Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  “You sure you still want to go upstate then?” I growled, shooting her a sideways glance. “We don’t have to if your counselor thinks you’re a shoo-in somewhere else, I don’t want to force you to tour a back-up.”

  And here, Daisy shot me a soft smile before covering my hand with hers, her fingers resting lightly on mine on the stick shift.

  “Tristan, I want to go anyways,” she said gently. “Because it’s where you’re from. You got your undergrad and MBA from Hudson, right? I want to see this place where you spent so many years, what it means to you.”

  And my heart jumped because this trip had just taken on so many more implications. I’d planned it as a way to get some time alone with Daisy, to get us out of the house and into the public eye without seeming fishy, without letting on that I was torn, that I had ulterior motives in trying to spend time with my ward that went way beyond mere academic achievement. But things were changing so quickly, the world moving fast, and I could hardly process it, breath catching in my throat. Because with Daisy’s disclosure, I realized that this was most definitely a date. Daisy could get into Hudson hands down, no questions asked, she was a rubber stamp candidate. And yet the girl was here, in this car, because of me. Because she wanted to spend time with me, get to know me on another level, trying out our newfound compatibility.

  As a result my body zoomed from about fifty to a million in a second. If I’d already been aware of the little girl in the car, then I was twenty times more so now. She was interested, she was aware, we were playing on the same level and while I’d previously thought I was in charge, taking the lead, everything under control, suddenly I realized that Daisy was a worthy opponent. Despite being eighteen, the brunette was smart, savvy, and knew exactly what she was doing.

  So when we pulled up to a rest stop, I still wasn’t sure what to expect, still reeling from the revelations about my ward. I needed to clear my head, get myself together, but this was hardly the place. The rest stop buzzed with energy and I looked around the parking lot with dread, taking in the huge McDonald’s sign, the Red Robin and Arby’s. Not exactly a restful place, what with the lumbering SUVs and fluorescent glare.

  But Daisy bounded out of the car, lifting her arms over her head in a big stretch while smiling at me brightly, showing a glimpse of midriff.

  “Come on,” she laughed, teasing me, tantalizing me while those brown curls blew in the wind. “Race you inside for a Big Mac.”

  And I watched as she scampered off, throwing me a cheeky grin over her shoulder. I was even more surprised when she followed up on her threat, biting into a huge burger, eyes almost closing in ecstasy as juice ran down her chin, savoring Mickey D’s special sauce.

  “Oohhh god, this is so good,” she moaned. “I’m ready to come right now with heaven on my lips,” she added with a wink as I stared.

  “What, you’ve never seen a girl eat before?” she grinned, cocking an eyebrow while dabbing at her lips with a napkin. It was such an amazing sight, the relish with which she enjoyed the juicy ground beef contrasted with the ladylike finish as she patted her lips. And I was mesmerized, totally, utterly fucking stunned with the amazing high-low combination of the girl. Most women I knew would have turned up their noses at Mickey D’s, demanded I take them to some highbrow restaurant somewhere, or just starved themselves until we got to campus. But not the brunette.

  I paused momentarily, not trusting myself. But it came out anyways.

  “I’ve never met a woman sexier than you,” I ground out, staring at her hungrily, wishing I could devour her right then and there.

  And Daisy paused for a moment, the tension in the air palpable. Because it was the first time there’d been any verbalization that maybe this was more than just the physical, that we were branching out into new territory, that despite everything wrong about the situation, we were exploring a relationship. And to her credit, she didn’t try to play it off like she didn’t understand, laugh it off like a naïve little girl. Instead, she put her burger down slowly, deliberately.

  “Are you sure?” she said quietly, looking into my eyes, direct, meaningful.

  And I shook my head.

  “Baby, I’ve never been more sure,” I ground out, taking her hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

  And she shot me a dazzling smile then.

  “Then I’m glad,” she breathed, “because me too. I’ve never been so sure of anything either, I want to see …,” she said, biting her lip.

  “Want to see where this goes?” I asked, finishing her sentence as if we were in a mind-meld, a couple that had been together for years already.

