The VIP Room (20 page)

His eyes softened at my words and I wanted to melt.

I would do anything to have him look at me like this always
, I thought, with just a tiny hint of alarm. It was only a small taste of the power he could have over me.

Tristan sighed. “Whenever I’m photographed with a woman, the media automatically assumes she’s a girlfriend or a lover. They try and spin it whatever way they can to make me seem like the scandalous playboy.”

“Aren’t you though?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “You
did
take me home from a club.”

“It doesn’t happen nearly as much as the media makes it seem. Most of those women in the photographs are friends or daughters of family friends that I need to entertain on occasion.” He shook his head. “But when I saw you, sitting at
Valoir
, looking incredibly nervous and out of place, there was just…I don’t know. You can call it intense attraction or lust, but it felt different somehow. And I knew I had to have you.”

“And you did,” I said softly, tracing the soft, dark hairs on his chest.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I did. And then I ruined everything. I don’t have a reason for why I did it. I just…” He shook his head. “You scared me.”

“I’m not exactly a scary person,” I said, tone lightly joking, but my heart was pounding at his confession. I wondered if he could feel it.

Tristan blew out a breath and his eyes slid away from me, restless, before returning. He wanted to say something, but he was holding back.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

His hand pushed back his hair again. A nervous habit, I realized.

“You…made me feel vulnerable. And I
hate
feeling like that,” he finally murmured with surprising passion. “I absolutely
hate
it. It scared me. So, I acted first and lashed out at you because it was the only thing I could do, the only way I could make my world go back to how it was before I met you. And I know that it was cowardly and an awful thing to do, but at the time, in that moment, I felt like I had no choice.”

“Being vulnerable isn’t a bad thing,” I said, catching his eyes.

“It is when you’re a Blackwell,” he said, his voice harsh, bitter.

I went silent, thinking over his words, reading between the lines for what he was actually saying. My mind returned to what I’d read about his family, but I couldn’t think of anything glaringly significant.

After a moment, Tristan sighed and softened his tone, “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

I could see the subject was uncomfortable for him, so I allowed his obvious change of subject. “Like what?”

He smiled. “I don’t know much about you either, you know. Maybe we should start there.”

“Well, we always have our business dinner,” I teased.

Tristan laughed and I savored the sound, smiling. It was husky and rich, like his voice.

“Tell me something,” he told me, stroking my hair and brushing the tips over my cheeks. “Anything. Like what you like to do when you’re not working.”

“Hmmm, well, I like to garden.”

“Yeah?”

“I have a little flowerbed and vegetable garden in the backyard. It was my grandmother’s. She taught me how. And I like to bake,” I said, shy all of a sudden. “Bread, cookies, scones, cakes.”

“Mmm, I could get on board with that,” he murmured, eyes lighting up.

The bloom of affection I felt for him was blossoming even more, rapidly expanding by the minute. My heart stuttered but I kept on talking, to take my mind off it. “I’ll usually whip up a batch of something on the weekends. Or after a bad day at work, but I don’t have too many of those.”

“You like your job?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, a small smile crossing my features. “I really do. I’m lucky, I guess. You hear about people all the time being stuck in jobs they hate, dreading going into work every day. But I look forward to work. It helps that I also like my boss and my coworkers, I suppose.” I bit my lip, remembering that Tristan probably never had a choice for a career, being in the family he was in. “Do you like
your
job?”

A quirk of his lips and a slow exhale. “I don’t mind it actually. But I was bred for it.”

Bred for it
.

Those words sounded so…awful.

Tristan examined the look on my face and gave a small chuckle. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, trust me. I probably would’ve gone into business anyway. And I don’t mind the stress so much. It keeps me busy, although I could do with less traveling. I’ve come to dread planes.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you,” I mock-grumbled, poking at his chest.

“It was fine in the beginning,” he assured me with a smirk, abandoning my hair to capture my hand. He gave each of my fingers a soft kiss, which sent a flurry of butterflies to my stomach. No, not just butterflies. Butterflies on
caffeine
. “But I hate being cramped up for so long. And when I go overseas, I usually only stay a couple days and it’s spent mostly in our headquarters. The last time I had a proper vacation was maybe…two years ago?”

“Where’d you go?” I asked, a little breathlessly, as he ran his fingertips slowly from my wrist to the middle of my palm.

“Scotland,” he murmured. “I own a house in the Highlands. I like to go there to unwind sometimes. It’s peaceful, not a whole lot of people around, shitty internet at most times of the day, so it’s perfect when I feel like I need to get away and unplug.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

I could imagine him in a place like that. On his own, relaxing by a fire, or taking walks along the rugged coastline or traversing glens. It suited him in some rugged, primal way…

The idea aroused me almost more than his light, teasing strokes. I pressed close to his body, feeling the brush of his semi-hard cock against my belly. Tristan made a sound, a mixture of a groan and a laugh, and then responded to my unspoken hint. A warm, confident hand ran from the sides of my sensitive breasts, to my waist, to my hips. He cupped my bottom suddenly and pressed me flush against his skin.

“Do you need something?” he asked lowly, his voice dropping. I shivered.

“Yes.”

He sighed. “I don’t think I have any more condoms. I wasn’t expecting to…” he trailed off, tracing the swell of my ass with the pads of his fingers.

I bit my lip, blushing. “I think I have some. In the bathroom.”

He grinned. “Well, go grab a few.”

