Chapter 25
Trystan nodded gravely, shoving his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from reaching for her.
“You were afraid of being hurt?” The lilting intonation in Iris’s voice made the statement a question.
“Of course I was, Iris,” he admitted, his hands bunching into fists in his pockets. “I’d just served my heart up to you on a silver platter. I’d never been more vulnerable in my life. I was terrified.”
“So when the article came out?—”
“All my deepest, darkest fears came to life in that one moment. I was so fucking blindsided by the sweeping pain, the panic and the fear of even more hurt to follow that I lost all ability to think rationally. I lashed out at you—the one I mistakenly believed was the source of all that pain—it was a nuclear response based wholly on emotion. I wanted to punish you. I wanted you to feel what I’d felt… and after that I retreated into myself. I functioned on autopilot. I refused to think about you, refused to consider how you must have felt, what you were going through. It was only at the first interview with Mike Holmes-- when he dared ask me about you—that I finally started to come out of that daze and began to think clearly again. Before that, I’d managed to sanitize my surroundings, my interviews, of your presence—having him ask about you was like having a bucket of ice water tossed directly into my face.
“It was brutal and my reaction was visceral, instinctive. I walked out because I was physically unable to talk about you. It hurt too much. But after that, you were all I could think about… More and more I had the uneasy feeling that I had things completely wrong. That feeling grew and grew until it consumed me and I was asphyxiated by my own stupidity. I started hearing about what you were going through. And that’s when the repercussions of my scorched-earth reaction in the car that day truly hit me.” He choked up and bowed his head to stare at the polished floor between his feet, fighting for control. “I’d abandoned you. I promised you I’d be there for you and then I wasn’t. Iris, I can’t…”
He lost his battle with the sob that forced its way up past the blockage in his throat and out on a guttural moan.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, daring a glance upward, not sure what he’d find, not sure he wanted her to see the despair on his face, but unable to help himself. Her eyes were gleaming with unshed tears, her expressive face nakedly vulnerable. “I’m so fucking sorry. I wish there were bigger words than sorry. I wish there were massive, mountain-sized epic fucking words to describe my regret and despair. But I’m stuck with I’m sorry. I can promise you the world, only I know you don’t want it… I don’t know what you want. But I kind of hoped you would be okay with just me. Trystan Abbott. I know I’m weak and flawed, and kind of an arsehole. I make mistakes, I say and do dumb shit, but my one true redeeming feature was being loved by you once. And the only thing I’m capable of doing truly right in this world is loving you back.”
“Trystan,” Iris murmured, her voice throbbing with emotion and regret, and Trystan shook his head in a panic, certain she was about to reject him, absolutely sure he was seconds away from losing her. He took a step toward her, his hands coming out of his pockets and reaching toward her, wanting to stop her, to somehow physically prevent her from sending him away for good. But in the end, he knew he couldn’t stop her. He needed to let her speak and then he had to let her go and allow her to move on with her life.
Iris watchedthe frustrated aborted movement of his hands as they strained toward her for a second and then fell limply to his sides.
His words, spoken in that harsh, broken voice, still echoed through her mind, and gave her a clarity she’d been missing for weeks.
“I once told you that if you wanted a life with me you have to be prepared to live it with me, remember? Out in the real world, where everybody thinks they own a piece of you.”
He nodded warily.
“Well, I got a taste of that now and I can’t say I like it much… that ownership people seem to think they have over you, that possessiveness where I’m seen as competition or a threat, as an easy target to take potshots at.”
“Iris, I’m so?—”
“Ssh,” she interrupted gently, stepping toward him and placing her fingers over his lips. “The time for apologies has passed now. Let me speak, okay?”
He swallowed, and his lips moved against her fingers, but he said nothing, just nodded.
She dropped her hand and folded it into a fist, trying to alleviate the tingle caused by that brief brush of his mouth against her skin.
“I also told you that I don’t want you to give up your career and live a life of obscurity because of me, that I refused to let you use me as an excuse to hide from your demons. Well, I’d be the hypocrite I once accused you of being if I turned you away and gave up our shot at happiness because I allowed my fear of the public and press to dictate my decisions. The decision I have to make right now is twofold: do I love you enough to trust you with my heart again? And do I love you enough to live in the public eye, possibly under constant scrutiny, having everything from the way I dress, to my mental and emotional health discussed and criticized and mocked.”
“Iris, I told you, I’ll resign…”
This again, she sighed impatiently and held up her forefinger, effectively shutting him up.
