Trystan backed up a step. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you to it.”
Royce snapped his fingers for his dog to follow, then glanced over his shoulder at Trystan. “How do you handle being here, away from your ranch?”
Trystan rubbed the back of his neck. “I keep track of the days until I’m home again.”
Not a reassuring answer. Nodding, Royce started toward the pantry, only to find teenage Aiden Steele raiding the shelves. “Want something?”
“No, thanks, I’m good.” Shoulders braced, Royce redirected his path, aiming for the doors leading outside. He needed to get his head on straight and hunker down, keeping his priorities in order. Naomi and the babies.
He couldn’t think too much about how what he needed and what she needed seemed to be so different. Could he find peace with her? Could they really get along?
Could he fulfill his calling to save lives with his profession if he didn’t have the space to work?
He did find quiet late at night, watching her sleep, his hand resting on her stomach to feel the babies kick. In those moments he could envision the future, hiking with the kids, taking sleigh rides, viewing the northern lights and teaching them about constellations.
Pushing open the French doors leading to the side yard, he drew in the fresh air. A warm breeze swept in off the water, carrying the sound of a cluster of Steele and Mikkelson men gathered on the dock, casting fishing lines. Their back and forth banter likely scaring away any fish. He pivoted away, eyeing the lengthy garage that held his truck.
Only a few more months until they could all return to the cabin.
* * *
So far, the evening was going exactly as planned. No media. No prying public. Just the two of them plus the faithful Paige at a secluded coastal restaurant, located on their flight route back to Anchorage. His plane and pilot’s license were a must for his pioneer spirit, affording him the opportunity to explore his vast—and sometimes unnavigable—state.
Yes, he was trying to show Isabeau the wonders of Alaska. She lived here, but he was aware this wasn’t home for her.
And he was very aware that with every passing day, the chances increased that she was pregnant. It had been nearly three weeks since their impulsive hookup at his sister’s wedding. As much as he wanted to ask Isabeau, he also knew that the longer the issue was unsettled, the more time he would have to persuade her to give them a chance to see where this attraction could lead.
He’d planned the evening to the last detail. And while he hadn’t called his sister Alayna this time, she had inadvertently given him the idea to come here to Anastasia’s by the Sound, with Russian-style food that they’d enjoyed growing up.
Gold gilded archways, deep walnut wainscoting, cream walls and linens accented with touches of scarlet in the artwork and napkins. The vibe here was elegant, like his dinner companion. Heavy gold candelabras graced each table, the white tapers flickering gently. Anastasia’s pulled no punches on lush, romantic atmosphere and he hoped Isabeau would enjoy it.
They’d dined on smoked salmon, caramelized onion soup, lamb kebobs and coarse black bread. The conversation had been easy between them, carrying them to dessert before he realized two hours had passed. He’d forgone wine, unable to forget the possibility she was pregnant. They drank decaffeinated tea with citrus and vanilla and spices, along with a dessert of apple sharlotka—a mix of tart and cake.
But all the more enticing than any dessert?
Isabeau straightened across from him, the thin shoulder straps of her deep blue gown clinging to her curves. She wore a simple diamond necklace that caught in the muted light. Her pink lips parted in an easy, relaxed smile. Half driving him crazy as he imagined kissing her again, wrapping his arms around her while his fingers destroyed her loose curled updo.
How long had it been since he’d touched her the way he wanted to? Memories from the boathouse taunted him nightly.
Swallowing, he adjusted his body, feeling contained by the suit coat and tie. But it was worth it, if Isabeau was happy.
Her face was blissful as she tipped her ear toward the violinist playing the the famous song from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Trystan winged a mental thanks to his mother that he recognized the tune.
Isabeau set her teacup down, candlelight reflected in her eyes and made her diamond pendant glitter. “Well, you absolutely did surprise me.”
“What did you expect?”
“More local flavor, upscale sure, but somewhere with an Alaskan flair.”
Sipping his water, he shrugged. “My parents liked to travel. My sister Alayna was a huge fan of Russian food—which astounded us all because she was such a picky eater. Anyhow, that reminded me of this place where my family used to go when Dad was sick of her eating nuggets and pizza.”
“Russian food. Go figure.” She arched an eyebrow, her smile making him hunger for a taste of her lips.
“Well, it’s closer than Moscow, plus the routes are crazy and then there’s customs to deal with. Another time, perhaps. For now, this felt more...unexpected. You deserve to be romanced.” He toyed with her fingers across the table, her pale pink nails and small silver rings feminine touches he appreciated.
“Impromptu travel usually makes me anxious, but you pulled this together so smoothly I’m completely relaxed.” Paige snoozed under the table, a testament to the lack of need to keep watch for stress.
“Why would you say that about impromptu travel making you nervous?”
“I’m a planner. Knowing what’s coming next soothes me.” Isabeau drew absent circles on the tablecloth with her finger. “And I guess I thought you were a planner too. You strike me as a person who likes to stay on his ranch, even our trip to Juneau was familiar ground for you. That’s the whole reason I was hired—because you don’t like stepping outside your comfort zone.”
