Climax

by Lauren Smith

  “He couldn’t be more different from your father. He talks to me. We don’t fight, not like your father and I did. It doesn’t mean we don’t get upset sometimes, but this won’t end our relationship. When two people are in love, they make it work.”

  “You’d do anything to be with them.” Tristan thought of how hard it had been to be without Kat for even a few days. He’d done everything he could to convince her they could make this work.

  “Yes, exactly,” his mother agreed.

  Again, Tristan’s focus turned to the library.

  “They need time to talk, Tristan. Go make yourself useful and hang stockings above the beds. I haven’t done that yet. Then go ask Mrs. George how our pudding fairs this year.”

  She was deliberately trying to keep him busy and distracted, but Mum was right. He couldn’t wear a path into the carpets with his pacing.

  With one last glance at the library door, he stalked off to do as his mother suggested. Kat would find him when they were done. He planned to hold her to her promise that she wouldn’t walk away. Tristan had to, because he couldn’t bear to lose her again.

  Chapter 4

  Kat stood in front of the library windows beneath the stained-glass Saint George as he slayed the green dragon. These were the windows Tristan had seen as a child, the ones that had moved him to such strong emotions.

  How far they’d both come since the night they’d met and kissed at the Pickerel Inn pub.

  Kat longed for that moment so many days ago, when the snow was falling outside, along with the muted sounds of pubgoers chatting nearby, the warmth of Tristan’s body close to hers as they whispered, teased, and flirted. She wanted to trap that moment in time, bottle it and save it.

  She was ready to battle her father for the one thing in her life she didn’t want to give up: Tristan.

  She clutched her little black purse and shifted restlessly in the low heels she wore. Kat wanted to get out of the fancy dress and back into her warm jeans and sweater. She felt off-balance, and that was the last thing she needed right now.

  “Kat, what were you thinking?” Her father stood ten feet away, leaning back against a reading table. The old weariness she’d grown used to over the last few years had returned.

  It’s my fault. Mine. Because I want Tristan.

  “Dad…” Words failed her. What she and Tristan shared couldn’t be easily described. It spread outward from her like a beacon from a lighthouse, through wind and rain, shining ever onward.

  “You know what sort of man he is, don’t you? He’s wild, Kat. Reckless. He’s not someone you would settle down with.”

  Tristan was wild and reckless, but he was also sweet, compassionate, and so damn sexy when it came to her, she couldn’t find fault with anything he’d done. He’d only ever been perfect.

  “He’s not like that. Well, part of him is, but he’s so much more.” She stepped closer to her father, still holding tight to her purse.

  “Honey, you can’t date him. Pick anyone but him.” She recognized that tone. It was his business voice, calm, almost cold.

  He wasn’t going to budge on his opinion of Tristan.

  But neither was she.

  All along Tristan had been pushing her to see what lay between them. Not just the sparks in bed, but everything else. She wasn’t going to let go of him, not until things were done. So far things were better than ever, hotter than ever. If her father was allowed his chance at happiness in life, then so was she.

  Taking in a steadying breath, Kat met her father’s fierce gaze.

  “I care about him, Dad. A lot. What we have…it’s amazing. It’s like what you and Lizzy—”

  “Don’t compare yourself to me and Lizzy.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing her defense. “We’re both divorced, we’ve been through heartache, and we know what we’re looking for in life. You’re a child, Kat. You don’t know the first thing about love or relationships. He’ll still be here even after you stop dating. He’ll be a part of this family, and you’ll have to face him. Can you do that after he breaks your heart?”

  It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, the idea of Tristan breaking her heart, but it was a very real possibility he would do just that.

  It was too late. She’d fallen for him, and walking away now would hurt just as much. What did it matter when something happened, if it was inevitable? She wanted to enjoy every minute of it until it was over.

  “It’s too late, Dad. I…I love him.” The word came out in a hushed whisper, but her lips curled into a smile. Saying it out loud filled her with a joy that made the world glow and her heart race. She was completely, totally in love with Tristan. She’d feared loving him because she knew she’d lose him. Right now she wanted to fight for him and there was no turning back. She couldn’t stop loving him just to please her father and she didn’t want to. She was jumping off a cliff and free-falling. It was scary and exhilarating.

  Her dad’s bitter laugh cut her deep. “Love? Honey, what you’re feeling is infatuation. It rarely lasts. I learned that the hard way with your mother. Tristan’s a handsome young man, and you’re just swept up in the moment. What you feel for him isn’t real. Someday, when you’re older and not so wide-eyed and innocent, you’ll meet the real love of your life.” There was a bite to his tone that stung, and Kat flinched.

  How could he so casually dismiss feelings that went bone deep inside her? How could he possibly know what she felt wasn’t real? Just because she was young didn’t mean it was any less real. What she’d felt for Tristan that first night, that spark of lightning, a recognition of two souls connected, hadn’t diminished in the following weeks, but had grown steadily stronger.

  “Dad, if I fall for someone, that’s my business, my life. I’m entitled to make my own decisions.”

  “And your own mistakes? Kat, honey, I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt.” Clayton uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against.

