by Liz Gavin
She guided his cock inside her warmth, moving slowly until she found the best rhythm for her. Sticking to his conviction that she should run that show, Noah rested his hands on her hips because he needed to touch her, but waited for her lead, so he could follow. She rode him until her thighs trembled against his hips and her body squeezed his cock.
Ana leaned to kiss him and the new angle pressed her sweet spot against his pelvis and her movements turned frantic. Moaning inside his mouth, her teeth pulling his lower lip between them, she raked her fingers over his taut nipples. She was so close. He rolled his hips, trying to push his cock deeper inside her to trigger her release. When she straightened up and dropped her head over her shoulders, moving faster up and down his cock, her sleek walls began to milk his flesh. He covered her breasts with his palms, then flicked her nipples. That sent her tumbling over the edge and he followed closely.
She rolled them over the mattress, surrendering control to Noah as she rode the waves of pleasure. Laughing and gasping, she spread her limbs on the sheets as if they were too heavy to lift.
As he unloaded his seed deep inside her, Noah kissed her neck and ear. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you to pieces.”
She seemed to struggle to keep her eyes open, but she whispered, “Ditto.”
Her lights were out, but he still had some oil to burn. Pulling her over his body, he stared up at the ceiling, planning their next steps. If the scumbag and her father controlled the system, he would subvert it using the media. Not only the regular outlets, but he wasn’t afraid to use the paparazzi. He would bet her conservative father would do anything to avoid the good name of his family being dragged through the mud. He would run those ideas by her and wouldn’t proceed without her agreement.
He smiled as he remembered the perfect ring he had found the other day. A pink diamond, princess-cut, unique like Ana.
Epilogue
Ana
A Couple of Years Down the Road
A new wave of anxiety knotted her insides as Ana left the small room where she had been waiting with the other three women. Each one lost in their own world of worries, their eyes never met. When the door opened and a man dressed in a police officer’s black uniform walked through, as tall and as large as the door, Ana unfolded from the chair.
“Is this really necessary?” she queried, as the man stepped aside and gestured for the women to follow him.
Expression unreadable behind his tainted glasses, his reply was curt. “Protocol, ma’am.”
On wobbly legs and battling the butterflies in the pit of her stomach, she moved with the small group down a long tunnel. Despite the many years and constant use, the concrete floor and half-tiled walls were clean-ish. She forgot the peeling dark blue paint on the upper half of the walls when a piercing scream reached her ear. She chuckled when she recognized her husband’s name. “Dinner is on me,” she let the other band wives know she admitted defeat.
They had an ongoing bet. The wife of the first band member’s name that a fan screamed as the women walked to the backstage area paid dinner. It was a silly game that helped them bond together in the difficult first years on the road as they balanced starting families, revamping careers and standing by their men. Today, the four women got along well.
That year, for the first time, Knight’s Edge was touring stadiums instead of the bars where they had started or the arenas of the last years. Everyone in the crew was tense in that concert, the kick-off of the tour. None more than the four men that would perform to their largest audience to date, although their wives might come in a close second.
Hiding behind the huge stage, the women didn’t need to see the front of the stage to know when their husbands had popped up. The roar of the crowd, the screaming from the fans at the rails in front of the stage, it all got insanely loud when Noah Cartwright beat a ruffle on the drums and Tristan Knight hurled into his mic, “Are you ready to rock?”
The first time Ana had heard him say that old cliché at a small bar at Lagoa da Conceição, she had twisted her nose and rolled her eyes. As time went by and the crowds got bigger, their signature opening made sense and brought an avalanche of different emotions to each member of that disjointed family they called Knight’s Edge.
As the show progressed, they moved from new songs to the older numbers and memories assaulted her. Paulo signing the divorce papers after she gladly signed off the company shares to him. Her mom crying on her shoulder, mumbling about her shame. Noah’s expression when their first daughter was born. The way he burst inside the pre-op room, rushing straight from the airport, afraid he had missed their son’s birth. The naughty boy, who had been torturing her from the inside for the previous five hours, suddenly wanted out when he heard daddy’s voice.
The band moved to the calm section of their playlist, filled with ballads. They had collected prizes and platinum records, but their first album was still the one with a record number of top chart songs. Almost all tracks made it to the top ten of the charts, with a few making it all the way to number one, including the song Noah had written for her.
“This is Hidden Scars.” As Duke’s sexy vocals made the fans scream the lyrics, Ana put a hand on her throat as if she could control the beating of her heart. She could not. It didn’t matter who sang it, every time she heard the song, she traveled back in time to Noah’s studio, his sweet voice promising their very own happily ever after.
The crowd turned into a choir and her eyes teared up.
“Still waters run deep, white waters hide murk
You were so young and pure, so wild and free
They should’ve protected you, sold you out cheap
Black and blue, they didn’t want to see
Bruised and battered, they didn’t want to hear
You were so young and free
They broke you, all three
Hidden scars cut deep
Let me love you, let me in
Hidden scars heal from within
Trust me, lean on me
I’m here to stay, I’m nothing like him
Southern Cross in the sky,
Watch over you and so do I
No harm shall find you, this I swear
My arms will guard you, this love we share”
The last chords morphed into the next song and Ana curved her lips up as she caressed her belly. Soon, their family would grow again. She had found her happily ever after with the man who had healed her wounds and kissed her hidden scars goodbye.
