by Munt, S. K
Tristan would like the get-up too. Ivyanne was sure of that. She blushed when she realized that she liked that notion. After spending a few hours with him that day, surfing, having a lunch down at Marcus’s yacht club, and then winding down with a mock-tail at the bar, she’d discovered that being in Tristan’s company wasn’t as taxing as she’d dreaded. She liked the way Tristan could make her blush and the way his eyes danced with mischief when he flirted with her. He was fun, he was easy going and his kisses the previous Thursday night had definitely stirred something up deep inside her-but in so many ways, the wonderful things about him seemed like his greatest liabilities.
Yes he could hold a decent conversation-but he was so worldly that it left Ivyanne stumped for anything to add. He was beautiful too, but so beautiful that any woman who crossed their path immediately made a spectacle of themselves to garner his attention, and Ivyanne didn’t fancy spending the next three hundred years checking to make sure that his eyes were still focused on her. There was nothing Tristan needed from Ivyanne-not money, sex, companionship, approval, conversation-that he couldn’t get from some other source. So what could she possibly bring to the relationship, that would balance things between them? That would hold his interest and make her feel secure? She imagined keeping someone like Tristan Loveridge in a committed relationship would be akin to wrestling a sea serpent into submission, and Ivyanne didn’t want to be the first Court woman who was overshadowed by her husband. With mermaids, the female half of the species had always held the power. Until she’d gone out and lived her life, built a business of her own and learned how to handle men, she knew she wouldn’t be enough for him.
That was where it was different with Ardhi, Lincoln and Bane. She knew with the click of her fingers, she’d have them in line. And she liked that feeling. As a Siren, she was entitled to it. With Tristan, she felt like a child being led by the hand. A hand she couldn’t trust not to walk her straight into heartbreak.
And a relationship wouldn’t work without trust. It wasn’t like with humans, when they grew old together and parted ways within decades-whoever she chose had to be just as in love with her, just as compatible with her, for at least two hundred years. Could Tristan be that rock? It seemed so unlikely.
Ardhi could. That, she didn’t doubt. If she could learn to view Tristan romantically, then cultivating intimacy with Ardhi should be a cake walk. He was beautiful enough. So was her problem simply that she’d run instead of trying?
Maybe I should contact him, and arrange to spend some time with him, she mused, biting her lip, and trying not to cringe at the idea of holding her best friend’s hand, or touching her lips to his.
‘Hey everyone.’ Said a listless female voice.
Ivyanne turned and saw Adele stepping down the sand dunes alone, looking as luminescent as a pearl in a long, elegant off-white sundress. The sunset stained the dress, and her palest blonde hair, a dusky pink. A chorus of ‘Hi’s,’ greeted her.
‘Nice dress.’ Ilsa from reception stepped away from the spit and smiled at her friend. ‘Is that the Prada one you got in Melbourne?’
Adele nodded, pushing a chunky gold bangle up her delicate wrist before hugging herself and looking around self-consciously. Was it Ivyanne’s imagination, or did Adele seem...off?
‘It is. Is Link here yet?’
‘He’s not with you?’
‘No.’ Adele glanced over Ilsa’s shoulder, and met Ivyanne’s eye. She frowned slightly, then turned her attention back to her friend. ‘He’s sleeping off his massage in his cabin. I’m sure he’ll be down soon.’
‘Naw, the poor boss had a hard day at the spa.’ The groundskeeper who had given Ivyanne the beer, slung his arm around Adele’s narrow shoulders. ‘You need a real man honey.’
‘Maybe I do, Curtis.’ Adele took the beer from the boy’s hand and took a long drink. She wiped her mouth afterwards. ‘Someone who treats me to spa days and takes me out on the town afterwards, instead of making me squat alone in the sand and get feasted on by mosquitoes.’
‘Well, my budget won’t stretch to that.’ Curtis ruffled Adele’s hand before walking off. ‘So another keg beer it is for me!’
Ivyanne turned her face away, taken aback. Adele hadn’t come alone-she’d brought an entire pity party with her! What was going on?
