by Havana Scott
I locked up downstairs, backed the Vyrus 987 out of the garage, and powered up its screaming Ducati engine while Paris climbed on. In seconds, we were rocketing downhill, around bends, through the forest road, and her nails, short as they may be, kept digging into my sides. Winding around the beach path up to the long dock where the villas began, I slowed to a stop to let her off. “Sorry, love. Damage control. I’ll explain later.”
“It’s fine, Tristan. Remember I have a book to write. Two, actually.” A sweet smile told me she trusted me entirely. Guilt, an amazing thing. “Thank you, I had a great time with you, as always.”
“Same here.” I kissed her cheek then fished out a business card from my wallet. “Please send me your article when it’s ready. That’s my email there.” I drove off, my bike’s motor killing the unearthly tranquility of the bay.
When I arrived at the main house garage, I spotted Michel’s Jeep pulling into the front driveway carrying Tatianne in the backseat. I quickly parked the bike, locked it up, then paused in the garage to breathe for a minute. If I appeared nervous, she’d pick up on it right away. I didn’t know why or how she did it, but Tatianne possessed the superpower to make me feel like I was doing something wrong, wasn’t servicing her enough. I supposed some people had that effect on others. My parents may have raised me from childhood to young adulthood, but Tatianne propelled me to the next level, to experienced, worldly businessman.
I owed her, but I would not, could not owe her my sanity.
I hurried through the main house. I could hear her throaty laugh entering the building before I even reached the lobby. Behind a column, I stood there calming my nerves. No matter what, I had to keep things business-oriented this time around. I could not let her use me as she pleased.
“Bonsoir, bonsoir. Good evening, Natasha, ça va?” Tatianne’s French-tinged voice both excited my senses and sent dread through my brain at the same time. “Has anyone seen Tristan? How odd of him not to meet me at the plane. I must say, I’m saddened.”
“I’m here, Tatianne. I’m sorry. I was running around, just got back.” I approached her from behind. When she turned, I could see that she’d only grown younger and hotter in the two months since I’d last seen her. “You look wonderful, Tati. Did you lose weight?”
“Don’t flatter me for flattery’s sake, Tristan. Yes, I’ve lost weight, but I didn’t mean to. I’ve had a stressful time these last months.”
“Well, accident or not, you look beautiful.” I kissed both her cheeks and gave her a light hug. No more, no less. No eye contact either. Tatianne was originally from Nice but spent half the year in the French Indies buying properties and doing a hell of a job of managing her late husband’s money. She was used to flattery, but I wasn’t blowing smoke up her ass—she always had been an incredibly beautiful woman.
That was just a fact.
Her long, brown ponytail whipped around when she pulled away and reached for her bag, almost smacking me in the face. “I’m tired from the flight, cheri. I hope the villa is ready, because I’m ready to crash. Je suis tellement fatiguée que je pouvais évanouir.”
“I know that feeling. I’m exhausted too.” I faked a yawn, so maybe I could slip away after a few pleasantries. “Oh, and about the villa…” I caught Natasha’s ogling eyes behind Tatianne. Not sure what she was trying to tell me, but I couldn’t let Tatianne go to the villa with Paris there. Natasha walked away, leaving me to break the news alone. “We were getting it ready for you this week when we found a busted sewer line.”
God, I was going to hell in a hand basket.
“Oh, no! That’s disgusting.” She didn’t even look up from her phone screen, as she checked for messages. “You need to get that fixed right way. So terrible for appearances.”
“Most definitely. It just happened suddenly. We’re already on it, and nobody has noticed it. Still, in the meantime, I’ll take you to one of the nice cabins we have ready in our—”
“A cabin? The ones in the woods?” A soft, small manicured hand pressed gently against my face. “Please, love, why do you hate me so?” She tittered.
I barked out a nervous laugh. From behind a counter, Tasha was making I-told-you-so faces at me. “Tatianne, have you seen the cabins lately? They are absolutely spectacular. From your bedroom, you can see spider monkeys, even macaws.”
