Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  No. I’m worried about money. That’s all.

  Pulling himself out of the bleak thoughts, Tristan grabbed a cloth to clean a spotless bar counter. Moira ran a tight ship and was borderline OCD with cleanliness.

  “Two Caipirinhas, table five,” Ana handed Tristan a slip of paper that he stuck to the counter as he pulled the ingredients and started mixing the drinks. “Hey, too bad Moira’s kid is sick, but I’m glad you’re covering for her. I never get to see you, boss.”

  Tristan ignored the wink the cheeky waitress threw his way. She was a flirt, who would get bold if he gave her half a chance, but he didn’t mix business with pleasure. Not anymore. He learned his lesson the hardest way.

  That didn’t mean he was a bore. Winking back, he quipped, “You avoid the night shifts like the plague.”

  “Boyfriend’s too jealous,” Ana replied, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder and laughing out loud.

  “How’s college treating you?” She didn’t have a steady boyfriend, but the night classes she was taking kept her away from Chez Nous Bistro.

  “Getting there, boss.”

  “Good for you. High schools need more awesome teachers like you.”

  “It’s elementary, but that’s okay.” Her long, tanned fingers thrummed the counter as she waited for the drinks. Then she smoothed the front of her white button-down shirt and tucked it into her black mini-skirt. The elegant restaurant logo was embroidered in golden thread in the black apron she wore over the skirt. “I guess old Mrs. Oliveira couldn’t take Dani to the doctor, huh? It sucks. Depending on others,” Ana clarified.

  Moira paid a neighbor to babysit the kids and the generous elderly woman would even take them to doctor appointments whenever she could.

  “Tell me about it. The poor woman had something scheduled today and couldn’t change it, so Moira needed to take Dani to the doctor.”

  “And you just waltzed in to save the day.”

  He shrugged. “Not a big deal. Glad to help.” He put the two glasses filled with a greenish mix of lime juice and cachaça, the Brazilian sugar cane liquor, and lots of ice cubes on Ana’s tray. “There you go.”

  “Thanks, boss.” With a million-dollar smile and another wink, she swirled and flounced towards table five, attracting many approving stares as she went.

  Tristan was a night owl, which made the late shift perfect for him. His partners gladly let him take charge of closing time. Although today was an exception, he was glad to cover for Moira since bartending would keep his mind busy. It was something he loved doing, but rarely had a chance to. Focusing on preparing the drinks kept the problems at bay. Maybe the ghosts from his past wouldn’t haunt him and he would sleep better tonight.

  Answering his cell phone, Tristan tucked it on the crook of his neck holding it in place with his shoulder, while he mixed drinks for another order. “What’s up, loser?”

  “That’s how you greet your business partner and lifelong friend?” Noah Cartwright’s amused retort was buried under loud guitar riffs.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Home, rehearsing. Where the hell are you? I’ve banged on your door so hard it stung my hand.”

  Tristan smacked his forehead. “Shit! Totally forgot, dude.”

  “I kind of figured that one out, man,” Noah chortled. “Clicking and swashing sounds, muffled voices. Bet you’re at the bistro. A bit early, isn’t it?

  “Covering for Moira. Listen, I’m sorry I forgot about rehearsal, but it’s not like we’re going to perform any time soon.”

  “One day I’ll drag you to the dark side, kicking and screaming if I have to.”

  “Been there, done that, didn’t do much for me.”

  “What the hell are you babbling about, Big T? You made a shitload of money with your lyrics and I’m not talking only Izzie Anderson.” That name still stung Tristan and Noah should have known better. He must have heard Tristan’s sharp intake of breath because he kept talking. “Anyway, that’s all in the past. She moved on. You moved away to another country.”

  “Not that simple,” Tristan replied, tight-lipped.

  “Hey, it’s me you’re talking to, dude. I was there. I know how bad it was. I’m just saying you shouldn’t dwell. It’s been fifteen fucking years.”

  “I haven’t been living like a monk.”

  “Nothing wrong with serial dating, man, but I wasn’t talking about your sex life. I meant getting back in the music biz.”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. Noah was persistent, if anything else. “Give up, Baby Face. Not interested.”

