“Yeah?”
“You did a great job today. The world better watch out for you.”
I smile and think that maybe, just maybe, he’s right.
TWENTY
Tristan
Tickets in hand for the festival, I park the car at Emma’s place, then round my way to the side of the house and the door attached to her bedroom. It’s unlocked, but she isn’t inside.
“Em?”
I can hear running water coming from her bathroom. Figuring she must be in the shower, I let myself in and shut the door behind me. I sit on her bed and look at her maps, the massive world that she wants so badly to escape to but is afraid of. I picture Emma behind that door, naked in the shower, and I can’t help but think of all the things I’d like to do to her in there—if she’d let me—but that would take time, something that is in short supply if we are going to get to Calico soon for the festival.
The water cuts off and she emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy white towel. Her eyes widen and then she gives a coy smile. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hi.” I lean back on the headboard, crossing my arms behind my head. “I’m just in time for the show, I see.”
Emma bites down on her lower lip and tugs the fabric of the towel up to expose her thigh.
Holy shit.
Something that minor and I can feel myself getting hard.
Pathetic, Banks.
“Come here and do that,” I challenge her.
I don’t think she’ll dare step any closer, but to my total astonishment, she saunters over to the bed and straddles me. Oh. My. God. I put my hands on her thighs and lift myself off the bed enough to push against her. She makes a face, and the only thing I can think is how I want to see how much that face would change when I make her come undone.
I’ve seen it once before, but I was a little too preoccupied to get a good look. Next time, I’ll be ready.
“You’re a tease,” I tell her.
“Maybe,” she says, bringing her mouth to mine. Her damp hair hangs like a curtain. She nips at my lip. “Maybe not.”
I cup her face in my hands. “I want you more than you could possibly know.”
“I’m yours,” she says. “Whenever you want.”
I debate not going to the festival at all. The most basic part of me wants to claim her, to make her mine, again. Emma brings her mouth back on top of mine and I bring my arms around to clench my fists in her hair, for no other reason than to stop them from removing her towel.
Without question, my evening just got a whole lot more exciting, but the first time with her cannot be like this. Not on her bed in some heated moment of passion. It’s going to be perfect for her. I intend to make sure of it. It’s with that in mind that I slip out from under her.
She sits on her knees on the bed, looking down at the fabric of the comforter. “Oh,” she says. “Sorry.” The pink flush of her cheeks spreads straight down her shoulders and I can’t help but think I’ve made her feel as though I’ve rejected her.
I sit upright, taking her hands in mine. “Don’t apologize, Peaches. God. Don’t apologize for that.”
“Well, I thought you’d want—”
I don’t let her finish. “Of course I want to do that with you. I think about it all the time, but not here, like this. I want it to be perfect.”
“I feel like I’m ready,” she says. “I wasn’t before, but things are different now. I’m different now. Gosh, it’s crazy to think I haven’t been back that long at all, and yet I don’t feel like the same person. Between Marley, Mateo, and you, it’s like you’ve given me my life back.”
I kiss the tops of her hands. “Yeah,” I say. “Well, I could say the same thing about you.”
She smiles, and I wonder if I will ever get tired of seeing that. It’s doubtful.
“Listen, why don’t you get your painfully gorgeous body dressed in some clothes and we’ll go and see treasures from another part of the world tonight.”
“Tonight,” she echoes. “Tonight’s the night.”
“Tonight?”
“I mean it. I’m ready. I’m staying at your place.”
That is not a point that I will argue. Not as long as I’m alive and breathing.
Emma
I don’t know how or why my sessions with Mateo are turning me into this person I can’t recognize. Not exactly true, I suppose. I recognize her, but it’s been so long since she was me, it was easy to bury her. Gabe put the final shovel of dirt over her head and it’s like she’s suddenly making her way to the surface after months, years of dormancy, able to feel the sun again.
I like it.
No, I love it.
I’m learning to love me. Baggage and all.
Learning to accept this about myself empowers me to go after what I want and he happens to be sitting on my bed.
Tristan’s hesitation is understandable. He wants to make sure I’m ready. He doesn’t want to be part of something I will regret. But I know I will have zero regrets. None. Being with Tristan is exactly what I need, and tonight I’m going to get it.
I grab a simple sundress from my closet. It’s red and looks good against my skin, which is starting to show the effects of the sun. I select a matching red set of intimates to wear underneath. Tristan is going to have heart failure.
I quickly blow-dry my hair, leaving it down because he likes it that way, and about fifteen minutes after I’d left him on my bed, I come out of the bathroom, ready to get the night started.
“You look hot, Emma Fletcher.” He stands and offers his outstretched hand. “I’m a lucky, lucky guy.”
I climb into the cab of his truck, purposely sliding across the seat so there is no space between us. As Tristan puts the truck in gear, his forearm brushes my thigh and I close my eyes to savor the trail of heat it leaves behind.
Calico is a good forty-minute drive from Stonefall and the entire time, I feel like I’m a guy. Unfair stereotype, maybe, but the only thing on my mind is going home with Tristan later.
When we get there, he puts the car in park and turns to me.
