Wind Goddess

by Crystal Inman

  “But not you?” Tristan stared intently at her.

  Sylvia shifted uncomfortably. “We were discussing Keira.”

  “So we were,” Tristan murmured. He paused and then spoke again. “The question still stands.”

  “I don’t care to repeat the experience I had with my parents with anyone,” she responded stiffly.

  Tristan opened his mouth to say something when a sharp knock on the door stopped him. He stood and strode over to open it. A delivery boy with several bags smiled at him.

  “Mr. Calhoun?”

  “Yes.” Tristan returned the smile and held out his hand. Two bills disappeared into the delivery boy’s hand. Tristan easily held the bags and watched while the boy disappeared back down the hall.

  Sylvia stood and walked over to help him. She took two bags and inhaled deeply.

  “Mmm.” She smiled. “You don’t do anything by half.” Sylvia walked toward the place where she kept her sheet, but Tristan’s hand stopped her. “I have it. Why don’t you sit down?”

  Sylvia nodded her assent and sank gracefully to the ground. Tristan shook the sheet out and carefully placed the food in the corner between them. He unpacked plates and cutlery.

  It was wrong. Sylvia knew that as she and Tristan settled down to lunch. The catered meal decadent and improper. She should have grabbed a biscotti from the kitchen and refreshed her own coffee.

  But damn it all to hell. It tasted absolutely delicious. Sylvia plucked another shrimp from the container and plopped it into her mouth. Tristan grinned at her and did the same.

  “Doesn’t this beat cold coffee and starving yourself?”

  Sylvia washed the shrimp down with a sip of her red wine and inclined her head. “Yes. It does. But I can’t afford to make this a habit.”

  “Why is that?” Tristan frowned and dipped his lobster into the butter sauce. “For a woman who is so put together, I worry about your health.”

  Sylvia shrugged. “I eat when I need to. I have several items on my agenda that I need to attend.” She smiled. “And I have several calls from prospective brides wanting the same wedding planner Keira Calhoun is using.”

  “You can have balance.” Tristan studied her. “How about dinner this evening?”

  “No.”

  He grinned at her. “You could have hesitated a moment or two to give a guy hope.”

  Sylvia chuckled. “For some reason, I believe you to be the type of man when given an inch, it’s never enough.”

  Tristan reached across and took her hand before she could think to stop him. “Dearest Sylvia. Even a busy magnate such as myself takes time to enjoy dinner. Surely you could see to clear your schedule and join me?”

  Sylvia hesitated.

  “We could go to The River. Or I could have them bring something to us. Your choice of place and dining.”

  “You’re the devil. You know that, right?” Sylvia took a shrimp and held it in her hand while she watched Tristan. “Tempting a workaholic with food she doesn’t have to prepare herself. It’s rather sadistic.”

  Tristan threw back his head and laughed. The laughter rumbled through the room, and Sylvia joined in.

  “So. I tempt you.” Tristan nodded. “That’s good. That’s very good.”

  “You could tempt a nun, I’m quite sure,” Sylvia said primly and put the shrimp in her mouth before she admitted something else better kept to herself.

  “We could make it a working dinner.” Tristan shrugged. “You bring your ideas. I bring the food. You can even bill me.”

  Sylvia winced. “Ouch. I may be about the bottom line, but that’s beneath me.”

  Tristan let go of her hand. “I’m free this evening, Ms. Masters. You can bend my ear with all sorts of plans about my sister’s wedding. And since I’m paying for it, it probably would be a good idea to run your grand ideas by me.”

  “One dinner,” she conceded and frowned at Tristan’s smile. “And wipe that smirk off your face. One business dinner. That’s it. And I’d rather it be a place where the paparazzi does not photograph us together. I don’t need to be the latest ‘it’ girl.”

  Tristan nodded. “We can meet at my office. No one else will be there in the evening. And I have a few loose ends to tie up, myself. Do you know where it is?”

  Calhoun Tower? Sylvia bit her lip to keep from laughing. A damn landmark. She couldn’t miss it if she tried.

  “I think I can find it,” she promised.