  Tristan couldn’t suppress a lopsided smile at his friend’s fake sounding sigh. Noah insisted, “You can’t stifle your natural talent forever. The band needs you. I need you.”

  Tristan chuckled, “What band? It’s just a handful of guys goofing around for the sake of it. Get over yourself. I’ve got work to do here. You know, at our restaurant, while you play rock star.” Noah’s laughter was contagious and Tristan joined him. “Talk later, bro.”

  Ignoring Noah’s protests, Tristan hung up and returned the cell to his back pocket. Whatever good effects bartending brought earlier, Noah’s call put a serious dent on them. Tristan didn’t sulk in past grief. He didn’t dwell in past wounds. It had taken him a painful, long time to get over the damage caused by one Izzie Anderson. He preferred to keep her away from his mind. Those stupid recent tabloid headlines weren’t helping him achieve that.

  Shaking his head, he reminded himself he was better off away from the spotlight. It changes people. It destroys them, if they let it.

  Still, memories kept resurfacing as he refilled bowls on the counter with peanuts. He glanced out of the panoramic windows overlooking the beach and his heart felt less heavy. Fifteen years ago, when he hit rock bottom, Tristan was so eager to get away from Los Angeles, he thought a foreign country would make for a good choice. Thanks to Noah, who had traveled to Brazil pursuing an ex-girlfriend, Tristan decided to take a break in a quiet tropical setting. Best decision ever. Hidden away in the southernmost tip of Florianópolis island in Santa Catarina, Tristan found a small stretch of white sand framed by tropical forest. Matadeiro Beach, accessed only by water or a narrow trail through the wilderness from the neighboring Armação Beach, was worth the effort. His wounded soul found healing in contact with the generous locals, mostly fishermen and their families, and the breathtaking views of emerald sea, blue sky and white sand.

  HALFWAY THROUGH THE EXTRA SHIFT, Tristan forgot all about self-doubt, increasing debt and past or present nightmares. In fact, he was having a blast when Ricardo, the night shift’s bartender, arrived. The tall man had an imposing figure with his wide shoulders and powerful arms, but his smiling countenance, framed by sun bleached hair that curled softly over his forehead and ears, gave off a good vibe. Surfer vibe. Well, Ricardo was a local surf champion, so the impression was accurate.

  “Did I miss the tweet where you fired me, boss?”

  “Nah. Just having fun and messing up your stuff. Maybe having fun because I’m messing up your stuff?” Tristan finished washing the glasses and folded the dishcloth neatly on the counter behind him, after wiping his hands on it. “Bar is all yours. I’ll be in the office, if anyone needs me.”

  Weaving this way through the tables in the main room, Tristan had to stop at every other one to greet the early birds that gradually filled the restaurant.

  “Lovely place you have here. Congratulations,” praised an elderly man Tristan had never seen before at Chez Nous. Judging by his accent, Tristan figured he was from Louisiana.

  “Thank you, sir. Is everything okay?” Tristan glanced at the elegant lady sitting across from the man as he inquired so that she felt included.

  “Just perfect, son,” she drawled.

  “Escaping from the cold winter back home?”

  The silver-haired gentleman stroked the lady’s hand and she squeezed his in return. The glance they exchanged spoke volumes before the man had a chance to sp
eak. He dragged his ocean blue eyes from the lovely woman’s face to Tristan’s, then explained, “Celebrating fifty glorious years. Never a dull moment.”

  “Impressive.” Tristan fought the nagging sting in his chest and kept smiling. “I don’t know many couples who’ve been married that long.”

  “Oh, no, son. We met fifty years ago, been married thirty,” the woman corrected.

  The man chuckled. “I wasted about ten years, but have been making up for it ever since. Right, dear?”

  “Yes, hon,” she agreed, her dark green eyes reflecting the light of the small floating candles in the centerpiece.

  “Congratulations again. Enjoy your meal.”

