17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter seventeen
Kennedy
“Welcome back.” Destiny greets Tristan and me as we step into the lobby. Our voices echo around the space. “How was your evening?”
“It was perfect,” I reply, flashing Destiny a warm smile. My heart stutters as I replay the night, especially the brief kiss I’m still reeling from. I cannot believe Tristan planned all of this. Like, who is he and where has my rival gone?
Destiny’s eyes peer over my shoulder and the subtlest smile graces her face as she looks at Tristan. Something tells me the two of them worked together to plan this evening.
“If you two are ready, I’d love to escort you to dinner.”
My head whips around to Tristan as shock covers my features. “There’s more?”
“Of course we’ve gotta eat.” He flashes me that devilish smirk, causing a tingling sensation to erupt between my thighs.
Seriously, what’s happening here?
Tristan’s hand interrupts my thoughts as he waves it, encouraging me to follow Destiny through the vacant lobby.
Long gone is the beautiful sunset. But in her place is a mixture of dark blues as the sky has fallen into complete darkness. The warm orange glow from lampposts illuminates the sidewalks as we make our way to the end of the resort. Cicadas are the only soundtrack we need as both of us seem to be lost in our thoughts.
My mind is swirling, in a battle with itself as I fight the urge to grab hold of Tristan and feel his body against mine. But at the same time, he’s still Tristan Nelson, the man I swore was my enemy. I’m stuck rethinking everything. Was the competition one-sided? Have I made a bigger deal out of our history?
It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m a constant over-thinker, and I have a bad habit of jumping to conclusions. It’s something I’ve always struggled with, almost an inner paranoia I haven’t been able to work past. Maybe it’s from years of wanting to stand out in a town that constantly looked past me. Or the competitive nature I adapted from years of fighting for my place in school to be the best and win scholarships that would lead me to my dream college.
Warm sand covers the weathered boardwalk, still warm from the hours in the sun. The gritty feeling slides between my toes, making my steps slow as my foot slides against the footbed of my sandal. Reaching beside me, I grab Tristan’s forearm and feel the muscles flex underneath my touch.
“You okay?” he asks, pausing next to me as his other hand grips my wrist that’s clutching him.
“Yeah,” I say, bending down to unclasp my sandals and carry them instead. “I keep getting sand in my shoes.”
“Well, we are at a beach,” he snarks. But the comment doesn’t grate on my nerves like it normally would. No, it’s playful, and I kind of like it .
Have I been reading into his smart-ass comments all wrong? Has he been playing with me, and I’ve twisted everything into a darker meaning?
I don’t have a chance to ponder as we climb the few stairs to one of the piers. Pausing again, I slip my sandals back on, not wanting to risk a splinter. Chatter at the end of the pier draws my attention as I notice a group of resort staff inside the black structure. Light pours from the windows as music plays. Walking down the planks, the wood creaks beneath our steps. We pass a small sitting area with cushioned chairs and a large stone fire pit. Heat licks across my skin from the roaring flames as we pass by.
“Tonight, the kitchen is providing a tasting menu. They’ve been busy working on new recipes, and as a trial run, they’ll be serving the staff and, of course, you too,” Destiny informs us as we stop outside the restaurant.
Lullaby Lagoon sits over the water at the end of the pier. What I thought was black is a dark brown stain covering the exterior, with medium-brown stained shutters over the windows. What’s unique about this restaurant is that there aren’t walls separating the inside from the outside. Instead, it’s an open space that provides unobstructed views of the ocean on three sides.
A waist-high picket fence separates the space as the property encourages indoor and outdoor dining options. Black wicker chairs and gray metal tables line the outdoors, while white chairs and silver tables brighten the interior. Candles are lit on every table and tan woven chandeliers glow from above. It’s a very intimate setting .
Staff quiets as we walk past, and I hate that they feel the need to do so. With a smile, I wave as we enter, hoping to reassure the group that they do not need to act differently on our behalf.
Destiny escorts us past an outdoor sectional that hangs off the side of the pier on its platform to a secluded table on the patio. Like the other tables we passed, this one has a few more candles and glasses waiting for us.
