Crash Into Me

by K. M. Scott

  "Nina, you've got it all wrong. She's not there to have sex with or even to date. She's there to act."

  "Act? What do you mean, act?" I asked, completely baffled.

  "Janelle is an actress who's an employee of mine. My company compensates her to appear at functions like the charity event and act like my girlfriend. There are about half a dozen who I pay very well to pretend I'm with them. Their entire job is to be at my beck and call so I don't have to attend those things alone. I can't imagine it's that bad a job, especially since I pay them handsomely."

  I sat down on the chair nearby and struggled to process what he was saying. Who hired people to act like their dates? Jordan was right. Wealthy people did hire people to do their work for them.

  "Why not just have a real girlfriend and take her? Is it because I'm not stunning like them?" I hadn't meant to sound so pathetic, but the words had come out far sadder than intended.

  He knelt down in front of me and took my hands in his. "I don't take real girlfriends to those things because the press is always there and I learned my lesson a long time ago. It doesn't take long before having to be in front of cameras all the time takes its toll on a relationship. The board of directors likes me to present a successful image, and to them that means having a woman on my arm at all official events."

  "Oh. So they aren't even ex-girlfriends?"

  Smiling, he said, "No. Just actresses who agree to act like my girlfriends for a lot of money." He leaned forward and kissed me softly on the lips before he whispered, "You are stunning, Nina. And unlike those women, I want to be with you."

  I couldn't stop the smile that broke out on my face. His words made me want to beam with happiness. "I don't know if you know this, but it's pretty obvious you don't want to be with them in all the pictures. You look like a really miserable boyfriend to those women. I'm not sure anyone's believing that you really like them."

  "Maybe I should look happier? I could pretend better, I guess," he said with fake sincerity.

  "No, no. You're doing a great job. Leave the acting up to the professionals," I joked.

  He kissed me again, making my stomach do flips as his tongue slid across my lower lip. "I couldn't pretend to like them more than I do anyway."

  "I think I feel bad for them now, Tristan. I know what it's like to work for you. To not even get a smile would make the job awful."

  Looking up at me with his soulful eyes, he said, "I save my smiles for you. I hope what I've ordered for dinner means you'll give me one. It's roast beef, one of your favorites, if I'm not mistaken."

  "It is, but you know that."

  "Of course. Let's eat and then see what Dallas has to offer," he said as he stood and we walked toward the table.

  "I've never been here, so I'm a newbie in the Lone Star state," I joked, trying to sound clever.

  "Hmm, a virgin. I promise I'll go easy."

  I sat down across from him and giggled. "Was that a joke?"

  He leveled his gaze on me, looking sexier than a man ever should. "It happens sometimes."

  As I reached for a piece of roast beef, I said, "I like it."

  Tristan licked his lips and grinned at me. "I'll keep that in mind."

  We visited Fountain Place, a beautiful park with lit fountains and pathways where we walked and talked about the gold rooms and what I thought might work to take the focus off the overwhelming use of the color. Tristan listened to each idea as if he were truly interested, but I had the sense that I could have been talking about any topic and he'd have been happy. Just as when we'd gone for the ride in his car that first night, I had the feeling he simply wanted company.

  He stopped and sat on one of the benches near one of the streams, holding his hand out for me to join him. As we watched the water slowly move by and the fountains leap in the air, he put his arm around me and I leaned against him. It was a very common gesture but strangely unique between us. For as long as we sat there, I felt like we were moving toward something familiar I could relate to.

  When we returned from our walk, he left to attend to some business calls that had come in while we were enjoying our time together. I sat on the sofa in the living room and stared at the gold all around me, mulling over my ideas for how to fix his art problem. Slowly, my mind drifted to the sleeping arrangements and the two bedrooms in the suite.

  Should I go back to the way it had been before, now that I knew he wasn't spending his time with other women at those events? Maybe it was better if we kept sex out of our relationship for a while since it only seemed to muddy the waters between us.