“Trystan, do you love what you do?”
He was saved from replying by the perfunctory knock at the door.
“Christ,” Trystan barked beneath his breath, running an unsteady hand over his short, spiky hair. “Yes?”
The door opened and Chance’s head popped around it.
“Sorry to disturb, but word’s gotten out that you’re here.”
“What the fuck?” Trystan blurted. “How?”
“Sorry, Iris, seems you have a mole in your operation,” Chance said somberly, then ruined the effect by grinning like a dopey kid. “I’ve always wanted to say that. Anyway, seems like someone called the press on the sly. Brand EPS’spap insider alerted head office and the word’s filtered down that the vultures are headed this way. So, you’re going to have to continue this discussion someplace more secure.”
Trystan sent Iris a tortured look, and she knew it was because he believed this confirmed everything she’d just said about his life.
She offered him a small, reassuring smile.
“Should we continue our discussion at your place?” she asked, and his face just about melted with relief. “I’d love to see Luna again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’ve missed her.”
“About continuing, I mean. Because… Iris, I need you to be sure.”
She cupped his jaw, her thumb finding the familiar ridge of the completely healed cicatrix slicing through his stubble.
“I’m sure.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily and he covered her hand with his own, pressing it against his skin for a second, before nodding.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, bringing their joined hands down between their bodies and interlinking their fingers.
It was relativelyeasy to slip away from the wedding. Chance brought the car round the back entrance and Iris’s parents both hugged her before slanting equally menacing warning looks at Trystan, and ushering them out.
By mutual, unspoken agreement, Iris and Trystan didn’t talk much in the car. Saving the weighty conversation they needed to have for when they had more time. Instead, Trystan told her about his visit home, about his family and friends, while Iris talked about her new group of friends, her writing, and her brief stay at Chance and Colby’s.
While they gently and tentatively filled in the blanks of their time apart for each other, they couldn’t seem to stop touching and staring as if they were unable to believe that they were actually here, together, close enough to touch, breathe, feel and caress each other.
It wasn’t at all how Iris had planned this discussion to go. She’d hoped to remain emotionally distant until they figured out what the future held for them, but to be here with him like this with no words, no conflict or confusion, or chaos to muddy the waters between them…
It was sublime.
They were each so entranced by the other’s mere presence that the privacy glass unceremoniously sliding down between them and Chance was jarring and intrusive.
“Sorry, guys, but we’re going to have to battle our way through this tide of shit,” Chance announced cheerfully and they both looked away from each other long enough to understand that there was a veritable sea of people outside the car.
“Fuck, what about the underground parking?” Trystan asked, his voice terse, while his white-knuckled hold on Iris’s hand threatened to bruise her skin.
“Can’t get the car through them. They got here much faster than we’d anticipated and backup’s not here yet, so we either sit here and wait—although it might take a while for them to get here through this throng. The police might get here first—or we strong-arm our way through them.”
He gave them an unholy, slightly unhinged grin, and cracked his knuckles.
Trystan’s gaze dropped to Iris’s face, his eyes dull with fear and concern.
“No. I won’t risk Iris getting hurt in the mayhem. We’ll wait.”
Just then some wanker thumped on the Maybach’s bonnet and yelled: “Are Trystan and Iris in there? Are they getting back together? Is—hey, fuck you, man!” the last when Chance restarted the car and released the clutch enough for the vehicle to lurch, causing the reporter to leap back.
“I don’t want to wait,” Iris decided, tilting her chin up and meeting Trystan’s gaze resolutely. “I refuse to let these fuckers dictate a single moment more of my life.”
“Iris…”
“Trystan you once promised me a safe space within your life, remember?” she reminded. His face contorted and he swallowed thickly.
“I remember.”
“That offer still stand?”
He exhaled, a soul-deep shuddering exhalation of pure relief.
“Always, baby. Fucking always and forever.”
“Well, that starts right now,” she warned, and his eyes widened when she nodded at Chance. “Let’s go, Chance.”
“Wait a second—” Trystan protested, but it was too late. Chance was out of the car, literally shoving people out of the way as he headed toward the curbside of the car. Once there, he used one long, muscular arm to sweep away two invading paps, dragged the door open, and then positioned his massive body so that he was between Iris and the crowd. Trystan hastily followed, ensuring she was protected on the other side as well.
The reporters went rabid at the sight of Iris, then frothed at the mouth when Trystan joined her seconds later and wrapped a protective arm around her slender shoulders.
