by L. B. Dunbar
“Not the order, but the initiate. He wouldn’t have been too young for an initiation ritual. The gang was the Dragons, and he took it over in time. He took over the original territory and absorbed members, offing defectors. He took their name. That’s why he’s Marshall Dragon.”
I stared at Tristan. Could fate be any crueler? I reached for him again, but he pulled back. I didn’t know how to comfort him. A long moment passed between us in silence.
“I need to call my mother and make arrangements to go to New York,” I said, silently feeling resolved that Tristan no longer wanted anything to do with me.
“I’ll take you, I said. I can call Kaye tonight and arrange the private jet for you. For us.”
“Thank you,” I paused, sadness filling my heart. “As I said, I won’t be mentioning our indiscretion to my parents. I’ll just tell them I wasn’t here until recently, and we were only here a short time together.”
“Indiscretion?” he spit. “They won’t believe you. If they’ve seen the picture that Marshall saw in that magazine, they’ll know it was you, and you’ve been here for over a week.”
“Was that it?” I questioned. “A photo in a gossip rag? How? Where?”
“I’m assuming it was that woman on the catamaran. She took a photo of us when we were fighting. Rather, I was fighting with you because I was jealous of the men at the bar. Your back is to the camera, but it’s a full on shot of me holding your arm, and it looks like you’re pressed against me. There’s no knowing it’s you, unless your body is recognized like Marshall said.” Shivering at the mention of Marshall recognizing my body, Tristan noticed my tremble.
“I thought it was you.”
“Me what?”
“I thought maybe you called my mother and she sent Marshall to get me, but it didn’t make sense when you attacked him. Where you really jealous of those guys on the catamaran?”
“Yes,” he said, running a hand down his face. “How could you think I’d call your mom?”
I shrugged my shoulder again.
“Do you really think what we have is an indiscretion?” he asked quietly. His eyes shifted downward, and his hands slipped into his shorts’ pockets, as he balanced on his knees in the soft cushions. He couldn’t stand to touch me, I thought.
“No,” I choked. “I think…I think…” I couldn’t tell him what I thought, that I loved him. I couldn’t tell him I was scared that he would love someone else, while I was trapped with Mark. That wasn’t fair.
“What, Ireland?”
“I think what we had was the most amazing time of my life. It will be something I hold onto for the rest of my life.” I sucked in air after I spoke, those words taking all my strength. I willed myself not to cry.
He finally reached over the couch and wrapped his arms around me, placing both hands flat on my back to press me against him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cradling the back of his head to hold him against me.
“Call your mom and tell her I’m bringing you home. Tell her you’re coming with me. We will deal with your uncle, your mom, and your fiancé. Nothing’s final yet. Come with me?”
I wanted to believe he wanted me for me, but my heart just couldn’t. He was willing to help me, but it wasn’t for me. It was for my impossible situation.
“I’ll go with you to New York.”
“You’re not agreeing with me,” he said softly.
“I don’t know what to do. I just know I need to go home. Now.”
He didn’t respond at first, just continued to hold me against him.
“Call your mom. I’ll call Kaye.”
He spoke those commands, but he didn’t let me go. He held on tighter.
Chapter 22
[Tristan]
Flight in hopes, lovers they’d be,
When I finally released her, I felt the loss of her immediately. The end was coming. We were both despondent. I worried that she was full of regret. I wandered into my bedroom to call Kaye, who answered on the third ring, despite the late hour. I simply explained that I was ready to return and needed a flight the next day. I casually added that I’d met someone, who would be coming with me. I assured Kaye that the girl was American and not someone I was trying to smuggle into the country.
“She’s different,” I said.
“Different? Like how? This sounds intriguing. Exotic. Illegal.”
“No, I mean, she’s different from all the rest. I…I really like her, and she needs my help.”
Kaye was silent for a moment. “She needs your help? That’s the worst kind of woman, just ask Perk,” Kaye replied, finally letting out a heavy breath of air.
I shook my head even though Kaye could not see me.
“This is different. Just order me the plane, and have it on standby for the late afternoon, early evening. We can stop in Texas for fuel, but we need to get to New York.”
Kaye said he’d call back in a few minutes and when he did, he laid out the flight plans. It would be a late afternoon flight, but I only focused on getting Ireland off the island and away from Marshall. I would tackle the issue of her mother, and then the fiancé, once we returned to New York.
I’d showered earlier to clean up the blood and to soothe my sore muscles. It had been a long time since I’d been in a fight. I’d been waiting for Ireland ever since she left and it had been hours. I’d had lots of time to think about my anger at Marshall Dragon and my desire to kill him: for calling Ireland names, for his involvement in my parent’s death, and his illegal dealings.
I was relieved that I hadn’t killed Marshall, though. For the briefest of seconds, I was comforted when Marshall only passed out. The possibility of his death caused by me was just unconceivable. I couldn’t imagine the misery of explaining self-defense and protective defense of Ireland, let alone the scandal it would add to the band’s currently faltering reputation.