The End
* * *
Knight’s Edge Series of standalone romance novels:
Tristan – Book #1 Knight’s Edge Series (exclusive to Tropical Tryst boxed set in Kindle Unlimited)
Read chapter 1 in the Sneak Peek section.
Aidan - Book #3 Knight’s Edge Series – March 2018
Duke – Book #4 Knight’s Edge Series – March 2018.
I
Sneak Peek 1
Synopsis
His hurt. Her sorrow. No atonement.
Izzie Anderson had a remarkable singing voice, an angelical face and a hot body. Too young for rock stardom, she partied too hard, stooped too low and hurt the only man who loved her for who she really was. She betrayed Tristan Knight’s trust and ripped out his heart. Yet she lied to protect him. Now she needs Tristan to save her son. Will he believe her when she confesses the truth? Or are there wrongs that can never be righted?
Fifteen years ago, Tristan Knight found haven in a secluded beach in the Southern coast of Brazil, where he mended his tattered heart and healed his invisible scars. Away from the deceit of the music industry, he started fresh as the owner of a high-end restaurant. He never thought he would meet Izzie again, so when she walks into Chez Nous Bistro one evening, he expects to get outraged. When he doesn’t, he realizes her betrayal left him heartless. So why is it that his soul feels less hollow every time he sees her?
Can two damaged souls heal each other? Or are some lies impos
sible to forgive?
Tristan (Knight’s Edge Book #1)
Sneak Peek - Chapter 1
Tristan stroked Bruna’s smooth back before anchoring her with one hand on her shoulder and angling himself to go deeper. His grunts matched her groans as his length slid past her G-spot. As his speed increased moving in and out of her, Tristan smacked her round butt cheeks and leaned on her back, reaching around for her wet folds.
Bruna threw her head back. “God!” she screamed when he found her clit and tweaked it.
“That’s right, beautiful. Give it to me,” he whispered in her ear, when her flesh began to tremble around his erection.
A few more thrusts and she came on his cock. It didn’t take long for Tristan to unload, triggering a new series of orgasms in the brunette’s body. Her round thighs shook while her arms gave out from under her. Bruna collapsed on the mattress, rolling onto her back. Gleaming brown eyes stared at Tristan from under heavy lids and a grin brightened her face. “Every. Damn. Time. You’re like a sex machine or something.”
“You sound surprised,” Tristan chuckled as he knotted the used condom and hopped off the bed to dispose of it in the bathroom.
“Honestly, I thought after a couple of dates the novelty would wear off and you’d move on.”
“Ouch! I sound shallow when you say it like that,” Tristan sat on the bed beside Bruna, splaying his hand on her midriff. “What the hell do you mean by novelty?”
She dropped her eyes to his hand as it drew circles on her skin. Her cheeks flushed and she didn’t return her gaze to his face as she whispered, “Well, I’m not the kind of girl who lands guys like you. I mean, look at me! I’m fat as a cow. You’re way out of my league.”
Tristan stopped outlining the suntan lines on her lower body with the tip of his fingers to frame her face in his hands. “Hey, look at me,” he waited for Bruna to drag her eyes back to his. “I like your body the way it is. There’s nothing wrong with a pair of luscious thighs.” He released her face to squeeze her thighs and plant a naughty kiss below her belly button, then moved his hands under her body to find his favorite feature. “Or a round swattable butt.”
Bruna sighed when his fingers teased her crack as Tristan leaned down to plant a soft kiss on her turned-up nose. She moved her head up a fraction and their lips locked in a quick, but intense kiss. Tristan broke it before he changed his mind.
“You really gotta go? It’s not even five yet.”
“Sorry, beautiful. I’ve got tons of things to do before heading to the restaurant and you’re a distraction,” he apologized as he went around her tidy room collecting the articles of clothing he scattered around last night.
He pulled up the zipper on his jeans without bothering to button them. The tight black tank top covered the dangling ends of the belt. He would finish dressing as he went out. Shoving wallet and phone in his back pockets, he snatched his keys from her nightstand.
“See you later?” Bruna’s hopeful tone sounded out of character. She was the one who made the booty call and spelled it out that it was just a booty call.
It betrayed her insecurity though. His arguments didn’t seem to be convincing enough. At the same time, he didn’t want to be a jerk by misleading her. True, he never considered her physique to be an issue. True, they had scorching hot chemistry in the sack. True, she knew he wasn’t into long-term anything. Looking at her sparkling eyes, he couldn’t find the courage to remind her of that. Not at that moment.
He went for the next best thing. “I’ll do my best. I’ve got a long night ahead of me. I’ll call you, if I’m not dead beat when I come home.”
