by Katy Ames
Tristan was good at being alone. It was part of the agreement he’d made with himself long ago. With the exception of Mark and Grace, he worked hard to limit the amount of time he spent with people.
He was polite. Friendly, when necessary. He knew how to carry on a conversation, to make enough small talk that colleagues and employees felt comfortable with him. He knew how to seek out company when the burn in his blood couldn’t be satisfied with exercise alone. He sure as hell wasn’t a monk. Tristan knew how to navigate a meal with a charming yet casual companion, how to negotiate the terms of their mutual satisfaction. They’d both get off and they’d both go home.
Beyond that, Tristan kept to himself, Mark the only exception. He’d been a part of Tristan’s life long before he’d decided—needed—to shut himself off from real relationships. And Tristan was happy—or as close to happy as he could get—at the Seven Winds with his cousin. Reconnecting with Mark was good for him. Tristan knew that. And he owed his cousin a great deal for making a home for him at the resort.
Tristan paused pacing long enough to catch Mark’s call before it went to voicemail. Before his cousin spoke, he had a sneaking suspicion it was the great deal that was going to get him into even more trouble.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to pick up.”
“Sorry,” Tristan said. “Got caught up.”
“How are things going?”
“Fine.”
Mark laughed. “Really? Doesn’t sound like it.”
“How does it sound?” Tristan shot back, harsher than he had intended.
His cousin was silent for a second, then, “You doing okay?”
“Yes.” Tristan worked to sound calmer.
“The hotel is okay?”
“Yes,” he repeated, a little steadier. “We still have a few issues at the spa, but we’ll get it done. Everything else is running as expected.”
“And the storm?”
“Still not sure of the path, but we’re getting everything ready regardless. Don’t want to be caught unprepared.”
“No.” Though quiet, Mark’s answer was emphatic. “We do not. Speaking of, any word from your contact?”
Tristan had his laptop open and was skimming his inbox. “Nothing yet. But it shouldn’t be too much longer.”
“Okaaayy.” Mark dragged it out.
Some of Tristan’s agitation faded. Mark was worried. They both were, rightfully so. He needed to pull himself together. They were fighting a much bigger battle. Tristan couldn’t afford to go off the rails now, regardless of how much the prickling at the back of his neck urged otherwise.
“I trust Dean. He’ll get us what we need in time. I’m positive.”
“I know. I don’t doubt him. Or you. This is just—”
“Really fucking important,” Tristan finished for him. “I know, Mark. Believe me, I do.”
The line was quiet before, “Tristan?”
“Yeah?”
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Absolutely.” There was no doubt.
“I know how you feel about him,” Mark hedged. “Fuck, I’m the one who practically demanded you leave him and the family business as soon as you could. But he is your father.”
“Not in any way that matters,” Tristan responded. “Besides, after the shit he pulled with Marcus, trying to hurt you and Grace…. I was certain before. I am one-hundred-fucking-percent certain now.” Jesus, the curses are coming fast and free now.
“Understood. Thanks.” Mark’s voice was gruff.
Tristan dug his fingers into the back of his neck and flinched when he caught the line of puckered flesh that rose above his collar. “No thanks needed, man. We’re in this together. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“I won’t.” Mark’s answer was almost too quiet for Tristan to hear. After another beat, his cousin cleared his throat and said, “As soon as you hear back from your guy, let me know. Things are falling into place on this end. Jack’s on board. We’ll be ready to move when you give the go-ahead.”
“Understood.”
“Fantastic. Now.” Mark brightened. “Tell me, how’s Tessa?”
Tristan groaned.
“What? Please don’t tell me something has happened. Chef hasn’t pissed her off, has he? She hasn’t left? Grace will fucking kill me, Tristan. I promised her you’d make sure her friend got settled in.”
