Kwan appeared with a tray and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was a welcome distraction. The tray had a little dish of olives, some type of sausage and something wrapped in leaves. Tristan peeled the leaves away to reveal a small round of cheese. He tore a bite-sized piece off of the crusty loaf of bread and slathered it with the gooey cheese. He raised it to my mouth and fed me. I couldn't help but moan with pleasure as the unctuous buttery flavor hit my palate.
"Banon de Chalais," he said as he fixed a bit for himself. "From Provence. It's wrapped in brandy soaked chestnut leaves. Delicious, isn't it?"
Before I could agree he held another bite out for me to devour. This time, he stroked my lips with the tip of finger, tracing circles around the sensitive edges. I swallowed the
bite of cheese and bread and broke the grip of his eyes on mine. I turned toward the table and took a sip of my drink as he did the same.
"This is not exactly the right beverage to have with this cheese…far too overpowering for something so delicate…"
He reached for my chin and pulled me back into his gaze. My lips parted with an unspoken 'oh' and he teased the tip of my tongue with his finger. He rubbed the moisture across my bottom lip. "You're lips are so perfect…" He hummed a little 'mmmm' of appreciation.
He looked into my eyes and I could see the glaze of animal passion swirling there. His desire for me was dizzying. The way he owned me with his eyes, his hands and even the sounds he made simply possessed me.
His kiss scalded my mouth. The lips that I had imagined, the mouth I had watched for so many nights was hot and wet against my own. I tasted lime and liquor as his tongue found mine. The faint remnants of his cologne left room for my senses to find the smell of his skin. His scent was all male, a spicy, salty, woodsy kind of odor that I wanted to bottle and keep.
My body reacted predictably
to Tristan's smooth, practiced seduction. I felt his kiss roll all the way down my body, seizing my nipples, plucking behind my navel and pulsing between my legs. Being one of many suddenly mattered a lot less. He kissed my neck and nuzzled into my collar bone gently nipping at my flesh before returning to bruise my mouth with ever more insistent kisses.
The desire was incredible. I had watched him and
mentally devoured his body as he paced across the stage. Since I had met him I had brought myself to orgasm after crashing orgasm by imagining his beautiful face pressed close to mine. Lust enveloped me like a curtain of heavy fog and I felt my better judgment blanketed in mist. Maybe there was nothing wrong with being used; no harm in just giving in to a powerfully attractive man who was divinely sexy. Hell, maybe I'd just use
him
.
He pulled me across his lap and ran his hand down the curve of my side. "So feminine," he purred at me like a big powerful cat
. The husky depth of his voice reverberated into my very core. He traced my waist and reached around my hip to cradle my ass in his hand. "So soft you are. Delicious in every way."
He trailed back around to the front of my jeans and cupped my pussy in his hand, pressing hard against me. I could feel the moist heat of my response begin to soak my
underwear and wondered if my pants were already wet between my legs.
I
felt him unbutton the button on my fly and slide the zipper down. His fingers stole under the top of my thong and I moaned as he found my throbbing clit. He began to stroke me with exactly the right kind of pressure in exactly the perfect rhythm. It was as if he knew my body before he touched it.
He pulled his hand from between my legs and raised it to his face. Drawing in a deep breat
h full of my scent, he licked the two fingers that had been inside me. He held my eyes with his as the air around us crackled.
"Such a responsive little playground," he whispered in my ear
as his hand returned to pleasure me again. "Such a sweet place for my fingers..." He kissed me. "For my mouth…" He kissed me again. "And soon for my cock." This time he put my hand on the erection that was straining under his clothes.
His words ignited me.
And the phone froze me. I hadn't paid much attention to it when he took it out of his pocket and put it on the coffee table. Plenty of people do that. I guess I just hadn't expected it to ring. Or, for him to answer. Considering where his hand was that should have been a little more important than a phone call. Apparently not.
Four
By the time I got back to the duplex, the whole evening really began to sting.
He had given me a sheepish look, grabbed the phone with his 'unused' hand and walked to the far end of the patio with it. I could see him wipe his other hand on his shorts and I suddenly felt unclean.
I zipped up my pants and smoothed out my hair. The moment had clearly passed.
Th
e only words I could make out on his end of the conversation were expletives. "Fuck", "asshole", "full of shit" and "goddamn motherfucker" were among them. It was obvious that something on the other end was going poorly for Tristan. He shoved the phone into his pocket so hard it's a wonder he didn't rip the bottom out. He didn't make eye contact with me right away, but went over and pressed a button on the kitchen counter.
"Look, something's come up," he told me.
"It's Hong Kong."
I guess that was supposed to be a sufficient explanation because he didn't offer any more details. Kwan appeared out of the darkness.
"Kwan will drive you back to your car at the theater. I'm afraid I have to get back on the phone." Tristan looked like an impending storm, all blackness and fury. He turned toward the house and left me standing on the patio with Kwan. I don't know what I expected--a kiss goodnight, an 'I'm sorry' or 'I'll give you a call.'--but what I got was zilch.
I numbly followed Kwan around to the side of the house where a BMW sedan was parked. He opened the passenger side of the car and I got in.
We rode in silence toward town. Kwan seemed about as uninterested in me as it was possible to get. He was probably thinking to himself how Tristan was 'slumming' with the hoi-polloi. That I was definitely not in Tristan King's league.
