Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1 – The Rider
Chapter 2 – An Old Flame
Chapter 3 – It Still Burns
Chapter 4 – Surprise!
Chapter 5 – Intrusion
Chapter 6 – Pain and Pleasure
Chapter 7 – Theft
Chapter 8 – The Sheriff
Chapter 9 – Suspicion
Chapter 10 – Surrender
Chapter 11 – In the Moonlight
Chapter 12 – Victory Lane
Chapter 13 – No More Secrets
Chapter 14 – The Pursuit
Chapter 15 – Calm Before the Storm
Chapter 16 – The Price of Lust
Chapter 17 – The Price of Love
Chapter 18 – Lifelines
Chapter 19 – Murder
Chapter 20 – Death
Chapter 21 – Sacrifice
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Other Randi Everheart Books
Connor (Vol. 2) Excerpt
TRISTAN
A Kendall Family Novel
Volume 1
by Randi Everheart
Copyright © 2014 Randi Everheart / Fire Heart Books
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means; electronic or mechanical, including photography, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any semblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1 – The Rider
Tristan Kendall wove his blue Yamaha R1 motorcycle in and out of traffic on I-270 in Maryland at over 140 mph. His sport bike was a marvel of engineering that allowed a rider to aggressively mate with it like two lovers in spoon position. Speeding up as he neared his hometown, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The cop behind him had grown smaller and smaller with each mile, but Tristan knew that if he didn’t get off the highway soon, police reinforcements would arrive. They’d never catch him, but one picture of his license plate and he’d get more than just a speeding ticket. Assuming he didn’t wreck and end up dead.
When he pulled off onto the winding back roads and slowed down, the cop didn’t see him exit. Familiar sights caused memories of home to return. He hadn’t been back in five years and more houses had sprung up. The plague of suburbia seemed to crowd in a bit more on the rural town of Comus, creeping up from D.C. to the south. One day there’d surely be a skyscraper in his backyard, but for now rolling farmlands dotted the landscape. Despite his familiarity with the roads, he rode them cautiously, his green eyes alert for patches of dirt or leftover road salt from winter storms. They could send him skidding off the pavement.
As if to prove his point, he came around a curve to find that another sport bike and its rider weren’t wrapped around each other anymore. The bike was upside down against a sapling. The rider stood with hands on hips, staring at the flipped-over Suzuki Hayabusa that no one would be taking for a spin anytime soon by the look of the chain, which had disengaged from the rear sprocket to drape near the ground. The clutch lever on the left handlebar hung loose as if snapped, paint had scratched off, and small dents had damaged the body work. Tristan quickly dismounted, running into the tall grass beside the rider.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asked.
The rider turned and Tristan stopped short, his gaze riveted on the rider’s brown eyes, which reminded him of melted chocolate, long lashes framing them. A spark of anger gleamed within. Her posture was defiant. His pulse raced faster now than in the last hour. Even with her helmet still on, the visor up, her face radiated beauty, though he couldn’t see more than those eyes and cheekbones, making him desperately curious to see more. Full breasts strained at the form-fitting leather suit of red and white. Her zipper was down enough to reveal magnificent cleavage pushed up like two mountains of fleshy delights that Sugarloaf Mountain behind them could not compete with; not all of Mother Earth’s mounds were created equal.
“I’m fine,” said the woman, hardly sparing him a fiery glance.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should get checked out.”
“I’m standing, aren’t I?”
He nodded, wondering if her bravado was covering for her being shaken up. By the look of the scene, she’d likely tumbled through the grass and that was all. They silently gazed at the Hayabusa together. “That was a nice bike.”
“Was being the operative word.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. It can be fixed.”
“Yeah,” she said, not sounding convinced.
“What happened?”
“Deer.”
He cringed. “Ouch. That could’ve been a lot worse. Fatal, even. Whatever move you pulled to avoid colliding was worth it.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, her face softening. “Thanks,” she said, noting the blonde hair peeking out from the back of his helmet. He hadn’t lifted the mirror visor, which hid his face. All she could see under the helmet were a sexy neck, Adam’s apple, and stubble, besides broad shoulders on a lean frame. He wore faded blue jeans, black boots, and a blue t-shirt under a white-and-blue summer riding jacket. “You always leave your visor down?”
“Sorry. No. It broke this morning. If I get it up, I won’t be able to get it back down, and catching a bug in the face sucks.”
“You have trouble getting it up?”
He hadn’t expected the joke and laughed, exaggerating the motion of looking her up and down. “Not at the moment.” Thinking she seemed amused, he added, “Well, you’re gonna need a ride. Can I take you somewhere? Like my place?”
The look in her eyes wavered between mirth and annoyance. “Does that line work on anyone?”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. Sensing that maybe his repartee hadn’t gone over well, he added, “Sorry. Not a great time for jokes. I was just trying to lighten things up. I know a fall can scare the crap of you.”
She nodded. “Crash much? Maybe I should get a ride from someone else.”
“You might be out here a while if you want to wait. You got a phone to call someone?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Didn’t bring it.”