“Christ, calm down, man.” Tristan almost smiled. He’d never seen his cousin so caught up in a woman. It was actually kind of awesome. Mark needed something good in his life. And, from what Tristan had seen, Grace was beyond good for Mark. She was perfect. As for her friend…. “Tessa is doing fine, I swear. Just saw her with Chef. She made scones.”
“Hmm.” Mark sounded unconvinced.
“Honest to God, she seems like she likes it here. From what I can tell she and Caleb have already gone through a bunch of ideas for the menu. He seems really pleased with her work. As he should be. I’ve tasted it. It’s really good. She’s learning her way around the hotel. Even comes down to the beach in the mornings…” Tristan trailed off, catching himself before he was forced to explain his sunrise swims and how Tessa watched. “You can tell Grace her friend is doing just fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Grace said something about a strange guy going into Tessa’s kitchen. Something about him eating cream?”
Tristan choked, both at the description and the way Mark’s voice tightened. “I might have eaten part of a dessert without knowing it was hers.”
“She called you strange.”
“Well, that’s not completely inaccurate.”
“No.” Mark barked out a laugh. “Trust me, I know how strange you can be.”
“Hey,” Tristan shot back, not nearly as offended as he sounded.
“Dude, don’t. We’ll be here all day if we have to debate this particular point.”
Tristan covered his mouth with one hand and was surprised to feel his lips curved upwards. Smiling was something he was still getting used to.
“Hold on a sec,” Mark muttered, a female voice fluttering somewhere in the background. Tristan could have sworn he heard his cousin groan. “So, I need you to do me a favor.”
“You mean Grace told you to tell me to do something, right?”
“Shut it. We feel bad, leaving just as Tessa arrived. We just want to make sure she isn’t lonely.”
“Yeah, yeah, spit it out.”
“Have dinner with her.”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You know, get together, sometime after seven. Or after six, if you’ve gotten really fucking old. Sit down. Eat food. Drink something. Talk, if you want. Dinner. With another person. Pretty self-explanatory.”
“When?”
“How about tonight?”
“I’ll have to ask her.”
“You’re up to the task.”
Mark was laughing at him. The half-quirk of Tristan’s smile vanished. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Tough. I do. Besides, you could use some company. You get so fucking grumpy when you’re alone too long. And Tessa could use a friend. You’ll survive. I promise.”
“Debatable.” Tristan’s fingers landed on his scar and pressed hard.
“I have to go. Just do this for me. Please?”
What are you worried about? It’s just dinner. You can do this. This is something you can survive. “Yes. Fine. I’ll do it. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks.” Mark’s relief was audible. “Really appreciate it. Let me know how it goes, will ya?”
“You just want to make sure I do it.”
“You know me so well,” Mark said, laughing. “Just looking after you, coz.”
“I thought this was about Tessa.”
“Who said it isn’t about you both?”
“Whatever. Gotta go. Things to do before my obligatory dinner date.”
Tristan said goodbye and placed his phone on a nearby table. Carefully. To
counter the urge he had to throw it through a window.
Stalking to the mini-bar, he grabbed a large bottle of water and chugged. His throat constricted under the chilled liquid, but it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t have time for a swim. If he was going to have dinner with Tessa he needed to pound through the rest of his work. But he wasn’t going to be able to get anything done with the dangerous energy pulsing through him. If he couldn’t sweat it out, he’d drown it another way.
Tristan entered the pristine bathroom, turned the shower as cold as possible, stripped off his clothes and stepped in.
He didn’t even flinch when the cold water accosted him. That would have worried most people. Not Tristan. It was a relief. Proof that nothing had changed. He’d been wrong.
The look of panic that had crossed Tessa’s face at the mention of the hurricane, it hadn’t knocked him in the gut.
The nervous shuffle of her feet, it hadn’t made him want to reach out and calm her.
The disappointment in her voice when he’d refused to take her scones, it hadn’t made him curse himself and want to eat the entire plate in front of her, grinning like an idiot between every bite.
