Tristan
Chloe’s lips meet mine, and for a moment, my mind goes blank.
This wasn’t planned. This kiss is completely spontaneous. Her eyes have fluttered closed. It looks, for all the world, real.
I go still for a beat, caught off guard in a way that almost never happens, and then something takes over and I kiss her back, nipping at her lower lip as my hand comes up to grip the back of her neck.
Someone wolf-whistles in the crowd—probably Beckett again—and the moment is broken.
Chloe pulls away, even though I wasn’t ready for it to end.
That wasn’t nearly enough time to explore the spark that just flashed between us.
If we’d had more time, and if there had been fewer people around, we might not have been able to stop it from bursting into an open flame.
Under my breath so that only she can hear me, I ask, “What was that for?”
She raises an eyebrow. “It was a reminder.”
“Of what?”
Before she can respond, my mother—visibly confused, but working with what she’s got—gives a little cough into the microphone. “Well! If that isn’t chemistry, I don’t know what is. Keep it classy, you two, we’ve got company.”
A stilted laugh ripples through the room, dampening the tension between myself and Chloe. My mother has always been good at working a crowd, adaptable and quick on her feet.
Right now, though, I wish I could wave a hand and make everyone in this room vanish. I need to finish this conversation. I need a moment alone with Chloe.
So when she steps to the side and heads off the dance floor, I follow her and catch her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Those gray eyes flash as she shoots a look at me over her shoulder.
“A reminder of what?” I ask quietly, stepping closer.
She almost smiles. Those dimples appear at either side of her mouth, and for an instant, she looks like a different person, one that’s not icy or emotionless at all. “A reminder of who you’re marrying. Me. Not your ex.”
My brows shoot up. She must’ve seen me talking to Iris, although I have no idea how she knows we’re exes. She must have seen it on social media, or maybe Ivy told her.
“You promised me loyalty,” Chloe continues quietly. “I think your ex might need some reminding that you’re off the market.”
A grin spreads across my face, heat kindling in my chest. “Well, if that’s what you’re trying to do, dimples, then we should make sure everyone in the room really gets the message.”
I slide my palm to the back of her head, pull her in, and kiss her the way I actually wanted to the first time.
Harder, deeper, not a brief and unexpected thing, but something with real intent behind it.
She makes a soft, startled sound against my mouth as my tongue slides between her lips, and I feel her hands come up and grip the lapels of my jacket.
To my surprise, she responds in kind, meeting my kiss with a whirlwind ferocity.
She gasps a little as my tongue slips between her lips.
This is definitely not keeping it classy, and behind me, I can just barely hear my mother’s rebuke and the murmuring of the assembled crowd.
There are more than a few whistles this time, not just Beckett hamming it up.
At this point, I can’t bring myself to care about what’s appropriate for this kind of event. Chloe’s chaste, impulsive kiss ignited a hunger in me that feels insatiable in this moment.
Besides… let them see. That’s what she wanted, right?
I run my thumb along her jaw as I kiss her, my eyes closed, savoring her taste. I can’t get enough of it, of the scent of her shampoo wafting from her hair. Of the feel of her soft lips against mine. They’re warm too, nothing like the ice I imagined.
When the kiss breaks and we come apart, she wears a dazed look on her face. For a few seconds, the room seems to spin, as if all of it—the lights, the tables, the floral arrangements—is orbiting her face, her elegantly-styled dark hair, her smudged lipstick.
I reach out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, running my thumb over her lips to wipe away the smudges.
“I think we made our point,” I breathe. “Don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer. She’s still looking at me with those darkened eyes, and I want to do a hell of a lot more than stand here on a dance floor in front of an audience.
I want to know what that small gasp of hers sounds like when it turns into something louder.
I want to get her alone somewhere and find out what she’s hiding behind all that cool composure.
Maybe kissing her like that was a mistake. Maybe getting that taste of her this early was about as smart as lighting a match in a room full of gasoline.
Because we’re not even married yet, and I’m already a little obsessed with her.
The next morning, I’m at the beach behind my house by five-thirty, paddling out before the sun has fully cleared the horizon.
It’s the best way to start the day and clear away stress. Some people meditate. Some garden. Dominic rides his motorcycle. Me? I surf.
