“I was a wreck back then. Arthur’s diagnosis was my wake-up call. He needed me sober, so I checked myself into a rehab facility.”
“What diagnosis?”
“He was born with mild kidney dysplasia, which is a genetic or acquired condition. In his case it’s the latter, due to my drug abuse during pregnancy.” She stopped his words with her raised hand. “There’s nothing you can say that’d make me feel worse than I already do. I’m to blame for his disease.”
“I wasn’t about to say anything like that. I was merely going to point out that my mom has kidney failure.”
“Oh, it’s just that all these years, I’ve been beating myself up because Arthur is paying for my sins, so I thought you’d blame me.” When Tristan shook his head, she added, “In those first years, the doctors monitored Arthur’s condition, which was fine, but the guilt made me get deeper into drugs, spiraling into heavier ones. Mark was glad to provide them and enjoy them with me until Arthur’s health worsened. That’s when I went into rehab and worked hard to vanquish the demons to become the mother he needed. When I got clean, I realized I didn’t need Mark or anyone else in my life who would bring me down, so I kicked him out.”
“Still, you didn’t come clean with me.”
She fumbled with her hands, but didn’t cast her eyes down. “In the beginning, I concentrated on Arthur. When I started going to NA meetings, my sponsor advised me to strengthen myself before facing you because your reaction could trigger a serious relapse. In the meantime, Mark’s drug problems got worse and he ran out of money. He went back to blackmailing me, only then he wanted money in exchange for not telling the press about Arthur’s real father. I was focused on my son’s health and getting myself back on track. I didn’t want to deal with Mark, I guess. I don’t know. It just seemed easier paying his hush money and getting on with life.”
Silence filled the space between them as Tristan stared at her. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before asking, “What did the doctors say about Arthur back then?”
“His kidneys began to shut down and the doctors put him on dialysis.”
“That’s what happened to mom. It worked for a while until it didn’t. Now, they say there’s little else they can do for her. Her body is slowly shutting down.”
Izzie squeezed Tristan’s hand. “Arthur’s been on dialysis for about ten years, but recently the prognosis got grim. The doctors say he might need a transplant soon. They haven’t been able to find a compatible donor due to his rare blood type. The same as yours, Tristan.”
“He’s type O negative? Oh, God. That means he can only get blood from another typo O negative.”
“Same goes for a kidney.”
CHAPTER 5
A week passed since Izzie obliterated his known world. All he believed true turned out false and Tristan’s head was still reeling from the implications. He didn’t hate her as he used to, but he couldn’t say he trusted her either. That part would take a long time, and a lot of reassuring evidence, to be mended. His heart, on the other hand, seemed more resilient.
After agreeing to donate a kidney to Arthur, a marathon of laboratory tests and doctor’s appointments followed, turning the remaining of Tristan’s normal life on its head. Noah and Nelson agreed he should take time off from the restaurant to concentrate on what needed to be done. The tests began in Brazil and would continue in the United States, where Arthur waited for the results. For now, the doctors focused on assessing if Tristan would be a compatible donor. Although blood type was a key element, other things must be considered, such as ECG, urine, glucose tolerance and blood tests, to name a few. The idea was to make sure Tristan’s physical and psychological health were up to par for a transplant procedure, which is taxing enough under normal circumstances. In his case, it would be strenuous to say the least.
He met with Izzie every day as they went to appointments or clinics to run his tests, but none of those took a stronger toll on Tristan than their visits with the shrink. Years of stuffing his demons in a closet began to come back to bite his ass. He was an expert in avoidance, not confrontation. Apparently, he couldn’t move on with his life without some spring cleaning, or so Dr. Tucci said. If it weren’t for the mosaic of certificates on the guy’s wall, Tristan would call him a charlatan. He did no such thing. Instead, he started revisiting choices and rethinking grudges.
He stopped by Bruna’s apartment one day to apologize for vanishing without an explanation. She said she was glad he was doing that for his son and she wasn’t surprised he disappeared like he did. She reminded him they never were a couple in the real sense of the word and said she expected him to try to patch things up with Izzie. He didn’t bother to state that he wasn’t getting back with Izzie, he was only getting ready for the surgery.
Could it be that Bruna, his mom and Dr. Tucci were right? Was he holding on to old grudges for fear of what the future might bring? He always thought he was living in hell for the past fifteen years, but they made it look like he was snug inside his little comfort zone, refusing to venture out of it. Was he?
Truth was, every time he met Izzie in the last days, Tristan noticed his numbness got lighter as the fortress of ice he had built around his heart melted an inch or so. He even had the chance to talk to Arthur a few times when Izzie Skyped with him. He appeared to be taking the ordeal quite well for somebody so young. Tristan had to admit to himself that Izzie did a very good job on her own. Each day, it seemed like he felt he was getting closer to her. Like today, for instance. They got out at around six in the morning, spent the day in a clinic running multiple tests and got back to her hotel at six in the evening.
When he parked in the underground garage, Izzie turned to him and said, “We’ve had an intense day and I know you’re exhausted, but you should eat something before heading home. I mean, you live on the next block, so you’d still be home quickly. Plus, I didn’t see much food in your fridge yesterday and I doubt Noah went grocery shopping today. Would you like to grab something quick before you go?”