Tristan didn’t grin. He didn’t comfort. He didn’t want company, he didn’t have friends. And he sure as fuck didn’t feel.
That was why he stood in that shower, the water running across the cuts and grooves on his back, every part of him numb, and sighed in relief.
Nothing had changed. He would be absolutely fine.
6
Tessa twisted her wet hair into one towel and scrubbed herself dry with another.
Her feet were sore, a burn on her index finger throbbed, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed. It was six in the evening. She had enough time to eat some cereal, drink a glass of wine, and read a little before she passed out. Tessa closed her eyes in relief at the thought of more than eight blissful hours of sleep in her immediate future.
She had her sleep shorts on and was pulling a loose tank over her head when she heard the knock at her door.
She must have imagined it. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
The knock came again. Looking through the peephole, Tessa jumped back when she caught sight of a dark swath of hair and one ice blue eye behind it.
She forgot all about the towel on her head, or the lack of bra underneath her shirt, and opened the door.
“Mr. Hurst?”
“Tristan.” The one word was as dark as his facial expression.
Tessa started to close the door, too tired to deal with whatever weirdness this was, but he stopped it with one broad hand.
“Sorry.” He didn’t smile, but the frown was gone. They considered each other through the gap before he lifted his other hand. “Dinner?”
“Are you asking if I’ve had any or if I want some?”
Tristan looked down at his feet before meeting her eyes. The furrow was back. “I brought you some. Mark asked me to have dinner with you.”
“Huh. So Mark asked you if you’d have dinner with me, but neither of you asked if I wanted to have dinner with you. Didn’t realize you guys had a mini dictatorship going on here.”
The line between Tristan’s eyes deepened and Tessa wanted to laugh. He looked so uncomfortable. She was about to send him on his way when she caught a whiff of whatever was in his bags.
“Assuming I go along with this demand to feed me, what did you bring?”
Tristan handed her the food. “Dinner from Jo’s. Fresh seafood stew.”
“It smells amazing.”
“Everything Jo makes is amazing.”
Tessa wanted to stick her face into the bags and breathe deep. The stew smelled so good and she was starving. After an entire day in the kitchen, she had no desire to cook for herself. It was either this or a bowl of cold cereal. Her stomach grumbled, making its preference known.
Tessa opened the door wider. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
Something about the way his eyes tilted down at the outside corners made Tessa’s heart pinch. She wondered what it would take to make them crinkle in a real smile.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, ignoring how much she enjoyed having his attention—so focused, so serious—all on her. “I’ll forgive this weird dinner ambush, on two conditions.” When he nodded, she continued. “One, you never do it again, either of you. And, two, you eat with me.”
“You’re sure?”
“About which part?”
“Either. Both.” For a second the sheen of indifference was gone and Tristan actually looked flustered. “The second part, I guess.”
“Sharing with you? Yeah, I’m sure.” Tessa waved him into her apartment. “Feels like there’s a lot of food in here. I’m starving. And from what little I know about you, you’re always hungry. Well”—she thought back to earlier in the day and her face fell—“almost always. No sense letting something that smells this good go to waste.”
She dropped the bags on the kitchen’s two-person breakfast bar and pointed to the cabinets. “Bowls, plates, spoons in there. Wine glasses too. Wine in the fridge. White okay with you?”
Tristan shrugged. She assumed that meant yes.
“You get everything set up. I’ll be right back.”
Tessa shut her bedroom door, pulled her arms out of her tank and put on a bra, before yanking it back down again. She ripped the towel off her head and wrapped her still-wet hair into a bun. She didn’t bother with anything else. She was starving and Tristan had crashed her house after hours. He was getting the bare-footed, wet-headed, makeup-free Tessa.
