Chapter 19
Tristan
She leans forward in the seat, visibly impressed. From the outside, the chalet isn’t much to look at. It’s been in our family for three generations now. My father hires a local to oversee the property. All it took was one phone call to confirm it wasn’t in use this weekend, and Henri promised to have the place prepared.
It’s in a ski in ski out location, but this time of year when there’s no snow on the ground, there are no remarkable attributes other than four fireplaces and its ability to sleep fourteen. But, the views of the alps are breathtaking and there’s a chance of flurries in the morning which could lead to a dusting of snow. The system won’t bring enough to endanger our ability to return home. Back in Geneva, the system will come through as rain, so not only is this an escape from my mother’s unwelcome intrusion this morning, it’s also a retreat to a picturesque weekend.
“This is your place?”
“A friend’s.” The answer comes without thought.
At boarding school, my friends were in similar situations. Multiple family-owned properties were expected. University offered more economically diverse friendships, but my closest friends shared similar backgrounds.
I’m fairly certain none of my old friends currently occupy an attic.
It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter, but why did I lie?
“Come,” I say, opening the passenger door for her and offering her my hand. We’ve come here to get away from it all, and that begins now.
I haven’t yet parked in the garage because I need to get the key to open up the place, but given the weather coming in, I’ll be sure to park it inside. My father added the attached garage to the chalet about twenty or thirty years ago, and I can remember my grandfather mocking him and complaining it would be one more section of roof that would need to be cleared of snow. In most matters, I was team granddad, but on that one, I have to say, the younger generation had it right.
“Who else is staying here?” She hasn’t moved from her seat and remains transfixed by the building.
“Just us.” I drop my offered hand. “I told you we’d go somewhere we won’t come across anyone from the office. We won’t cross paths with anyone here.”
There are other chalets, of course, but the chances of someone from the office staying in this area are slim, and the one she most wishes to avoid, my mother, never visits this property. She’ll fly to Paris before driving to Chamonix.
Lucia finally swings her legs off the seat and takes my hand for balance. After assuring her I’ll return for our luggage, I lead the way through the entry vestibule and up the stairs to the main living area. The place has many bedrooms, but it’s the master that has been renovated in this century and boasts stunning views, a wood-burning fireplace, and mink throws. The bath is one of my favorites, with a soaking tub set before a glass wall and a pass through gas fireplace that separates the bathing area from the marble shower.
“How many bedrooms does this place have?”
“I don’t recall. Six or seven? We’re staying on the top floor.”
My phone vibrates as we reach the main living area. “Feel free to explore. I need to take this call.”
I step into the office and close the door. If Nigel calls on a Saturday, it’s important.
“Tristan, here.”
“Are you alone?”
“I am now.” I step back towards the desk, only stopping once I have a clear view of the light coming in below the door. If Lucia enters the hall, her shadow will alert me.
“William Salo died this morning.” His outlook hadn’t been promising. If he came out of a coma, his prognosis included a significant likelihood of brain injury.
“If you’re calling me to tell me, then I take it we don’t believe it was because of natural causes?”
“His wife pulled life support.”
“You can hardly blame her.”
“Under normal circumstances, I would agree.”
“Would having a knife thrown into your eye by your former lover ever qualify as commonplace?”
“Don’t get cheeky. We picked up a transfer to an offshore account she opened a little over a week ago.”
“Someone paid her?”
“Has the appearances of it. She knew authorities were hoping to speak to him.”
“Yes, but no one knew if he’d be able to speak. How much transferred?”
“One million euros.”
“That’s a tidy sum. I suppose life insurance wouldn’t work that quickly.”
“We’re tracking the funding source. It’s conceivable it’s simply a case of managing changes in the estate, but the use of the offshore account?—”
“Right. Understood. I assume we’ve been tracking her finances, and that’s how you noticed?”
“Within twenty-four hours of Salo being admitted to emergency. It’s almost a month later. Seems someone might have been debating what to do and chose a course.”
“Appears that way, but as you know, in investigations, it never pays to assume.”
“Right you are. Since I have you, any updates on your end?”
“None.” It’s disappointing, but the truth.
“You about ready to wrap up and hand the investigation over? It’s not a black mark on you, you know. This simply might require a larger scale investigation. Interviews.”
“Not yet.” A shadow crosses the golden light below the door frame. But I am on holiday at the moment with someone who might have some additional insights that the right questions could unearth.
“In France at the moment, I see?”
“You know, just because you can track me, doesn’t mean you should.”
“Only mention it to get a rise out of you. Enjoy your weekend. Six weeks. That’s all you have. Then I want you back on cases that matter.”
This one matters. The argument is on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back and end the call.
I swing open the door and find Lucia standing in front of the door, hand held up as if she’s debating knocking.
“Did you get lonely?”