‘Are you okay?’ Ilsa asked Adele, her whisper no match for Ivyanne’s supernatural hearing.
‘No. We had a fight, I think. And you won’t believe over what when I tell you later.’ Adele exhaled noisily. ‘I’ve been trying to make up for breaking off the engagement, but it’s like I don’t even exist! Now a bit of my past has come back to haunt me and instead of dealing, he went to sleep.’
‘What part of your past?’
‘I’ll show you later.’
Ivyanne stared out at the ocean, her own mood swinging violently, cursing her extraordinary hearing. She didn’t want to know that Adele and Lincoln’s relationship hadn’t improved over the weekend. She didn’t want to feel slightly gleeful at the the idea of him ending up single. But her accelerating heartbeat betrayed her good intentions. She glanced over at Adele and Ilsa and saw that they were crossing to the other side of the fire, where the majority of the staff stood huddled together.
I should go over there and join them. She mused, feeling silly all by herself. She’d been talking to Remi and Michael when she’d first arrived, but now they were involved in some intense private conversation on the blanket away from everyone, and she didn’t want to interrupt. In fact, I should befriend Adele. It would make sharing the bungalow, and the bar with her that much easier.
But how could Ivyanne make friends with a human? What would she say? Friendship involved sharing things with the other person, and there was nothing Ivyanne could talk about that wouldn’t reveal confidential information. No wonder girls like Ilsa and Adele treated her with suspicion-she was a closed book. And until she sorted out her personal life, she’d remain shut up within herself, never really living the human experience she’d come there for.
‘You look way too fine, to be looking so dejected.’ Tristan’s soft Californian drawl swept past Ivyanne’s ear, making her shiver. His hand eased down over her exposed shoulder blade, making her skin heat deliciously.
Ivyanne turned to face him, trying to squelch the urge to audibly sigh with pleasure. He was wearing board shorts and a tight-fitting white tank top. Very un-Tristan. And incredibly hot.
‘You still look like a snake in the grass.’ She teased.
Tristan’s eyes danced with merriment. ‘And you still look like a snake charmer.’ His eyes darted towards the ocean. ‘I swam for two hours just now, to prepare myself for this. So why do I have the sudden urge to get wet again?’
Ivyanne didn’t know. But she was right there with him. No, Tristan wasn’t husband material. And yet somehow, when he smiled at her, reason and logic went out the window. The bottom line was that, like Ardhi had said, marriage for her was a means to an end with one clear objective- successful procreation. Love, longevity and compatibility were never guaranteed with any marriage-arranged or not, within the human world or the mer world. It was a gamble people took in the name of happiness.
But as far as the objective went-Ivyanne was fairly certain that procreation would come as naturally to Tristan and herself as swimming.
If only she could stop glancing over her shoulder every five seconds, checking for Lincoln’s arrival. Ivyanne swallowed, lifted her beer to her lips, and took a long drink. She needed fortification.
⁓
Tristan almost laughed when he saw the princess take a swig from her beer. He wanted one himself, but he’d been on the planet a lot longer than she had, and knew better. He took the cup from her hand.
‘Hey!’ Ivyanne was the picture of indignation. ‘That’s mine!’
‘I know you’re probably drinking this to calm yourself down.’ Tristan said, holding it out from his body and capturing her with his other arm. ‘And as much as
I’ll enjoy how giggly and flirtatious this will make you, alcohol will not take the edge off anything. In fact, drinking this will make you do things you’ll have to add to your stress levels tomorrow.’
Ivyanne was both stronger and faster than he, and she’d swiped the cup back and turned her body away from his before he could react. ‘Then let me worry about that tomorrow,’ she said haughtily. ‘Tonight, I just want to numb my senses a little.’
‘Ivyanne-’
Ivyanne’s green eyes flashed, as she regarded him over her shoulder. ‘I’ve been sheltered for twenty eight years, Loveridge. I won’t be choosing a husband who feels the need to keep it going.’