  Tristan reached back into a bag and brought out a container Sylvia didn’t see earlier. He faced it toward him and opened the lid slowly.

  “What is it?” Sylvia’s blue eyes widened. The aroma of rich chocolate filled the air, and she moaned softly. “You didn’t.”

  “What?” Tristan grinned wickedly. “I didn’t order The River’s famous chocolate ice-cream cake? Why, Sylvia. I believe I did.”

  “You are very, very bad.” She moved forward. “But that’s okay this once. Hand me a fork.”

  “No.”

  Her blue eyes widened in shock and then narrowed. “Seriously. A fork. Now. Or you’ll be the one explaining the cutlery sticking out of your leg to the EMT.”

  “You have violent tendencies.” Tristan rifled around in the bag and pulled out a fork. He dipped it into the decadent dessert and pulled out a bite. The rich chocolate clung to the fork.

  Sylvia licked her lips. “Point taken. A bite, please?”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured and moved the fork toward her mouth.

  She opened her mouth to order him to give her the fork when he slid the first bite into her mouth.

  Oh my.

  Sylvia licked her lips and savored the feel of the chocolate on her tongue. Heaven. It had to be. The taste of rich chocolate melted on her tongue and slid smoothly down her throat. She closed her eyes in bliss. When the bite was gone, she opened her eyes to see Tristan staring at her.

  Sylvia wiped her lips. “I’m sorry. Do I need a napkin?”

  “No.” The word came out low and strangled.

  “You’re sweating.” Sylvia frowned. “Are you feeling okay?” She leaned forward and pressed her wrist to Tristan’s forehead. “Was it something you ate?”

  “It was something you ate,” Tristan murmured before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her lips down to his.

  If the chocolate had been decadent, Tristan had to be sin incarnate. Sylvia’s body reacted without her consent, and she strained against him while his mouth plundered hers. His tongue stroked hers while his hands roamed down her body and drew her down onto his lap.

  The minute she felt his arousal, Sylvia jackknifed her body up from his and glared down at him. Her hands shook, and she stuffed them in the pockets of her black dress pants. “We’re not having a little afternoon delight, Mr. Calhoun.”

  Tristan raked his hands through his hair and grimaced. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. I truly am.” He blew out a breath. “You make me forget all reason.”

  Right.

  Sylvia calmed herself slowly and looked at the picnic on the floor of her private office. “I think this was a bad idea.” She smiled apologetically. “Thank you for lunch. But I have to get back to work.”

  Tristan opened his mouth and then shut it. “Maybe you’re right.” He stood quickly. “I’ll help you clean up.”

  Sylvia held up her hand. “I have it. Thank you, Mr. Calhoun.”

  “Sylvia. Don’t cancel on me this evening.”

  She could barely think straight. But a dinner at Tristan’s office sounded like a highly bad idea. Sylvia shook her head.

  “Don’t.” Tristan held up his hands. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I keep hearing it. But there seems to be a lapse between the saying and the doing.”

  “I’ll be good,” he promised and smiled angelically.

  “One business dinner.” Sylvia looked him in the eye. “And that’s it. Any other business will be done in my office. Agreed?”

  “Yes.” T
ristan looked at his watch and cursed. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. But I’ll expect you around seven. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes.” Sylvia moved around to the back of her desk. “I’ll see you then.”

  Tristan glanced at the food on the floor and back at Sylvia. “I’ll order food in.” And then he turned and walked out of her office.

  Sylvia sank into her office chair and let her head sink against the back of it. She could still taste the chocolate cake. And Tristan. Both so very bad for her. And she wanted both.

  There came a quick knock, and then Sylvia’s door opened. Tempest stepped inside with an armful of catalogs. The black sheath hugged her full frame and stopped at mid-calf. Her long legs tapered into black stilettos that could easily pass for a dangerous weapon. She glanced briefly at the floor and then stepped around the food.