“You okay, Em? You’re pretty quiet tonight.”
I smile. “I’m fine. I’m great.”
Tristan gets out of the truck and holds his arm out for me. “Good,” he says. “That’s what I like to hear.”
The town of Calico has been completely transformed. It’s as if we’ve hopped on a plane and flown to an exotic island rather than driven forty minutes through lush countryside. The only missing element is the clear blue waters of the Caribbean.
“I’ve always wanted to go to the Caribbean.”
He squeezes my hand. “Ahh, but to be fair, haven’t you always wanted to go everywhere?”
I nod. “True.”
“Maybe, when you marry me,” he says, “I’ll take you to Jamaica or Barbados or St. Kitts, Nevis. Maybe I will have to quit my job and we will just travel the world together.”
“Marry you?” I laugh nervously, but Tristan doesn’t even flinch.
“Marry me,” he repeats.
My heart drops to the floor. I can’t help but imagine what it would be like if Tristan spoke those words for real.
“Wow. Aren’t you a guy? Isn’t it, like, inherently built into your DNA to run from the word marriage?”
He shakes his head. “The only thing I’d run for is to go after you, because I’d be crazy to let you get away. Now,” he says, “let’s decide which island we should honeymoon on.”
I try to brush it off, as if he’d spoken words that didn’t have such heavy implications, but I can’t. I wish those words were real.
I am in love with Tristan Banks. Madly and undeniably.
We sample jerk chicken, black beans and rice, catfish, other seafood, and fried plantains and I feel like I’m going to burst at the se
ams.
We look at hand-crafted scarves, baskets, wood carvings, and intricately beaded jewelry. Tristan buys me a set of earrings with a matching bracelet. Not because I was desperate to have it but because the saleswoman, who was beautiful and exotic-looking, turned up the charm and he couldn’t say no to her.
Steel drums produce a steady beat and people are dressed in costumes that bleed color. Orange, red, green, blue, gold, purple. Street performers dance in time with the drums and Tristan pulls me out into the crowd of people. We dance together—a spectacle, I’m sure, because we tower over most of the people here, but as Tristan pushes me away, pulls me back in, and twirls me under his arm, I throw my head back in laughter because I’m free. I’m free and I am so in love.
Tristan
During the drive home, Emma sits next to me, her legs parted slightly. She’s been flirting and suggestive all night and it’s fucking killing me.
I want her so bad I can feel it in every nerve in my body.
I keep one hand on the wheel and the other on her knee as she slouches in her seat, forcing my hand a little higher.
“You trying to play, Peaches?”
“That depends. Are you trying to tease me?”
Fuck.
I wasn’t, but I’m going to now.
I let my fingers fall lazily to the inside of her thigh and she opens her legs a little more, granting me unspoken permission to explore.
I move it higher, making small circles with my fingertips.
She moans.
I like the sound she makes for me far more than I remembered.
“You like that?” I don’t need to ask, but I want to hear her say it.
“Yes,” she says in a rushed breath.
“Yes,” I echo. I dare move it higher still. “That?”
She nods, her lips parting for breath. I need to focus on the road, but I feel like an alcoholic stuck in a room with the finest aged brandy.
I move my hand even farther up, to the silky fabric of her underwear, and circle my finger right in the middle.
She pushes herself against my hand.
The fabric between her skin and my finger is soaked. I apply the smallest pressure and she closes her eyes, letting her head fall back.
“You’re so wet,” I whisper. She pushes against me a second time, but I let my hand fall back down to the inside of her thigh. “Soon, okay? I have to drive and keep us on the road and I’m afraid that you are far too distracting.”
She pouts.
“It’ll be worth the wait,” I try to reason, “I promise.”
She squirms in the seat for a second, then folds over at the waist to retrieve something from the ground.
Her panties.
Fuck.
She hands them to me with a sly grin.
I speed, probably a little recklessly, to get home, but holy hell. The girl is going to drive me mental. I let us into the apartment and toss my keys on the side table before turning to her.
There she stands, frozen, but giving me a coy, sexy grin. Same one she’s been firing at me all night long.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” she says.
Christ. That’s my line.
I need another approach, but in the meantime, I’ll tell her. “Take off your dress.”
She slips one strap over her shoulder, then the other, before sliding the dress slowly down her long legs, all the way to her ankles. She steps one high-heeled foot over the pile on the floor and then the other.
She is in silky red lingerie underneath, sans panties, and I’m fucking breathless. The pumps under her feet elongate her legs and I can’t wait to have them wrapped around my waist as she screams my name.
Her arms twist behind her, searching for the clasp to her bra.
“No,” I tell her. “Let me do it.”
Her arms fall to the side and I take her all in one more time before I step around her. I’m at her back and I undo the clasp, doing as she did with the dress, slipping one strap over her shoulder after the other.
I cup her breast in my hand as the bra falls to the floor and she responds with a sharp intake of air.
I kiss her neck, and as her head falls to the side, exposing it all to me, I remind myself not to rush.
Emma turns suddenly and tugs at the hem of my T-shirt so it’s up and over my head.