She nodded and he left. Ignoring the elevator, Tristan climbed the ten flights of stairs to his floor without breaking a sweat. Exercising regularly at the oceanfront promenade that ran along Beira-Mar Norte Avenue was paying off. He grinned as he opened the door to his apartment, grabbed his car keys and left again. Even though he barely slept a wink last night and his body begged for some respite, he couldn’t do anything about it. He was running late. He should have left for the Farmer’s Market half an hour ago.
As he waited for the elevator, he sent a little prayer to the universe that he’d still find decent produce at the market. Chef Durand would be pissed if the delivery truck brought him subpar ingredients later today. Tristan couldn’t blame him for that. When the shining metal doors chimed open, he climbed in the elevator and pressed the garage button on the high-tech panel. He watched the bright blue numbers decreasing as he traveled from the penthouse to the underground garage.
“Today’s going to be a fucking long one,” Tristan muttered to himself as he rubbed the back of his neck.
He was an expert in compartmentalizing, so although he cared for Bruna and felt crappy for not having the balls to make their no-strings-attached situation clearer, Tristan had already moved those issues to the back of his mind when the elevator opened its doors and he sprinted to his car.
* * *
Tristan rushed out of the shower toweling himself. Splotching as many thick water drops on the floor as the ones he effectively dried off his body, he mumbled a string of colorful words about never hitting the snooze button again.
“Motherfucker!” he yelled when his bare toes slammed against the bed post. It was going to smart throughout the evening, reminding him of how much the expression ‘just five more minutes’ shouldn’t be used when one needed to get up.
Just what I needed. Standing up those three additional hours behind the bar counter today will be a blast. Damn it!
He hopped around the cluttered bedroom pulling on a pair of fresh gray underwear and the charcoal gray dress pants he wore the night before. He searched for a clean shirt, ignoring the dazzling sight of a blood orange sun hovering low over turquoise waters behind the iconic Hercilio Luz Bridge. The stunning ocean views, framed by double floor-to-ceiling balcony doors, were the features that convinced Tristan to rent that oceanfront apartment in downtown Florianópolis instead of a house closer to the restaurant. Now was not the time for contemplation though.
Having put on socks and shoes in record time, Tristan buttoned up the crispy-white shirt with one hand, while the other shoved wallet and keys in the back pockets of his pants. He crossed the spacious living room towards the front door with a few steps.
In the elevator, he thumbed his cell phone, scrolling down the screen to call the restaurant bar. “Hey, Moira. What’s up?”
“Tell me you’re parking,” her low growl sounded nothing like Moira’s usual sunny disposition.
“I will be in about fifteen,” he flinched at the torrent of high-pitched graphic words that pricked his ear as Moira cussed in her native Portuguese. He learned enough of the language to gauge just how pissed she was at him. He apologized, “My bad. Sorry.”
“Puta que pariu! Shit, man! You’re already fifteen minutes late, dude. I’ve gotta take Dani to the doctor.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He screwed his face at his ineptitude to come up with a more eloquent reply to Moira’s concern. She deserved better, so he tried again. “Listen, you’ll make it in time. I promise. I’m on my way. Just wanted to let you know I was running late. Gotta go.”
As the elevator doors opened, Tristan jogged to the convertible parked two spaces to the right and hopped into the driver’s seat without bothering to open the door. When he exited the garage, the sun glinted off the polished red hood, blinding Tristan for a moment. He hastily grabbed the sunglasses from a small compartment in the dashboard to the left of the steering wheel. As he merged into traffic on Beira-Mar Norte Avenue, he revved the engine of the M4 GTS and sped up towards the freeway. Luckily, all the lights remained green and he got on the southbound freeway without hassle. Late afternoon traffic was surprisingly light, which allowed Tristan to make it to the parking lot behind the restaurant in lightspeed time. Not meeting any cops on the way certainly helped.
Moira was probably stalking the parking lot through the restaurant windows because
she stormed out of the backdoor as he pulled up to his reserved spot. When she stomped by him on the way to her car, long blond curls bouncing off her back, she slowed down just enough to gift Tristan with a farewell scowl. She turned on the engine of her battered green Jetta and started backing out of her spot before he was out of his car.
“’Bout time, man,” she shouted through the half-open window before peeling off. Tires screeched while pedestrians jumped backwards to avoid her maniac maneuver worthy of a bank robbery getaway car driver.
After watching his employee’s red tail lights disappear around the corner, Tristan hung his head and shook it, as he walked to the door, grumbling, “Today can’t get any worse.”
While evening shifts were the busiest at the restaurant, happy hour shifts were the busiest time at the bar. So, when he agreed to cover for Moira, Tristan knew he was in for a long, stressful double shift. Yet he couldn’t deny her request. Busting her ass off to raise her kids since the ex-husband moved to another state, Moira rarely asked for anyone to cover for her. Certainly, she needed money to keep up with the bills and happy hour tips were the most generous. As adorable as her small children were, providing for Danielle and Felipe kept Moira’s finances constantly on the brink of collapse. Not comfortable. Tristan knew all too well what it took for a single mom to raise a kid. His was loaded, money not booze, yet it didn’t mean he had an easy childhood, so he did what he could to help Moira. Another reason for beating himself up for being late.
I shouldn’t have taken that afternoon nap. What was I thinking?