That shut Tristan up. And his immediate surrender surprised him. Ivyanne had gotten under his skin, all right. Their afternoon together had been heavenly, despite her orders that he keep his hands to himself. And he couldn’t believe how smoking hot she looked that night. Everything in Tristan ached for her, from his arms to his heart to his groin, which had never been so aroused without being sated for such a long period of time before. She drove him out of his mind.
‘Fine.’ He conceded. ‘I guess no one gets to know themselves, until they’ve met their own drunken reflection.’ He shook a finger at her. ‘But if you throw yourself at me, you better be prepared for the consequences.’
‘If I wake up in your bed, your consequence will be a damn whipping.’ She shot back.
‘Hey, I’m a gentleman, not a rapist.’ Tristan leaned in and gently pulled her to him, resting one hand on the inverted curve of her waist. ‘But, if you feel the desire to whip anyone, I have some accessories that could accommodate whatever dirty little scenario you may have in mind. Do you have a leather skirt, by any chance?’
Ivyanne slapped him playfully. The firelight was illuminating her now the way the sunset had, and it seemed like the glow was coming from within her instead of reflecting off her flawless tawny skin. ‘What happened to “No romantic pressure”?’
He feigned surprise. ‘What part of that sounded romantic to you?’
Ivyanne rolled her eyes and looked away, but she didn’t open the space between them or shrug off his hand. He could feel her body heat, and her self-consciousness at being so close to him but unwilling to move communicated her desire to flirt some more. ‘You’re so...forward.’
‘Would you prefer me to play it more chastely-in a way befitting a princess?’ He asked quietly, making a point of staring at her as she pretended to be absorbed by the turning of the tide, slowly sliding his hand down her hip, until his fingers were brushing against hers. Keeping his voice low, he added: ‘I can be romantic. I could bring roses. I could take you out for high tea. I could send you letters, telling you how much you’ve captured my interest.’ The tension between them was intense, and when he opened his fingers to slide between hers, she didn’t flinch. Knowing that she was silently giving him permission to hold her hand, he closed his hand around her tiny one, rubbing the sensitive part of her palm with his thumb in slow circles. ‘Would you prefer that?’
‘Been there, done that.’ She whispered softly, still averting her eyes. ‘Roan was big on the love letters. It was….’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Boring. And awkward. It felt like we were trying to create a romance where nothing existed.’
Tristan smiled knowingly. ‘I don’t like boring or awkward either.’ He said. ‘I’d much rather be honest and tell you that you make me so hard, that if you marry me, you won’t be able to leave my bed for a solid decade afterwards.’
Ivyanne inhaled sharply, and whipped around to face him. ‘Tristan!’ She hissed. ‘That’s-’
‘Honest.’ Tristan pulled her to him with his other arm, so she could feel his erection against her thighs. Her pupils dilated, and lips parted-signs of arousal. ‘But I won’t push you, Ivyanne. Some things are worth waiting for.’ He released her, but maintained his grip on her hand, keeping her close enough that he could feel her body heat. He realized that he was holding his breath, terrified that the slightest movement would break the spell. ‘So is this okay for now?’
Ivyanne’s gaze darted back to the ocean, but she nodded her head almost imperceptibly. A charge went through Tristan, partly due to feeling like a small battle had been won, but mostly because he’d never held a girls’ hand before and wanted it to mean something to her the way it did to him.
And then she sighed softly and leaned into him, resting her cheek against his chest and staring out at the blackened sea. ‘God I love the water...’ she whispered. ‘Doesn’t it just make your heart race?’
Oh my god. Tristan swallowed back the vulnerability which was expanding him from the inside out as her scent invaded his senses and her warm breath buffeted off his bicep. She’s letting me hold her!
All at once Tristan knew that if she were to suddenly step away, he would feel bereft. It had nothing to do with wanting to be king, or pleasing the current Queen, or even locking this sensational looking girl in his bedroom for the rest of his lives. The ocean wasn’t calling to him-the woman nestled against his chest was.
‘Nothing in my life could make my heart race more than at this exact moment.’ He whispered, stroking her hair tentatively. And it wasn’t a line-but the truth. He was falling for Ivyanne Court and that knowledge was terrifying.
