediately leans his face toward mine. I take my time planting a gentle but firm kiss on his forehead and then make my way to his mouth and give him a passionate and long taste before pushing back.
His megawatt smile makes a second appearance this morning. “Your kiss is so delightful, Joanna, and very much appreciated.” I look into his face with satisfaction. His aqua eyes reflect growing desire. It’s time to slow things down again.
“Since you’ve been on the IPhone with the crew, is there any news about when it’ll be safe to move us to higher ground?” I ask with hope.
“The latest quakes are coming in around a 4.0. I’d guess they’ll haul us out of here in a few hours,” he assures me with a confident smile. “Does that make you happy?”
“Well, I’ve really enjoyed our little camping trip. But, it’ll be great to return to campus and finish my final exams, graduate, and then move to my new condo. My life is changing so quickly now, it’s making my head spin. Everything’s been very predictable for the past four years.”
“I’ve a feeling that your new life in Mission Beach will be even more head-spinning in the months to come,” he states cryptically. He looks at me with longing for a full beat before breaking eye contact.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask bravely. “Please, Tristan.”
He seems to be a bit flustered when he responds with a wave of his hand, “It’s just that you’ll start a new career, make new friends, and have new experiences, as a new adult.”
“I, for one, can’t wait to move ahead with my career. I’m so tired of taking classes, writing papers, and working at a dead-end part-time job,” I admit and sound more exasperated than I intended.
“Joanna, I’m envious of you. My world consists of the same old analyses of therapeutic outcomes and bottom line profit indicators,” he admits with some frustration.
I smirk and shake my head, “Yeah, but look what it gets you,” I indicate while I gesture around the space with my hand. I’m thinking of this beautiful building and his economic success.
He laughs without mirth, “Hmmm, trapped in the elevator of a badly damaged skyscraper. Of course meeting you, Joanna; it’s been more than worthwhile.” His eyes fill with an unnamed emotion as he looks directly into my face. This is getting serious, very quickly.
I stare into his wondrous eyes and then ask my burning question. “So you’d like to see me again, after we leave this tight space?” I’m feeling bold, given his behavior toward me over the past 24 hours.
“You know I’ve made that rather clear with my comments and actions over the past several hours, Joanna,” he states with a look of desire and longing oozing from every pore of his body. His breathing sounds heavy already.
“Why would someone like you want a relationship with a naïve college graduate like me?” I ask while my heart beats out of my chest. It’s a showdown at the OK Corral now. There’s nothing to lose at this juncture. I decide to lay my cards on the table.
He huffs out a sigh before speaking. “First and foremost, I find myself drawn to you like no one else. You’re incredibly attractive, innocent, bright, fresh and soothing. When I woke with you wrapped in my arms this morning, I felt wonderful. I can’t remember ever being so refreshed after sleeping.”
I’m stunned at Tristan’s confession. “That’s quite a revelation, after knowing me for such a short time,” I state emphatically, “althoug
h I feel drawn to you in the same way.”
He snorts and makes a face. “I’m certainly not innocent, bright and fresh, Joanna. But, I’m thrilled to hear that you’re attracted to me enough to see me again.” He pauses before his next confession, “When I heard your story about your feelings toward your stepfather, I was upset; thought you’d want nothing to do with me.” He adds with a sad look in his eyes.
“Why? Are you perverted?” I joke and then notice that his expression changes into a scowl.