by Liz Gavin
Lightheaded, but not wanting to let go of the feeling, Izzie suggested, “Quick shower and round two?”
“You mean, a quickie under the shower as round two, or a swift cooling down in separate showers, then a nice and long round two on a soft mattress.”
She paused and gave the options some thought.
“You’re kidding me. Are you actually considering the first scenario? I was joking, woman. I wouldn’t be able to perform just now.”
“If you used your imagination, you might.” She winked.
Tristan chuckled. “I’d rather savor you dry and on a horizontal position, if you don’t mind.”
She shrugged. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”
“My pleasure.” His time to wink. “Why are you stalling? Get in that shower, come on.” He swatted her ass, which the thin sundress barely covered, and strode toward the guest room.
She heard the running shower, and his singing, before she reached her bathroom.
Izzie and Tristan spent the evening pleasuring each other, planning the future, and discussing their insecurities. They cheered each other up, made each other come, and praised each other. The only topic they steered clear of was their feelings for each other. Izzie feared she would spook him, if she confessed her love for him. She respected his need to learn to trust her again, so she didn’t want to jump the gun.
As long as she could turn his chest into her favorite pillow every night, she didn’t mind the wait. With that tempting thought and a wicked smile on her lips, she slipped into a satisfied sleep.
During the night, Izzie’s racing heart beats woke her up with a startle. Still dazed from a sensual dream she was having, she bolted upright to find her dream had come true. Tristan snapped his head up from between her thighs, chin and lips glistening with her pleasure, and the image made her heart burst at the seams.
He splayed his large hand on her midriff and shushed her. Then, he whispered, “Let me love you.”
She plopped back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and savored the sensations his teeth and mouth aroused in her. Planting her feet on the mattress, she relaxed and opened herself to him. “That’s my girl,” he muttered inside her, triggering small waves of pleasure. She quivered, and he chuckled, intensifying the pressure his lips applied to her dripping folds. He lapped at her juices and pulled her clit inside his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue until she screamed. Her body gripped his mouth as she came fast and hard.
She pulled his hair, lifting his face from between her thighs, and demanded, “You. Inside me. Now.”
Tristan nodded, and crawled over her, reaching his hand toward the nightstand. “Let me suit up.”
“Why?”
She shocked him into silence. His hand froze in midair, he blinked, and stared down at her.
Izzie added, “I mean, you’ve been tested every which way and have gotten a clean bill of health. I haven’t had sex in years, but I get tested regularly as a recovering drug addict. I promise I’m clean.” She waited for his remarks. He blinked some more. She grinned, filling her mind with wicked thoughts, so he would read them in her eyes. She moaned, “I want to feel your bare skin on mine.”
A deep crease formed between Tristan’s eyebrows as he briefly closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Izzie wanted to drown in the sea of passion she spied in his dark blue gaze in the split second before he swooped down and clamped his lips on hers. She tasted her pleasure as she sucked his tongue. The moist tip of his cock nudged her folds when Tristan nestled his hips between her thighs. She welcomed him inside her, giddy with the sensation of their slick flesh rubbing against each other.
Tristan buried his face in the crook of her neck, nudging her ear with his nose, inhaling her scent.
Hot.
She melted under his touch.
Gasping for air and moaning, she raked her fingers on his broad back as he thrust in and out of her. Her hips chased his, her thighs pressed his body. She arched her back when her sex squeezed him tight. She bit her lower lip, grunting.
“Give it to me, gorgeous. Don’t hold back.”
Staring into his eyes, heart clawing up her throat, Izzie didn’t think she had any energy left in her.
“Not holding. Too weak,” she mumbled.
Tristan’s cock nudged her womb as he plunged his hips into hers, her sex gripped him, and his fingers tweaked her nipple. Feeling faint, her chest constricted by the overwhelming explosion of sensations, Izzie dug her nails into his shoulders and wailed a string of incoherent words.
Except for one.
“Tristan!” she repeated that single word as if it were a mantra, the sexiest mantra imaginable, until her voice got hoarse.
Her soul soared when his hot jets warmed her insides, his moans filled her ears, and his wet lips covered her nipple. He sucked at the hard nub just as his stabbing cock slowed down and the waves of pleasure ebbed in her lower body.
“God. I can’t. It’s too much.”
The wicked man chuckled, his mouth full of her breast, his stare trapping hers. Her relaxed muscles made her move in slow motion, but she speared her fingers through his hair, smiled her satisfaction, then dropped her head on the pillows.
Caught in the twilight between consciousness and unconsciousness, Izzie whispered, I love you, not sure if the words ever made out of her mouth.
16
Tristan
Izzie didn’t hear him muttering, “Love you more.”
She passed out in his arms.
She freaking passed out from the pleasure he had given her.
Torn between exhilaration and worry, he gazed at her relaxed features, tracing her swollen lips with the tip of his index finger.
“Fuck! I do love you,” he croaked.
He had never stopped loving Izzie. He got that now. Everyone was right. He had hurt so badly, for so long, because he had never gotten over her. Sorting out a future together presented challenges, no doubt about it. The logistics would be complex, but if Izzie loved him, like she confessed just now, nothing would stop him from getting her back.
