He couldn’t bring himself to look away from her.
A blush consumed her, and he knew she was remembering the waterfall, the pool, the bed in the love hotel, too.
The few hours they’d had together that he was trying to stretch into the here and now.
He skimmed a finger oh-so-subtly over her forearm, and she bit her bottom lip.
“Chad has big plans,” Tristan said. “I’m glad that Sasha’s giving him a shot.”
“Thank goodness. She can’t hide that she’s been thinking about him ever since yesterday.”
She was talking about Sasha, but Juliana’s eyes told Tristan that she was thinking of herself, as well. That she’d run their tryst through her mind a million times in an attempt to experience every thrill again.
One of the businesspeople next to them, a suited man with receding reddish hair, addressed Tristan. “So you want to come with us then?”
Juliana looked at Tristan, clearly not expecting that he’d been over here making small talk with people as he waited for her.
He did a one-shoulder shrug—I’m not that antisocial—then introduced the group. They were a computer crew from the States who were in Tokyo to observe and learn from a major software company.
The lone woman amongst the four—a brunette named Caroline who wore her hair in a low ponytail—spoke to Juliana. “When we heard your boyfriend asking the concierge about things to do in the city, we butted in.”
At the word boyfriend, Tristan and Juliana smiled at each other. They both knew better. But at the same time, something curved within Tristan, as if trying to change course.
He corrected it. They could have two nights together, and by the end of this one, it’d be over. The arrival of Dream Rising tomorrow guaranteed that, but common sense did, too.
The redheaded man, Charles, added, “We come to Tokyo a few times a year on extended trips, so we know our stuff. You’ll like this snack bar we’re going to. It’s kind of a hole in the wall, and the mama-san who runs it always recognizes us.”
When they’d mentioned it to Tristan earlier, it’d sounded perfect because the group could navigate the language and customs. Besides, Tristan had wanted to take Juliana out, anyway, flaunt her in public, even for just a meal—something they wouldn’t have the luxury of enjoying out in public when they got back home.
The blood in his veins almost growled in anticipation.
It would almost be an alternative present, he thought. This was how it could have been if they’d come out in the open with their relationship and stayed together.
So sue him if he was taking advantage of borrowed time. Later, they’d have plenty of opportunity to get back to the real present, alone again in their separate hotels, remembering what waited for them outside of their front doors back in Parisville.
They all exited the hotel and met the rainy evening together, Tristan holding an umbrella over both Juliana and him. Then the business group—the Fab Four, Tristan thought—brought them to a subway that stopped in Ebisu, where the bars and restaurants were piled on each other, advertised by boxy, lit signs that reminded Tristan of the “down” parts of a crossword puzzle.
Mysterious, rain-slicked, sexy. It was exactly the romance he knew Juliana would enjoy, and he longed to see that smile on her face.
Longed to know that he’d made her happy in the midst of their damned family feud.
In a quiet section of a paper-lantern-strewn alley, behind a door with white panels that only hinted at silhouettes and a female voice raised in song, they found their “snack bar.”
The dark-wooded, smoky room wasn’t crowded, boasting only two people besides the singing woman. All lounged at a bar while the floor seats waited to be filled.
When the mama-san greeted the Fab Four plus Tristan and Juliana, she did it as if they were the most important guests there.
She was middle-aged, dressed in a dark-blue-and-gray striped cotton kimono. After she led them to chairs positioned around a table, she knelt and made a sedate fuss over the Fab Four, chatting, then welcoming Tristan and Juliana, too. She took drink orders and rose to fetch small dishes of salad and popcorn.
Near them, a few TVs played generic footage of a rolling ocean while karaoke lyrics scrolled over the bottom. Yet Tristan wasn’t watching that. He was all too aware of Juliana sitting next to him, his thigh against hers.
He leaned over to talk to her, his mouth near her ear so she could hear over the music. “Did you have to cancel big plans for the night?”
She shifted, whisking a few soft hairs against his lips. The gentle contact sent blades of hunger through him.
“No, I was glad you called.” She moved even closer. “Really glad.”
Tristan itched to reach over and bring her onto his lap, where she could straddle him, her sex to his cock….
One of the Fab Four—Daryl, a guy who kind of looked like Tommy Lee Jones—canted toward them, and Tristan got his act together.
“Careful what you order,” the businessman said over the finale of the Japanese rock ballad that the woman was singing. “The bill adds up.”
Erik, the fourth member, loosened his pinstripe tie. “Even this—” he gestured toward the first round of food “—equals a cover charge.”
The woman finished her tune, and everyone clapped with enthusiasm.
One of the other men at the bar took up the microphone and started in with “Blue Hawaii” in Japanese while the mama-san brought their drinks.
Juliana lifted her glass of plum wine and Tristan held his beer in one hand, relaxing against the back of his chair. They toasted each other, then sipped, never losing eye contact.
The visual flirtation sent a zing through him, and he drank a little more to keep himself occupied.