“Why would I want to see filthy primates? I didn’t want to see René when he was alive, I don’t want to see one now.” She laughed at her own joke then collected herself with a raised hand. “Okay, that was awful of me, but you know what I mean. I’m a water sign and need the ocean to greet me every morning.” She looked at me with her gorgeous blue eyes rimmed with dark, long natural lashes. Face like a porcelain doll. “Like you.”
It didn’t take much for Tatianne to make my senses awaken like a zombie summoned from the dead. Purely a physical reaction, though, one that assured I was a live, straight male. Her visible assets could make any man jump into a cold shower. But I had to fight it. The longer I let her into my bed, the stronger her clutches on me. I wasn’t her plaything anymore, nor did I want to be. I wanted to be Paris’s.
“Okay, how about this…” If she wouldn’t take the woodland cabin, she couldn’t stay anywhere near the beach, or she’d eventually spot Paris coming out of her stilt home. I needed her to be as far away from Paris as possible, and it needed to be luxurious enough for her to stay awhile. There was only one other choice. “How about you stay at my house then?”
“Oh, cheri, I couldn’t take your house. Besides, that monstrosity is too far away from the beach I love. What on Earth would I do there every day?”
“Michel would come get you, at any moment, whenever you needed him. Isn’t that right, Michel?” I glanced at our driver coming in from the driveway after having a smoke.
“Oui, madame. Whatever you need from me.” He extinguished his cigarette into the trash can by the sliding doors and waltzed in.
“Seriously, Tatianne, you’d have my whole pool. I can send Rosa to cook if you don’t feel like coming out here one day, whatever you like. I just want you to be comfortable and happy.” Influential words that needed to be said. Every time, or this could easily turn into a tantrum.
“Oh, fine. But come with me, Tristan. I can’t stand the thought of being dropped off in that spaceship all by myself. Do I get to sleep in your bed too?” She smiled her wry, radiant smile. “For old time’s sake?”
Behind her, Natasha blushed in three different colors, and Michel smiled to himself, the old rascal. “Michel, may I borrow your car to take Tatianne?” I asked.
“Bien sur, monsieur. Take it for as long as you need.” He winked at me and left to start the car. “I’ll return her bags to the trunk. Do you have belongings to take as well?”
“I have everything, Michel.” I wouldn’t be staying with Tatianne tonight, as much as she wanted me to. Even though I wasn’t betrothed to Paris, I’d gotten close to her these last three weeks and didn’t want to fuck up whatever we had.
“Great.” I offered Tatianne my arm. “Then, off we go. Tasha, can you have groceries and sundries dropped off at my house, please, since Ms. Moreau is tired and will be hungry soon?”
“Right away, monsieur. Would be happy to help.” Few people could decipher it, but I could tell in Tasha’s tone how much she didn’t like Tatianne, though you’d never guess it from her bubbliness.
In the Jeep, away from the others, Tatianne fished a cigarette from her silver case. Pulling a lighter from my pocket, I lit it for her. Some things belonged in the world of Europeans living in the West Indies, and lighting a cigarette for a lady was still one of them. “So, Tristan, how are you, my love? Haven’t heard from you in a while.” She breathed out a stream of smoke, guilt snaking out of her voice.
“Don’t do that, Tatianne. Please. You know how busy we’ve been the last few months scrambling to make things work.”
“You have a lovely establishment here. Completely modern and updated.
There’s no reason for it not to work.” She sucked on the cigarette, full lips lighting the end aglow.
“Having a lovely establishment isn’t enough. We need the attention, the sales, and it hasn’t quite taken off yet, thanks to our rocky start.” I hesitated.
“Yes, I tried to warn Reece that his ‘cheater’s paradise’ wasn’t the best direction for you, but he refused to listen.”
“He usually does, but we’re getting back on track now. We even hired a travel writer. Hoping to use her articles in mainstream media. She’s also going to write a book.” No mention of Paris being on the island with us. I didn’t like the idea of keeping her a secret…
“Oh?”