  Silently, she nodded.

  “We don’t have to talk about all the hurdles now,” she said, her voice halting. “I mean, I know this isn’t exactly the most traditional of relationships,” she said, alluding to the guardianship. “But for now, for today, I guess I just want to see,” she said quietly.

  And I nodded, heart pounding in my chest. Who would have ever guessed that I’d be having a heart-to-heart, a “define the relationship” talk with a woman at a McDonald’s rest stop of all places? That I’d feel my world shattering only to come back together in an amazing twist, coagulating, re-attaching, taking on a whole new shape, a form that I never would have guessed?

  But the unsteady thumps in my chest confirmed that it was true, that the most unlikely of circumstances really was unfolding, right here, right now. I was discussing with my beautiful ward the possibility of figuring something out, navigating the future together, exploring everything that could be, forbidden or not in the eyes of society.

  And she smiled at me again, my heart almost cracking at the sight of the beautiful caramel eyes filled with light, happiness, with hope and promise for the future.

  “We’ll figure it out,” she promised, putting one hand over mine, her small fingers entangling with my big ones. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

  And as I looked down at our clasped hands, I realized just how far gone I already was. Because my heart was already pumping steadily with renewed life, with excitement, with possibility … of everything that could happen with this amazing woman.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daisy

  I’m not sure when I became a woman to Tristan, rather than a mere girl. It happened sometime during the car ride, although it’s not clear exactly when. We were making conversation and it was so easy, so light, like we’d been friends forever, dating forever even, laughing, trading barbs, the talk free and easy. And I’d learned so much about him.

  “Where are your parents?” I said curiously. “How come I’ve never heard anything about them?”

  And Tristan glanced at me, smiling, even as he smoothly shifted gears, driving the Maserati, handling her curves like an elegant, purring woman.

  “Why do you ask?” he asked lightly. “They’re around.”

  I paused momentarily. I guess I didn’t know that much about my guardian. I’d always figured that he valued his privacy, that he was tight-lipped for a reason, that there were some shadowy secrets hidden away. So it was surprising that he opened up pretty easily, that Tristan was receptive to the natural questions that would crop up during a developing relationship.

  “But where are you from?” I pressed. “Where are your parents now? How come they never come to visit?”

  “Well,” he drawled, pausing for a moment. “It’s not that they don’t come to visit, it’s that I visit them,” he said.

  I sat back. Oh right, Tristan traveled a lot, he was often gone on non-stop business trips. I guess it wouldn’t be hard for him to stop off somewhere to drop in on his folks now and then.

  “And so?” I asked, cocking my head. I was interested in everything about this man, unveiling his dark, mysterious secrets.

  But he just threw his head back, laughing, revealing even white teeth. Teeth that had felt so good against my skin last night, his breath hot and heavy against my private parts.

  “They’re in Ka
nsas,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Just like Superman, I’m actually from Kansas.”

  And I laughed with him. “So you’re Clark Kent, reporter extraordinaire, with Aunt Martha and Uncle Ben on the farm waiting for you back home?”

  And he cocked an eyebrow at me again.

  “Well, I actually was a reporter once,” he said. “Before I started Marks Holdings, I began at the bottom of the totem pole, just like anybody else, a cub reporter at … get this, Gotham News.”

  And I almost laughed then. The thought of Tristan Marks as an entry-level employee, getting people coffee, running errands, pounding the pavement trying to get a scoop tickled me. He just didn’t seem like that type of guy, wearing nondescript khakis with a notebook and pen, hustling to get an interview, persuading people to talk.

  But he nodded, as if sensing my disbelief.

  “It’s true,” he confirmed. “I didn’t always wear thousand dollar suits, didn’t always wear wing-tips and drive Maseratis,” he said wryly. “Once upon a time, I was a farm boy from Kansas with an opportunity to attend school on a scholarship and I made the best of it. I went to KSU with every intention of coming out with flying colors, I’d worked so hard to get there.”