“Mine died earlier. Forgot to charge it at my last stop. I can run by Clarksburg Motorsports and tell them to come get you. It’s about fifteen minutes away. They’ll need to come anyway to get the bike unless you want someone else to haul it.”
She turned to him and sighed, seeming resigned. “No. I know the place. That’s where I bought it. And they service it. I don’t feel like standing here for the time they’ll take to get here. Let’s go.” She headed toward his bike and he followed through the tall grass. He lowered the rear foot pegs and got on the front seat.
He had a knack for making suggestive remarks that were technically innocent, so he said, as if unaware of the double-entendre, “I don’t usually let a woman ride my crotch rocket so soon after meeting.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said, smiling wryly. She stepped on a peg, grabbed his shoulder, and easily lifted herself behind him, sitting down gracefully. She squeezed her legs against his, her crotch against his ass. “Take me to the strip mall in Comus. I work there.”
“Okay.” Over one shoulder, he advised, “Try to find something hard to hold onto.”
“I’m afraid to ask what you had in mind.” She put her visor back down and wrapped both arms around him from behind.
“You’re gonna want to grip harder than that,” he said, starting the engine, which came to life with a loud growl due to the aftermarket exhaust system he’d installed. When she didn’t hold tighter, he smirked and took off with a small wheelie that caused her to yelp in surprise and squeeze hard with both arms and legs, her head pressed against his back. He let the wheel down softly and noticed she didn’t lighten her grip as he continued more safely, the heat of her warming him through his back, legs, and ass.
He was no stranger to women mounting his crotch rocket, whether that was his bike or not. Those who rode one were willing to ride the other. The lone exception had been Victoria, his high school sweetheart. Her father had been killed in a motorcycle accident, making her deathly afraid of them and for Tristan once they’d fallen in love. His high-speed shenanigans had caused no end of fights. When she found out he wanted to be a pro rider, she’d freaked. He’d certainly never gotten her onto the bike, which had bothered him. If you can’t share one love of your life with the other love of your life, something’s amiss. For him, it had taken some of the steam out of their bond and ultimately made it easier for him to leave town, even though he understood her fears. He hadn’t seen her in the five years since or learned what became of her except that she’d left town, too, but he was hoping to find out something about that now that he was back, however briefly. Maybe he’d even go looking for her.
The girl currently on his bike—and he only now realized he hadn’t gotten her name—distracted him from the thought when she unzipped his jacket some and slid one hand inside. Tristan’s pulse raced, his hand inadvertently pulling on the throttle so the bike revved like his heart. Her hand caressed his chest a few times, giving him a squeeze before dropping to his belly, running over his six-pack abs slowly, as if counting the ripples under the shirt. He struggled to keep his mind on the road and half-wondered if this is how she’d crashed. Had she been riding with some other guy and made him leave the road, his body nowhere in sight among the wreckage?
The thought brought him to his senses, but not for long. Her other hand slipped down to his inner thigh, close to his growing erection, and she playfully squeezed his ass with her legs, making him wish he was facing the other way and buck naked. This woman would be the death of them both, but if he got her back to her place and got her to mount his other rocket, the sex just might be worth the risk of bodily harm now. He’d give her a lift-off worthy of a Space Shuttle launch and all the media coverage that came with.
By the time they pulled into the only strip mall in Comus, where four businesses lay in a row, with parking out front, his visor had begun to fog up. His passenger pointed at a shop that said “Pilates” above it, and he smiled to himself as they parked before it, hoping she was an instructor. Flexibility in a woman was a good thing.
Looking for an excuse to get inside, he asked, “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure,” she said, turning toward the door and pulling her helmet off with her back to him. A tumble of silken brown hair fell out over her leather-covered back. She unlocked the door and went in without looking at him. He followed, fumbling with his helmet strap, finally getting the whole thing off just as she turned to face him. He barely saw her face before she slapped him.
“You bastard!” she screamed. “Get out!”
The color drained from Tristan’s face before anger brought it back in a flash. Then he got a good look at her and his mouth fell open.
“Victoria?”
Chapter 2 – An Old Flame
Victoria Lane’s hand stung from the force of the blow she’d laid on Tristan, and in truth any sort of violence was quite unlike her, but as much as her hand hurt, she felt grim satisfaction. The slap wouldn’t fix the hole he’d left in her heart, but it was a start. Maybe if she hit him a few more times… The thought amused her, and part of her wanted to hurt him in revenge, but that wasn’t really her thing. She’d just felt overcome with outrage and humiliation on realizing she’d been hitting on the man who’d broken her heart.
She’d already gone into the nearest room and slammed the door. Now she leaned on the table, gripping it hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She heard the front door close and sighed in relief, though with a little disappointment; it hadn’t taken much to make him leave. That was exactly what she feared, too, letting him back into her life only to see him go again.
“It’s just as well,” she muttered to herself.
