Tropical Tryst: 25 All New and Exclusive Sexy Reads

by Nicole Morgan

  She wasn’t amused. “Women love when men tell us what we think or feel, you know.”

  Second mental slap landed on Tristan’s large head. “See? I shouldn’t have come. I’m just digging myself a bigger hole here.” He held her gaze for a moment before adding. “I am a jerk, but I shouldn’t be a jerk with you. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve me dumping my shit on you.”

  Bruna reached out and clasped his wrist when he stood to leave. “Not denying the jerk comment, but you’ve been going through a lot of shit lately with the restaurant and the bad investments and all,” she offered him an out. “However, you’re not you tonight. What’s going on?”

  Although tempted to disencumber the load on his chest, Tristan smiled and shook his head. “Not fair. Too much shit, way too damn old. I don’t have the right to drag you down this rabbit hole.”

  “I’m here for you, for more than just a quick fuck, you know.”

  Tristan did. Bruna helped him through some serious shit last year, when Lilly’s dialysis got more frequent and her health deteriorated. Dr. Bruna Cordeiro’s fame as a brilliant neurosurgeon opened more doors than Tristan’s bank account could when he decided to transfer Lilly from the hospital to a top-notch nursing home under the supervision of the best kidney specialist in the country.

  “I do. All the more reason not to throw you into this mess.”

  “I won’t twist your arm, man. I respect your privacy. It’s just that I figured you don’t have a friend to talk to, so I offered.”

  He shrugged. “Noah is a good friend, the best, actually.”

  “So why aren’t you in your apartment?”

  “I called. He’s got company,” Tristan admitted the truth to himself as much as to Bruna and collapsed on the couch. “It’s just that this is so fucked up, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Beginnings tend to be a safe bet.”

  “Well, that would be back when I was a kid. Mom made up for me not having a father around with both love and material things, but I was a difficult kid, always picking fights, except when Izzie was around. She made me want to be a better person.”

  “You never mentioned Izzie. Is she your sister?”

  Tristan checked Bruna’s expression for signs of jealousy, but found only interest, so he stated, “Izzie Anderson,” and waited for the usual hysterical reaction. It never came.

  “She’s a singer.”

  He was amazed. “That sounds more like a question.”

  “Because I’m not sure, okay?”

  He reached out and ran a thumb over her cheek, a reluctant smile touching his lips. “I love the fact you aren’t.” He smoothed the crease that formed between her eyebrows. “Because your opinion won’t be biased by what you read in the media.”

  “Between going to med school, completing residency and starting my practice, I didn’t get a life ten years ago.”

  “Long story short, Izzie and I were best friends growing up, she became a worldwide rock star at fifteen, we started dating in Westlake High, I fell head over heels in love with her at nineteen and she got pregnant with my friend and mentor’s child at twenty-three when I was about to propose to her. I moved to Brazil and never saw her again.”

  “Until today. Did she go to Chez Nous by chance?”

  Tristan wasn’t surprised at Bruna’s insightful conclusion. “Apparently, she came to apologize, fifteen fucking years too late.”

  “Why now?”

  “That I don’t know, she didn’t say when I asked.”

  Bruna seemed to assess the situation as she chewed her lower lip and stared at him. “I’m sure your docked version left out vital pieces of information, so I might not be able to fully understand what’s going on, but I’d say something major happened. I mean, one doesn’t take a twelve-hour flight to another country just to apologize for something that happened over a decade ago.”

  Tristan flirted with disclosing the whole story. Maybe Bruna would help him see something he missed. She was sensitive and smart, but he decided to discard the concept with a shrug. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. There’s been some speculation going around that she’ll announce her retirement soon.”

  “Is she forty like you? So young.”

  “Thirty-eight.”

  “You sure that’s why?”

  “Not really. I don’t follow her career, you know, but people talk and newspaper headlines get posted everywhere. I didn’t verify the rumors though.”

  “Considering she’s retiring, why would she come all the way here to talk to you? I don’t see the connection.”