“That’s work. This is a date. Social is different from business.”
“Hmm, interesting perspective. So you are a world traveler after all, like your family.”
“Like them, but on my terms. There are so many places I would enjoy showing you. Denali National Park here in Alaska and viewing Swan Lake in London. Maybe even a trip to Moscow for authentic Russian food.” He reached across the table and clasped her hand.
“Our time working together is coming to a close. The fund-raiser is coming up this weekend.”
“I’m fully aware.” The clock was ticking faster than the violin speeding through Tchaikovsky.
“And the following weekend is your mother’s wedding.”
“I’m very aware of that.” Truth be told, his mother’s marriage to someone who’d been their family’s business nemesis still unsettled him. But, then, who was he to judge convoluted relationships? “It doesn’t have to end there with us.”
He stroked his thumb along the inside of her wrist, just over her speeding pulse.
“Whoa, Trystan,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. “This is a date. Can we simply enjoy the moment and not discuss the future—other than preparing for the events?”
“Can do.” He lifted their clasped hands and kissed her knuckles, savoring her creamy soft skin. Then he raised his cup of spiced tea. “A toast. To your beauty, your charm and your compassion.”
She relaxed back into her chair. Lifting her teacup, she clinked it lightly against his, then sipped. She eyed him over the rim of the fine china, her eyes...seductive. “Do we have a hotel for the night?”
His heart rate kicked up a notch to match hers, desire throbbing through his veins. “We can, if that’s what you want?”
She smiled, slowly, deliberately. “I do, very much.”
* * *
She was going to do this.
No backing down.
Isabeau intended to take every ounce of pleasure from this evening with Trystan that she could. She would store away the sensations
and the memories for the future. She’d been through too many difficult times—had battled for her health and her independence—to turn her back on a chance to indulge herself with a man like Trystan. A man so thoughtful of her needs and desires.
Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.
Anticipation tingled through Isabeau every step of the way back to the five-star hotel on the rocky beach, waves crashing with romantic intensity. The golden elevator deposited them onto their floor, Trystan’s arm around her waist, her head tucked against his shoulder. Her dog kept a step behind, seeming to sense this was a moment of privacy, that she wasn’t needed.
His hand on the small of her back, Trystan maneuvered Isabeau deeper into the hotel room drenched in sultry hues. When she’d mentioned spending the night together, he seemed to pull a reservation out of thin air, taking her to a world-class hotel near the restaurant with the same decor. An overstuffed king bed heavy with crimson, yellow and deep blue throw pillows commanded the attention of the room. Bay windows caught the twinkle of the starlight above the water, deepening the romantic atmosphere.
She unclicked Paige’s leash and took off her vest, giving her the command releasing her from work. “Free play.” Paige trotted away, sniffing around the room.
Trystan’s fingers slid from hers as he made his way to the dark wooden side table where an ornately carved incense holder was placed beneath a table lamp. He ignited a match from the nearby pack, the flame crackling as it took to the incense. Sandalwood flooded the room. He turned back around, an inviting look playing on his lips.
She reveled in sensation after resisting temptation for what felt like an eternity. Could it only have been three weeks since that night in the boathouse that had never been far from her mind? It seemed longer. Her body ached with wanting him.
She drew in bracing breaths to regain control, looking around the suite as he adjusted the heavy brocade curtains and placed his suit coat over a chair. He turned back to her, his eyes holding hers with a seriousness that touched her soul. He held out his arms.
And without another thought, she stepped into his embrace.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers curling into the warm starched cotton of his button-down shirt. “You said you wanted to linger, and that sounds quite...delicious.”
She’d seen the stress on Naomi and Royce’s relationship due to rushing things. She didn’t want to face those same problems down the road if she and Trystan became...more. Better to really know one another.
“I like a woman who speaks her mind.”
“Good, because communication is my thing.”
“When I said I wanted to linger, that didn’t exclude going fast, because we can follow with slow, and then slower.”
“You’re promising a lot.”
“I look forward to hearing if you think I delivered.”
“You’re okay with my sharing my opinion? You’re not...threatened by that?”
“I’m confident. And if something doesn’t work for you, I will enjoy trying again and again to get it right.” He dipped a kiss along her neck, the barest brush of his lips over her skin.
Tendrils of pleasure curled down her spine.
She shivered in anticipation. “That flows both ways. What do you want?”
His eyes lit with passion as he pulled her closer. “To watch you find pleasure. More than once.”
Her breath caught. Not just at the sensual promise. But that he wanted pleasure for her. That he could put her first even now when they’d both held back for so long.
Her fingernails curled against the fabric of his shirt. “Considering how long we’ve been waiting and wanting, I don’t think that will take long.”
She hummed with sensation and they hadn’t even peeled off their clothes yet. His touch was bound to send her reeling.
“Then, if I can add to my list of wants, seeing you naked ranks right up there.” He kissed her temple, breathing the words lightly against her ear.