A lot of jostling and shoving—at least one punch from Trystan, and a well-aimed kick to a crotch from Iris—later they were in the peaceful foyer of the apartment block.
Chance was still grinning maniacally as he ushered them toward the elevator.
“Saw that palm heel strike, mate,” Chance told Trystan as they all stepped into the blissful empty and quiet lift. “Sloppy technique, but that weedy little fucker is going to feel it for days.”
Trystan ignored Chance and turned Iris to face him. He ran his hands over her body, smoothing down her hair, straightening her waistcoat, his eyes grave with concern.
“You okay? Did they hurt you? I’m so sorry, baby. That shouldn’t have happened. We should have stayed in the?—”
“Did you see me kick that gropey bastard right in the testicles?” she asked, brushing aside his hands. “Can you believe that arsehole used to be a friend of my dad’s? I met him when I was a child and actually called him uncle at one stage, for God’s sake. He was going straight for a boob brush, the dick.”
Trystan’s face went frigid.
“Who? I’ll fuck him up.”
The elevator dinged to a stop and Iris cupped his jaw and went onto her toes to kiss his scar.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s not worth a second more of our time, not when we have more important things to think about and talk about.”
Chance silently led them toward the front door of Trystan’s apartment but remained outside.
Iris stopped in confusion and stared at him.
“Chance? Aren’t you coming in?”
“The penthouse is secure. I can stand guard out here. Just don’t try to kill my principal, Iris, or I’ll have to intervene.”
Trystan impatiently took hold of her hand again to tug her inside before shutting the door with a definitive thud.
“Iris, we?—”
“Oh my God, Luna, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so much,” Iris’s squeal interrupted him as the big dog came lumbering over with more pep in her step than Iris had ever seen from her before, the entirety of her hindquarters vibrating with the force of her tail wagging. She rubbed her big head against Iris’s body, clearly demanding scratches and pets, and Iris was only too happy to comply.
She bent slightly and wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck, giving her a hug.
“I’m so happy to see you,” she said into the dog’s bristly fur and Luna snorted into her ear, presumably returning the sentiment. When she surfaced from the hug, it was to find Trystan leaning against the marble countertop of a huge open-plan kitchen, watching them with a soft, almost adoring, smile on his face. Luna shook herself and ambled back to her basket, clearly content now that her people were in the same room again.
“Sorry,” Iris muttered, wiping at her damp eyes self-consciously. “I just—” her voice hitched unexpectedly and she shook her head, fighting for control before speaking again. “I never expected to see her again.”
“Oh, baby,” he whispered, his voice fraught with regret and sorrow. She offered him a wobbly smile of reassurance, but—when he opened his arms to her—she stepped into them gratefully and accepted his hug.
After a long moment, he dropped his arms, and stepped back toward the marble- topped island, allowing her some breathing room. She appreciated the space, giving herself a moment to get her emotions under control by casting her eyes around the luxurious penthouse apartment curiously. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling self-conscious beneath his smoldering perusal.
“How do you feel?” he asked. Iris—who hadn’t really been taking in anything of what she was looking at—latched onto the abrupt question gratefully.
“About?”
“What just happened.”
“That hug?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“With the paparazzi,” he clarified. “Downstairs.”
“Oh. That.” She considered the question, examining it and her reaction to the situation in the moment from all angles. “It was better with you and Chance there. I didn’t feel threatened, or afraid, or alone. I felt… protected. Safe. Like you promised I’d be.”
She moved closer to him, trailing her finger over the expanse of the cool granite countertop as she walked toward him. She traced that same finger over the back of the hand he had resting on the counter, up over his shirt sleeve, then over one twitching pec, before flattening her palm in the center of his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding too hard and too fast against his ribcage.
“It felt like—together—we can overcome anything. If we just trust each other.”
His jaw twitched and his lower lip quivered before he brought himself under stern control.
“Quinny and I… we’ve been talking a lot. About my career, about the future projects I want to take on. I was reading scripts, comedies—not straight-up slapstick stuff—that’s not for me. But dramadies, y’know? There are a few I’m really excited about. I can’t remember the last time I felt eager and enthusiastic about my work. There are other quirkier dark comedies that I love. There’s also this science-fiction script that landed on my desk. It has a small role in it that I’m dying to play but I’m mostly keen on producing and directing it. Quinny and Bee—my PR manager—have been supportive of the direction I want to take with my career, and are moving mountains to facilitate the shift.”
“You don’t want to give it up?” Iris said quietly, and his brow furrowed above those tormented eyes. As if he wasn’t sure what the right answer was.