  And I gasped. This was completely different from what I’d envisioned. I’d thought Tristan was born into money somehow, that things had just fallen into his lap from the very beginning, like he was some kind of golden boy.

  But he chuckled, seeing my disbelief.

  “Nah, I started out with nothing, working to put myself through school. The scholarship was generous but Hudson cost a pretty penny even back then,” he said reflectively. “So I was a bank teller during the days and studied at night, doing my best to keep up. I wasn’t great at it, didn’t get excellent grades, but I was interested in reporting, in becoming an anchor, so I did stints at the Hudson Daily, the local radio station, and my scrappiness was enough to land me an internship after graduation. I guess you can tell I didn’t sleep much back then,” he added wryly.

  I nodded slowly. I had no idea that Tristan was from humble beginnings, scraping to get by, eating beans by candlelight as a student.

  And he nodded, confirming it.

  “You wouldn’t recognize me if you saw me back then,” he said lightly, shooting me another glance as he handled the car. “Jeans washed so many times they were white, eating meals whenever I could, sometimes just a sandwich and an apple, I didn’t have much.”

  And I positively gaped then. Tristan hadn’t had enough for food? That was deprivation going beyond what I possibly could have imagined.

  He chuckled low in his throat.

  “No honey, I got enough calories, I was fine. “Maybe I wasn’t dining at Le Cirque or Aquavit, but I was doing fine,” he rumbled. “Still, I have a soft spot for McDonald’s for that reason,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “You can fill up on their stuff for less than five bucks, can you believe it? And if you stick to the salads and breakfast, it’s actually pretty healthy.”

  I nodded slowly. No wonder he’d been appreciative of my obvious enjoyment of the Big Mac at the rest stop. We had more similarities than I’d anticipated, our love of the occasional fast food joint, the obvious joy it brought us, cholesterol and fat be damned. And this was totally eye-opening because this was all stuff I never would have guessed.

  “But I was never a pushover,” he added slowly, “Even when I had nothing, I didn’t let people walk over me. I was always fucking determined and I can say that I wasn’t the most popular guy on campus from the way I drove the newspaper staff, the way I demanded everything from everyone.”

  I nodded.

  “But it got you to where you are today, right?” I said slowly, “the means justify the ends and all that?”

  “Since when do you do Machiavellian?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at me. “But yes, that was my motto back then. I was so determined to get out of there, to seek my fortune, that I stepped on a lot of toes, walked on the backs of others,” he ground out. “It wasn’t pretty but you can’t say no to a young man with ambition.”

  And this set me back a little.

  “Do you still think others are the little people?” I asked slowly. “Is that how you view the world?”

  And he looked at me pointedly then.

  “No of course not,” he said smoothly. “Nothing’s so black and white, there are shades of grey for everything out there. But back then, when I was starting out, I was pretty ruthless, you couldn’t stop me with a tractor. It got me to where I am, but once you’re at the top, tactics change.”

  “So you’re kinder, nicer, wiser now?” I asked hesitantly.

  He gave out a short bark of a laugh.

  “I wouldn’t say any of those thing, not necessarily,” he ground out. “Let’s just say, baby girl, that I’m tested. I’ve seen the choppy waters, I’ve swum with sharks and won,” he shrugged. “It happens if you stick around long enough.”

  And I sat back then, pensive, thinking. Because it was true. Sure, I was smart, I was well-read, but I was eighteen. I’d lived in luxury for practically my entire life, hadn’t had to fight for anything, things had pretty much been delivered on a silver platter. By contrast, Tristan was an older man with loads of experience under his belt, battle-tested, hardened even, with the capacity to wring a man’s neck literally and figuratively with those big hands if he had to. I gazed at him as he guided the car along the windy road in the afternoon light, those massive hands gentle yet so masterful. Could I handle him or was this a serious mistake?

  And as if sensing my unease, Tristan turned to look at me slightly, gazing at my curvy form in the passenger seat.

  “Scared little girl?” he said softly, his eyes deep blue and a little shuttered. “

  I bit my lip for a moment.

