Crash Into Me (14 page)

I
tilted my hips into his body, and I was sure he knew how excited he got me, but
I didn't care. This was who I was and I wanted him to accept me like I'd
accepted him. He slid his finger under the cotton fabric and through my
drenched slit, making my breath hitch.

"You're
so wet," he groaned next to my ear. "I love how fucking wet you get
when I touch you."

I
tried to ignore his use of the word love again in relation to yet another thing
I did, but I couldn't. I hung on every syllable he uttered, thrilled by the
words he strung together as he stroked my tender flesh. The deep sound of them
as he told me that he loved something about me only excited me more.

His
mouth plundered mine, his tongue snaking in and out as he flicked the tip
against my lips. I clung to him, my fingernails scraping across his neck as he
inched me toward that feeling my body begged for. He knew what he did to me,
and I loved it. He was power and control and expertly used them both to make me
want him more than I'd ever wanted anyone else.

Sliding
one finger and then another into me, he rubbed his fingertips over that one
spot deep inside that sent my body into overdrive. I rocked back and forth on
his hand, riding it as I desperately searched for relief from the need he
created in me.

A
vibrating sound jarred me from my ecstasy, and he pulled his phone out of his
jacket pocket, never stopping his fingers' movement inside me. A quick look and
then he set the phone on the table beside him, still focused on me.

"Do
you need to get that?" I half-heartedly asked as I continued to ride those
incredible fingers.

His
dark gaze fixed on me and he shook his head. "That can wait. I want to see
you get off first. Let yourself go, Nina."

I
loved when he talked like that, his voice deep and husky telling me he wanted
to give me pleasure. Spreading my legs wider, I rubbed my pussy against the
heel of his hand, sending waves of bliss rocketing through me. He thrust hard
into me, inching me closer and closer to orgasm, and I moaned at the feel of
the first delicious contraction of my body around his fingers.

Tristan
cradled the back of my head with his other hand, forcing me to meet his stare
as I began to come. I wanted to close my eyes, afraid of what I looked like as
he took me over that edge, but he sternly ordered me to keep them open.

"Look
at me, Nina. I want to watch you come from just my fingers inside you. Don't
look away, baby."

My
orgasm roared through me and I stared into those gorgeous eyes completely
focused on me and my happiness. He watched my every movement, whispering sexy
little things as my release rolled on and on.

When
my body finally finished and only tiny quakes continued to flutter through me,
I collapsed on top of him, panting and weak. In my ear, he whispered, "I
love watching you come. I want to see that again when my cock is deep inside
you. Choose one of the bedrooms and wait for me. I'll be right back."

Pouting
at his leaving, I moaned, "Don't go. Whatever it is, it can't be that
important at this time of night."

"I
promise I won't be long. And when I get back, I want to see that sexy look in
your eyes again."

I
slid off his lap onto the sofa and watched as he took his phone and left the
suite. Frustrated, I trudged off to the closest bedroom and flopped down on the
bed. I'd barely slipped out of my dress and he was back standing in the doorway
grinning at me as I lay there in just my panties and bra.

"That
was fast," I said with a smile, thankful that he'd gotten rid of whoever
had called him so quickly.

He
slipped out of his jacket and slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he circled the bed
like an animal stalking his prey. "I had to take that. Some things can't
be handled by anyone else." He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders and
leaned down to kiss my lips. "Like what I'm about to do."

"More
work?" I asked with a smile.

He
climbed onto the bed and pulled me to him. "No more work. Just
pleasure."

"Mmmm,
I like that," I cooed as he kissed my neck, his tongue gliding gently over
my skin and sending shivers over my body as we began to make love.

We
laid there in each other's arms, and I looked up at him to see him staring
vacantly off in the distance. "Hey, you look like you're a million miles
away."

"Not
that far. You're there too," he said quietly, but his eyes still looked so
far away from our bed.

Running
my finger over his tattoo, I traced the intricate design across his chest and
over his shoulder, feeling a raised scar just above his heart. I'd never seen
it before, but now it was as obvious as the tattoo.

"What's
this from, Tristan?"

He
looked down at where my finger touched and frowned. "That's where a piece
of metal went through me."

"That
close to your heart? What happened?" I asked, horrified at the thought
that anything had come so close to killing him.

"I
was in a plane crash with my brother and parents. I was impaled by a metal rod
which pinned me to the seat. The doctors said it missed my heart and everything
else by millimeters."

His
voice was full of sadness, and I squeezed him tightly to me. I was afraid to
hear any more, but he continued. "I sat in that seat, unable to move, as
my family died around me. My twin brother was sitting behind me and was stabbed
by the metal rod, but it hit him right in the heart."