And their son.
His son.
He inhaled deeply, and let the air out in a slow sigh, doing his best to calm down the flapping wings of the butterflies that had made their home inside him since he found out Arthur was his son.
Tomorrow he would finally meet him.
He tightened one arm around Izzie’s waist, and draped the other over his face, willing himself to sleep. The following day was going to be long and tiring, and the alarm clock would go off in a few hours.
As he dragged his feet along the terminal’s endless corridor, Tristan looked sideways to find Izzie’s expression as drained as his probably was. “I didn’t remember the flight being this long.”
“Because you haven’t taken it in so many years. Not even the first-class service made it less exhausting this time.”
“The old seats didn’t help either,” Tristan agreed. “I mean, where were those pods that morph into beds I had seen on their website?”
“Apparently not in this route, they aren’t,” she snapped in her best midwestern rendition.
Despite the fatigue, he laughed and was reminded, not for the first time, of her delightful sense of humor. Gone were the worries and self-doubts of a couple of months ago. The previous night had been magical, but when they slept through the alarm, and rushed out of her hotel, their only concern had been making to the airport in time. Neither mentioned the L word, or the fact they had said it.
During the flight, in the relative privacy of their first-class seats, they talked their heads off, but didn’t touch the subject. Tristan decided to wait for Izzie to bring it up by herself. He now believed she had said the words in the heat of their lovemaking. He would rather hear them again, when she was thinking clearly, before surprising her with his own feelings.
Right now, he was eager to meet their son for the first time, even though the excitement was al
most shadowed by the anxiety of the first encounter.
“You think he’s going to like me? What if he hates my guts? I mean, he must think I abandoned you and him.”
Izzie rolled her eyes. “Again with this shit? I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll repeat it another million times until you get it through your thick skull. Arthur is an awesome kid. He’s incapable of hating anybody, and he’s not going to start with you. You’re saving his life, for fuck’s sake.”
They reached the Passport Control lounge, so they stopped, and searched the carry-on external pouches for their passports. Neither noticed a couple in dark suits standing a few feet away until the woman spoke. “Ms. Anderson? Mr. Knight? I’m Special Agent Cooper, this is Special Agent Morales. We’re with the FBI, we need you to come with us.”
Snapping his head up, Tristan ignored the rectangular pieces of printed paper the couple was trying to hand in to him. Frowning, he demanded, “What do you mean? What happened?”
Although the United States counted with a myriad of distinct police enforcement agencies, which made it hard for the average citizen to keep track of who watched over what, the FBI did not patrol borders. That much he knew.
“We need to debrief you about the situation, so Customs and Border Protection made a meeting room available for us to use. We’ll take you there. Also, you’ll want to avoid the barricade of press members and fans that’s waiting for your arrival. We’ve parked at the back, so we can get out of here quickly, once we’re done with the debriefing.”
Tristan’s head was reeling, none of it made any sense, but before he could express his confusion, Izzie spat out, “What the hell are you driving at? What situation?” Panic made her naturally soothing voice turn squeaky.
“My apologies, ma’am. I thought you knew about it.” The tall red-headed federal agent exchanged a look with her sturdy partner. “Mark King kidnapped your son yesterday.”
If Special Agent Cooper had kicked him in the nuts, it would not have been as painful. He looked into Izzie’s eyes and blurted out, “This time I will kill the motherfucker.”
“Nobody is killing anyone. Get us out of here, please. You can debrief us on the way. I want to find my son.” Izzie didn’t flinch as she spoke, but a muscle twitched in her cheek.
Tristan admired her control, as the four of them made a beeline to an electronic passport scanner. After Tristan and Izzie got clearance to enter the country, the agents led the way through a labyrinth of corridors until they were out of the terminal. A black SUV with tinted windows was the only vehicle in sight. Agent Morales got behind the wheel and his partner climbed onto the passenger seat. Izzie and Tristan sat behind them.
Agent Cooper’s auburn hair was made in a tight bun at the back of her hair. For some weird reason, Tristan focused on the neatly arranged strands. Maybe she chose an austere hairdo to make up for her inexperience. He bet she had just left the academy, she didn’t look a day older than twenty-five. Way too young to spearhead a case like Arthur’s.
What the fuck?
She turned around to face them, a sympathetic smile curving her eyes, but a determined glint tinkling in her brown eyes. “I’m aware this is a lot for you two to process. The most important thing to focus on right now is that you’re in good hands. The best, really. My team has handled dozens of kidnappings, among other crimes. We know what we’re doing. We need you to stay calm, let us do our job, and we’ll get Arthur back to you in no time.”
“Thank you, Agent Cooper,” Izzie muttered, flipping the agents’ cards around in her hands. Tristan hadn’t noticed her accepting them. The woman’s strength kept surprising him.
“Please, call me Natasha, ma’am.”
Izzie nodded. “You said your team has worked cases like this before? You mean to say, you’re part of a team, or that you command it? I’m sorry, but I figured you were too young to have that kind of experience. I don’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s just that it’s my son’s life we’re talking about here. I need to know.”