When she came back minutes later, Tristan had relocated everything to the small table that occupied one corner of the apartment’s relatively spacious living room-dining room combo. It was in front of the sliding glass doors that opened to a small balcony. The view wasn’t anything amazing, certainly nothing like what guests got at the resort. They were across the street and a little higher up on the peak, so the tips of the resort’s buildings were visible through the lush greenery. If Tessa looked carefully, she could occasionally see a glimpse of ocean when the palm trees swayed in the same direction at the right time.
The stew was already in the bowls and Tristan had found cloth napkins somewhere in the kitchen—she’d have to ask about that one—and had poured them wine.
Tessa hesitated before sitting at the place he’d set for her. “You didn’t want to eat in the kitchen?”
“I like this view better.”
“What view?”
“Any view outside.”
It was an odd answer, but Tessa wasn’t going to push. She had more important things to focus on. She’d heard wonderful things about Jo’s Cafe from Grace. It was a local favorite and the owner, Josephine, was a legend. Fresh food and Caribbean flavors cooked to perfection. If the smell was anything to go by, Grace hadn’t been exaggerating.
Tessa took her first sip and hummed in delight when the warm flavors hit her tongue. It was perfection. And exactly what she needed after a long day. Tessa kept her noises of appreciation to a minimum in the kitchen. They were distracting and unnecessary. If she was doing her job right, everything she made should evoke a reaction. But at home, she didn’t hold back. Little sighs and moans followed every sip, the warmth of the stew relaxing every exhausted muscle in her body.
After several minutes of silence, Tessa realized her dinner companion hadn’t moved. “Lose your appetite?”
Tristan was looking at her, something indecipherable in his eyes. The crease between them was gone, but one hand was locked behind his neck and, if the tension in his forearm was anything to go by, his fingers were dug deep.
“Tristan?” Nothing. Tessa laid down her spoon and touched his arm just above his elbow. That got his attention. He jerked back so fast he almost knocked his bowl off the table.
He was about to stand up, his large frame vibrating with an unnamed tension. Tessa looked at him, confused.
“Tristan,” she t
ried again, careful not to touch him. “What’s wrong?”
“I…uh…” Whatever he was trying to say dissolved into nonsense, his eyes wide and unfocused. He hovered halfway between sitting and standing. Tessa took it as a good sign that he hadn’t run straight out the door.
“Sit. Eat.” She moved his bowl away from the edge and tilted her head towards the spoon. “It’s wonderful, as promised. Hands down some of the best comfort food I’ve had in ages.” She watched him as she spoke, her voice calm, like she was trying to coax a wild animal out of hiding. Which, at that second, didn’t feel far from the truth.
Tessa returned her attention to her bowl, wanting to give him the space he obviously needed. Staring wouldn’t help. Better to give the guy a second to regroup after…well, whatever that was.
She relaxed when Tristan resettled in his chair. A few strained seconds later, he began to eat.
Tessa was nearing the bottom of her bowl when he spoke.
“Sorry. I…”
His head was bowed, his gaze fixed on his food. The spoon was balanced in one hand, but Tessa didn’t miss the fact that the other was gripping the table tightly. When he looked up, his eyes met hers immediately. The depth of the sadness she saw there would have knocked her down if she hadn’t already been sitting. As it was, Tessa had to force her stomach to not reject the stew she’d just eaten.
Tessa opened her mouth, about to say something—anything—but Tristan shifted. When he looked back, his eyes were flat, neutral, all emotion gone.
“I don’t do this often. Must be a little rusty.”
“This?”
“Dinner. With people.”
Tessa fell back in her chair and gaped at him. She couldn’t help it. There sat one of the most strikingly handsome men she’d ever met, scion of a powerful family, successful in his own right. Tristan Hurst embodied everything she expected a classically accomplished man to be. Yes, his hair was a touch longer than Wall Street types typically sported. And his all-black wardrobe was an odd choice for life on a tropical island. But everything about him spoke of grace and power and a preternatural understanding that the world and women would bend to his will. The idea that he didn’t eat “dinner with people,” as he put it, on a regular basis was laughable.