  “I think the florist on Broadway will deliver the best bouquets. I had them work up some samples.” She put some pictures on the desk in front of Sylvia. “The petals hold the color they use better.” She stuck her pen behind her ear. “And we can approach Keira about invitations at the next meeting. But if we’re sticking with a Celtic style wedding, I think we should go with Bailey’s for those.” She put a handful of samples on Sylvia’s desk and waited for a reply.

  “You’re not going to say anything about the spread of food that currently litters my office floor?”

  Tempest glanced back down at the food and then at Sylvia. Her lips twitched. “I would say ‘where’s mine?’ but there seems to be only enough for two.”

  “Don’t be an ass.” Sylvia picked up the samples but didn’t look at them. “Isn’t it a bad idea for a businesswoman to have a meal with her client?”

  “Seriously?” Tempest frowned and sank into the chair opposite Sylvia. “Did you just seriously say that?”

  “Oh shut up.” Sylvia grinned. “I know how it sounds. But I also know it’s a bad idea.”

  “Because?” Tempest tapped her long black nails on the desk.

  “When is Beth coming back?”

  Tempest snickered. “Nice try. Really nice try. She’s feeling better. But the doctor thinks a change of climate will do her good. I have a villa in France she will be staying at.”

  Sylvia’s blue eyes widened. “She needs to go to a villa to recuperate from a cold?” Her hand shot to the phone. “I really don’t think so.” She dialed Beth’s number and received an answering machine message.

  Sylvia slammed down the phone. “Is she going to be okay? She’s not dying or anything, is she?”

  “No.” Tempest smiled assuringly. “Her lungs are simply having a hard time dealing with the bug she has. The doctor suggested a change of climate. I offered my home.”

  “In France.”

  “In France.” Tempest grinned. “I wouldn’t mind loaning it to you for awhile, either.”

  “Is that where you live?”

  “I have several homes.” Tempest brushed her ebony hair back. “And now back to the subject of breaking bread with a client.”

  “Oh hell.” Sylvia ran her hands through her short mop of hair and grimaced. “I think Mr. Calhoun wants a hell of a lot more than a bit of bread with me.”

  “He seems like a nice man.” Tempest shot a glance to the floor. “He’s willing to feed you.”

  Sylvia’s mouth snapped shut. “He’s a playboy. And he thinks any woman he wants will just give him a roll. I’m not one of those women.”

  “Has he tried to roll you?” Tempest leaned forward with wide eyes.

  Sylvia snickered. “We’ve kissed. And I stopped it there.” She sighed. “I won’t be just another number to anybody.”

  “And you shouldn’t be.” Tempest tapped her cheek. “But what if you’re not just another number?” She left the statement hanging there while she stood. “Check out the samples. I’m going to look at Beth’s caseload and see what I can do.”

  Sylvia watched Tempest leave and cursed under her breath. She stood and walked back over to the food to tidy up. The chocolate ice-cream cake started to melt, and Sylvia took a small bite and sighed. Then she dumped the rest of it in the trash.

  Chapter 4

  Calhoun Tower was a magnificent skyscraper with beautiful glass windows and arches at the base of the building that lent itself to old world charm. There were twenty stories, and Sylvia had the feeling Tristan would be right at the top.

  She changed at her office into a pair of tan slacks and an ivory shirt with long sleeves. This was, after all, a business meeting. The fact her stomach jumped with nerves had not been conducive to her own unsteady peace of mind.

  Tristan’s mouth on hers.

  Sylvia closed her eyes for a minute in her car before she got out. Business meeting. Business meeting. She repeated the words in her head like a mantra lifeline. That’s all this is. And if she chose to walk into the lion’s den like a complete hormonal idiot, then that fell on her.

  If only Tristan Calhoun wasn’t…Tristan Calhoun.

  Sylvia sighed.

  The beautiful billionaire that seemed to mark her for his affections. Sylvia tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. The truth of the matter simple. She needed him for her business right now. To network into a full year of bookings. To possibly add a couple more staff members. To grow even larger. Maybe open another office.

  But at what price?

  Her body? Her heart?

  “Screw this,” Sylvia muttered and stepped out of her car. She shut the door with a slam and walked toward the front of the building. Anymore thinking in her car, and she would simply put it into drive and get the hell out of here.