Tristan hesitated. Izzie was becoming a fixture in his new life and he wasn’t sure he enjoyed that. He’d better nip it in the bud. “Sounds good. Then, we can discuss traveling arrangements.”
What?! Where the hell did this come from? He mentally kicked himself in the shin when his mouth ran away like a fucking freight train.
“Awesome.”
He wondered if it was his imagination or did Izzie agree to his plan too fast? Either way, they walked to the elevator and once in, he reached out to press the button and realized he didn’t know which one. “What floor to the restaurant?”
She swiped a keycard and pressed the penthouse button. “Know what? We should order room service. We’re tired and I don’t feel like meeting people. I love fans, don’t get me wrong. I just don’t want to put on a happy face tonight.”
For a moment, Tristan felt like he was walking into a trap, but then shook off his suspicions. She made sense. It was his mistrust of Izzie that was getting to him. Plus, the exhaustion, not to mention hunger. His stomach growled as she opened the door to an elegant sitting room, decorated in contemporary style. Dark brown and cream were the dominant colors on the walls and furniture, complemented by strokes and splashes of vibrant yellows, reds and blues in the form of paintings, cushions and lamps.
“Sounds like you’re ready to order.” Laughing, Izzie handed him the phone that was nestled in its cradle on a side table. “Would you call room service while I jump in the shower? There’s a guest room with a bathroom through that door on the left. Feel free to use it. I’ll be right back.”
Most places in the city didn’t have climate control systems, which meant temperatures were similar inside and outside the buildings. In the summer, that made people sweaty and uncomfortable and even the locals complained about it. Tristan ordered the food and took Izzie up on her offer to use the shower since the meal wouldn’t arrive for another half hour.
Once in the bathroom, he rea
lized he’d have to put his damp shirt and jeans back on after a cooling shower. That didn’t sound right, so he sauntered back to the bedroom and went through the drawers and closet searching for a solution. A dark blue plush robe would do it, while they ate and made the flight reservations. He undressed and draped his clothes on the back of the two chairs that sat by the side of the bed. They’d dry and he’d feel more comfortable wearing them when he was ready to go home.
Coming out of the shower, Tristan grabbed his white boxer briefs, but couldn’t talk himself into stepping into them. Deciding to go commando, he tied the belt tightly around his waist and laid the underwear on the seat of the chair.
A rap on the door announcing dinner had arrived came as he crossed the bedroom threshold, but Izzie was pacing the living room as she talked on her cell phone, so she swung it open before Tristan got to it. Either she had outgrown the constant self-consciousness of her youth or she didn’t realize she was wearing a see-through cami and short set. The blue lavender flowers printed on the fabric drew one’s eyes to her best assets. Tristan let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding when he saw a woman was carrying the room service tray. He didn’t want to think what he would have done, if a man came in through the door.
“Thanks, Rosa. Just put it on the usual spot, please,” Izzie directed the apparent regular server as she held the phone between her ear and shoulder and fished money from her wallet.
“Sure, Ms. Anderson.”
Izzie signed the slip of paper Rosa handed out to her and returned it, folded inside a ten-dollar tip. “Here you go. Good night.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
As he set the plates, silverware and the food on the table, Izzie wrapped up her phone call. “The contract is clear. I don’t need to do anything. I’m not going on tour anytime soon. I don’t care. You deal with the studio heads, Steve, that’s your job. Mine is taking care of my son. Don’t call me again before you straighten out the mess you’ve made.”
“Sorry to overhear your conversation.”
“That’s fine. I wasn’t discussing state secrets or anything like that,” she observed as she took a seat beside him. “This smells delicious.”
“Wait until you try chef Durand’s lobster bisque.”
Izzie had a spoonful of the creamy soup before replying, “Hmm, his bisque has got be something else to beat this one.”
“It is.”
“Funny you mention Chez Nous. I never returned to your restaurant. Are you keeping me away from there?”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve been too busy, that’s all.”
“So, when are you taking me there for dinner?” Her eyes sparkled in the bright room with something so close to flirtation, Tristan doubted he saw it right.
He shrugged and attacked the focaccia to keep from putting his foot in his mouth. They ate in silence for a while and Tristan admitted to himself he enjoyed the food as much as he did the company. If he were to be honest, he looked forward to those outings with Izzie. Earlier, he didn’t put up much of a fight when she mentioned dinner. The cozy hotel suite surrounding them, together with the comfy clothes they were wearing, contributed to a sense of familiarity and closeness that he hadn’t felt in a long time. So long, in fact, he had forgotten how good Izzie used to make him feel.
Don’t go there, dude. You’ll be so screwed.
He decided to steer back to safe topics of conversation. “How are you enjoying Florianópolis so far?”
Izzie knitted her eyebrows. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t seen much of it.”