“Yes, her name is Paris Jones. We found her through our online essay contest, the idea I talked to you about last time, remember?”
“Where one winner comes to stay for a month? Where is she staying, Tristan, one of the rainforest cabins?”
Fuck, fuck, fuckery. She was testing me. I couldn’t tell her just yet, and she’d know if I was lying. I had to chance one or the other. “Yes, actually. She’s working on articles and a travel book. It’s gonna be great.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said dryly. “Soon, you’ll have the entire island booked for years to come, your profit will go through the roof, and you won’t need me anymore.” Silence, as she stared out her side of the Jeep at the darkened landscape zooming by. Howler monkeys screamed at our vehicle’s intrusion.
“Don’t say that, Tatianne. I’ll…” Fuck, what? What was an adequate reply to that? I didn’t want to lead her on. “You will always mean a lot to me, regardless of our financial arrangements. You’re my friend. At least, I hope you always will be.”
She nodded, staring away at the forest. “You don’t owe me anything, Tristan.”
“What do you mean? I still owe you four mil for the purchase, which I should have soon after—”
“It’s nothing,” she said quietly. What was nothing? Four million? That was a good chunk of change. What did she mean? I’d never seen her so quiet and introspective. “Let’s cancel the rest, Tristan.”
I looked at her in intermittent glimpses. Her profile was classic, angelic. I’d always love the elegance of her silhouette. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, stay with me.” She faced my way, her sapphire eyes glossed over, worry lines fighting control. In fact, she was fighting her feelings in a hard way. “Be with me, and we won’t need to do accounting. What’s mine will be yours. No need for ledgers.”
“I…”
I’d thought of that before too. If we became a couple, our wealth would combine, and she could release me of all remaining financial liability. Simon was right—she was in love with me. I just refused to believe it. I’d often wondered if this day would come. But Tati was never the one for me. I always knew that too. “Tatianne…you know I can’t do that.”
Her eyes closed, squeezing out a couple of tears, quickly wiping them away. “Et pourquoi pas, Tristan? Because I’m too independent for you? Because I have more money than you? Because you need a mousy housewife who will make you feel like a big king? You know I can make you feel that way, don’t you?”
“Tatianne, it’s not you. It’s not you at all. I just…I don’t think you and I are meant to be together.” Damn, those words would hurt her, but what else could I say? I’d met someone, but I didn’t think Tatianne would want to hear about it on her first night here. Besides, I was never the marrying type, except that lying in bed with Paris in my arms earlier tonight made a complete change of lifestyle and relationship status sound very tempting.
We reached the mini spaceship house, entered the gate, and wound our way into the garage. How weird to think I’d been here earlier with Paris, and now I was back again with Tatianne. Shit, in fact, I hadn’t bothered to fix the bed or change the sheets or anything when we left. We’d just left in a hurry. I’d have to put her in another room.
“You’re incorrigible, Tristan, you know that. We would make a good couple you know. We’re both powerful, we understand each other…”
“We’re too much alike, Tati. I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship either.”
“Oh, bollocks. Quelle merde if I ever heard it. Please don’t feed me such nonsense ever.”
“Sorry,” I said. And there it was, the feeling of being emasculated around Tatianne. That would not make for good marriage mojo. I had to put an end to this.
I let her into the house and turned down the air conditioner, nice and cold, the way Tatianne liked it. I needed her to be so comfortable, she wouldn’t go tromping around on the west side of the island. Turning on half the lights, I got the fireplace going too. Cozy, much?
“Let’s not talk about it tonight.” I reached for her hand. She really was a lovely woman, albeit lonely and misunderstood. It wasn’t her fault we didn’t click the way she wanted. In her life, everything she’d ever wanted had been given to her. In my life, I’d worked hard for it. It was that small difference that put us on very different parts of the map.
“You’re right,” Tatianne said, putting down her bag in a chair. She strolled toward me and wrapped her arms around me. For just a hug, I thought at first. But then, she reached up for me with that slow burn in her eyes, the way she always did only more now than ever before.