“I would, Iris, in a heartbeat, if it meant being with you.”
“I would absolutely love to see what you could do in those roles, Trystan. I’m excited to see how far you can stretch yourself and how high you can fly. I don’t want you to give that up for me. I would hate it.”
He pressed his hand over hers where it still rested on his chest.
“I’ve had a taste of life without you, Iris… and I hated every goddamned second of it. I felt empty, lost. I could barely function. And I despised myself for driving you away. If my career is what keeps us apart, I would despise that too.”
She sighed. The sound was soft and resigned.
“I love you, Trystan. More than enough to risk my heart again. But I warn you, it’s fragile and I’m trusting you not to break it again… because I don’t think I’d recover from a next time.”
He lifted her hand to his face, nuzzling his stubbled cheek into her palm, before turning his head to press a worshipful kiss on her soft skin. His eyes were screwed shut, but that did not prevent a silvery bead of moisture from escaping and streaking down his lean cheek to catch in the dark stubble on his jaw.
His chest was shuddering and it took Iris a moment to realize that what she was hearing were sobs, and what she was seeing were tears.
Her throat closed up and she tugged her hand from beneath his to wrap her arms around his waist and hold him close.
He collapsed against her, weak and helpless in her arms as he buried his head on her shoulder and shook in her arms. The storm of emotion passed after a few endless moments and when his lips sought hers, Iris welcomed them with heartfelt enthusiasm.
His big hands came up to cradle her face, while his thumbs tilted her jaw upwards to better accommodate his demanding, scorching kiss.
By the time their tongues got involved, he’d somehow marched her backward toward a bedroom. Iris only realized where they were when the backs of her knees hit the edge of a mattress.
She jerked her head up and cast him a narrow-eyed glower.
“Mr. Abbott, have you lured me into your bedroom?” she teased and he looked uncertain for a second before his kiss-swollen lips spread into a wide, happy smile.
“Why, yes, I have, Miss Hughes…”
“And do you have seduction in mind, sir?” she asked in a scandalized whisper.
“I’m gonna seduct you so hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week, ma’am,” he affirmed lazily.
“Seduct isn’t a word, sir.”
“It should be,” he said. “It rhymes so very nicely with fucked.”
She laughed, the sound giddy and lighthearted. After the intensity of the past hour, as well as the days, weeks they’d been apart, the humor was a welcome relief.
“Well, then,” she said, running her fingers over his shorn hair, loving the texture of the buzz cut against her palm. “Seduct me long and hard, babe. I’m ready.”
He growled, the sound was low and feral and sent a thrill of anticipation up Iris’s spine. It reminded her of that wounded beast she’d first met all those weeks ago and her pussy throbbed in reaction to the sound, already wet and swollen, while her nipples tightened to the point of pain.
He nudged her onto the bed and kneed his way between her thighs, taking her mouth in another deep, suctioning kiss that turned her bones to jelly.
“Don’t think I told you how sexy I find this uniform,” his said, voice guttural, while he clumsily pawed at the buttons of her waistcoat. “You have an outstanding arse but in this getup, it’s positively sinful.” He dropped a hand to her butt and squeezed, almost roughly. Iris whimpered, loving his dominant possessiveness. Something told her she was in for a wild ride. He seemed unable to get himself under control, and she loved it.
He unsnapped the button on her trousers, and slid the flat of his hand down the front, inside her panties until he’d palmed her crudely. His long fingers skirted over her throbbing clit and headed straight for her entrance, where he found her soaking wet and scalding hot. He sank two fingers into her without any warning and Iris keened and arched into his touch, her clit pressed into his palm while her swollen flesh clenched around his invading fingers and she orgasmed without any warning whatsoever.
She muffled her scream against his bicep and then bit down on the taut flesh when her brain shut down and white-hot light blinded her to anything but the intense pleasure of her climax.
By the time she drifted down from that amazing peak, he had her waistcoat and shirt unbuttoned and spread open, and was busy peeling her trousers off. She could do nothing but watch him, as she lay limp and sated on the bed, feeling a little like an unwrapped present waiting to be thoroughly enjoyed by its recipient.
When he finally managed to tug the black pants free, Iris lay there waiting, legs splayed, arms outstretched, nipples big and hard, a smug, contented grin on her face. She felt decadent, lazy, pampered and spoiled… while the sexiest man in the world stared at her like she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And then he started to strip and she moaned as she watched more and more of that perfect body come into view. All hers, always, forever.