She pauses, wide eyes hidden by dark lashes. She licks her lips.
“You look better than I imagined,” she says.
I laugh. “I’m not sure if I should say thanks or not.”
“I meant it as a compliment. It was nice in my head, but it’s even better in real life.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all yours, Emma Fletcher. I’m all yours.”
Take it slow, a voice in my head demands.
I grab her arm and hold her wrist to my lips for a kiss. “Wait here,” I tell her. “Don’t move.”
She smiles.
I head to the kitchen, to the cupboard above the sink, and grab a few of the scented candles my mother insists on buying in bulk, consequently bringing one or two each time she visits, and head to my room.
I light at least six of the things, strategically placing them around the bedroom, before hurrying back to Emma. She hasn’t moved.
I grab her hand wordlessly and pull her down the hallway.
Emma
As Tristan leads me to his bedroom, all I notice is that his jeans are frayed on the bottoms and the muscles in his back stretch and pull taut as he moves.
I want him so bad it hurts. I want to tell him. I want to scream it from the rooftops. I love you, Tristan Banks! My silence is with me instead.
He enters through the doorway and spins so we’re face-to-face. “I would have planned something nicer if I knew . . .”
I look around his room. It’s immaculate, and the candles he’s lit smell like apples and cinnamon and cast a soft amber hue around the space. “It’s perfect,” I assure him. “I’m not here for the scenery.” I look at his skin. His chest, the lines and curves accented by the soft light, makes me think that maybe that’s not entirely true. I don’t mind this scenery at all.
“Still,” he whispers, cupping a hand on my cheek, “I would have made it perfect.”
He doesn’t get it.
“It is perfect,” I say, “because it’s with you. Please don’t worry anymore. I want this. I really, really want this.”
As the words leave my mouth, I hope they take Tristan’s remaining reservations with them. I step out of the heels, wanting to be on more of an even playing field instead of being taller than him. I unbutton his jeans, and as they fall to the floor, his eyes flash mischievously.
“Lie on the bed,” he says. “If you want me to stop—”
I laugh softly. “You’d have to start in order to stop.”
I lie down and as Tristan stands over me to look at me, my belly twists, nervous or excited or both. “That sounds like a challenge that I will readily accept.”
He starts at my mouth, kissing, nipping. I fight to catch my breath, which is quickly accelerating into heavy, labored gasps for air.
He moves to my neck, his lips and his tongue leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
His hands map out my body, stopping at the space between my breasts.
“Your heart is racing,” he whispers.
He’s right. It’s trying to bust through my rib cage.
His other hand rests between my legs and he puts his fingers inside me.
Oh God. I’m going to explode. It’s been so long since this, since I felt free. I love everything about this moment.
My head instinctively goes back.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” I somehow manage.
He p
ulls his fingers out and I put my hand on top of his to prevent him from moving it anywhere. “More.”
He smiles. “More. I love that word leaving your lips.”
I raise my hips off the bed toward him. “More,” I say again.
“Fuck, Emma,” he breathes, “you’re so warm and wet. You’re incredible.” He continues to work me with his fingers, keeping two inside while he circles my clit with his thumb.
I’m embarrassed by how quickly I’m ready, but I can’t help it. He drives me to the edge so fast. When I’m almost at the brink, he reaches in the nightstand for a condom, tearing the foil package and putting it on.
He stops, settled over me. “Are you scared?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I’m not scared.”
He smiles, his fingers twitching on my skin. “I am.”
“You’re scared?” This surprises me.
He brings his mouth to my ear. “I’m scared that the second we collide, there’s no going back. And it won’t matter how freaked you get or how fast you run. I don’t think I’ll be able let you go. Because,” he brings his mouth on mine and I can feel the corners of his lips tug into a smile, “because I am hopelessly, helplessly in love with everything about you, Emma Fletcher.”
I suck in a breath. Did he . . . ?
“What?”
“You heard me,” he says. “I am in love with you. You may think it’s crazy, that it’s too fast, but I don’t care. I love you.” He kisses my neck. “I love you.” My collarbone. “I love you.” My mouth.
“I love you too, Tristan.”
His hands move to frame my face as I feel him push between my legs. At first, I gasp and he stops until I lift off the bed, urging him to go deeper. He does. Slow at first, then fast. He keeps pumping and I move my body in time with his, the friction building a fire in my belly with each thrust. I wrap my legs around his waist, and Tristan’s eyes burn into mine when every molecule in my body explodes.
I fall.
I come undone.
And it’s perfect.
TWENTY-ONE
Tristan
For the second time, I find a naked Emma in my bed. It’s as if I have yet to wake from a dream. Her breasts rise with each breath and her long legs are twisted in the sheets, sooty lashes protecting sleeping eyes. Every second that passes, I fall deeper and deeper in love with her. I can’t remember the last time I felt this way, or if I ever have. Sure, Katie was charming and funny and I did love her, but I don’t recall it being like this. As if my very existence was anchored to someone else, someone who is so beautiful and damaged and strong and vulnerable all at the same time.
The Enchantment of Emma Fletcher Page 19