  Another couple of feet towards the office and he heard a familiar voice to his left. It was Mario, a regular client, calling out in his thick Brazilian accent, “Tristan, my man. Good to see you.” The bespectacled, middle-aged man raised a glass of red wine in greeting.

  Tristan nodded in response, still fighting to keep a smile on his face. The interaction with the tourist couple annoyed him, yet he wasn’t willing to analyze the reasons why. Stopping beside the hostess, he peeked over her shoulder and checked the reservations for that night.

  “Looking good, huh?”

  “Booked solid until the end of the month. Good job with that TV commercial. Most of the ladies calling in asked, and I quote, if the ‘drop-dead-gorgeous guy’ from TV was the owner and if the six-pack was real or photoshopped.”

  Karen Razzini moonlighted at Chez Nous’s greeting podium at night, but her day job was as the restaurant’s bookkeeper. Nelson Razzini, her brother, was Tristan and Noah’s Brazilian partner and old friend. Although the restaurant working environment was informal, as it was typical of the Brazilian culture, Karen’s status as longtime friend warranted her getting away with that kind of comment.

  Still, Tristan’s cheeks burned and Karen taunted, “Aww, how cute is that? You’re blushing. Get out of here and let me do my job.” Karen nodded towards the door as it creaked open before adding in a low voice so that only he could hear, “You’re too much of a distraction.”

  His delighted chuckle died out and the twinkle in his eyes vanished, when he lifted his head to welcome the newcomers.

  “You!” He didn’t try to disguise the accusatory tone as he growled, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Of all the trendy restaurants, in all the south of Brazil, Izzie Anderson walks into mine.

  It’s been almost fifteen years, but her betrayal cut through Tristan just as much as the day she told him she was pregnant. And that the baby wasn’t his.

  CHAPTER 2

  G et a grip, girl. Focus on the task at hand. Izzie Anderson reprimanded herself when she realized she was gawking. She forgot how hot Tristan was.

  Time stopped as her eyes glued on his athletic physique, covered in an elegant white dress shirt and black pants. Tristan was about to turn forty, yet he looked barely thirty. That tropical tan gave him a healthy aspect to boost.

  His dark blue eyes squinted when his square jaw locked and his nostrils flared. When the silence stretched because her mouth was dry, his full lips inched up in a sardonic smile. His pain was turning to scorn. Izzie couldn’t bear it. Her voice deserted her as she drew a blank and forgot the speech she rehearsed in her head countless times. Her mind was filled up by Tristan’s anguish and her remorse.

  His hurt. Her sorrow. No atonement.

  I can’t do this.

  Izzie expected a cold reception, but the pain darkening Tristan’s eyes did funny things to her insides. It was such a raw emotion, it left her feeling gutted and exposed. Her sins came back in a rush to haunt her, as if she didn’t already deal with them on a regular basis.

  A sudden ringing in her ear stole her balance and Izzie grasped the golden lectern on her right to steady herself, shaking it and sending the hostess’s papers gliding to the floor.

  “I’ve got this.” The soft-spoken brunette crouched to pick up her notes and Izzie felt her cheeks burn.

  Returning her focus to the 6-feet worth of rage looming in front of her, rational thoughts went out the door and Izzie felt again like the naïve fifteen-year-old she once was. Right about the time her life turned an unexpected spin for the better. Or so she thought.

  Now’s not the time to go there.

  Izzie squared her shoulders, recalling why she decided to reach out to Tristan after all these years. She had a mission she couldn’t fail. She’d better bite the bullet. She knew it would be hard facing him, but she didn’t expect to find his wounds still open and festering.

  The prolonged, uncomfortable silence was made worse by the way he crossed his strong arms over his broad chest and set his long legs wide apart, as if ready to pounce.

  “Well?” His deep voice stirred parts of her she forgot existed.

  Izzie opened her mouth to reply. No sounds came out, which annoyed her because it was so out of character.

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day. Little Miss Izzie Anderson at a loss for words. I’ll be damned.” His irony wasn’t lost on her. When they were kids growing up in North Ranch, they used to argue endlessly about any and all insignificant details. It got worse when they started dating while they were going to Westlake High. Except, then, arguments would end up in hot make-out sessions, when in public, or sweaty mind-blowing sex, if behind doors.

