After the Storm

by Katy Ames

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  “Well,” Tessa mimicked, “since I’m only useful to you as long as I’m working here, the answer to that is no.”

  The man on the other end chuckled, raspy and thick. It sent a chill straight down Tessa’s spine. “Oh, Ms. Armstrong. It’s a mistake to think you’re only useful to me there. I assure you I can find many uses for you. And my favorites have you back in New York. Don’t doubt it for one second.”

  Bile that hit the back of Tessa’s throat and she forced herself to swallow the acrid aftertaste of coffee.

  “I—” she stuttered before starting again. “I’m ready to do what you asked. Just tell me what you need me to do.” She didn’t want to envision the wiry grin that her placating tone most likely brought to his face.

  “So agreeable. Just what I like to hear.” Then, sharper, all business. “The renovations at the spa and restaurant, we want to know how they’re coming along. It should be easy enough to find out. When the construction is expected to be finished, if they’re coming in on-budget. Big picture stuff. We don’t need numbers or details. Easy.”

  Tessa released the breath she’d been holding. She hated this, every single thing about it. The secrets, the reasons behind them. The decisions—her father’s, then hers—that had landed them in this shitty situation. And that was before Tessa let herself dwell on what this would mean for her relationship with Grace. Or Mark, for that matter. This information, however random, pertained to their hotel. Tessa might be doing this against her will, but that didn’t change the fact that she was betraying her friend. Oh, God, and now there was Tristan….

  Stop. You don’t have a choice. And this, what he’s demanding, this is something you have to do. “That’s it?”

  “For now.”

  “When do you need to know?”

  “As soon as possible. The answer to that question, Ms. Armstrong, is always as soon as possible.”

  “Yes. Understood.”

  “Good.”

  Tessa waited, hoping he’d just hang up. But she heard him breathe into the phone, a harsh gust against her ear, before he continued.

  “Don’t forget what’s at stake, Ms. Armstrong. We’re counting on you. Your family is counting on you.”

  “I understand,” she repeated, sick with disappointment and a lick of fear that was becoming harder to ignore.

  10

  Tristan stared at his bare feet. This wasn’t going to be fun. He was pacing again, around and around the suite Mark had insisted he call home. The floor was cool beneath his soles and he mentally ticked off each tile as he repeated the loop around the living room.

  Tessa was coming for dinner.

  Third time’s the charm, Mark had reminded him, just two minutes after letting Tristan know that the plan was already made. Tessa was joining him in his suite for dinner and he needed to be friendly, otherwise Mark was going to make some “staffing adjustments” and Tristan would find himself reporting to Grace for the next six months.

  Tristan liked the new GM, but he liked his solitude and autonomy more. If having dinner with Tessa every night until Mark and Grace got back was the price he had to pay, so be it.

  He would be fine.

  As long as he didn’t freak the fuck out again.

  “Shit!” Tristan laced both hands across the back of his neck, the pull keeping his head down as he walked and walked. He was way past trying to stop the curses. They just kept coming, more and more frequently.

  Despite his punishing swim last night, he’d been back in the water at sunrise, the laps helping to calm the restlessness that was growing by the day. Tristan had gone straight to the spa after, the to-do list longer than he wanted with the hurricane expected to hit them in less than a week. But as soon as he’d wrapped up the call with Mark about his new and regularly scheduled dinners with Tessa, he’d gone to the gym, hoping a long run would ease his building tension. His muscles were exhausted. And he couldn’t stop moving.

  Tristan was already on edge and she hadn’t even arrived. He was focusing so hard on keeping calm that there wasn’t any room for embarrassment about the night before. Even though he knew his behavior had freaked her out. Fuck, it had freaked him out.

  For the first time in a long time, Tristan hadn’t been pretending. It had been easy to fall into step with Tessa. She hadn’t pushed him over dinner, happily eating in companionable silence. He’d seen the spark of happiness in her eyes when he’d agreed with her bizarre plan to make bread. And, God help him, he’d relaxed.

  The feel of her small hands beneath his, the softness of her curves pressed into his side. The smell of her skin, sweet and warm and just a little sinful. Stopping hadn’t even crossed his mind. Tristan had been on the verge of devouring her, taking her hard and fast against that counter, their hands sticky with flour and dough. Her gentle voice had called to him, the way she’d arched her neck to give him better access the single most seductive thing he’d seen in ages. Tristan had been about to let himself go and enjoy a much-needed release…and then they’d almost kissed.

  “Goddamnit!” Tristan stubbed his toe against the corner of one sofa but didn’t stop pacing. Maybe the throbbing would help distract him.

  Tristan had almost kissed Tessa, and Tristan didn’t kiss anyone. Which he knew sounded weird. He did sleep with women, after all. Those female acquaintances in New York and L.A. and London who he knew he could call when he needed to get some of that undeniable energy out of his system. But they had an understanding. A pleasant evening, mutually enjoyable sex, with no expectation of anything other than physical satisfaction for both parties. No commitment, no emotion. No kissing.