"So, Kwan, are you Tristan's butler?" I asked it a little belligerently. I had already put
my thoughts in the poor guy's head and I felt like reminding him of
his
place.
"Actually, I'
m many things. While we're here, I look after the house. When we're in New York, I often act as chauffeur. When we travel to China, sometimes I translate. Always, I am his bodyguard."
Kwan looked all of five foot eight and about 140 pounds soaking wet. He noticed me sizing him up.
"I have a tenth degree black belt in Taekwondo. It is sufficient to do most things except perhaps stop a bullet.
"
He
needs a bodyguard?"
"Yes
,
he
does." Kwan made that word the last of
that
conversation. I very much wanted to ask why, but the man's tone was unmistakable.
I decided to take a friendlier tone. "
You're from Hong Kong?"
"No
."
I had somehow managed to offend the man to the point where all I was going to get out of him were one word answers.
Jenn was asleep when I got in, so I was spared the 'I told you so' lecture from her. I sat on the couch in the dark and wondered what it was going to be like when I had to face him at rehearsal the following night. I felt foolish, cheap and immature. I knew better than to expect to meet someone like Tristan King on equal footing but I let myself be seduced by the handsome face and a few tired phrases he had undoubtedly used a thousand times. One minute he was all charm and French cheese and the next he was as cold as stone. Had I really expected to matter?
***
Much as I dreaded facing him, I dutifully showed up at the theater the next night. I needn't have been so nervous. Tom announced that Tristan had been "called away". I took his place on stage and had the bizarre experience of having to read his lines all night long. Every word I spoke rung back in my mind in his voice and every movement I made across the stage reminded me of how he walked, how his elegant hands--so recently on and in my body--punctuated his flawless delivery and how his coiled power reflected in the smallest action.
My rational self naturally commanded that I stop obsessing about a man who had so little regard for me. But my other self couldn't obey. I had a primal connection to the man that no amount of logic could
break.
The second night without Tristan went badly. I was a poor substitute coach and the rest of the cast just wasn't feeling it. We accomplished little other than running lines and going through the mechanics. Tom was frustrated and called an early end to the rehearsal.
I was about to lock the front door when the house phone rang in the box office.
"Mahkeenac Little Theater," I answered.
"Is this Raina Harding, the sexiest stage manager in New England?" Tristan's voice poured like liquid satin into my head and set it spinning.
"Tristan."
"I'm just above San Francisco. My pilot will have me at Teterboro by four a.m. I'm going to catch a few winks and then check in at the office. I'll take a 'copter in the afternoon and make rehearsal in time."
Of course it would be Teterboro. Tristan King wouldn't be flying into a commercial airport. "Tom will be happy to hear that."
"Are
you
happy to hear that?"
Yes. No. I don't know
. "Rehearsal didn't go well tonight."
"Raina…
the other night."
"You had business. I know that."
"I'm not good with some…things. I hope you're okay with me...us."
"It's okay, really."
No, it is not okay. It hurt
…
Is there an 'us'?
He tur
ned up the heat in his voice. "I'm looking forward to...more of you. You're utterly fuckable, did you know that?"
I should have been offended. He was treating the incident as if he had left in the middle of dinner. But something about the way he said 'fuckable' sent a glowing shock right down to my pussy. Men could do it.
Tristan
could do it.
I
could do it too. Just have someone, even if only once, just because they were desirable, just because they were 'fuckable'.
I put on my best casual sexy. "You're not half bad yourself, Mr. King."
"See you tomorrow night," he purred. I could picture the half smile on the perfect face. A face I still wanted to see wandering all over my naked body.
"Goodnight, Tristan."
***
I dressed with a lot more care
than usual for rehearsal. I wore a denim mini skirt that wouldn't scream 'dressed up' and a bandana print halter top. It was a good look for me and I purposely chose it for the accessibility factor. If a certain man wanted to touch me, there wasn't a lot in the way.
Tom was sitting with a dark-haired man in the third row when I arrived. He introduced me to Roger
Maynard when I sat down. He told me Roger was an 'old friend' of the theater and stopped by to say hello to the guys. Roger was an extremely handsome man with delicate, almost feminine features. He would have made a very good looking woman.
The cast arrived and Roger greeted each one of them with great warmth. When Tristan arrived they hugged each other like brothers but I saw a look of darkness flicker over Tristan's face. When rehearsal started, Roger watched until the first break and then said his good-byes.
"Tristan, don't be a stranger, man. I'm still your friend, you know." Roger said as he embraced Tristan again.
"I know that Roger. I know." There was sadness in his voice when he answered. "I've been real busy. And…well…"
"I understand. Give me a call anytime you feel like talking."
The actors took the stage again but the rest of the practice seemed subdued. There was something unspoken
and it seemed that all understood except me.
Tristan missed his blocking near the middle of the act and I called out for him to move downstage. He glowered at me and went. The next time I corrected him he said, "Speak up, will you?" I repeated myself unsure of why he seemed so sullen and menacing.
"Pick up the glass…" I told him, interrupting one of his speeches.
"Raina, if you're going to correct me, do it so I can hear you!"
"I'm sorry. It's just that you…intimidate me."
"Well," he thundered from up on the stage, "don't be so goddamned intimidated!"
I could feel the burn in my cheeks and the threat of tears behind my eyes. I blinked them back and busied myself with my notes. When he missed his blocking the next time, I didn't correct him. I figured I'd let someone else point it out. But no one did. It seemed I wasn't the only one Tristan intimidated.