  I closed my eyes and thought about Tristan in his tux kneeling in front of me. Who was I kidding? My physical attraction to him had been so intertwined with what I felt for him from the moment I'd first seen him that the mere thought of denying how he affected me was laughable.

  The man himself came back and interrupted my deep thoughts about not having sex with him, and I quickly knew it was not going to happen. He sat down next to me and leaned back against the sofa. Loosening his bow tie, he let the two ends hang around his neck and undid his top button.

  Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Is it ever possible to atone for the sins of the past?"

  I watched his mouth turn down in a scowl that marred his handsome face and wondered what his statement referred to. It sounded far too serious to be about the misunderstanding between the two of us, but I didn't feel comfortable asking any questions.

  Reaching out, I lightly ran my fingertips over his closely cut brown hair, loving its softness against my skin. Seeing him like this bothered me, made me want to fix whatever was wrong, but he kept it inside him, locked away from where I could reach it.

  His eyes still closed, he pulled me onto his lap and held me close. We sat together, our bodies pressed against one another, without saying a thing. It wasn't sexual but simple closeness. It was sweet solitude, and I wanted to believe for those moments I was able to give him some respite from what troubled him. When he finally spoke again, any trace of what had bothered him was gone, and he was the Tristan who could seduce me with just a few words or a glance from those beautiful eyes.

  Cradling my face in his hands, he said in a voice full of emotion, "Nina, I want you in my bed tonight and every night. I don't know if things should be moving so fast or where we'll be in the future, but I don't want to spend another night without you."

  I stared into his eyes and saw that flicker of apprehension I'd seen before. Did he actually fear that I'd deny him what I so desperately wanted myself?

  I kissed his lips tenderly and sensed his desire grow inside him as he responded to my unspoken answer to be his with a kiss so passionate it nearly took my breath away. Pulling my body to his, he moaned into my mouth a sound so full of need that it sent an ache to the deepest part of me. I wanted to be the one to fulfill that need.

  I tilted my hips into his body, and I was sure he knew how excited he got me, but I didn't care. This was who I was and I wanted him to accept me like I'd accepted him. He slid his finger under the cotton fabric and through my drenched slit, making my breath hitch.

  "You're so wet," he groaned next to my ear. "I love how fucking wet you get when I touch you."

  I tried to ignore his use of the word love again in relation to yet another thing I did, but I couldn't. I hung on every syllable he uttered, thrilled by the words he strung together as he stroked my tender flesh. The deep sound of them as he told me that he loved something about me only excited me more.

  His mouth plundered mine, his tongue snaking in and out as he flicked the tip against my lips. I clung to him, my fingernails scraping across his neck as he inched me toward that feeling my body begged for. He knew what he did to me, and I loved it. He was power and control and expertly used them both to make me want him more than I'd ever wanted anyone else.

  Sliding one finger and then another into me, he rubbed his fingertips over that one spot deep inside that sent my body into overdrive. I rocked back and forth on his h
and, riding it as I desperately searched for relief from the need he created in me.

  A vibrating sound jarred me from my ecstasy, and he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, never stopping his fingers' movement inside me. A quick look and then he set the phone on the table beside him, still focused on me.

  "Do you need to get that?" I half-heartedly asked as I continued to ride those incredible fingers.

  His dark gaze fixed on me and he shook his head. "That can wait. I want to see you get off first. Let yourself go, Nina."

  I loved when he talked like that, his voice deep and husky telling me he wanted to give me pleasure. Spreading my legs wider, I rubbed my pussy against the heel of his hand, sending waves of bliss rocketing through me. He thrust hard into me, inching me closer and closer to orgasm, and I moaned at the feel of the first delicious contraction of my body around his fingers.

  Tristan cradled the back of my head with his other hand, forcing me to meet his stare as I began to come. I wanted to close my eyes, afraid of what I looked like as he took me over that edge, but he sternly ordered me to keep them open.