“A few?” I asked, raising a brow. “A little ambitious, don’t you think?”

“Not for me,” he replied, winking. His cockiness stole my breath away and all I wanted was to jump him right then and there and let him prove it to me. Screw the condoms. But the more rational part of my brain reminded me that I’d been off birth control for a year, which I would remedy as soon as possible. So, I rushed off the bed, a little self-conscious about my nudity, which was ridiculous after what we’d just done. At least until Tristan groaned and said, “Your ass is fucking fantastic, Noelle. Hurry up with the condoms or I can’t be responsible for my actions.”

I shook my head, flushing a bright red, before scurrying into the bathroom right across the hallway. I grabbed a few condoms from under the sink, where I’d tossed them after I went on birth control for Ryan.

I placed them on the side table when I got back to the bedroom, eyeing Tristan in all his glory. He had his arms under his head, looking incredibly at ease, and, to my delight, his cock was erect, ready for me. The sight of him aroused, all hard planes and strong muscle, with his wicked piercing green eyes glinting with lust was enough to make any woman crazy.

It was the first moment that I realized I was in danger of falling in love with him. Looking at me the way he was, like I was the only woman in the world for him right now…I could become addicted to him only too easily. I would have to be careful, because something told me that a man like Tristan Blackwell was capable of breaking my heart.

“Let’s see what you’re made of,” I murmured, plucking a condom up from the nightstand and tearing it open.

Tristan grinned. “Challenge accepted.”

E
ven after three
rounds of intense sex, Tristan still lay awake in Noelle’s bed, stroking her soft skin as she slept.

Surrounded by her lovely, clean scent and warmth, he didn’t remember the last time he’d felt this peaceful, this calm. Hell, he didn’t even remember the last time he’d shared a bed with a woman, slept next to a woman. This felt right, however. Noelle felt
right
.

He didn’t want to fuck this up, whatever it was. There was something different about her. He’d realized it when he first met her… even when he’d first
seen
her, looking out of place and nervous at a table in
Valoir
. Even though he tried to ignore whatever it was that ran between them, he’d known it was only a matter of time before he failed. He hadn’t lasted as long as he’d hoped.

And although they barely even knew each other, there was a spark between them that couldn’t be denied. It ran deeper than lust. Much deeper.

It scared the shit out of him.

Tristan looked down at Noelle, sleeping soundly against his body, with soft hair and glowing, rosy skin. So goddamn gorgeous that it made his chest squeeze whenever he looked at her.

He liked that she was different when it was just the two of them. And he liked that she was a hustler when it came to her job; she got shit done, just like him. He remembered hearing her voice outside his office earlier this afternoon. Remembered the way she spoke to his receptionist, Karla, and not taking shit from her. In Karla’s defense, Tristan
had
told her he didn’t want to be bothered. Even then, Noelle had somehow managed to wriggle through. It was impressive.

And the sex…

Jesus. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, reliving it. It was amazing. Passionate. Crazy. Sometimes two people just fit when it came to sex…and him and Noelle
definitely
fit. More than fit.

Tristan was
still
hard, even now, like some horny teenager. He remembered Noelle’s frantic moans and sighs and her tired, incredulous laugh once he’d rung every ounce of pleasure from her body. He couldn’t wait to do it again, couldn’t wait to feel her heat sliding around him, stroking his cock until he was desperate. Even now, he was considering waking her up for more.

He grinned and shook his head, relaxed and actually excited about something, about someone, which hadn’t happened in a long time. Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. He wanted to plan something special, just for her.

His phone rang. The abrupt sound cut through the peaceful silence like a knife and he felt Noelle stir next to him, coming awake.

With a silent groan, he lifted the sheets off his naked body and bent down to retrieve his slacks, locating his phone in the front pocket.

He looked down at the screen and Tristan’s good mood immediately soured when he saw who was calling. A change came over him. He could feel the walls coming back up, rebuilding, shielding him and preparing him mentally. He could feel himself become colder, closed off.

He became Tristan Blackwell, son of John Blackwell, one of the most powerful men alive. But with power came terror. Tristan had learned that the hard way.

“What is it?” Noelle asked softly, sensing the change, worry evident on her features.

“Nothing,” he told her. He padded towards the hallway. “I have to take this. Go back to bed.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, watching him.

Once in the living room, he took a deep breath. He accepted the call.

“Father,” Tristan greeted.

His father’s voice filled his ear, making Tristan flinch. It was an automatic reaction, a product of years and years of his father’s continual, overbearing presence. In some ways, Tristan was still a small boy, growing up under his father’s tyrannical rule.

John Blackwell didn’t believe in pleasantries when it came to anyone except potential business partners. Then, he could really turn on the charm. But Tristan was simply his son, just another one of John’s pawns in the game of money and pleasure. He always bore the brunt of John’s wrath.

Dread formed in the pit of Tristan’s stomach as he listened to his father’s words boom. He let them fill his mind until they repeated over and over again.

In a mocking tone, John Blackwell said, “Your fiancée is coming into town in a couple of weeks.”

Your fiancée. Your fiancée. Your fiancée.

“I just got off the phone with her father. So don’t fuck this up for me, do you understand?”

Tristan hated his father in that moment. Then again, Tristan was pretty certain he’d hated his father his entire life. Not just for what he did to him, but for what he did to Aria.

Your fiancée.

Isabelle was coming into town…

Tristan cursed.

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