  Tristan rolled his neck, his locked hands pressing into the knotted muscles. He couldn’t remember the last woman he’d actually kissed on the lips. It must’ve been in high school. Definitely before that night. He hadn’t wanted to be near anyone—let alone sleep with anyone—after that night. It had been years before he’d been willing to get into bed with a woman when he hadn’t been blind drunk. But that was ages ago. He was older now, harder. Better prepared. He didn’t need to feel the soft give of a woman’s mouth beneath his. He didn’t need to remember what it was like to share one breath, to give and take in that intoxicating cycle of desire and devotion.

  He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t wanted it in years. Until the moment he’d felt Tessa’s sweet lips beneath his and he’d been about to trace them with his tongue, to kiss her into agreeing to anything his love-starved soul wanted.

  Thank God he’d been able to stop. And thank God he hadn’t drowned when he’d been crazy enough to dive into the ocean.

  Somehow, he’d been saved twice last night. He might not be so lucky tonight.

  Third time’s the charm…. His cousin’s words taunted him as he answered Tessa’s knock on the door.

  * * *

  Tessa licked the last bit of creamy cheese off her finger. Dinner had gone surprisingly well. They were seated comfortably in the overstuffed furniture in Tristan’s suite. She’d been nervous when Grace had outlined the plan. Not only were they forcing Tristan into regular dinner dates without even discussing it with him, but the first was going to be in his room at the resort.

  Talk about pushing a guy’s limits. Not to mention, having dinner anywhere close to his bed threw up all sorts of red flags after their bread-making debacle. But Grace had assured Tessa the suite was large, she and Tristan wouldn’t be anywhere close to his bedroom, and he’d probably be more comfortable with the entire arrangement if he was in his own space.

  Tristan pointed at Tessa’s empty wine glass. She nodded and he took both into the kitchen to top them up. Despite Grace’s comment, Tessa doubted Tristan considered the space his. The suite was beautiful, clean and elegant, and decorated in soft creams and golds that she was sure made the ocean beyond the windows appear even more blue than it already was. But as gorgeous as it was, the room was impersonal, borderline sterile. Other tha
n the fact that he answered the door, there was no indication that Tristan even lived there.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, it can’t be good.”

  Tessa looked at Tristan in surprise as he handed her more wine. He wasn’t frowning. In fact, his shoulders were relaxed, the worry line between his blue eyes almost invisible. “No,” she said, shaking her head, “just looking around.”

  “What do you think?” Tristan returned to the deep armchair that was catty-corner to the sofa where she sat. The coffee table between them held the remnants of their room service dinner and the cheese plate Tessa had ordered for dessert. After years making pastries, Tessa sometimes couldn’t handle another bite of sugar.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Tristan shrugged.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Not to knock Mark’s hotel, but it looks like every other luxury resort with a view of an ocean.”

  “Wow.” Tessa put down her wine and twisted in her seat so she was facing him. “That’s not at all jaded.”

  Tristan shrugged. “Didn’t say it wasn’t. But it’s also the truth.”

  “You could change that, you know.” Tessa tucked her bare feet up under her legs, the soft hem of her skirt tickling her knees.

  Tristan angled his head in response.

  “What I was thinking, earlier,” she confessed, “is that this place doesn’t look lived in. How long have you been here?”

  “A month.”

  “A month and there isn’t a single thing in this room that distinguishes it from any other expensive suite in any luxury hotel with an ocean view.” Tessa shook her head when Tristan’s frown appeared. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

  Tristan was hunched forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his wine glass balanced at the tips of his elegant fingers. Tessa saw those fingers twitch.

  “I don’t need much,” was his only answer.

  “You’ve moved here, right? Like, you’re living and working on the island for the foreseeable future?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Where did you live before?”

  “New York.”

  “City?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tessa’s nerves flickered. It was a big city. Millions of people lived there. And she vaguely remembered Grace saying something about Mark growing up there. But after that phone call earlier in the day, Tessa didn’t want to think about the city and everything that came along with it. They were not going to talk about who lived where and which acquaintances might overlap.

  “Do you still have an apartment there?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Tessa sat up straighter.

  “I lived in a corporate apartment. No job at Hurst, no Hurst apartment.”

  “So where’s all your stuff?”

  Tristan just shrugged again. “Like I said, I don’t need much.”

  Tessa studied the man beside her. He was wearing what she’d come to recognize as his uniform. Black button-down shirt, collar open, cuffs rolled up. Dark, almost black, jeans. His hair was messy, the long pieces in the front falling to his eyes. The balls of his large, bare feet were pressed against the floor. Tessa thought they were beautiful. Which was odd. Because they were feet. But, like the rest of Tristan, they were long and elegant, the slope of the inside arch smooth, the strength apparent in the fine muscles and tendons that flickered as he bounced them lightly up and down.

  He was stark and severe, his edges so sharp, and Tessa’s hands burned with the urge to smooth him out. She forced her throat to work around the emotion that had been riding high all day.

  “Are you happy?”

  Tristan looked at her sharply then, his eyes narrowing. Tessa bit punishingly on the inside of her cheek. What the hell are you doing? You’re not a fucking therapist, Tessa. And going off the look he’s giving you, he sure as hell doesn’t want you to act like one.