  “Yes. My own mistakes. Why can’t you just give Tristan a chance?”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “No. You will not date that boy while under this roof. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t recognize the man standing in front of her. He wasn’t her father, at least not the one she knew.

  Tears stung her eyes and fury battled with despair. This wasn’t up to him. He didn’t have a right to dictate her life. He’d drawn a line in the sand and given her an ultimatum. There was only one choice left.

  “If you’re going to be like that, I’m going back to Cambridge.” She spun and shoved the library door open.

  “Kat, honey, wait—”

  Slam! She purposely let the door crash into the frame. She didn’t want to see him again, not until he was being reasonable.

  Lizzy appeared at the kitchen door, her brows knitted in consternation, but she didn’t say anything as Kat raced upstairs. That was one of the many things she liked about Tristan’s mother. She didn’t try to pry or insert herself into Kat’s business. When the library door opened and her father rushed out, Kat had just reached the top of the stairs.

  “Kat, I’m not done talking to you. Get back down here.” He was scowling, one shoe tapping.

  “I’m done talking, Dad.” She turned away and walked to her room.

  When she flung the door open, she halted at the sight of Tristan leaning over her bed, a red and gold brocade stocking in one hand and a hammer in the other. A nail hung from his lips, as if he seemed to be debating where to put it.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her chest rising and falling heavily as she sought to regain her breath. Fighting with her dad had left her anxious and strung out. Her arms shook and her knees threatened to buckle. All she wanted to do was collapse on her bed and cry. But she wasn’t a child. She had to hold herself together.

  Tristan set the hammer, nail, and stocking down and walked over to her. “It’s an English tradition…We hang the stockings over the
bed, not the fireplace.”

  She lifted her head, met his gaze, and the floodgates broke. Kat threw herself against him, hugging him tight and burying her face against his chest.

  He wrapped his arms around her back and waist, resting his chin on top of her head. The embrace, all-encompassing and warm, made the agony in her heart ease a little.

  “I’m so sorry, darling. What can I do?” His deep voice rumbled against her ear.

  “Just hold me,” she whispered. He grounded her, keeping her from drifting away on the vast flowing river of pain.

  Dad and I have never fought like that. Never.

  What if he didn’t forgive her? What if it destroyed her father’s relationship with Lizzy? What if—

  “Hey…” Tristan threaded his fingers through her hair and gently massaged her scalp. “Don’t think so hard. Just breathe.”

  She forced deep, shaking breaths into her lungs, and like magic, that simple act of breathing made some of her panic dissipate, even though she couldn’t stop trembling.

  She pulled back so she could see Tristan’s face. His dark hair fell across his eyes, reminding her of the way he’d looked when they’d made love back at Fox Hill.

  A master of her pleasure, he’d made the world explode around them in invisible sparks. That night had lit a fire that had only grown in passing days. He’d held her in his arms and she’d known how much he cared for her. She didn’t want to be around anyone but him right now. He was the only one who understood her and what she was feeling.

  “Can you take me somewhere? I need to leave. My dad and I…”

  “Where do you want to go?” He rubbed his palms up and down her back, and she leaned in again, resting her cheek against his chest above his heart.

  “Could we go back to Cambridge? I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

  “What about Fox Hill?” he suggested. “It would be just you and me. No one else…except for the servants.”

  She gave a watery giggle. “Why is it that talking to you sometimes sounds so ridiculous? Just us and the servants, darling,” she teased in an attempt to imitate his accent.

  “You truly want to leave?” He brushed a lock of hair back from her face so tenderly her heart turned over.

  “Let’s do it. Let’s go right now.” Rolling up on her tiptoes, she kissed his chin, then his lips, and relished watching his lashes fan up and down as he gave in to her kiss.

  His fingertips dug into her back as though he was on the verge of gripping her hard, but he pulled away, licked his lips, and breathed out slowly.

  “Pack a bag and change. I’ll be back soon. If I stay here right now, you won’t leave your bed for a few hours. And your father might shoot me.” His wry chuckle didn’t erase the sting of the truth to their situation.

  Tristan was right. Space would do them both some good.

  I just need some time to think, that’s all. So does my dad. He’ll come around. He has to.

  With another brush of lips, Tristan left her alone to pack.

  Fifteen minutes later she was changed and carrying her duffle bag down the stairs. Tristan was a few feet ahead of her, his own leather travel bag slung over his shoulder.

  They were almost to the door when her father strode out to meet them. His lips were in a grim line and his hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Lizzy joined them, her hands clasped tensely together, as though she was unsure of what to do.

  The foyer was thick with tension. Kat felt like the four of them were facing off.

  “Don’t leave,” her father said. He kept his eyes on her and ignored Tristan.

  “Only if you change your mind.” Kat wasn’t going to back down. Not on something this important.

  “No. I’ve told you how I feel, and that hasn’t changed.”

  Her throat stung as she fought off a sob. “Ok-kay. Then we’re leaving until you do.” Without looking at her dad again, she reached for Tristan’s hand, and they walked past their parents to the entrance.

  “Kat, please…” It was the last thing she heard before Tristan shut the door behind them.