“Well that’s easy enough to accommodate.” She stepped back, keeping their hands linked.
“I want to help with removing your clothes.” He tugged her gently.
She slipped her hands free and shook a finger at him. “I think my list of preferences tonight is that I watch your eyes...” she slid a thin shoulder strap of her dress down, revealing a strapless bra “...as you see me.”
She shrugged the other shoulder free and shimmied the dress to pool around her feet, the satiny fabric whispered along her heated skin and made her all the hungrier for his touch.
His expression was ample reward and aroused her as much as she could see that she’d stirred him. His light blue eyes darkened to an indigo flame, the hottest gaze. It flicked over her, searing her with need. How had she denied herself—and him—this long?
He tugged at his necktie, making fast work of loosening the knot and pulling it off. He started on the shirt buttons and she sauntered forward, brushing his hands aside, freeing the buttons one at a time, her fingertips savoring the soft cotton of his undershirt.
Not that he was passive. He unfastened his belt buckle. She tugged his shirttails free and flattened her hands underneath, splaying her fingers along the heat of his skin. He was as deliciously muscled as she remembered, the planes and ridges of his body creating contours she longed to explore with her hands and lips.
Their hurried encounter in the boathouse had been so shadowy—intense—but without the time to get to know each other’s bodies. He was right, they deserved to linger.
The word “linger” hummed through her mind and along her sensitized nerves.
His calloused fingers rasped over her skin to her back, unhooking her satin bra. A hiss of appreciation slid between his teeth a second before his hands slid away her bra and cupped the weight of her breasts.
Her reaction was immediate and intense, tingling tightness spreading throughout her. She told herself the feeling had nothing to do with pregnancy hormones. She was probably just late. Brushing aside the thought as quickly as it feathered through her brain, she refused to let it distract her from this moment she so desperately wanted to experience.
Then his mouth was on hers as they backed toward the bed until her knees bumped the mattress. They fell in a tangle of arms and legs and passion. The night was everything she’d fantasized it could be...and more.
The last of their clothing was swept away and sent sailing to the floor as they touched and tasted, exploring every inch of each other. Learning the plains and valleys of each other’s bodies in the warm glow of the lamplight.
When her body reached a fever pitch, she whispered her need to him, urging him on. Trystan pulled a condom from his wallet and neither of them spoke.
He sheathed himself and stretched over her, propping up on his elbows to hold his full weight off her. She slid her heels up his legs, hooking her feet around his waist and pulling him closer, deeper, and... She lost track of her thoughts as he moved inside her. His fingers in her hair. His chest brushing against her breasts with each synched move of their bodies, which were fast becoming sweat slicked and flushed with rising tension.
Nipping his bottom lip and nudging his shoulder, she whispered her wish to be on top and he quickly accommodated, taking advantage of the opportunity to touch her more expansively. Then his hand drifted lower, lower still, to the core of her need, tempting and teasing her until her head flung back, her hair skimming her spine as—yes—she couldn’t hold back any longer.
Her orgasm splintered in an explosion of sensation, a moan escaping her lips. Trystan rolled her again to her back and with a deep thrust, his hoarse cry of completion joined her sighs.
Bliss melted over her in the afterglow as they held each other wordlessly. As the passion cooled from her body, she listened to Trystan’s rhythmic breathing beside her as he drifted off to sleep, holding her against him.
The warmth of his body and the softness of the sheets sent a chill up her spine as worry paced in her heart. Gazing across the dark room to the window, she focused on the stars. The roll of waves against the shore.
Rather than being a simple escape or offering answers, having sex with Trystan had complicated things for her.
Because she wanted more.
That shouldn’t have been a big deal. It wouldn’t have been if they’d simply met at a party, drawn to one another.
But the couples in their orbit reminded her too well of the problems they faced—a reclusive man, a woman who worked with those in the spotlight, the issues that came with children, and that didn’t even scratch the surface of his convoluted feelings about family and her own anxiety over her father and stalker ex-boyfriend.
None of which she could change. She only had control over one issue and she couldn’t hide from that any longer. Seeing Naomi’s scare with gestational diabetes weighed on Isabeau. She couldn’t ignore her late period any longer, especially not with health concerns of her own.
Once they returned to Anchorage, she would need to see a doctor to check on her diabetes—and find out definitively if she was pregnant.
Ten
Popping a smoked salmon canapé into his mouth at the Wilderness Preservation Initiative Fund-raiser, Trystan nodded as a gray-haired senator rambled on and on and on. Rather than focusing on the fusion of dill, smoked salmon and rye bread, he feigned interest, eyes widening at the appropriate moments. Ever so briefly, he let his gaze slide over the senator’s sagging shoulder to Isabeau, watching her work the room with ease.
Listening well often passed as good conversation as far as the babbler was concerned. So Trystan ate and made all the right noises to keep the senator talking.
Chatting up the senator would increase the program’s success, which was the purpose of tonight. And after the faux pas with the almost oil spill, making sure this initiative gained traction was essential to the company.
The Love Child Page 12