“Tatianne…”
“Tristan.” She reached up with those plump lips, smelling of citrus body lotion and pressed her lips against me. Shit… Familiar feelings of our old days post-UM all came barreling back into my mind, and my heart pounded out a helpless rhythm. “Let’s not talk anymore.”
Chapter 15
Whatever “work stuff” Tristan ran into three days ago, it’d been taking up a lot of his time. I wasn’t used to being with a man in charge of a resort—in charge of anything, for that matter—so for me, all this emergency work stuff was new. On one hand, I was trying to be the good girlfriend, patient and understanding, but on the other, he’d only texted me twice in three days, both short and curt. After spending long June days with him, days that stretched into the sun as long as they would go, it was hard to be without him.
Funny how quickly you can get used to someone.
I tried reminding myself that I wasn’t supposed to be waiting for a guy at all. I was here for me, to write in peace, to make a living. No matter how much his silence secretly bothered me, I couldn’t pay attention to it. I had to stay focused.
The travel book about “Surrender” Isle was coming out better than I expected, so at least there was that. So far, I’d covered the two resorts, the tropical rainforest, the incredible coral reef surrounding the island, the fully decked-out cabins and villas, and how one with nature they all were. I’d written about the stars at night, the luau, the creative drinks, and the amazing smiles of all the people who worked here. If I could’ve, I would’ve written an entire chapter about Tristan Giovanetti and the fantastic sex we’d had together, but I had a hunch that few would appreciate it. Then again, maybe it’d be the best chapter. Maybe it would be such a great chapter, it would propel the book to bestseller status all because of the descriptive sex.
Maybe I could include an illustrated index in the back for all the positions we’d done so far. Maybe I was missing him and needed to get back to work.
It had taken me a couple of days, but sitting around thinking of Tristan made me realize that Ben hadn’t texted in all this time. Miraculously. My guess was that he finally got tired of me not answering his calls. However, after my afternoon tea and swing in the hammock, Ben finally materialized again. Hey, two days wasn’t bad—it’d been too good to be true. One look at the garbled words, though, and I realized he’d been drinking. Never a good sign: Im so sorry Ive been a burden to you sugarbrr.
Ugh. Thanks for the guilt trip. Should I ignore or text back? My idea all along had been to wean Ben off me. Going cold turkey seemed, well…cold. I’d been replying to him less and less, using shorter words and phrases, hoping he’d get the hint.
Since I hadn’t talked to him in a couple of days, I started a reply: You’re not a burden, Ben. You’re just going through a hard time. I’m sorry.
I tried getting back to work, but his reply really bothered me.
I love you sugarbrr.
Okay, no. I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of an I love you in return. Even though I did care for him, and a piece of my heart would always be his, I couldn’t go that far. I’d be doing him more harm than good by saying it. He definitely wasn’t ready for that. In fact, I was beginning to think it’d been a mistake to lead him on, so I put the phone down, set it to silent, and turned back to my laptop.
Take the hint, take the hint…please…
Ben wasn’t getting any better, but that wasn’t my problem anymore. At the very least, I was dealing with the guilt of turning my back on a friend who was at his lowest, and that sucked—hands down. Talk about getting caught between a rock and a hard place. Ben needed to reconnect with his family. His friends in Pittsburgh. He needed to get out of the house and go for a walk. I could not, no matter what, be the one to save him again.
After a solid day of writing, I opened up the shutters to watch the sunset while munching on some yummy dried mango slices. Sunsets here were full of vibrant color, more intense, and more calming than anything I had ever experienced. I wished Tristan could’ve been here to watch it go down. Briefly, I wondered if he didn’t want to see me anymore, but then I pushed the negative thought from my mind.
As evening fell, I switched to working on my own novel and wrote another chapter, feeling good about what I’d put down. It was getting easier to switch gears between the two pieces, but I found myself more distracted than ever by the fact that Tristan hadn’t contacted me another full day.