"Oh,
Tristan. I'm so sorry."

My
words felt so inadequate, but he wasn't listening to them. He continued to
talk, his voice low and sad. "My mother died instantly, thank God, but I
watched as my father lingered in agony, crying out for someone to help us. I
couldn't speak, couldn't let him know that I was still there right behind him
so he wasn't alone. I don't know how long he lived, but by the time the crews
arrived, he was gone too. I didn't know about Taylor until they finally got me
out and days later told me the metal rod that had somehow missed my heart had
found his."

"When
was this?" I asked, thinking about that portrait of a happy family sitting
in a dark trunk in the attic.

"It
will be four years this December. That's how I ended up as the CEO of Stone
Worldwide. I never wanted to be that. That was Taylor's dream. He wanted to
take over when my father retired. He'd groomed him since high school. Remember
when I told you I attended Wharton? So did my brother, except he graduated.
He'd just finished his MBA when the accident happened."

His
story broke my heart. I understood all too well what it felt like to lose
someone you loved. My mother had died when I was just a little girl, and my
father had been murdered just around the time Tristan's family had died. To
watch them in agony and not be able to do anything to save them was more than
I'd be able to stand.

Tears
filled my eyes at the thought of him sitting there, helpless to save the people
he loved, injured, and not knowing if he too was going to die. Gently stroking
his cheek, I kissed him, wanting to take away the pain he held inside. "I
had no idea, Tristan. I'm sorry."

He
shrugged and pressed a smile onto his lips. "So I'm all alone, I
guess."

I
cradled his face in my hands, looking into his sad eyes. "You're never
alone. I'm here, and the ones we love never really leave us. As long as they
stay in our hearts, they're with us."

His
smile softened. "That sounds like something my mother would say. My father
and brother would never think that way."

"Are
you more like your mother?" I asked, curious about the beautiful woman
with the hint of sadness in her face I'd seen in that portrait.

He
closed his eyes. "I don't know. I never felt like I was like my father or
brother, so if I was like anyone it was my mother."

"I
never really got to know my mother. She died when I was five, and from then on,
it was just my father, my sister, and me."

Tristan's
opened his eyes and turned to me, pushing my hair off my face to kiss my cheek.
"I'm sorry about your mother. I guess I was lucky to have twenty-five
years with mine."

"I
lost my father right around the time you lost yours. Someone gunned him down
one night while he was working on his latest exposé of some industrial problem
or something. I don't remember. All I know is that one night he was gone, and I
felt like I was alone. But then I remembered that he told me when my mother
died that the people we love never leave us as long as we keep loving them.
It's hard, but I think he was right. It's four years next month, but he's still
with me."

Pulling
me closer to him, Tristan's body tensed. "I'm sorry, Nina. I guess we've
both seen a lot."

Chapter Thirteen

"So
what do you think?" I asked nervously as Tristan stood next to me, his
arms folded.

His
face was expressionless, something I suspected was intentional, even though the
twinkle in his eye made me believe he liked my choices for the Presidential
Suite. The series of prints showing hand painted blue and white vases was
simple, but just the thumbnails on my laptop screen gave the overly golden room
an entirely different and more pleasant feeling.

I
knew I was feeling pleased with my choices. Now it was just up to Tristan to
give them his seal of approval.

His
silence was unnerving, though. While I didn't mind standing there staring at
him, I could think of better things to do that involved the two of us together.

"Well?"
I asked again, hoping to egg him on.

Tristan
turned toward me and smiled. "I don't think so. I'm not in favor of
these."

Everything
in my body sagged for a moment before my brain clicked into defensive mode.
What did he mean he wasn't in favor of them? "What's wrong with
them?"

He
tilted his head as he looked at the pictures again. "They don't work for
the feeling of the place."

"You
mean the gold feeling?" I asked sarcastically.

A
slow smile spread on his lips as he straightened his head and looked over at
me. "I like the colors, but the images aren't right. You'll have to try
again."

"Hmmmph."

"What
was that you said?" he asked, obviously teasing me.

I
stuck my tongue out and pouted. "Nothing. I have work to do. Art doesn't
just happen you know, Mr. Stone. When I'm ready, I'll request your approval
again."

He
flashed me that warm and sexy smile that made me think about him on top of me
in bed. "Thank you, Ms. Edwards. When you need me, I'll be in the other
room. Dinner is at five."

Grabbing
my laptop off the desk, I turned and walked toward the end of the suite as I
yelled back, "I'll be hungry by then, so I can see me showing up, Mr.
Stone."