  “Me neither, not a direct one anyway. Maybe she’s planning a farewell album and wants to convince me to contribute to it.”

  “I’ve heard you playing with Noah and the boys. You’re good, but I’m pretty sure she can pick another guitar player that she hasn’t screwed over.”

  “Good point, but I meant write a song,” he replied. When she raised an eyebrow at the comment, he added. “I wrote most of the lyrics for Izzie’s songs up until we broke up. She collected hits and awards for those. She’s recorded a couple of number one songs after that, but they were few and far between.”

  “And you think she’d be so brazen as to come after you for that?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he admitted, burying his face in his hands after digging his elbows on his knees. “Nothing adds up.”

  He felt Bruna’s fingers through his hair and twisted his neck to look up at her, still resting his face on his hands. Her smile beamed and she declared, “You still love her.” She conceded when he grunted in response. “I’ll rephrase it. You still feel something for her. Don’t try to convince me otherwise, the evidence speaks for itself. You’re heartbroken. You still sound hurt talking about her, after all this time. It wouldn’t cut so deep if you didn’t still have feelings.”

  He opened his mouth to refute the idea, then shut it. Bruna was a mystery wrapped in an enigma. A successful neurosurgeon, a woman insecure about her appearance and an insightful fuck buddy. Her reasoning was sound, except she was wrong. “You’re right, you don’t fully understand what’s going on because you don’t have all details. It’s too late and I’m too tired to go there now though.” He grazed her lips as he stood to leave. “Thanks for listening and trying to help. You’re a good friend.”

  “Any time.”

  Nodding, Tristan walked out the door and closed it behind him, then climbed the stairs to his floor. The apartment was quiet, Noah’s bedroom door was closed, for which Tristan said a silent prayer because his roommate tended to forget to do that even when he had company. Oh, the scenes Tristan had witnessed without intending to. Not pretty.

  Even less appealing was the scenario Bruna’s words painted in his mind as he mulled them over and threw his clothes in the hamper. A quick shower to get rid of the day, then he went to bed.

  Sleep eluded Tristan and the past rushed back, flooding his head with memories he spent years trying to erase. He tossed and turned, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand every five minutes, until he drifted into sleep sometime around five in the morning.

  DIFFERENT FROM OTHER friends-to-lovers couples he knew, Tristan never doubted Izzie was the one, so he didn’t lie to himself trying to deny his feelings. He wanted her and waited for her to be ready. That made for an awkward and unsatisfying first time. Prom night’s expectations and zero experience on both parts resulted in a memorable experience for all the wrong reasons. He did book a romantic bed and breakfast in Santa Barbara and asked them to decorate the suite with scented candles and red rose petals. He did give Izzie a Claddagh ring and promised to be by her side forever. Still, the sexual part of the evening was over way too soon, in his opinion. Later, both confessed to being self-conscious and disappointed.

  Practice makes perfect, so they practiced. A lot. Until they became experts in making love. And music. Tristan would wake up in the middle of the night and watch Izzie sleep on the pillow beside him. He would tuck her
hair behind her ear, so he could have an unobstructed view of her sweet face. When only watching wasn’t enough, he would graze her lips with his fingertips. Just a feathery touch so he wouldn’t wake her up. Leaving her lips, his fingers would draw a slow path downward, faintly caressing Izzie and stoking his fire as her skin came alive with goosebumps. Somewhere in her dreams, she still reacted to him and that idea was inebriating. He would stop his fingers short of her sex and replace them with his lips, only he would trace the downward trail again beginning with her heart-shaped mouth. Tristan would shower open-mouthed kisses on her, lingering on the hollow of her throat, the underside of her breasts, then her belly button and her sex. By then, his desire would have taken over and he would latch onto her clit and suck it until Izzie’s round thighs trembled and her fingers clawed through his hair. Izzie would moan, so he would suck harder and add a finger or two to take her over the edge. When her sighs escalated to sobs as her flesh quivered around his tongue and digits and the first orgasm hit her, Tristan would sit up, gathering her into his arms and onto his lap, thrusting his cock deep inside her body and Izzie’s sex would grip him as if it would never let him go. After her second or third big O, Tristan would explode inside her warmth and Izzie would whisper in his ear that his mouth on her was the best wake-up call a woman could dream of.