  "Look at me, Nina. I want to watch you come from just my fingers inside you. Don't look away, baby."

  My orgasm roared through me and I stared into those gorgeous eyes completely focused on me and my happiness. He watched my every movement, whispering sexy little things as my release rolled on and on.

  When my body finally finished and only tiny quakes continued to flutter through me, I collapsed on top of him, panting and weak. In my ear, he whispered, "I love watching you come. I want to see that again when my cock is deep inside you. Choose one of the bedrooms and wait for me. I'll be right back."

  Pouting at his leaving, I moaned, "Don't go. Whatever it is, it can't be that important at this time of night."

  "I promise I won't be long. And when I get back, I want to see that sexy look in your eyes again."

  I slid off his lap onto the sofa and watched as he took his phone and left the suite. Frustrated, I trudged off to the closest bedroom and flopped down on the bed. I'd barely slipped out of my dress and he was back standing in the doorway grinning at me as I lay there in just my panties and bra.

  "That was fast," I said with a smile, thankful that he'd gotten rid of whoever had called him so quickly.

  He slipped out of his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he circled the bed like an animal stalking his prey. "I had to take that. Some things can't be handled by anyone else." He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and leaned down to kiss my lips. "Like what I'm about to do."

  "More work?" I asked with a smile.

  He climbed onto the bed and pulled me to him. "No more work. Just pleasure."

  "Mmmm, I like that," I cooed as he kissed my neck, his tongue gliding gently over my skin and sending shivers over my body as we began to make love.

  We laid there in each other's arms, and I looked up at him to see him staring vacantly off in the distance. "Hey, you look like you're a million miles away."

  "Not that far. You're there too," he said quietly, but his eyes still looked so far away from our bed.

  Running my finger over his tattoo, I traced the intricate design across his chest and over his shoulder, feeling a raised scar just above his heart. I'd never seen it before, but now it was as obvious as the tattoo.

  "What's this from, Tristan?"

  He looked down at where my finger touched and frowned. "That's where a piece of metal went through me."

  "That close to your heart? What happened?" I asked, horrified at the thought that anything had come so close to killing him.

  "I was in a plane crash with my brother and parents. I was impaled by a metal rod which pinned me to the seat. The doctors said it missed my heart and everything else by millimeters."

  His voice was full of sadness, and I squeezed him tightly to me. I was afraid to hear any more, but he continued. "I sat in that seat, unable to move, as my family died around me. My twin brother was sitting behind me and was stabbed by the metal rod, but it hit him right in the heart."

  "Oh, Tristan. I'm so sorry."

  My words felt so inadequate, but he wasn't listening to them. He continued to talk, his voice low and sad. "My mother died instantly, thank God, but I watched as my father lingered in agony, crying out for someone to help us. I couldn't speak, couldn't let him know that I was still there right behind him so he wasn't alone. I don't know how long he lived, but by the time the crews arrived, he was gone too. I didn't know about Taylor until they finally got me out and days later told me the metal rod that had somehow missed my heart had found his."

  "When was this?" I asked, thinking about that portrait of a happy family sitting in a dark trunk in the attic.

  "It will be four years this December. That's how I ended up as the CEO of Stone Worldwide. I never wanted to be that. That was Taylor's dream. He wanted to take over when my father retired. He'd groomed him since high school. Remember when I told you I attended Wharton? So did my brother, except he graduated. He'd just finished his MBA when the accident happened."

  His story broke my heart. I understood all too well what it felt like to lose someone you loved. My mother had died when I was just a little girl, and my father had been murdered just around the time Tristan's family had died. To watch them in agony and not be able to do anything to save them was more than I'd be able to stand.

  Tears filled my eyes at the thought of him sitting there, helpless to save the people he loved, injured, and not knowing if he too was going to die. Gently stroking his cheek, I kissed him, wanting to take away the pain he held inside. "I had no idea, Tristan. I'm sorry."