Agent Natasha Cooper smiled, a genuine, warm grin. “That’s fine, ma’am. I get that a lot and I understand your concern. I’m fortunate enough not to show my age, but I’ve also advanced quickly in the Bureau. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ms. Anderson.”
“Izzie.”
Tristan looked out of the window, Agent Morales was speeding up north on the 405; they should make it to the FBI building shortly.
Natasha’s stare zeroed in on Izzie’s face. “Ms. Rostoff, your personal assistant, called the police. When her cell phone pinged, and the internal camera showed her that someone was in the house, she recognized your ex-husband. Apparently, he isn’t allowed in, correct?”
Tristan wondered how much of the agent’s focused attention was meant to reassure Izzie she was qualified for that job, and how much of it was interrogation technique. He settled for both.
“Mark King isn’t Arthur’s real father, and he never gave a crap for the kid. When we divorced, I got full custody. That isn’t the issue here,” Izzie affirmed.
“He hasn’t made any demands yet. In fact, he hasn’t contacted your house or your manager at all.”
“I see where you’re going with this, but he didn’t take Arthur because he wants him,” Izzie spoke through gritted teeth as she fumbled with her phone. “I turned this piece of crap off during the flight and haven’t turned it back on again. Maybe he called me?”
Tristan noticed Natasha’s forehead wrinkles multiplied.
Izzie punched codes to access voicemail and set the loudspeaker on. She had gotten over a dozen voicemail messages. She played them, then skipped them, until they heard Mark’s voice. He slurred, “Hey, beautiful. Calling to let you know I’ve got your baby. If you want to see him again, you’ll transfer two million dollars to my account. You still have the routing number, right? I guess that godforsaken place you traveled to must have some kind of internet connection. You should be able to transfer the money in time for little Arthur to get back home and take his meds. I mean, I can’t afford any. He’s counting on you, gorgeous. Don’t let him down. Again. Oh, I don’t need to tell you to keep the cops out of our little arrangement, do I?”
Izzie swiftly scanned the remaining calls. None from Mark. She tipped her chin up and gazed into the FBI agent’s intent stare. “Mark isn’t allowed in my home because he’s a lowlife vermin. I’ve got a restraining order a couple of years ago to protect my family. Anastasia has been working with me for years, she’s aware of the situation and I trust her. I can’t figure out why she was out of the house, though. I told her not to leave Arthur alone.”
“I understand. She reported that Arthur felt dizzy after they got home from dialysis, so he went up to his room to take a nap. She had to fill Arthur’s prescription, she called the store. The physician had not authorized the medication to be delivered, so the store set a time for Ms. Rostoff to pick the medication up. She never got to the store. The notification popped up on her cell phone on her way there. She immediately called the police, but by the time the responding officers got to your house, Mr. King was gone.”
Tristan interrupted her, “Agent Cooper, sorry, Natasha, time is a key factor. Not only because the longer it takes, the colder the leads get, which is common sense. But, Arthur has a serious health condition. He needs meds and dialysis regularly.”
A chilling pause ensued. He refused to glance sideways at Izzie for fear of crumpling if he spotted on her face a fraction of the dread that gripped him by the throat.
“He had a session yesterday. He’s set for a couple of days,” Izzie comforted him. Not only with her soothing tone, but with her fingers squeezing his fist as it rested on his knee.
He had not noticed he had balled his hands until her warm palm connected with his taut skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to simmer down the fury and frustration. He would become a liability instead of an asset, if he flew off the handle.
Izzie needed him sane.
Arthur
needed him whole.
Maybe if he repeated those words a million times they would eventually sink in. One could hope.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught Natasha’s intent stare on him. She waited until he locked his demons in the dungeon before replying, “We’re doing all we can. In addition to my team, most of our field agents are working the case around the clock. We’re coordinating with local law enforcement to follow all leads we find.”
“What does that all mean?” Izzie whispered.
“Police officers are canvassing the neighborhood interviewing potential witnesses. We’ve got people watching hours of footage from surveillance cameras seeking to spot Mr. King’s car.”
Tristan glimpsed the exit 55 sign as Agent Morales changed lanes to take it. They would soon be at the FBI’s office. Impatient for information, Tristan asked, “What have you found out so far?”
Neither of the agents replied.
His stomach churned, he fought the burning sensation of acid crawling up his throat. Glancing sideways, he spied Izzie’s knuckles turn white as she fisted her hands. He pried her left hand open, and laced their fingers together, anchoring her as much as himself.
“That’s why we brought you here. We hope you might put some pieces of the puzzle together,” Agent Morales clarified, while they hasted to the elevator.
Once out of the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor, the small group turned right, and the agents led the way. A distraught blonde came out of nowhere and wrapped herself around Izzie. Almost as tall as Tristan, and heavily built, she made Izzie look like a tiny china doll. He refrained from stepping between the two, when Izzie’s hands hooked on the blonde’s broad shoulders, squeezing them in a tight embrace.
A faint Eastern European accent colored her speech when she stepped back and apologized, “Izzie, forgive me. I was so stupid. I should have never left Arthur’s side.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Anastasia. We’ll find him. Everything will turn out fine.”
Tristan wished he shared her confidence.