  Don’t go there!

  Shaking her head to dismiss images of Tristan’s muscled legs tangled with hers or his strong fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he drove her wild, Izzie took a deep breath. The memories weakened her knees and made her see things that weren’t there. Like his eyes turning a darker shade of indigo blue, making her think she picked up a flicker of heat in them. The kind of heat they used to generate in the past instead of today’s anger. It was gone before she could be sure. His gaze went back to the cold rejection that chilled her blood.

  Eager to break the silence, she blurted the first thing that came to mind, “How’s Lilly?”

  Really Izzie?!

  A nerve ticked in his jaw, indicating he agreed that was a stupid thing to say. “Peachy. Thanks for asking.”

  He slouched his shoulders when she asked about his mother just as another pained glint flashed in his eyes before the scowl returned to defy her.

  Liar, she thought, surprised she could still tell he was hiding something. She lost the right to that.

  She turned her chin up to hide her pain and sighed. “You’re not making this any easier.”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  When she lied to him, she also lost the right to expect him to be compassionate. It didn’t matter that she lied to protect him. He never knew that and she didn’t regret that part, the protecting Tristan part. It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

  She landed her dream deal with a record company at thirteen, too inexperienced to realize she was about to start on a path to fame and misfortune. Head over heels in love with her best friend, Izzie thought she could conquer the world if Tristan was by her side. And conquer the rock world she did, with him as her partner. Tristan wrote the words that her fans screamed out in packed full stadiums on sold out tours around the world. He gave her the confidence she lacked to pour her heart out in every recording session.

  He was her rock.

  When Izzie broke him, she lost so much more than his love. She lost her ground.

  She needed to convince Tristan she changed, but how would she ask him to forgive her when she never forgave herself?

  TRISTAN’S HEAD pounded with a vengeance. He was aware it would be painful to meet Izzie again, but that devastating emptiness in his chest was an unpleasant surprise. He thought he would be furious, outraged even. When he daydreamed about that moment, he pictured himself dismissing Izzie with a few well-deserved arctic remarks.

  He thought he was over her betrayal. He thought he was over her. Period.

  Instead, his blood turned to la
va at the sight of her perfect round face framed by pitch black hair cut way too short. Large green eyes sparkled in the dim light of the restaurant, accentuating a turned-up nose and heart-shaped lips that wore a pale shade of rose. Such a subdued color, lightyears away from the dark mauve hues that used to stain his tank tops and various parts of his anatomy.

  Don’t go there!

  He made a superhuman effort to ignore his body’s reactions to her petite form. She had that power over him, turning him into a mess of quivering muscles that hungered for her soothing touch. For the longest time, Izzie was the only one who appeased that hunger. He was annoyed to learn she still sent his libido into overdrive. He wasn’t a hormone-driven teen anymore. He should be able to control that.

  Tristan banned memories of their good times to focus on the pain and humiliation she brought him. He needed to send her back so he could return to his new life. He didn’t want to know why she was there. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to find out if the rumors were true. He didn’t need her lying shit right now. He surely didn’t need to make her feel comfortable, when his guts felt turned inside out. Throughout the years, Tristan realized he had a hollow space where his heart once was. Now, it felt like that gaping hole swallowed his soul. She had made him heartless and soulless.

  So why does my chest hurt so goddamn much?

  A not-so-discreet cough sounded to his right and Tristan snapped out of his trance. He and Izzie were silently dueling right at his restaurant’s entrance hall, so Karen had to remind him she had a job to do. Looking past Izzie’s head, he became conscious that at least five customers were standing, waiting to be taken to their reserved tables. None looked pleased.

  Tristan acknowledged the group with a nod and an apologetic grin, “I’m so sorry. Welcome to Chez Nous Bistro.” He nodded towards the hostess, who didn’t smile back at him. She would give him lip next chance she had. He deserved it. “Karen’s going to take good care of you. Enjoy your meal.”