I paddle out into the swells, my movements fluid and controlled. I’m not exactly a professional, but my skills have been honed over the many weekends and early mornings I’ve spent out here ever since I was a kid.
Surfing is the one thing I do that has nothing to do with Thorne Enterprises or the family or any of it. The guys out here at this hour don’t know who I am—or if they do, they don’t care. We’re all out here for one reason, and one reason only.
I first got on a board when I was six. My mother signed me and Reid up for lessons that summer, one of her periodic attempts to give us something that had nothing to do with business.
Reid wiped out on his first wave, stood up, brushed the sand off, and announced he was done.
I paddled back out, and I’ve been doing it ever since.
I spend an hour in the water catching a few good sets, the cold and the physical work burning away the thoughts that have been building up in my head.
By the time I wade back in, I feel like a functioning human being, which is not always a given these days.
The feeling lasts through the walk back to my house and the shower and most of the process of getting dressed.
It starts to erode somewhere around the point where I’m knotting my tie, as I remember what’s waiting for me at the office.
It’s going to be more than a little hellish, honestly. Now that the engagement is official and the wedding is forthcoming, a meeting has been scheduled to discuss cooperation between the two companies.
My whole family will be there. Chloe’s too. We haven’t all been in a conference room together since the will reading, and I’m not entirely sure how this is going to go.
When my driver pulls up to the front doors of the Thorne Enterprises building, the morning sunlight plays on the reflective glass, a glint in the skyscraper’s eye. I enter the lobby, tuning out the hum of activity as I stride straight for the elevator.
I’m the last one to arrive in the boardroom, the same place where my father’s will reading was conducted.
All four of my brothers occupy seats around the polished table, and my mother sits at the head.
Opposite her is Vincent Dawson, his hands folded on the table’s surface, Chloe sitting to his right.
As I take my place at the table, our eyes lock. Memories of that kiss rise in me again, and I force myself to restrain my response to a subtle nod.
The atmosphere is tense. My mother’s friendly camaraderie with Vincent Dawson from the engagement party is gone, replaced by a chill distance. The show of good faith must have been just that: a show. Behind closed doors, interfacing with my father’s biggest business rival doesn’t need to seem easy.
“Tristan,” my mother acknowledges, a tight smile on her face. “Good. Everyone is here.”
Dominic and Gabriel exchange a glance, and I meet Reid’s eyes across the table, silently acknowledging the tension. Vincent Dawson’s gaze is steely as it sweeps over my family.
“Let’s proceed, shall we?” I ask, clearing my throat. I turn to Vincent. “This is a pivotal moment for Thorne Enterprises. We have the opportunity here to fulfill our father’s vision and strengthen our position in the market. And, of course, this goal can be mutually beneficial for our companies.”
Vincent’s voice is measured but firm. “Tristan, I hope this alliance is genuine. My daughter and I are willing to honor your late father’s wishes, but we expect sincerity from our end as well.”
The implication of those words is clear, and I have to resist the urge to smirk. Is he giving me the fucking shovel talk? If you hurt my daughter, I’ll…
“I assure you, Mr. Dawson, this partnership is not just a formality,” I tell him. “I’m committed to making this collaboration a success.”
“With that in mind, perhaps we could decide on a flagship project,” Gabriel suggests. “Something that our firms can work together on that will help us develop our relations going forward.”
I nod, grateful for his intervention. “That’s a good idea. My father’s intention wasn’t a full merger. He wanted to see us work together—share the market, boost each other up. One endeavor seems like a good start to that end.”
“What did you have in mind?” Vincent asks.
I consider that, choosing my words. “We had been thinking about expanding certain sectors.”
“We could make this a content venture,” Gabriel says. This is his area of expertise. He’s in charge of content for Thorne Enterprises. “Expand in films or television. I was thinking about a new studio under the Thorne and MediaSphere umbrella.”
The mood in the room shifts slightly at this suggestion. Vincent seems less guarded, more thoughtful. He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting between me and Gabriel. Beside him, Chloe watches attentively, her eyes tracking her father’s expression.
“A content venture,” he muses, his tone less stern. “That’s an interesting proposition. It certainly aligns with the landscape of the industry.”