They kept the trivial tone until the meal was over, when Tristan suggested, “Should we book the flights tonight? There’s another couple of weeks-worth of testing before the doctors give me a clean bill of health, but I guess it’s looking good, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely.” Izzie stood up and moved towards the main bedroom. Tristan’s stomach flipped as he imagined she’d invite him in with the excuse of checking the airline companies on her computer. He feared he would give in to the increasing sexual tension he was battling since he got out of the guest room. “I guess the couch is more comfortable than the table now that we cluttered it with dishes, right? I’ll grab my laptop and be back in a jiffy.”
Trying to understand why he felt disappointed instead of relieved, Tristan fluffed the cushions, then sat on one end of the long brown leather couch. Plenty of room for Izzie. Before she reappeared, the living room lights’ brightness dropped to a candlelit dim mood and soothing jazz floated from built-in loudspeakers. What the hell?
“I think we’re entitled to some relaxation after these last intense days. Hope you don’t mind it.”
She sounded almost detached, which was in stark contrast to her intense stare. They locked eyes and the room felt warmer. As Izzie sat beside Tristan, so close their thighs touched, it took him a moment to realize she wasn’t carrying her laptop. He was too busy making sure his eyes stayed on hers instead of wandering down her body as they wanted to do. When he glanced at her lap and didn’t see the computer, she smiled.
Tristan nodded towards the bedroom door. “Forget something?”
“Changed my mind,” she whispered and the pink tip of her tongue riding her lower lip did funny things to his cock.
His brain threatened to shut down when she wrapped the end of the belt of his robe around her fingers. He forced his mouth to say something, anything, to keep him from doing something stupid, like pouncing on Izzie. “Woman’s prerogative?”
She chuckled. “You can say that.”
He followed her movements when she reached under the plush material and glided her hand on his chest. He should stop her. He should stand and leave. He closed his eyes and dropped his head on the couch when her nails scratched his hard nipple. Hissing, he covered her hands with his and pressed them to his chest. “I missed this.”
She splayed one hand over his heart and he sat upright, gazing into her passionate stare, when he felt the cool metal of the Claddagh ring against his skin. She closed her eyes as she leaned down and touched her ear to his chest. “I missed this. Your heartbeat has always been my favorite lullaby.”
“Shit, Izzie.”
Half laughing, half crying, she welcomed him as Tristan pulled her face up and angled it to cover her mouth in a tentative kiss. Unsure of what to expect, he grazed her soft lips as his fingers caressed her short hair. She took matters into her own hands, pulling his head down and forcing her tongue between his teeth, invading his mouth and decimating whatever feeble resistance he still had.
Coming up for air, she muttered as she rained kisses on his lips and cheeks. “What took you so long? I thought I would have to striptease to get your attention?”
“You kidding? You had my full attention since you came out of the shower. I wasn’t sure what to do with it though.”
“Well, now you know.” She swung a leg over his and sat on his lap, framing his face and kissing him again.
Tristan felt his cock coming to life under the loose robe when her warmth teased it as she rubbed herself against him. Grabbing her hips, he stopped her movements and made her look up into his eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want to do anything foolish that we’ll regret later, but if we’re going to stop, we must stop now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop later.”
“It’s not a big deal. We’re consenting adults. We’ve had a couple of rough days and we’re looking for a pleasant way to relax.”
“It’s not that simple between us and you know it, Izzie. Nothing has really changed. I mean, having sex won’t erase the past. We’ll have to work hard on our issues before we can say the last fifteen years are dead in the past, right?”
She sighed and sat on his knees. “I know it, but let’s pretend it’s simple for just this night, okay? Can you do that? I want you and you want me. That much is simple.”
Tristan nodded. “I can live with that.”
He could live with much less than that. He had been
living on scraps of faded memories and unconfessed wishes for the last fifteen years. He’d be damned if he didn’t take what Izzie was freely offering. He covered her mouth, kissing her with pent-up hunger, and thrusted his hips up when she slid up his thighs until their bodies collided and the intensity of his reactions to her stole his breath and ability to think.
AS SHE SLAMMED her upper body against Tristan’s, she pulled at his hair and tore at the robe. She needed to feel his bare skin, his warmth under her. He rolled them so that her back laid on the couch and he braced himself on one arm, caressing her with the free hand. His hot palm cupped her cheek, smoothed her shoulder, teased her breast and abdomen, then traveled down to her pelvis and thighs. He hooked it behind her knee and brought it up to his waist.
Eyeballing her, he dipped his head and whispered inside her ear as he nibbled on her earlobe, “You’re perfect.”
She knew she was not in any sense, but hearing him say those words warmed her from deep inside. She groaned as his fingers hooked on the waistband of her silk shorts, pulling them down her legs and throwing them over his shoulder.
His eyebrows shot up when he noticed she wasn’t wearing panties. “I like the way you think.”
Tristan cupped her sex, then teased her hard nub with his thumb as his index finger dove inside her. She expected him to kiss her, but he seemed interested in studying her reactions, so she locked eyes with him. Two could play that game. She hitched her knee and moved her thigh to give him easier access. He inserted a second finger while his thumb kept pressing down on her clit. He crooked his index finger to reach for her sweet spot and she moaned when the pad of his finger found it. Intensifying his stroking movements, Tristan brought her to the brink of an orgasm and slowed his fingers down when her flesh trembled under them.
Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads Page 58