She yanked down the zipper of her one-piece riding suit, almost angrily pulling it off her shoulders so that only her thin white T-shirt remained on top, clinging to her breasts from sweat. She wasn’t wearing a bra, as the suit offered plenty of support. Another few tugs and the suit came down around her firm legs, revealing a pink thong. She stood still a moment, cooling down but not eager to pull off the riding boots. They were never easy to remove.
“My God, you’re a more amazing sight than I remember.”
Victoria stiffened at Tristan’s voice behind her. He’d somehow opened the door without her hearing it.
“Don’t get used to it,” she snapped, reaching for a button-up shirt. It barely covered her shapely ass, but it was another layer between them. Tristan’s bulging eyes—and bulging cock—pleased and irritated her. Conflicting desires made her pull the shirt on but only partially button it. She glared at him, noting he’d taken off his jacket as if intending to stay.
“I like seeing you with your pants around your ankles,” Tristan said huskily, green eyes afire.
She flushed and buttoned the shirt a bit more. “If you were a gentleman instead of a pig, you’d offer to help me out of my boots.”
His eyes locked with hers, that damnable smirk in them mixing with passion. “Anything to get my hands on you.”
She pursed her lips, annoyed to have walked into that one, but there was no backing down now. He slipped both hands under the shirt at her waist, his fingers seeming almost to burn her with their touch. Her nipples hardened, pushing against the white cotton of her undershirt. She sucked in a breath as he lifted her onto the table behind her as if she weighed nothing, the cool wood against her butt at odds with the heat between her thighs.
Then he got down on one knee. A flush of emotion went over her at the sight. He was supposed to have proposed to her one day, the bastard. How dare he get into that position now? She felt nauseated as her heart lurched from the dead stop it had been at for years straight into higher RPMs than she was able to handle. She was going to end up like the bike she’d wrecked if she didn’t watch out.
“When did you start to ride?” Tristan asked, gripping her ankle firmly. One hand toyed with the boot zipper as he gazed up at her through the blonde locks falling over his eyes. He used to look up at her like that while licking her pussy, which reacted to him now with a burst of wetness.
“A year ago,” she admitted through clenched teeth, keeping her knees closed so he didn’t see the growing wet spot on her panties.
“What changed? I couldn’t get you on mine back in the day. You wouldn’t even watch me race.” He slid the first boot off slowly and deliberately, just like he used to before making love to her.
“I’ve done a lot of growing up since then.”
“You certainly have,” he said. His hot gaze made her pulse race. She remembered that look from when he was about to ravage her. “What caused the change?”
She sighed heavily to control her breathing better, but she wouldn’t tell him the truth. She just sat there drinking in the sight of him and silently cursing herself for wanting more of it.
“It wasn’t a man, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said quietly, afraid that if she spoke louder her voice would tremble.
“Good. I wouldn’t want another man touching what’s mine.”
She flushed. “I’m not yours, Tristan.”
“You were.”
“Were. You could’ve had me forever but you walked out, remember?” She straightened then, to press her full breasts and her hard nip
ples against the shirt so he could see exactly what he’d been missing.
“Yeah, I remember. I’ve regretted it every day of my life.” He slipped her sock off, gently caressing her toes because he knew she liked that, and when he sucked on them. The toenails were hot pink like her panties, which drew his eyes up from her feet again and again. He moved her leg away from the other as if by accident. He murmured, “When did you get back in town? No one told me when I asked about you.”
Her heart leapt at the revelation that he’d checked up on her. “A few months ago. If I’d known you’d be here, I never would’ve come back.”
He winced at that and she felt a pang of regret mixed with pleasure. So she could hurt him. That was a good start, but that’s not what she really wanted to do to him. Well, not really. S&M had never been her thing but there was no reason she couldn’t hurt him a little while fucking his brains out. At times they’d done it so hard it had indeed hurt. She’d never known an orgasm could be so pleasurable as to be painful. It wasn’t the only thing Tristan had taught her about her body. And no one had ever compared to him, not that she’d let anyone really try. He’d ruined her for other men. It was one reason she’d spent five years cursing his name and imagining smacking him.
His cheek was still red from her slap, and she frowned, wanting to kiss the wound, which made her want to slap him again.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Tristan began, pulling off the other boot and sock. Then he leaned forward and kissed her thigh with such sweet sincerity that she shuddered in pleasure. “I was a stupid kid and didn’t know what I had in you. If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that I was a fool to leave you.”
“Yes, you were,” she whispered, feeling lightheaded. Her heart lurched with hope and fear.
He pulled the body suit off her ankles, then resumed kissing her thighs and gently spreading her legs bit by bit. Instead of working his way up, he went down, and she knew her toes would end up in his mouth any second if she didn’t stop him. It took all her strength to pull both feet up to the edge of the table, knees up to her chest, legs tight together, as if to deny him this. She realized too late that she’d now practically presented her toes to him, for they were right where his lips had just been. He leaned forward and kissed them. She inadvertently flexed her toes in reaction to the caress, so that he could slip his tongue in between them, and he obliged, his tongue flicking in, around, and under before his mouth closed over several toes. He began to suck as she gasped.
Tristan (The Kendall Family #1) Page 1
