Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan
If you had told me I would be climbing a ladder to knock at a damsel’s window on the top floor of a mansion in Crestwood Heights at midnight, well, I would have hardly believed it.
Still, here I am, after trading my navy suits for dark trousers and a long-sleeved polo covered by a jacket of the same color.
I have left my helmet on the seat of my black Kawasaki, hidden two houses down, where the forest begins and the street ends.
My black balaclava is still on, though, because I would hate getting caught by one of those nosy neighbors expensive communities always have.
At least if I do get seen, no one will be able to tell it was me.
Tristan Ashford. A billionaire, heir of a multigenerational legacy, alone at night, climbing the side of a house like a desperate Romeo calling his Juliet.
Oh, the irony of having it all when the only thing I will ever truly want is up there, as I put two feet down on the lawn, catching the small, faint orange light from the window of her room.
What is having it all when I cannot have her by my side?
I’m trying to ignore the expansion of her presence, bleeding ink on my heart, but one can only ignore it for so long.
Ella, sweetheart, you shouldn't be here.
Not here, alone, waiting. I see you in every room of my house, in every taste of my coffee, in every cloud, in every knock on my office door that disappoints me because it is not you.
I sense you under my skin, deciding my mood; your pain and silence mine to repair; your struggles mine to take care of.
I see you like a painter recognizes his muse after looking for it for a lifetime, an infinite source of inspiration, yet also humbling, granting me your looks and your signs like gifts and rewards.
I may rule the city, but Ella, Ella is the only one who could rule me.
A car passes by as I evaporate into the side of the house, dark and silent.
The streetlights are too dim for anyone to see me, and I am thankful for the high ladder that hopefully will be strong enough for me to climb.
Resting both hands on the wooden piece, black gloves preventing rose thorns from blistering my palms, I hold on tight and test its toughness.
The synthetic smell of my hood distracts me, and I hear myself breathe, counting back from ten, hoping I will not fuck this up for both our sakes.
Without overthinking it again, I start climbing, reaching higher by the second, hurrying since-
A piece of wood cracks beneath my sole, breaking into pieces on the ground.
Has anyone heard me? I glance at the street.
Ella told me it was the only way up, and that, according to her signs, it was “crazy” to do so.
I suppose my ego got carried away, because there is nothing I would have let stand between her and me tonight.
I would have waited for all of them to fall asleep and entered by the main door if needed.
I am almost there as I slide one leg over her small balcony, focused on every single one of my movements.
Second leg over. Relief washes over me as I turn, a translucent curtain of light behind the window making her silhouette ethereal, unreal.
Ella is there, but she has not seen me yet.
And what a gift. My hand forms a fist as I stand behind the window, observing the miracle I have been offered from the heavens.
A large white shirt and black leggins hugs her skin, as she sits on the floor, back against her bed, legs folded to the side, her long jet-black hair down, holding a book in her hand, her focus pulled into the story so deeply she does not seem to feel the strand of hair falling from her ear and caressing her cheek.
Heat takes possession of my body despite the cold of the night and the harsh whistling around me.
I would give all the money in the world if I could make this woman mine.
Not because I would have chosen her, but because she would have chosen me too.
Like a prey sensing a predator watching her, she raises her face, dropping the book open on the bed.
Gently, her face turns, eyes widening as she takes in the masked man standing outside her window, rising slowly as if I cannot see her.
Fear dances on her shoulders until she tilts her head ever so slightly, biting her lips.
Hi, sweetheart.
Index above my mouth, I tell her not to make a sound as she comes closer, hand above the handle, twisting the wooden balcony door delicately.
Eyes on her and her shirt that ripples on her chest like water, I stand still, fists folded, jaw clenched.
A tension, thick and heavy, fills the air as she opens the door.
Stepping back, she lets me in, the room small and intimate, stripped of any luxury the outside of the house could lead us to believe.
My wet shoes and her bare feet only heighten the contrast. Despite being stripped of any eccentricities, her room feels very much like…
hers. Bed, desk, dresser and book, because of course, where Ella is, there’s always books too.
There is a small lamp on the desk, drawing a candle-light glow on the wall and illuminating her face in sensual shadows.
Ella stands in the middle as I take her in, drinking every inch of her, her perfume branding me irreversibly.
“You scared me,” she signs fast, bouncing slightly on her feet.
“Did I really?” I sign back, but my gloves get in the way, so I remove them roughly, dropping them on the edge of her desk as her eyes roam over the veins of my hands.
My balaclava, only revealing my eyes, is still on, making my pupils the sole traitors of her effect on me.
“Tell me, Ella, do you often get visitors at night?” I taunt.
She shakes her head with a small, mischievous smile.
“I knew it was you,” she signs. “You have a way of…moving.” I let out an appreciative hum of approval, knowing that she is so perceptive it makes me wonder what else she likes about my ways of moving, as she puts it.
Her brown eyes meet mine again, and I cannot resist the flush on her bare face anymore, so I step closer until the tips of our noses brush, my hand meeting her cheek with the softness of a giant touching a butterfly, trying not to break it.
Our breathing gets louder and louder, both of us inhaling each other in despite the hood, despite not even kissing.
We alternate, living in sync, our faces searching for the other, to smell, to recognize, to inhale, imprinting the other’s scent into our systems. Her hands grow bolder, clasping my forearms, and I watch her, waiting a second for her nod to let mine rest on her waist.
God, this woman.
If she let me, I would steal her away right now and never let anyone take her from me. I would protect and provide, I would fight battles and win wars, I would kneel and let her be the only one to ever see me break open.
“Ella,” I murmur against the fabric, a repressed grunt.
Brows drowned together meets me, and I relish in the frustration battling on her face.
Voices a floor below interrupt our spell, and I rest a finger on her lips, not wanting anyone to disturb us.
My heart stops functioning as she drops a featherweight kiss on the side of my index.
My resolve to take her away with me is holding on by a thin thread, and I’m going to need her to fight her case if she wants to stay here even one more night.
Exhaling, I tear myself from her and sign, “Give me one good reason why I should not take you back to my home and keep you there forever.”
“Why?” she says silently as I let my finger brush her soft bottom lip.
“Because this,” I sign, waving between her and me, “seems like something that should not be ignored. Don’t you think?”
“What do you mean by this…?” She signs, unsure.
If only you knew, Ella, that I would crawl bare-chested over scorching coals if it could earn me your trust.
“Us as a couple. Us as in whatever plans we have in the future will have to involve the other because this, Ella, is something I refuse to live without from now on.”
“Tristan,” she mouths. I want to bruise her lips with mine, but I have kept the hood on because, somehow, Ella seems to open up more to me with the false sense of me being a stranger. Everyone has a way to communicate. We have ours.
“I know it is too soon to say words we could not take back. I’m not…I’m not asking that from you. There’s no rush; I’m just stating facts here.”
“I…I want to believe in us too, but…there are so many things you still don’t know about me.”
“How would you feel about, um,” I look away for a second.
Could this make her hate me? “About knowing that I have done my fair share of research? Would it…scare you?” She hisses in a breath as I put a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing down the side of her throat.
“Would you like to hear it?” She nods, and I can almost see the shivers coursing over her shoulders, my gaze fixating on her collarbone as I try not to look at her body, draped in this barely existing fabric, so thin it could be torn away in one fistful of desire.