By the time he was completely naked, gorgeous cock hard and throbbing for her, she was panting, and hungry for him, aching for what she knew he would give her.
He fumbled with a condom, not as suave as he liked to think he was, and she loved that too… loved that he was clumsy in his eagerness to be with her. Loved that her perfect man was not so perfect after all, but flawed and human.
When he pushed into her, she cried out, helpless to stop the sound from spilling out into the reverent silence that had fallen between them, and when she tightened around him, a similar sound tore itself from his chest.
Their union felt familiar, yet new, the craving and urgency after so long apart lending a frenetic pace to their coupling that had been absent in their previous lovemaking. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that Iris loved Trystan. And Trystan loved Iris. Together they could and would conquer mountains.
Trystan swore softly, a low, urgent fuck as he lost control, and seemed barely able to restrain himself as he pounded into her harder and faster. Iris loved it. She raked her nails down the length of his back, then dug her fingers into his rapidly thrusting tight arse as she brought her knees up and pushed her feet down on the backs of his thighs.
“Harder, Trystan,” she urged and he groaned, burying his face into the cove of her neck as he complied.
She wailed, the sound high, wild, as her orgasm crashed into her like a freight train and derailed her. Trystan, one hand braced on the mattress beside her head for balance, and the fingers of the other digging—tightly enough to bruise—into one of her butt cheeks, groaned. It was a quiet, helpless sound and it was followed by a shudder, then her name.
Every muscle in his body tightened as he froze and then came, in a series of hard, violent jolts.
In the silencethat fell after their fierce bout of lovemaking, Trystan held Iris close, terrified that if he let her go he’d wake up and find himself alone to discover that this had been yet another one of his tormented dreams.
She’d drifted off after her orgasm, body limp, limbs spread with the abandon of a carefree kid. He loved the unguardedness of her sprawl. It meant that she felt safe with him and that made him proud as fuck. He wanted her to feel protected around him. Wanted her to know that he could take care of her and always would.
This moment felt a little too good to be true. That he could have Iris and his career. It was more than he’d hoped for. That was why he was afraid to sleep. Because if this was a dream, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the devastation when he woke up from it. So he lay there, staring at the ceiling, holding her close, stroking her hair, fighting the somnolence with everything in him.
Until his eyes drifted shut.
And he slept.
When Trystannext opened his eyes, the room was gloomier, telling him it was close to sunset, probably just gone six pm. As his eyes adjusted, he searched for Iris, pushing himself up frantically when he didn’t see her anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
He got up, dragging on his boxer briefs and nothing else as he hastily made his way to the kitchen.
He froze when he spotted her, curled up on the sofa, Luna stretched out next to her, with her massive head resting in Iris’s lap.
Iris looked up with a smile when she saw him.
“Hey, you were out like a light, and I figured the jet lag was probably hitting you hard.”
She looked adorable, wearing his shirt and nothing else. Her hair was a mess and she was sipping something from a mug, while leafing through a magazine.
“Trystan?” she prompted, concern laced through her voice. And Trystan knew he was behaving strangely, just staring at her like she was some kind of apparition.
“I thought it was a dream,” he confessed, his voice gruff with sleep and embarrassment but she didn’t look confused. Instead her smile widened in understanding.
“I was scared it wasn’t real too,” she said, then patted the empty space beside her. “Pour yourself a cup of cocoa from the saucepan on the stove and join us.”
He complied with almost indecent haste, getting a mug full of the chocolatey drink before sliding into place beside her. He tucked his arm around her shoulders and she dropped her head into the dip between his chest and his armpit.
“You staying the night?” he asked into the fragrant cloud of her hair.
“Since the reporters seem to have camped out downstairs that would probably be best. They’ll have a field day speculating about what we’re doing up here.”
Trystan took a sip of his chocolate.
“Does that bother you?” he asked cautiously and she laughed, turning her head to press a kiss against his chest, just above his nipple.
“Nope, they can’t even begin to imagine what we’re like together. Anything they come up with would pale in comparison to reality.”
“Yeah?” He couldn’t help feeling a little smug about her comment.
“Yep.”
After a companionable silence, broken only by Luna’s snores, Iris tilted her head to look up at him.
“I’m happy.”
His heart clenched at those two small words and then brimmed to overflowing with joy and love for this woman.
“I am too, Iris.”
So fucking happy.
“You said something a while back that I didn’t quite get. But I know what you mean now because I feel the same way.”
“Hmm?”
“Being with you feels like home.”