  “No,” I said firmly, meeting his eyes. “Not at all.”

  And he laughed then, throwing his head back, letting out a deep rumble.

  “Then you’re the only one,” he said lightly, and I shot a sharp glance at him, confused. What was he saying? That he was afraid of me? I was nothing, an eighteen year-old virgin, and he already knew about my lack of experience with the physical, the emotional, the world in general. Tristan knew. So why was he implying that he was frightened of me?

  But we were already pulling up to a huge log mountain house as my thoughts whirred. Before my mouth could even open, a bellhop popped open the Maserati door, nattily attired in a brown and grey uniform, matching the rustic luxury the place projected.

  “Miss,” he said courteously, extending a hand as I got out of the vehicle.

  And I took it gratefully, the car was so low-slung that I would have had trouble even if I hadn’t been wearing a short skirt. As it was, I was able to maneuver myself out without giving anything away, pulling my hem down discreetly as I turned to face Tristan.

  And that’s when I knew I had him in the palm of my hand, physically at least. Because the big man was gazing at me, looking over every inch of my skin as if he’d devour me, as if I belonged to him, that every piece of my real estate was for him and his eyes only. I stood stock still, letting him look, acknowledging that I was there for him, thrusting my breasts out unconsciously, my breathing still, lips trembling as he looked his fill.

  We were interrupted by the valet.

  “Sir, your keys?” a teenage boy piped up, breaking the spell. Tristan dropped the keys to the sports car in the boy’s hands and we made our way up the steps into the lodge.

  I’d figured we were going to a bed and breakfast, one of the cute cottages that dot the Hudson upstate, mom and pop shops that have gingham table cloths and homey curtains in their windows. But evidently Tristan was having none of that. The place he’d booked was an amped up version of a log cabin, one that had soaring ceilings in the reception, huge, crackling fires in the lounge area and a bear skin rug on the floor.

  “Is that … ?” I said, looking at the bear askance. I couldn’t tell if it was r
eal or not, the eyes still unnervingly alive, jaws open in a grimace which may or may not have once held live prey.

  But Tristan merely chuckled.

  “Let it go, little girl, he won’t come for you at night,” he rumbled.

  And I turned away, shaking my head. Maybe a mom and pop guesthouse would have been better, I’d be more comfortable without the thought of once-live animals roaming around the hotel. But I took a deep breath as the receptionist checked her files on the computer.

  “Mr. Marks, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” she smiled at my guardian.

  What? Tristan had been here before? When? He couldn’t possibly have business in this isolated corner of the State. But Tristan merely grinned smoothly.

  “It’s been a long time since reunion,” he said enigmatically. “Last fall was my twentieth.”

  “Oh that’s right,” chattered the receptionist. “It was so kind of you to rent out the bar for your classmates, we here at the Algonquin appreciate that kind of gesture. Let us know if we can be of service again.”

  And I breathed a sigh. So Tristan had been here before but it wasn’t with another woman, he’d merely come back for reunion weekend and hosted his buddies for a night of drinking. I sighed. Don’t get ahead of yourself, I scolded. It’s too early to be jealous of anything, don’t jump at everything you see.

  But the receptionist interrupted my thoughts again.

  “Mr. Marks, we’d be happy to put you and your wife in the Grand Stag Room, it’s available for a few days.”

  And before I could interrupt to say that I wasn’t his wife, Tristan’s low voice growled.

  “Thank you, that’s perfect,” he rumbled, scooping the key cards in one big hand. “Daisy?” he said, taking my arm and gently turning me towards the elevators.

  And I was astounded. What could have made them think I was his wife? Was it my outfit? Had I aged overnight? It was true, I was wearing nicer stuff than usual, a cashmere skirt paired with a tight turtleneck that hugged my curves, topped off with knee-high leather boots. Did I look that old? But something told me it wasn’t the clothes, it was the electricity in the air between us, the sense of man and woman, Adam and Eve that was palpable to anyone with a pulse. And so I took Tristan’s arm, trying not to wobble as he walked me to the elevators.