  The alarm clock went off and Tristan snoozed it. After a moment, he opened one eye to find out he had turned off the alarm and slept for another hour, but the real embarrassment came when he realized he was sporting a morning wood like he hadn’t in years.

  SNAGGING the last spot in the covered structure, Tristan killed the engine of his M4 GTS and climbed out of it. As much as he loved Lilly, visiting his mom at the nursing home depressed him every time. As he emerged from the parking building, he took in the peaceful gardens with the extensive grassed area, trickling fountains and colorful flowers dotting the beautiful landscape design. In the distance he spotted the orchard, a favorite with seniors and visitors alike, because it offered an inviting shade to escape the scorching tropical sun. Surprised not to locate Lilly there, Tristan steered towards the main building, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. He let out a sigh of relief when he found his mom sitting in the common area.

  “Hey, hon,” Lilly grinned as he kissed her cheek. “Lose the frown, Tristan Knight. A hundred fifteen is way too hot, even for a California girl, with the humidity we’ve got here.”

  “Didn’t say anything.”

  “Don’t need to. I’m your mother.” She winked, then coughed.

  “That cough doesn’t sound good.” Tristan searched around for a staff member, when the whooping got Lilly out of breath.

  She gripped his wrist at the same time as she clutched her flattened hand to her chest as if to stop the wheeze. “It’s okay. There’s nothing they can do about it.”

  Tristan was aware dialysis increased the risk of infections, so a simple cold could turn into something nasty, but he didn’t want to alarm Lilly. “If you say so,” he grumbled. Not wanting to alarm her didn’t mean he agreed with the situation.

  “It’s just a cough, silly. Stop worrying and sit down so we can talk.” She patted the cushion beside her on the couch. “You’re giving me a neck cramp.”

  It was like Lilly was using her Super Mom powers to turn him into an eight-year-old again and he wondered how moms did that. Surveying her one last time to make sure she didn’t need medical attention, he disregarded the comfortable-looking armchair facing the couch and sat beside Lilly. The subdued yellow upholstery harmonized with the elegant old-Europe décor of the spacious room, where half a dozen similar couches, set up in cozy semi-circles with matching chairs, offered privacy and comfort. He slung an arm around her shoulders and tucked Lilly against his chest. They didn’t talk and he savored the warm sensation of hugging his mom. He was a hugger and wasn’t ashamed of that. At least, not around Lilly.

  “It’s beautiful in here. I like it,” he observed and she simply nodded. Apparently, his mom was enjoying the quiet moment with her only son.

  The large windows provided healthy natural light and he admired the kaleidoscopic patterns that a beam painted on the floor and walls as it bounced off a Tiffany lamp on one of the side tables. He was trying his damnedest to accept Lilly’s deteriorating health, which wasn’t the Brazilian doctors’ fault. At all. When she was diagnosed, Tristan went back to the United States where she lived. The doctors told him it was unlikely she would survive more than five years. He convinced her to come live in Brazil, where it would be easier to keep an eye on her. That was ten years ago.

  For most of her life, Lilly partied hard, drinking anything with an alcohol content of fifteen percent or higher and experimenting with different drugs, both legal and not so legal. He had a pretty tame life compared to his mom’s. Now, her sixty-two-year-old abused system was threatening to shut down. He was terrified.

  “What’s eating you, boy?” She leaned her head on his shoulder, but didn’t look up. Not necessary. She knew him too well.

  Bullshitting her wouldn’t do, so he went for a minor reason for his worries. “I lost a boatload of money on those stocks I bought a couple of years ago and haven’t recouped the investment I put in when we opened Chez Nous.”