Tristan slides my chair out for me as I sit, and my belly swarms with butterflies. “Tristan, what is all of this?”
“Dinner,” he says with a grin, before taking the seat across from me. I’m stuck in a trance when our eyes meet. For some reason, this feels a lot more like a date than a dinner to sample the menu. Maybe I really am hungry and the champagne on an empty stomach has gone straight to my head.
“But why are we not eating inside with the rest of the staff?”
He shrugs. That stupid shrug of his gives nothing away. Since I won’t be getting any more answers from him, I grab the menu, which is sitting on top of the place setting.
A waiter approaches and pours us each a glass of water. “Hello, I’m Zeb. Can I interest either of you in a glass of wine?”
“Top-shelf bourbon, neat, please,” Tristan orders while I scan over the menu, trying to decide what entree I’ll go with so I pick the correct wine.
“And for you, miss?”
“The house red, please.”
“Certainly,” our waiter says, scribbling down our order. “I’ll bring out a few appetizers the chef has prepared as well. ”
Once our waiter leaves, I scan the property in front of me. I’ve never been one to dream about my wedding, or even a honeymoon, but sitting here under the stars, with the mountains and jungle surrounding us, as the waves lap against the wooden beams of the pier, I understand the fascination. For maybe the first time, I can picture being on vacation in paradise with someone you love.
It’s not long before our waiter returns with our drinks. He places the glasses in front of us before reaching onto his tray to set down our appetizers. The tasting tonight is nice since we have an opportunity to try a variety of menu options.
“Here you have our pan-fried scallops, with a cornbread breading and anchovy mayonnaise, our panko-crusted crab cakes served with mango, chili, and scallion salsa, and lastly, our curried butternut squash soup garnished with herbed croutons, roasted cashews, coconut cream, and chive oil. Enjoy.”
My mouth waters at the food in front of me, and maybe at the man across from me too. From my vantage point, I have the perfect opportunity to take him in and all his handsome qualities. Not much about Tristan has changed. A smattering of dark brown hair still covers his face, only his beard has been cut shorter, taking on a permanent five o’clock shadow, while his golden skin is even darker, thanks to his evenings spent in the plunge pool.
I watch in fascination as his forearms flex when he cuts into a scallop. And seriously, what is it with his forearms? Thick veins journey up his arms, and it’s seriously like forearm porn. My body begs me to find a way to be wrapped up in his arms again. Sitting on the trampoline in his embrace felt natural, like it was something we’d been doing for years .
“Not hungry?” he interrupts my thoughts.
Startling, I reach for my spoon and scoop up the burnt-orange-colored soup. The flavors explode on my tongue, and I let out a very unladylike moan. “Oh my gosh, this is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
His fork pauses in the air as his jaw hangs open. The realization of what I just said hits me, and my cheeks heat. “If that’s the best thing that’s been in your mouth, clearly, you’ve been doing things wrong.”
“Tristan!” I mockingly scold, holding in a laugh as he tips his shoulder up in a shrug.
A comfortable silence falls over our table as we enjoy the food. Halfway through the appetizers, our waiter comes back to take our entree orders while we finish the food in front of us. One thing is for certain, if I keep eating like this, I’ll be finding myself in the gym at the start of every day. Cycling in New York was a part of my weekly routine, but since being here, I haven’t felt the need to hit the gym. Maybe it’s because I’m forced to be outside and not confined to a stale office. Whereas in New York, I needed that sense of adventure, of movement. Here, I get that every day when I walk across the property.
Our food arrives, and I admire the creative plating. Asparagus fricassee sits in the middle of my plate, with three grilled lamb chops placed over top and a red wine reduction drizzled around the outside. Tristan’s plate is similar. Only he has whipped potatoes in the center of his and his beef tenderloin on top. Next to the beef is a skewer of perfectly grilled shrimp and a port wine reduction is drizzled across the plate. My mouth waters.
Slicing into the lamb, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. “I used to show sheep at the county fair. ”
Tristan chokes on his mouthful of water. “What?”
“Yeah, we would get lambs and walk them around the property.”
“Then what did you do with them?”
“At the end of the fair, there would be a livestock sale, where people and local businesses bid on the animals.”