I’d been paralyzed with panic when Ireland left me behind and followed her uncle in the ambulance. Despite her repulsion of her uncle, he was still family, and her parents felt sickeningly indebted to him. She would never have forgiven me if I did kill Marshall. I didn’t believe I had the power within me to take the life of another man. However, for a brief moment, I understood how men could kill and why.
I entered Ireland’s room without knocking. Her phone was thrown on her bed and I heard the shower running. I waited on the edge of her mattress, my head hung. She took a few extra minutes in the bathroom, after shutting off the shower, and entered the room, stopping suddenly when she saw me. She held the towel tight across her chest as if a shield against me, and I realized that I couldn’t let her go. Not like this.
“Did you call your mom?”
“Yeah. She was at a party, so I just told her I was coming home tomorrow. I told her I was in the Cayman Islands and Marshall just showed up. She seemed slightly sympathetic to his intrusion, but relieved that I was finally found and returning to her.”
“Are you relieved?”
“No.”
We were silent for a few minutes, until I finally stood and approached her. Her arm was over her chest, holding the towel in a death grip. I reached for that hand first, wedging mine over hers, allowing her to continue holding the towel in place.
“Please,” I sighed, “let me make love to you.” I wasn’t sure why I asked or where the words came from. I only knew I wasn’t ready to let her go. I needed to be close to her. I didn’t have words to explain all I felt. I just needed to feel her against me.
She must have been holding herself more tensely than I thought, because she visibly relaxed. Her hand loosened on the towel and I stepped toward her, closing the gap as I slipped the bath towel off of her. I removed my own t-shirt and embraced her. Standing there holding her, skin to skin, I realized I’d never be the same without her. I lied to Kaye. I didn’t just like her. I loved her. I wanted her in my life.
I leaned back and my hands slid into her wet hair, tugging her face to mine. I kissed her softly, knowing I would
take my time with each action. There was no devouring. It was a feast, served in courses, and made to be savored. I kissed her lips, sucking on them to take in the flavor, before moving to her jaw and nibbling on her neck. I licked a line to her shoulder and nipped that spot between her neck and shoulder that weakened her. Her knees buckled and I scooped her up like a bride. Once I placed her down on the comforter, I removed my shorts and climbed on the bed next to her.
I lavished each breast in turn, licking her peaked nipples before sucking one at a time into my mouth. I kissed a path between her breasts up to her collarbone, making my wish to keep her with me. Then I travelled down to her stomach. Kissing from side to side on her waist, I mapped her body, as I journeyed to the treasure between her legs. This would be my main course. I would savor her.
My mouth engulfed her heat and she bowed upward with her hips. I held her down on the bed, placing my hands on her hips, laving her with my tongue, I swirled around and inside, feeling her legs begin to vibrate and shake beside my head. Her hands softly stroked through my hair, and I spread her thighs wider as I worked her. She came with my name on her lips.
“Tristan, Tristan, Tristan,” her voice seduced me.
I crawled up to meet her mouth once she relaxed and slipped two fingers into her immediately. She was dripping with her own desire and the wetness of my mouth. My thumb strummed the spot outside of her, while fingers played within.
“Again,” I demanded softly against her lips without breaking the kiss. What I did with my fingers below, my tongue repeated above in her mouth. She whimpered before she clenched my fingers deep in her channel, letting out another litany of my name before her hands tugged at my hair. She sucked my tongue.
Pulling back to look at her, I immediately entered her. She cried out in pleasure as I filled her to the hilt before pulling back and thrusting forward again. I was slow, methodical, and the patience needed was torturous.
“Tristan,” her voice wanton begged. “Faster.”
“No,” I said.
“I can’t take it,” she whimpered.
“Yes, you can. Take it again,” I said, as I pulled back to the edge of her then slipped in slowly. She wrapped her legs around my waist, opening her wider to my tender assault. Her nails dragged gently down my back. She was trying to force me to increase the pace, but I refused. The build-up in me was almost painful, but I wasn’t letting go until she did around me. She placed her feet on the bed and tried to press up against me as I pressed down. I slipped one of her hands between us, dragging her fingers over herself. She kept her eyes on mine.
“Take it,” I said, removing my hand to continue to balance some of my weight off of her. I could feel her fingers tentatively searching between us as I pumped inside her. She closed her eyes.
“Look at me,” I said. “Me. This is us.”
A few more strokes and I nudged hers away. I strummed my thumb over her. Once. Twice. Three times. She came hard, holding my ass, forcing me to fill her. Her long legs tightened and wrapped around my own. Her pleasure brought mine. I felt the explosion come from my toes as I released like I never had before. I shuddered with the final pulse of my seed then exhaustedly collapsed over her.
“You are so gorgeous,” I breathed heavily into her neck at first. After I rolled off her, I stared at the ceiling trying to catch my breath. She twisted to her side and placed her hand over my heart. It was racing with love. Her tiny hand opened and closed over my chest as if squeezing the neck of the dragon. She traced the light line of the scar. I rotated my head to look at her. Her bright eyes looked sad. She hadn’t spoken much since I entered her room.
“I’m so sorry about your parents,” she whispered to my chest.
I rolled to fully face her and pushed some of her sweaty blonde hair back from her forehead.