  Sylvia strode purposefully toward the guard at the desk in the center of the room. He sat in front of a large group of computers that he watched even as she approached him. The guard appeared in his mid-thirties and built like a tanker. His arms flexed as he moved from one side to the other.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” He raised his head and gave her an appraising look. His light green eyes took in every aspect of her appearance.

  Sylvia smiled. He was good. And she had no doubt that if she asked him a week from now what she had been wearing, he could tell her. Right down to the gold studs in her ears.

  “Sylvia Masters to see Mr. Calhoun, please.”

  The guard smiled and nodded. “He’s expecting you, Ms. Masters. Take elevator number four to the top floor. Make a right and walk down the hallway. It’s the last door on your left.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled and turned to go.

  “Miss?”

  Sylvia turned back around. “Yes?”

  The guard actually blushed. “Sorry to bother you. You worked on one of my sister’s friend’s weddings.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m, um, actually getting married next fall. Could I possibly make an appointment for my fiancée to speak with you?”

  Sylvia smiled and dug out a business card from her purse. “It would be my pleasure…” she looked at his name tag, “Mr. Cane. Contact my office and talk to Liz. She’s my secretary. I’ll make sure to clear a planner for you.”

  He grinned broadly, and Sylvia could see that his fiancée was a lucky woman. “You’re the best, Ms. Masters.” He nodded his head to her and whistled as he stuck her business card in the pocket of his shirt.

  Sylvia waved as she walked back to the elevator. A lovely perk to her evening. Nothing like business falling into her lap. She stepped into the elevator and pushed the button. Classical music played in the background while she traveled to her destination.

  The doors opened, and Sylvia stepped out into the hallway.

  Simply gorgeous. Someone had obviously taken time with the decor. The carpet a thick brown shag that her feet sank into with every step. The walls an expensive wood paneling that spoke of money and power. There were small tables that lined the wall with fresh flowers that spilled over the baskets and onto the tables. The fragrance intoxicated her.

  Sylvia touched the tulips closest to her with a
smile. She loved them. Always had. Something about the shape and color of the flowers. She rubbed the silky petals between her fingers and smiled.

  The portraits on the wall were expensive and floral. Garden scenes lined both walls and set off the fresh plants perfectly.

  But there was one that made her stop in her tracks. Four women faced an enormous garden. They each stood with their arms around one other while a slight breeze lifted their hair. The artist painted the portrait so all that could be seen was the backs of the women. Each woman had a different hair color and dress. But they were linked. She could tell simply by gazing at the entire picture. There was strength and purpose in the quartet. Sylvia reached out before she could stop herself and traced an amethyst flower on the right side.

  “Appreciating my art and greenery?”

  Sylvia dropped her hand from the portrait and released the tulip with the other one. She stiffened her spine and nodded.

  Tristan Calhoun stood there with a manila folder in his left hand and a smile on his face. His white shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up. He had on a pair of black slacks and black loafers. The cologne he wore wafted over to her.

  “I was admiring your decor, Mr. Calhoun.” Sylvia motioned to the walls. “Someone has taken a lot of time with it, and the effect is stunning.”

  “That would be Keira.”

  “Keira?” Sylvia frowned. If Keira had such a good eye, why would she leave her wedding up to a planner? “Keira did this?”

  Tristan smiled. “It was her one contribution to the office. She insisted on decorating it herself.” He tapped the folder against his other hand. “Shall we retire to my office?”

  “Yes.” Sylvia trailed after him and told herself to keep her eyes above his waist. And that proved to be extremely difficult. She glanced down once and thanked God silently for fitted pants.

  “Here we are.”

  Sylvia’s head shot up, and she smiled weakly.

  Tristan opened the door and ushered her inside.

  If the hallway was stunning, Tristan’s office absolutely took her breath. There were solid oak bookshelves on both sides of the vast window that sat behind Tristan’s desk. They were filled to overflowing with leather bound volumes. The furniture all dark brown leather with gold trimming. A large couch sat to her right while two leather chairs sat across from Tristan at his desk.