“What happens when they buy them? Do they have sheep running around the car dealerships?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, silly. They take them to market, where they become…” I gesture to my plate with my fork.
“Jesus. That’s morbid,” he laughs out as he cuts into his tenderloin.
“Facts of life.” Taking a bite of my lamb, I moan again at the rich, juicy flavors. “This is delicious.”
“Would you stop moaning,” he mumbles.
Daringly, I take my foot and run my toes up his bare leg, slowly and seductively, to tease him. “What’s the matter, Golden Boy? Turning you on?”
He reaches under the table and grabs my ankle. I try to jerk it away, but his grip tightens. “Yes.”
Chills skate across my skin, even with the humidity. My eyes snap to his and find him already watching me. Warmth radiates from his gaze as if I’m genuinely affecting him. What’s happening between us?
The sound of steps on the wooden floor pulls our attention, snapping the trance we’ve found ourselves in. Our waiter returns to top off our water glasses. The magnetic pull swirls in the air, growing thicker than the humidity, and I try to take my foot back again. Only this time, Tristan’s fingers trail up my skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. I’m fighting to squeeze my legs together to relieve some of the pressure and lessen the tingling ache that’s settled between my thighs. Once our glasses are filled, I thank the gentleman as he scurries away, no doubt feeling the tension around our table.
Dinner feels like it drags on for hours as we envelop ourselves in our tiny bubble of foreplay. With each bite I take, my lips wrap around my fork in a slow manner, which has me closing my eyes and releasing soft hums. Tristan’s touch rarely leaves my ankle as he continues to tease me with soft caresses whenever I find myself enjoying my meal a little too much. Reaching for my wine, I let the medium-bodied red liquid glide into my mouth. The wine is the perfect mix of acidity and boldness to complement my dinner. Flicking my tongue against my lips, I lap up the tiny droplet that escaped. This time, it’s Tristan’s turn to groan.
I can’t explain what’s gotten into me. It’s been so long since I’ve been entertained by a man, even if this isn’t a date and it’s Tristan . The idea of being wined and dined isn’t lost on me. Is this what it’s like to date? Or is it what it feels like to date him ? Maybe when I get back to New York, I’ll make it a point to go out on more dates. That’s if Tristan doesn’t ruin me for all other men in the meantime.
Who am I kidding? Once I step foot back into New York, I’ll be more invested in the office. But maybe I’ll try.
After our plates are cleared, Tristan and I make our way over to the seating area, where the fire pit is, for our dessert. He takes the seat next to me, and I enjoy the feeling of his skin brushing against mine. I’m grateful for the heat from the flames, as the air has started to cool.
“So this is what it would be like to date Tristan Nelson?” I blurt, taking a bite of the mango chocolate cheesecake.
A quizzical expression morphs his features. “What? ”
“This…” I gesture around us. “The sunset cruise, the candlelit dinner, the caresses, and now dessert by the fire.”
“This was all for you.”
My body alights at his husky tone, stomach flip-flopping as I meet his gaze.
“Wh-what do you mean?” I fumble over my words.
He leans in closer, and the urge to feel his lips against mine is strong. “I did all of this for you, Firecracker.”
My eyes bounce back and forth as I seek out any detection that he’s lying. “Why?”
“Because contrary to what you believe, I’m not the enemy, Kennedy.” His fingers graze my cheek as he curls a loose piece of hair behind my ears. The gesture has me melting into his touch as our bodies press together as if they’re magnified. My lips find his first, and my body relaxes instantly, like it was waiting to feel him again. When his tongue flicks the seam of my mouth, begging for me to open, I grant him entry.
The kiss quickly turns heated as the overwhelming urge to climb into his lap hits me like a wave crashing over my senses. I reach for his head and tug his mouth closer to mine, wanting, needing, to erase the remaining space between us. The sound of a fork hitting a plate has me springing apart from him, taken aback by how entranced I was by that kiss. Chest heaving, I glance behind me to see if anyone noticed the makeout session we were having like two horny teenagers.
“Shit, Firecracker.” He trails his hand down his front as he adjusts the bulge I can barely see from the minimal light around us.
“Let’s go home.”