“Tristan,” she looked up into my eyes. “I meant what I said earlier. This has been the best time of my life, and I want to thank you for it.”
“Don’t,” I bit. “Don’t sound like you’re saying good-bye.”
“I’m…I’m not,” she said, but her voice was filled with farewell.
I pulled her to me and held her tight against my chest. I knew I’d never sleep soundly without her. I might not live soundly without her either.
I paced back and forth in front of the steps to the private jet. It was a bad idea to send her on her own to the hospital to claim her uncle. She contacted the hospital this morning to find out when he could be released. She was worried that she should stay on the island, after all, but I assured her that her uncle did not need attention from her. She had scheduled Estella, the housekeeper from the start of our stay, who was more than willing to play nursemaid to Marshall in Ireland’s absence.
I told Ireland to use the argument with her uncle that she had already told her mom she was coming home. If she had to, I wanted her to call her mom again and make her mom confirm the flight with Marshall. She hadn’t told her mom anything about me yet. About us. Not even that she was taking a private plane, just that she had a flight at three and what time she would be arriving in New York.
At 2:56, I was getting nervous that something was wrong. I was ready to leave the airport when she didn’t answer her phone or text messages for the fifth time. I already had her bags as she had packed in the morning and left them by the door for me to add to mine. I had crossed past the front of the plane, heading for the sidewalk that led into the tropical airport when Ireland rushed out the back door. She was the oxygen I needed. I relaxed as soon as I saw her.
“I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly as she approached. “He was impossible and inappropriate. When I got him to the house, he did make me call Isa and confirm. She argued with him that she wanted me home and he gave into her wishes. He wasn’t happy to hear Estella would be his private nursemaid, and that was all the more reason to get out of there. True to Estella, she showed up in a scantily clothed nurse’s outfit, and at least Marshall smiled.” Ireland visibly shivered again at the mention of her uncle.
I took her hand and kissed it quickly before escorting her up the stairs. Directing her to a seat next to mine, I didn’t release her hand as we sat. She pulled out her phone and texted one handed.
“Isa,” she said to me, as she shut off her phone while the pilot taxied to the runway.“Got my number, right?” I asked for the millionth time.
“Yes,” she laughed.
“And you’re going to answer if I call?” I smirked at her.
“If?”
“When.”
“Definitely.”
“Good thing I don’t have to worry about calling, though, because you’ll already be with me.” I opened her palm and kissed it before continuing to hold her hand. Rubbing my thumb on the outside of her hand, my stroking traveled down to the inside of her wrist.
“I’m really going to be with you?” she asked hesitantly. She was a bundle of nerves, ready to crack at any second, I decided.
We’d already been over everything. I was going to take her to my apartment, where she could call her mom and explain what happened. We would do whatever she needed. I’d talk to her mom. I’d talk to her fiancé. I even offered to fight her fiancé.
We talked late into the night, getting sillier, as the time passed, in our requests of one another. I couldn’t help wonder again if there had been some truth in what we jested.
At one point, Ireland said I would love her forever.
To which I replied, only if she’d change my sheets daily.
Then I admitted, I’d need to hold her nightly to sleep.
To which she replied, she’d only sleep if she smothered herself with alcohol.
It was ridiculous. It made no sense, which is what happens when it’s late at night. I was trying not to sleep, not wanting the night to end. It would signal that our whole hidden holiday was finished.
Chapter 23
[Ireland]
Brought dreams to hold the future at bay.
I dozed as we flew
over the Caribbean Sea to Texas. Tristan had offered to share his iPod with me, and I shook my head when he placed in my ears the loud sound of some rock band. I needed silence to quiet my mind, which wandered from scene to scene.
In my daydream, I imagined a dragon and Tristan literally fighting. Tristan killed the dragon, and another man tried to claim the honor. My parents were praising that other man for saving them from the dragon, stating they were free. My father seemed most relieved, although my mother cried at the loss of a magnificent, yet dangerous animal. When my mother required proof that the dragon was dead, the other man could not produce it. Tristan did. He pulled out what looked like a tongue that merged into a shiny silver scale. The item seemed to shrink in his hand and take the form of something circular. On further inspection, I realized in my dream, it was a ring made of delicate hearts, and he was offering it to me.
I stared at his palm, but there was something not right. I knew his hand. I’d held it, licked it, inspected it. I’d sucked those fingers that were tough on the ends from years of strumming the guitar and recognized the indents of his long fingers, which he claimed were scars from the snap of broken strings against his tips. I looked up from the hand holding out the ring and met the face of a man I didn’t want to marry. He smiled at me, evil in his eyes, and I gasped for air as I lunged forward in my seat.
“Whoa,” Tristan said, holding my hand and wrapping his other arm across my chest. I was still breathing hard when I glanced at him, certain my eyes were dazed as I had trouble focusing on him.
“It was just a dream,” he said, smiling reassuringly. I wasn’t reassured. My heart raced, and the adrenaline coursed through my body. I reached for his face with my hands and pulled him toward me, pressing my mouth firmly to his. He opened instantly. I kissed him as if breathing through his mouth I’d gain oxygen necessary for life. I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t get close enough.