Her beautiful face lights with a smile. She let her hair dry naturally on the drive, and the dark spirals brush her shoulders. When it’s straight, her hair falls between her shoulder blades, although that’s rarely seen since at work she braids her hair and loops it into a low bun.
She’s in plain jeans and a long sleeve thermal and socks. Typically, I prefer elegant and tailored apparel, but surprisingly, this version of Lucia appeals to me.
“Is everything okay?” She’s looking over my shoulder at the desk in what serves as a combination game room and office.
“A lawyer had a question on an estate matter.”
My gaze falls to her lips, then to the faint outline of her nipples beneath the pillowed cotton. I had her last night and this morning, but that isn’t enough. I want her now. With a quick tug, her luscious body presses up against mine and my mouth plunders hers.
She cups my erection through my trousers and my need ratchets up ten thousand notches. She tilts her head back, allowing me access to her slender throat. Little sounds of pleasure fill the hall as she grinds against my thigh. I cup her breast over the top, kneading her.
She stills. My dick throbs, but she’s no longer responsive. I nip her earlobe, and ask against her ear, “Something wrong?”
“Houses like this sometimes have cameras, right? We’re in the hallway. This is your friend’s house.” She clasps my jaw with both her hands and forces me to back up and take in those dark eyes with expansive pupils. “Should we go upstairs? I doubt there’s a camera in the bedroom.”
Why is she aware of home security systems? My grandfather wouldn’t have installed anything here, but it’s been in the family estate and under my parents’ care for decades. She’s not wrong. There’s no active security surveillance in place, but might there be cameras nestled in the eaves? Someone could have sold dear old dad on the security benefits. I disengaged the alarm before entering. Would my father think to apprise me of cameras on the premise? Probably not.
The bedroom it is. With a bend in my knees, I clasp her thighs and lift until she straddles my waist. She laughs and her curls bounce with each step. The overhead lights reflect off her black tendrils. She’s carefree and joyful.
And too concerned about what others would think, but I can let that slide.
I push into the bedroom suite and glance around. A king size bed faces an open window with a stunning view. To the side is a sitting area with a fireplace and a sofa facing the same view, as well as a leather armchair that resembles a throne.
I set her down and kiss her with a fraction of my pent up need, and take my place in the armchair.
“Strip.”
She tilts her head back and laughs. She believes I’m joking. But I’m not. It’s something she realizes a second before her laughter ceases.
“I’m not wearing anything sexy.”
She has no idea.
“Everything about you is alluring. But I happen to prefer you naked. Don’t make me ask twice.”
She meets my eyes, chin thrust upwards. Will she obey? Or will I have her over my knee? Her gaze falls to my twitching fingers, and I half expect I’ll be chasing her through the house, lurking security cameras be damned.
She’s challenging to read and I find the uncertainty leaves me breathless.
I’m on edge. Ready for a chase. But, she surprises me and obeys. The shirt falls first. Dim moonlight flows through the window panes behind her, casting her in shadow. My mouth waters to taste her luscious breasts. Her fingers work the buttons on her pants and she hooks her fingers in the waistband, sliding her garments over voluptuous hips and shimmies until they fall to her ankles.
My body hums in fervent anticipation. I take her in, memorizing her. I shall never forget the vision before me. Perfection.
She drops to her knees and crawls, full breasts swaying, rounded arse in the air. A delectable fever dream.
I am a man on a throne.
She reaches me and plants her palms on my knees. Heat flows across my skin as she pushes those hands forward, rising on her knees. In my chest, the beating thunders. My skin lights with frenetic energy. My cock throbs.
A flirtatious smile crosses her lips. As she tugs on the zipper of my trousers, it hits me she has reclaimed possession of power. She doesn’t need to speak, as I understand her intentions. I lift my hips, helping her to me, willing to do anything for her at this moment.
My mouth dries as she grips my base and swirls her thumb over my tip, then leans forward, her bare breasts brushing across my thighs and her hot mouth takes me in.
Christ . What she can do with that mouth, tongue and teeth.
I’m lightheaded. My palm flattens over her scalp, and my fingers tangle in her hair, gently guiding. She’s absolutely exquisite.
Rays of lighting blur through my eyelids and I tilt my head back, luxuriating in this turn of events. Everything she does to me is absolute divinity. My balls and lower back tighten and my fingers grip her hair. It’s hard to speak but I grunt, “I’m… if…need to.”
Who knows what gibberish flows from my mouth? But the devilish gleam in her eye releases me from guilt when I explode like a scad. Some of my cum spills from her lips, but I’m not done, and she strokes me as we both watch the thick white stream shooting up and down her impertinent hand. She licks the cum that spilled over her lips, her eyes alight in pride, power and mirth.
She’s a complication. Because I don’t want to let this one go. Perhaps this is one time I should have listened to mother. In six short weeks, or likely sooner, I’ll be in another country. Far away from this goddess, and without a doubt, she’s going to rule my dreams.