13.
‘There’s the boss man now !’ Curtis suddenly shouted, busting the heady moment Ivyanne and Tristan had been isolated within like a finger popping a bubble.
Ivyanne’s heart skipped a beat. She crossed her arms over her chest as casually as she could and inched away from Tristan, allowing herself a quick glimpse, to confirm Lincoln’s stature against the now milky white, moonlit sand, before turning back to Tristan, who was frowning slightly. She knew the act of breaking their contact hadn’t been lost on him and she kicked herself for being so obvious. She’d ruined a lovely moment, and for what? Fear of it being witnessed by someone she still fantasized about sharing such a moment with?
‘Looks like we can finally dig into that pig,’ she made herself say to him. ‘Are you hungry?’ She glanced over and waved at Pintang, who must have shown up while Ivyanne’s back was turned. Pintang raised an eyebrow to see her standing so closely to Tristan, but then waved back, frowning slightly.
Oh god I already feel guilty about your brother. Please Pintang, don’t make it worse! Ivyanne thought, her mood sinking.
Tristan leaned down to whisper in her ear: ‘You know it’s not pig I’m craving, princess.’
‘Cool your jets,’ she teased, hoping he couldn’t sense how close she was to hyper-ventilating. His sexually charged words had thrilled her, but she couldn’t bear for him to know how much. ‘It’s the only pork you can hope for in the near future.’
Grinning, and grateful that she’d made the moment playful instead of tense, Ivyanne did an about-face and joined the others, who were gathering around the rotisserie, eager to first greet Lincoln, then tease him for being late, then sink their teeth into the pig. But as Ivyanne approached the others, she was surprised to see everyone gathered around Lincoln, only inches from his face.
‘Oh my god!’ said Remi. ‘Look at you!’
‘I didn’t know they did plastic surgery here!’ Chimed in Curtis.
‘Holy shit!’ Adele exclaimed. Her hands went to her cheeks.
‘Woot woot,’ Marcus teased. ‘There’s the kid I hired ten years ago!’
Ivyanne instantly realized what they were talking about-Lincoln’s makeover. The one she had orchestrated and forgotten about. She got up on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse, already glowing with pride at whatever small mercy Aubrielle had granted him.
But when the crowd parted, and his face was revealed to her, Ivyanne had to choke back a gasp of her own. So radical was the change, that the breath escaped her lungs. Knowing she should have some reaction, she managed an: ‘Oh wow,’ before retreating into herself in a stupor of epic proportions.
‘Guys...you’re embarrassing me.’ Lincoln said, his f
ace darkening scarlet.
Lincoln looked incredible. Tall and strong, as a result of his own hard work, but softened in face by Aubrielle’s magic touch. Whatever treatment she had given him must have served to leech all of the water weight and toxins from his flesh, because the man standing there was almost as fit as boy she had fallen in love with in the nineties.
Of course, that had been a gradual result which everyone had noticed. The real shock was Lincoln’s skin, which was glowing as though the sun had blessed it, not penetrated it. He didn’t look eighteen, and never would again. But Aubrielle had shaved at least six years off his appearance. He looked like a man in his prime, not one who had stopped looking after himself a decade ago.
‘Huh,’ Tristan said casually. ‘So he is a little pretty, after all.’
‘I guess so,’ Ivyanne said, as though she was just as taken by surprise as he was. ‘Who would have thought it, hey?’ Ivyanne certainly hadn’t anticipated such a drastic overhaul. Her first thought was to give herself a high five for a job well-done. Her second was to fret that Aubrielle had gone too far. Her third, unfortunately, was an intense desire to throw herself into his arms. It was a horrid, shallow reaction. She had put Aubrielle to the task of restoring Lincoln’s youth as a means to an end-closure for him, less guilt for her. Now the man matched the memories, heating her blood.
Adele pushed through the crowd. The lithe blonde took Lincoln’s hands and pulled him closer to the fire, where the light was better, exclaiming softly and grinning like mad. Her sour attitude had apparently sunk with the sun, and that pissed Ivyanne off.
