Chapter 8 Tristan #2
She tilts her head, tapping her index finger on the armchair. “No.”
“No?” I grumble. “Who is on that spectrum, Viviana?”
She gulps. “Killers.”
“Exactly.”
She should run. She could enjoy a few moments of freedom before I’d bring her back. But she surprises me once more when she walks to me and hugs me, kissing my chest as if to heal the organ beneath.
“I’d never…” I can’t even finish the sentence. I am too fucking raw, stripped bare.
“I know. I know, Tristan.”
“How?” I struggle with my humanity, but she doesn’t question it.
She smiles so brightly that it pulverizes my demons. “Your deep-rooted protection. You kiss me with searing passion, you hold me like you can’t stay away, you watch over me as if it’s your duty. I could never be afraid of you when all you’ve made me feel is safe. Safe and alive.”
I nod, incapable of forming words. I drag her flush to my chest and kiss her long and hard, determined to embed my DNA into her cells.
She kisses me back with the same ardor as if accepting me just as I am—deeply flawed, irredeemable but for her, I want to be better, so she never thinks she misjudged me.
Intertwining our fingers, she pulls me toward the staircase, and I follow her inside the bedroom.
It feels like she tends to me as she slowly undresses me. This moment has nothing sexual, just a desire to connect, a wish to soothe.
I am a lucky bastard for having found her, but it runs deeper, letting her in for good. Which, in her case, is not good at all.
Stripped to my boxer briefs and bare to my soul, we climb into bed, under the sheets.
She rests her cheek on my chest and draws patterns on my side.
I focus on her soft touch caressing every fiber of my being and her lithe body pressed into me, humming a lullaby.
“You’re a witch,” I rasp, my groggy voice filled with sleep.
She continues to stroke me, saying in that melodious voice of hers, “I’m here. I am right here, baby,” she murmurs.
I close my eyes, wearing the biggest grin on my face. She called me baby.
“I trust you,” I say, the underlying message clear. If I wake up to her gone, all the progress she thinks she made with me will be moot.
Those nights when I sleep longer than three hours are so rare; I always wake up disoriented, with messy hair and a disheveled appearance.
Taking a quick scan, I realize I am at the beach house. Alone in my bed.
I groan and roll out of bed in search of her. I am about to call her name, my gut instinct telling me she didn’t leave, but I find her in the kitchen preparing pancakes.
This is such a potent image, I come to an abrupt halt. That must have caught her attention because she flips the pan and grins at me.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember ever sleeping this soundly.”
She beams. “I’m magical like that.”
“That you are.” I approach her, wrapping my arms around her belly.
“I hope it’s okay. Pancakes are my comfort food.”
I feel my brows furrow. “Why do you need it today?”
But then I remember it’s Sunday. She has to return to college, and I have to work.
This year will be brutal. It won’t be easy once she finds out we’re engaged. I need to hurry, refusing to let anyone else beat me to having her, leaving only a few more months of serenity.
“We could stay some more. Stay as long as you want to.” I sound like a simp and don’t give a fuck.
I don’t know what this woman did to me, but strangely, I don’t bother finding out.
“We’ll see each other soon,” she says, but it sounds more like a question.
“Next weekend.”
She worries her lip. “Tristan—”
I cut her off. “Please, I need you.”
Her eyes soften, the retort melting from her tongue even though she arches a brow. “I know what you’re doing.”
I smirk. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Hmm, sure, Mister Innocent.”
“I’m anything but.”
“I’m seeing that,” she sighs, as if coming to terms with some things.
That gives me hope that she’ll be able to overlook my biggest sin—deceiving her.
I can’t risk telling her the truth. Our relationship wouldn’t be the same.
Sensing something is troubling her, I grip her chin. “What’s the matter, mo run?”
“What did you call me?”
I give her a cheeky grin, asking, “What do you think?”
“Tell me, pretty please,” she pouts, turning me into a goner.
Caressing her cheek with my thumb, I lose myself in her green eyes. “It’s Irish for my love. My beloved. Literally my secret.”
A bright smile lights up her face. “I like it. It fits.”
In more ways than one, and we’re both aware of that.
After we eat the pancakes, I pat the corners of my mouth with a napkin. “Damn, these are good.”
“My Nonna taught me,” she says, pride and warmth lacing her voice.
“Are you close to her?”
Just as she wants to discover everything about me, it’s the same for me.
She shrugs. “I’m close to everyone in my life…”
What she doesn’t say but rings just as loud is that none of them see her.
Shooting from my seat, I round the table, erasing the distance between us, and cup her face. “I see you. I will always see you, Viviana.”
Potent emotions shine in her eyes. “Promise?”
“I vow.”
No riches, no treasures, nothing compares to her smiling at me with her entire heart. She makes me feel like a better man than I am, want to become a better man than I thought I could be—for her.
Not caring about the dishes, I gather her in my arms, bringing her to the living room.
On the sofa, I drag her onto my lap, taking advantage of every minute with her. I hate to let her go, but I disapprove of her driving at night. The thought of something happening to her wrecks me.
“I’ll pick you up on Friday evening,” I say through kisses.
“Now, make it into a question and add a please. I know you can. I have full trust.”
I chuckle. This woman, I swear.
I roll my lip between my teeth. “I’d like to pick you up. May I?”
“Yes,” she breathes out.
“And your phone number.”
“Tristan,” she sighs, but it’s more for show.
I grin. “Please.”