“So,” Charles the redhead said over the music as the rest of the Four began thumbing through the book of song selections. “Is there anything in this great country you have your heart set on seeing?”
Yeah, Tristan thought. Juliana with her clothes off again.
“We’re going to a ryokan tomorrow,” she said.
“Ah, the Japanese-style inn,” the other man said, smiling as if recalling a time there of his own. “You’ll love it. It’s a beautiful experience, but very involved. They even have instruction sheets in the room about how to stay at a ryokan.”
“Everything is involved here,” Juliana said on an airy note.
But when she glanced at Tristan, he saw a double meaning.
The feud makes everything too involved.
Tristan tightened his grip on the beer while Juliana folded one leg over the other, toward him. His senses went nuts, dodging and attacking and generally making him regret his fanciful notions of romance and taking her on what would have to pass as the one and only date between them. Ever.
Maybe he should’ve just taken her to bed, as Terrence had done with Emelie during their days of indolent lovemaking and picture-painting.
Before they’d had to face reality with his engagement.
Before the world had gotten to them.
Juliana was speaking to Charles again. “If there’s anything else I wish I could see, it’d be a geisha.”
Tristan remembered her carrying around some book about geisha in school, remembered being curious about what might be going through Juliana’s mind. So he’d looked the word up in one of Gramps’s encyclopedias.
He recalled now a few details about the accomplished women who so smartly pleased men; they were artists and occasionally mistresses who had to quit their calling if they wished to marry.
“A geisha would really be a sight,” Charles said, “if you’re lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a true one. Genuine geisha places are normally closed to outsiders. You’d need to be invited by a Japanese insider who’s familiar with them. The company we work with over here hosted quite a banquet last year, Tokyo geisha and all. I count myself lucky to have been there.”
The mama-san knelt by the table again, telling the Fab F
our that a man at the bar had requested them to sing.
Tickled by that—but not very surprised—the Four told her their selections.
Then Caroline explained what was going on. “When we first started coming to this snack bar, the mama-san was wary because we’re foreigners. But they’re used to us now. We even get requests from the locals since they like to hear us sing American tunes.”
Tristan could see that; when Charles ripped into his sub-American Idol version of “Danger Zone” in English, the patrons loved it, clapping at the end as if Charles were a rock star.
Juliana and Tristan applauded with the group, and by the next round of drinks, the Four were so into their karaoke that it left the two of them pretty much alone.
“You going to sing?” Tristan asked.
Juliana emphatically shook her head, her eyes wide.
“Oh, come on.” He grabbed a songbook and turned to the sliver of a section near the back with the English tunes. “Madonna? Spice Girls? Britney Spears?”
“No, no and hell no.”
He put the book down. “Not even a little Beyoncé?”
She laughed with such spirit that she leaned her head back, and his belly seemed to tilt like a room that’d collapsed on one side.
What was that about? She wasn’t naked. She hadn’t even made a sassy innuendo about what they could be doing in a bed just as soon as they’d finished eating enough to give them energy for the rest of the night.
At the tail end of her laughter, she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Then she went silent altogether when she saw what must’ve been a stunning intensity in his gaze.
He looked at her. She looked at him.
He’d fallen for her a long time ago, but now, in a place where no one would care how he felt about her, he was free to admit that he’d always hoped for another chance.
And he had it right in front of him.
JULIANA FAINTLY HEARD Caroline launching into another Top Gun song in the background, but it was all white noise.
The only thing she could really process was Tristan, the way he was watching her, as if…
As if he was looking into her.
She glanced away from him, leaning forward to grab her wineglass so he couldn’t see anything in her eyes—not the delight she’d felt when he’d joked about her singing. Not the moment of personal connection that had threatened to turn this sexual romp into something that couldn’t go beyond that.
As she sipped from her glass—maybe this was what was making her so fuzzy, all the plum wine—she reminded herself of tomorrow’s meeting at the ryokan for Dream Rising, then of having to go back home all too soon.
If only they were different people, she thought.
But…they weren’t.
Besides, what if Tristan were some guy her family would adore? Would she even bring him home?
Or would she keep him to herself just because it would be a show of hidden rebellion that would make her feel powerful in some petty way in the face of her family’s control?
All she knew was that Tristan made her weak—her limbs, her veins, her willpower.
And she didn’t want to be the weaker part of anything, like a mistress who had to answer to a man, or a subordinate who kowtowed to a boss or—
Or Emelie, she thought.
The realization rang through her as she leaned back against the chair, bringing her eye-to-eye with Tristan.
Not that he was going to ask her to keep seeing him in Parisville, but if he did, she wouldn’t be his version of Emelie—the woman who was desperately in love with a man, only to be cast off like a paintbrush that’d gotten too old to be used anymore.
What would she do from this point forward?
Should she keep seeing other men who weren’t Tristan? Men who bored her and didn’t have a prayer of living up to him?
Would she trade in the love from her family to be with him beyond this trip?
She wished Emelie and Terrence were around to give her advice, to tell her if they regretted not fighting for each other.