  He shrugged and pressed a smile onto his lips. "So I'm all alone, I guess."

  I cradled his face in my hands, looking into his sad eyes. "You're never alone. I'm here, and the ones we love never really leave us. As long as they stay in our hearts, they're with us."

  His smile softened. "That sounds like something my mother would say. My father and brother would never think that way."

  "Are you more like your mother?" I asked, curious about the beautiful woman with the hint of sadness in her face I'd seen in that portrait.

  He closed his eyes. "I don't know. I never felt like I was like my father or brother, so if I was like anyone it was my mother."

  "I never really got to know my mother. She died when I was five, and from then on, it was just my father, my sister, and me."

  Tristan's opened his eyes and turned to me, pushing my hair off my face to kiss my cheek. "I'm sorry about your mother. I guess I was lucky to have twenty-five years with mine."

  "I lost my father right around the time you lost yours. Someone gunned him down one night while he was working on his latest exposé of some industrial problem or something. I don't remember. All I know is that one night he was gone, and I felt like I was alone. But then I remembered that he told me when my mother died that the people we love never leave us as long as we keep loving them. It's hard, but I think he was right. It's four years next month, but he's still with me."

  Pulling me closer to him, Tristan's body tensed. "I'm sorry, Nina. I guess we've both seen a lot."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "So what do you think?" I asked nervously as Tristan stood next to me, his arms folded.

  His face was expressionless, something I suspected was intentional, even though the twinkle in his eye made me believe he liked my choices for the Presidential Suite. The series of prints showing hand painted blue and white vases was simple, but just the thumbnails on my laptop screen gave the overly golden room an entirely different and more pleasant feeling.

  I knew I was feeling pleased with my choices. Now it was just up to Tristan to give them his seal of approval.

  His silence was unnerving, though. While I didn't mind standing there staring at him, I could think of better things to do that involved the two of us together.

  "Well?" I asked again, hoping to egg him on.

  Tristan turned toward
me and smiled. "I don't think so. I'm not in favor of these."

  Everything in my body sagged for a moment before my brain clicked into defensive mode. What did he mean he wasn't in favor of them? "What's wrong with them?"

  He tilted his head as he looked at the pictures again. "They don't work for the feeling of the place."

  "You mean the gold feeling?" I asked sarcastically.

  A slow smile spread on his lips as he straightened his head and looked over at me. "I like the colors, but the images aren't right. You'll have to try again."

  "Hmmmph."

  "What was that you said?" he asked, obviously teasing me.

  I stuck my tongue out and pouted. "Nothing. I have work to do. Art doesn't just happen you know, Mr. Stone. When I'm ready, I'll request your approval again."

  He flashed me that warm and sexy smile that made me think about him on top of me in bed. "Thank you, Ms. Edwards. When you need me, I'll be in the other room. Dinner is at five."

  Grabbing my laptop off the desk, I turned and walked toward the end of the suite as I yelled back, "I'll be hungry by then, so I can see me showing up, Mr. Stone."

  I didn't look back to see his expression at my comment because it was too hard to keep my hands off him when he looked so good. How anyone could make a pair of black pants, brown dress shirt and a tie look so incredible was beyond me. Suddenly, an idea jumped into my mind. Who picked them out?

  My curiosity quickly took up every inch of my mind, and I returned to the outer room to find him standing and reading the newspaper. "Tristan, do you buy your own clothes?"

  He looked up from the Wall Street Journal and raised his eyebrows. "No."

  "Oh." That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. Now I had a vision of one of his actresses trolling upscale men's stores picking out his wardrobe with loving care. Or worse, one of them picking out his clothes and then calling him like Tristan had called me in the dressing room. I was nothing if not ordinary when it came to the green-eyed monster.

  "I have a personal shopper handle that. His name is Angelo. Is there something you want me to tell him for the next time he does my shopping?"