  “I mean,” she backtracked, “you just said you left a job at your family’s company to come here. I was wondering if you were glad you did.” His eyes were still hard. Tessa tugged at her skirt. “You know, ’cause I just moved here too, and sometimes it feels like we’re kinda in the same situation, starting new lives in a new place. And I was just curious if you were happy with your decision.”

  Tristan stared at her in silence, his eyes never leaving her face. Tessa worked hard not to squirm under his scrutiny. They sat there like that, neither moving or talking. Tessa considered getting up and leaving. She was unfolding her legs when Tristan finally spoke.

  “I like being here with Mark. I like being away from Hurst. I like that I can swim in the ocean every day.” He shrugged one broad shoulder, his blue eyes still locked on hers. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

  “Tristan.” Tessa was at the edge of her seat before she thought about it, her hand reaching out for his. Tristan jerked back so fast wine splashed onto one of his knees.

  “I’m sor—”

  Tristan was out of the chair and across the room before she could finish apologizing. “Thanks for coming, Tessa. It’s getting late.”

  Oh my God, he’s kicking you out. Tessa tried to think of something to say, something to make it better, but nothing came. She found her shoes where she’d kicked them off earlier and shoved them on before joining Tristan at the door.

  He was already turning the knob when she reached him. “Tristan.” She flattened her palm on the door, a few inches above his, stopping him from opening it. “I don’t know what I said to piss you off, but whatever it was….” Tessa took a step closer, moving into his space so that he was forced to look at her. They stood with only a few inches between them, the tension around them escalating. Slowly, Tessa laid her other hand on his arm, her fingers barely spanning half his wrist. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”

  Tristan’s chest expanded on a deep breath, his shoulders curling forward when he exhaled. He was so close Tessa could feel the soft brush of his hair on her forehead.

  “I know,” he said. Tessa’s mouth went dry when his answer grazed her lips. It would be so easy to press hers to his. And the absolute wrong thing to do.

  “Tomorrow?” Tessa couldn’t tear her eyes away from his mouth. It was wide, the top lip a perfect bow, the bottom one bold and strong. As if he could feel her attention, those lips parted and she saw Tristan’s tongue trace the bottom row of teeth. Need, sharp and fast, slammed into her chest. Tessa wanted that privilege, the right to slip inside and taste him.

  She was leaning forward, about to do just that, when reality hit her. No. That wasn’t why she was there. And, based on the night before, it definitely wasn’t what Tristan needed.

  “Tessa?”

  Blinking away the haze, Tessa noticed Tristan’s wary expression. The frown was back.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Hmm, what?” Christ, she was losing it. “Yes, fine.”

  “The answer’s yes.”

  “The answer…?”

  “You asked about tomorrow? Dinner, right? My answer is yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Not even a little.” Tristan shook his head. “But Mark asked, and I agreed.”

  “Even if you don’t like having dinner with me?”

  Tristan stood a little straighter, and his frown sank a little deeper. Tessa noticed his muscles flicker where she still held his wrist. “Who says I don’t like having dinner with you?”

  “Well, uh.” Tessa knew her freckles were out in full force, the heat of her blush accentuating them. “No one. I just guessed. It isn’t like these have been going well.”

  Tristan’s frown shifted from irritation to concern. “You hate them.”

  “No!” Tessa said it so loudly they both jumped. She lost her grip on his arm. “No, that’s not it. I want to be your friend, Tristan. And I’d really like you to be mine. But only if you want to. Not because Mark and Grace told you to.” She paused, offering him an out she desperately
hoped he wouldn’t take. “If this becomes too much, please tell me.”

  Please don’t tell me, please don’t tell me, her brain was chanting. Because friends or not, uncomfortable or not, Tessa didn’t want their dinners to end. She didn’t want him deciding there was no reason to come back.

  “I agreed to the dinners. I don’t want to stop.”

  It wasn’t the same thing as saying he wanted to keep going, but Tessa would take it. “Okay. So I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll text you the details.”

  “Okay,” he repeated. “Good night, Tessa.”

  “’Night.” Tessa slipped out, eager to get away before he changed his mind. When the door didn’t shut, she stopped and looked back. Tristan stood only feet away, his face carefully blank.

  “But, Tessa?” he said. “Please, don’t push too hard. I honestly don’t know what will happen if I fall.”

  11

  That’s how their routine started. Tristan would host one night, Tessa the next. Sometimes she’d cook, other times they’d order room service.

  The next couple of dinners weren’t great, but they managed to keep conversation going, with stops and starts. No one touched, no one freaked out. And Tessa felt like each night she walked away knowing a little bit more about the man who was slowly becoming her friend.

  The night she commandeered one of the hotel’s huge grills to cook burgers, she learned, for example, that he hated onions.

  “How can you hate onions? They’re in everything.”

  “They’re not,” Tristan grunted. “And I just don’t like how they taste.”

  “You realize that different onions taste different, right? And, yes, having spent my entire career in a professional kitchen, I promise you they’re in everything.”

  “They’re bitter. And they aren’t.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re stubborn.”

  Tristan’s frown, which had softened over the past few days, came back strong. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”