What had really gone on between the two of them, even beyond all the family legends? She only had a superficial account of Emelie’s side of the story.
Maybe there was a way for Juliana to find out….
“Know what might be interesting?” she asked Tristan, peering into his gray eyes. They were enough to talk her into just about anything.
Almost.
“What?” he said softly.
She could barely hear him, thanks to the music, but she could somehow feel his intimate tone feather through her.
“If you told me about what was in Terrence’s journals,” she said. “And I told you about Emelie’s letters.”
He sat up a little.
Of course. She’d almost forgotten that Tristan had let her go years ago, that he hadn’t seemed all that invested in having her stay because he didn’t want to make waves with his family, either.
He’d be loyal to them, just as she should be staying loyal to her own clan.
She straightened, too. “Okay, maybe there are certain places we shouldn’t go with each other. That journal and those letters belong to our families, not just us. I know my relatives might go ballistic if I showed them to you.”
“Right.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, pushing it away from his face.
He looked conflicted, and she remembered how he’d told her that his father hadn’t wanted him to jump all the way into the feud, becoming like his grandpa, who’d taken up Terrence’s cause.
Was Tristan straddling some line right now between moving on from this feud or defending his family?
She tried not to get excited about the possibility.
“Let’s pretend I never brought it up,” she said. “It was a random idea, anyway.”
“No.” He rested his forearms on his thighs, his hair spilling back over his brow. “It was a good idea. If our families understood each other more, maybe…”
He clamped his mouth shut, and Juliana got the finger-in-light-socket feeling that he’d been about to say something neither of them should be saying to each other.
Maybe they would’ve had the courage to stand together in front of their families, pursuing what they’d felt for each other back then.
Maybe it was time to end this now, before one of them did say the wrong thing. Before someone went too far when they’d already gone far enough.
The crowd, which had grown by three more Japanese customers within the past five minutes, applauded for Caroline as she ended her song, and she modestly gave them a wave.
Tristan slid Juliana a testing glance, and it pummeled her, mashing her common sense and leaving her bare with yearning for him.
She wanted him so badly, and what were they doing? Just sitting here talking about things that couldn’t be changed.
There were only so many hours left before tomorrow, so why were they wasting time?
With more bravado than was good for her, she downed the last of her plum wine, feeling its warmth glide from her mouth, down her throat, to her gut then outward. Her desire was pointed, sharp, in need of easing.
“Ready?” she asked.
Passion making his gaze burn, he signaled to the mama-san to settle the bill.
7
THEY WENT BACK to his hotel because he had his own room.
And that suited him just fine, Tristan thought as Juliana retreated to the bathroom to “slip into something more comfortable,” and out of her damp clothes; the rain had started coming down at a quickened angle, aiming itself under their umbrella on the walk back from the subway.
Meanwhile, he put on a pair of dark-gray sweatpants, then opened the bottles of green tea they’d purchased from one of the many vending machines—which sold everything from beverages to cigarettes to manga—on the way back because Juliana had said she had a hankering for the drink.
Imagine—him indulging her. His grandfather would throw a fit. And with all her talk about shar
ing Terrence’s and Emelie’s journals and letters, the notion swerved real close to the bone.
It’d snapped this fantasy time with Juliana in two, because he’d realized the seriousness of what they were doing. There’d never be family dinners, Christmas with the relatives…normal things that normal people did with those they loved.
But he didn’t want to give Juliana up. The mere thought sent a jag through him.
So what was there to do? Have her as a secret mistress—just like Emelie had been to Terrence?
Discomfited, he picked up the tea and a hotel mug, preparing to pour the beverage. Juliana deserved better, although there didn’t seem to be another option—if she was even open to extending this into…
What?
An actual relationship?
Tristan realized that, beyond all his dates, he’d never really had a commitment to a woman, maybe because he had been waiting around for Juliana.
She emerged from the bathroom in a hotel-supplied cotton robe, and all Tristan’s motor skills came to a grinding halt.
Just being in the same space as she was…it slayed him. Her eyes and skin and lips all combined to hit a bull’s-eye that only she exposed in him.
He remained there, holding the bottle, not pouring a drop, merely watching her while he could.
She was glancing around the room: the light walls and upholstery, the space-age-looking desk and chair by a window that showcased a rain-beaded night view of the Tokyo skyline.
Then her gaze skimmed the bed, and she smiled, completely assassinating him.
He struggled to get his cool back.
“Too bad,” he said, “that the hotel doesn’t have a silk kimono on hand for you to wear instead of that plain thing.”
She fingered the cotton. “I bought one today. A kimono. Not silk, just synthetic, but I still spent way too much money. I went a little bonkers on other souvenirs, too, for the family.”
“Can’t get around that.” He pointed with the tea bottle to a nearby pile of shopping bags he’d dumped in a corner by his suitcase. “Chad and I got the souvenir-hunting over with this afternoon. We’d never hear the end of it from my aunts and cousins if we came home empty-handed, so we cleared some shelves.”
When the Sun Goes Down... Page 9