  Chapter 5

  Kat had chosen him over her father? Conflicting emotions spiraled through him: elation, worry, pride, regret. The only person she had left to call family in this world, and she’d walked away from the man for him. Would he have done the same if he’d been forced to? Leave his mother like that to keep Kat in his life? The idea of being without her…He repressed a shudder.

  Kat truly belonged to him, for however long he could keep her.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding her hands tight in his. “You shouldn’t have to choose.”

  I’m a bloody bastard for being happy she chose me. Guilt turned his insides to fire, and he forced the sickening sensation down as deep as he could. It was almost Christmas, and he and Kat were together, just as he’d wanted.

  She wiped her face with her free hand and laughed, but the sound was full of pain. “Well, I had to. Let’s go.”

  He put the bags in the trunk and glanced back at his mother’s town house.

  I’m sorry, Mum.

  Tristan hated leaving her behind, but she had Clayton now, and Kat needed him more. Everything that had happened to her was because she couldn’t stay away from him and he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  Tristan wasn’t sure how long they drove in silence before he glanced at Kat. She’d stared at her phone a few times when it had buzzed and he’d seen the name “Dad” on her screen before she silenced it. Now she was reclined back in her seat with her eyes closed. Her features were a little relaxed, and she looked peaceful in her sleep. He blew out a breath, and some of the tension in his muscles eased.

  I finally have what I want. Kat all to myself. She’d left her father to be with him, for what…hot sex? They’d both sacrificed too much to stay together. All he could think about was how lucky he was that Kat saw something in him worth fighting for. She made him feel like a damned hero when she gazed up at him with those eyes so full of intensity and a promise of things he hadn’t known he wanted until he’d met her.

  She was a future, a future he wanted to claim as his, but he knew it wasn’t something he would be allowed to keep. That day in Kew Gardens they’d both acknowledged that he was expected to marry someone groomed to be a countess. Someone his father approved of. But he didn’t want to dwell on the future he knew his father wanted for him.

  I can cling to this fantasy for just a little while longer, can’t I?

  About two hours later, they were climbing the front steps of Fox Hill. The butler, Mr. Whitney, was there to greet them.

  “Whitney, this is Kat Roberts. She’s my…er…” Stepsister…girlfriend…

  “Friend,” Kat interjected, saving him.

  “Welcome, Ms. Roberts. Good evening, Mr. Kingsley.” The butler shouldered Kat’s duffle and held the door open to allow them in.

  Rubbing her arms, Kat allowed her gaze to rove over the entryway of the house.

  “What is it?” Tristan curled an arm around her, offering warmth.

  When she turned her face toward his, she was smiling. It was a smile of genuine delight. “I love this house. It’s so beautiful.”

  “So do I.” He led her inside, eager to show her more. She’d stayed here before, after the party he’d held following the end of the year’s exams, but they’d both been more focused on ripping each other’s clothes off than on a tour.

  “So this was where you spent a lot of time with your mother?”

  “Yes, quite often. Kew Gardens was our refuge in London, but Fox Hill was truly hers. My father rarely set foot in this place.”

  They walked farther into the house, and he tried to see everything through her eyes. The rich reds of the walls and the warmth of the wood paneling. The scent of books from the library, the creak and sighs of the house settling into place as a wind from outside rushed over the brick facade. Rows of portraits of ancestors, even one of him by the top of the stairs. Her eyes fo
cused on that painting. She wrinkled her nose, as if deep in thought.

  “What are you thinking?” Tristan was always fascinated by her mind and the thoughts that flashed through it.

  “When I came here before, I didn’t notice that painting. I was hurting so much for having sent you away, and when I showed up for the party, I walked right past it.” She cocked her head slightly to one side, really studying the picture. “I like it. You look like you know just who you are.”

  Inside the frame, his oil counterpart stood tall and proud, chin raised, eyes clear and intense. He was wearing a blue three-piece suit and standing beside a marble fireplace. The background was dark, as if to create an illusion that he was a dark god of the underworld stepping out of his domain into the light. He’d always thought the painting was too grim, too brooding, but now he was seeing it in a different way.

  There was a look of purpose in his eyes and a determined set to his chin, as though he knew just what he wanted to do with his life. Had being with Kat made him see things in a new light? He’d never embraced his destiny as the future Earl of Pembroke. Yet talking about his plans for the estate with Kat when they were alone made him want to be a good man, and a good earl. A better man than his father. Now he had a real desire to enact the plans he and Carter had dreamed up. He had been too afraid to push for change until Kat had reminded him he was strong. He could take control of his life again and run the estate to benefit everyone, not just the family’s pocketbook. And he had Kat to thank for it.

  “You really like it?” he asked.

  She nodded seriously. “It suits you. Reminds me of the night I first saw you.” With an impish twinkle in her eyes, Kat nudged him with an elbow. “What did you think when you first saw me?”

  He curled an arm around her waist and stroked her hair back from her face as he summoned his memories of that night. “I thought I was dreaming. Everything around you was like a blurry scene from a Monet and you were there, like a woman out of a Sargent painting, real, vivid laughter in your eyes and your heart on your sleeve when you opened up to me at the bar. It was like I’d taken a deep breath for the first time in years.”