  “That’s a steaming pile of crap if I’ve ever seen one. I’m sick, but I haven’t lost my marbles.” Although her words were harsh, he knew where she was coming from. Lilly had a unique way of showing affection. “You know damn well the stock market stabilized and is climbing. As for the restaurant, Nelson hired a fucking Michelin starred chef and breathes down poor Herve’s neck to make sure he keeps those stars intact. Noah is the best PR person I’ve ever met. Gosh, his dates alone would guarantee a steady income to the restaurant.”

  He chuckled. “True.”

  “You bust your ass to make sure all works smoothly. Last time I checked, Chez Nous was quite a smash. What gives?”

  Not ready to admit his most recent concerns, Tristan stayed on a safer topic. “Yes, the bistro is doing well, but it’s a long way from repaying my initial investment, which means no profits. We spent more than we planned on that dirt road linking Armação beach to Matadeiro. Otherwise, people wouldn’t have easy access to our waterfront restaurant.”

  He took a deep breath as he mulled his finances over. The mounting medical bills drained his bank account faster than the dwindling royalty paychecks coming in to replenish it. When he wrote lyrics for Izzie, other artists would also record his songs. After he left America, some continued to seek him out, but that died out eventually.

  “Okay, I’m not exactly bankrupt, but I’m not twenty anymore either. I’ve got responsibilities.”

  “Which weigh on your mind. I get that.” She framed his face and forced him to stare into her eyes, same exact color as his. “Still, you’re hiding something. Don’t roll your eyes on me, mister.”

  “What am I going to do with you? You’re worse than a dog with a bone,” he snorted.

  “Spill it.”

  “Izzie is in town.”

  “She is? I want to see her. Bring her here.”

  “That’s it? You sure you didn’t lose your marbles?” He had a hard time keeping his tone light as his insides began to boil. He never quarreled with his mother and he wouldn’t start today over Izzie Anderson. Still, he couldn’t believe Lilly was so nonchalant.

  She shrugged. “I miss her. She’s a good person. She was good for you.”

  That almost did it, but Tristan bit his tongue. “Mom, you’re not senile, so don’t bullshit me. You remember quite well what happened. She screwed me over six ways to Sunday. She used to be a great person, I’ll give you that. I fell in love with her, didn’t I? You don’t understand it, though. Showbiz changed Izzie. She’s not the same person we used to know.”

  “T, you won’t enjoy hearing this, but I’ll say it anyway. You. Are. Wrong. In my opinion, you should’ve gone after Izzie when she dumped that lowlife husband of hers.”

>   “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “Not in the least. I get that you both didn’t know better fifteen years ago. I mean, you were hurt and she was using. Besides, you were too young. That combination made for dreadful decisions on either part. When I read somewhere that she got her act together, I hoped she would come after you. Or that you would get your head out of your ass and go after her.” She sighed. “It took her longer than I expected, but she came to your door. Now, the ball is in your court. Don’t let me down.”

  He gawked at his mother, unable to decide where he should start pointing out the mistakes in her judgment. “Mom, I love you, but you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” he admonished her, kissing her hands as he folded them inside his own. “That Izzie we knew and loved doesn’t exist anymore.” That thought saddened Tristan.

  “I beg to differ.” Izzie’s soft rebuttal floated from somewhere behind the couch. Her even tone did nothing to appease his heartbeats as the vital organ thudded against his ribcage.

  He swirled around to face Izzie. “How the hell did you find my mom?”

  “I looked her up. Elizabeth Knight isn’t a popular name in Brazil and I found only one in the Florianópolis metropolitan area.” she shrugged.

  Words escaped him, partially because he was caught off-guard, in part because of the ideas his mom and Bruna sowed in his head, but mainly because the X-rated scenes that populated his dreams throughout the previous night now came back to haunt him. He battled the images, but it was an epic failure since all it took to set his blood on fire was a sweep of his eyes over Izzie’s curvy figure. Wearing a floral knee-length sundress whose waist was accented by a thin brown leather belt, she looked stunning. Almost as irreproachable as she once was.

  Dragging his stare away, he set aside the many ways he would love to bunch the ample skirt up and fill his hands with what’s hidden beneath it or how the silken material would feel against his naked skin as Izzie rode his cock.