I
didn't look back to see his expression at my comment because it was too hard to
keep my hands off him when he looked so good. How anyone could make a pair of
black pants, brown dress shirt and a tie look so incredible was beyond me.
Suddenly, an idea jumped into my mind. Who picked them out?

My
curiosity quickly took up every inch of my mind, and I returned to the outer
room to find him standing and reading the newspaper. "Tristan, do you buy
your own clothes?"

He
looked up from the Wall Street Journal and raised his eyebrows. "No."

"Oh."
That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. Now I had a vision of one of his
actresses trolling upscale men's stores picking out his wardrobe with loving
care. Or worse, one of them picking out his clothes and then calling him like
Tristan had called me in the dressing room. I was nothing if not ordinary when
it came to the green-eyed monster.

"I
have a personal shopper handle that. His name is Angelo. Is there something you
want me to tell him for the next time he does my shopping?"

For
the moment, my ugly jealousy crawled back into the dark recesses of my mind and
I rejoiced at the idea that Angelo was the one with the incredible taste.
"No. He's doing a great job."

Tristan
put the newspaper on the coffee table and came to stand in front of me. Looking
down, he ran his finger along my jaw line. "I'm sure Angelo will be happy
to know my girlfriend approves of his choices."

Girlfriend.
I was his girlfriend.

"Well,
at least
he
is successful with his choices," I joked as I turned to
go back to my work, pleased with that one word he'd said with such ease.

"Okay,
this time you're going to be blown away by my choices. I see what the problem
was with the first group, but this will get the Tristan Stone seal of approval.
I know it."

To
be honest, much of what I'd said was bluster, but I did want him to approve of
my art choices. As much as I truly wished to succeed at my job, I wanted more
to make Tristan as happy as he made me.

I
held my arm out like a hostess on a game show and introduced him to the
thumbnails of a series of five watercolors of blue and white Mexican owls.
Charming yet sophisticated, they were more in line with a southwestern motif
and still helped to diminish the effect of the overwhelming gold found
everywhere around me. Now all I had to do was convince Tristan they were as
perfect as I thought they were.

"Let
me introduce you to the Mexican owls."

He
leaned down and rested his palms on the table as he studied the pictures of
those sweet birds. I saw his eyes move slowly from left to right across the
screen before he turned his head to look at me. "Okay. Tell me why these
are perfect."

"These
are pictures of owl pottery from Mexico. Containing a number of different
shades of blue from navy to royal blue along with pure white, they're examples
of Mexican folk art, as can be seen in the floral motif painted on the part of
the bird's body below his head. As we're in Texas, which has been heavily
influenced by Mexican culture, the pictures of these pieces work with the area,
and the blue and white colors are perfect to alleviate the overpowering gold
your decorator seemed to fall in love with courtesy of your checkbook."

His
gaze never wavered from mine as I spoke, and when I was done, he looked back at
the pictures and stood to his full height. "Very nice, Nina. Very nice.
Thank you."

As
we were in work mode, I suspected that was all I was going to get. Perhaps I'd
receive a bouquet of flowers tomorrow, though. That might be nice again, and
this time I wouldn't throw them in the trash.

"Thank
you, sir," I said playfully. "I'm pleased you like my choices for
your suite."

"Sir?"
he asked in a stern voice.

My
face warmed at his question, which told me I might have taken my teasing too
far. "I was just playing around. You know. Lightening the mood a
little."

He
looked down at the watch on his right wrist for the time and lifted his eyes to
me. "It's five, so we're not working anymore. Are you hungry?"

"Not
really."

"Good.
I've decided we're flying back to New York early, so we'll take off in about an
hour. My staff will make sure our bags are taken to the plane, so we best be on
our way."

"Tristan,
I haven't packed anything. All of my things are all over the bathroom," I
said in protest, uncomfortable with the idea of one of his people touching
things like my razor and moisturizer.

"I'll
buy you replacements when we get back then."

I
wrinkled my nose at the thought of wasting money like that. "That's
ridiculous. Why can't I just pack my things myself? Why would you spend money
when you don't have to?"

He
lifted my chin with his fingertip and smiled at me. "I'd spend all I have
if it made you happy, Nina."

Wrapping
my hand around his finger, I brought it to my mouth in a kiss. "You don't
have to spend money on me like that. I mean, I love the clothes, and it was
very sweet of you to buy me all that new shampoo and conditioner when I moved
in, but you don't have to. I thought that wealthy people had money because they
didn't spend it."

"Wealthy
people have money because they spend it wisely. I think buying things to make
you happy is very wise."

There
was no point in fighting him on this. He had decided the issue, and I was expected
to be content with it. In truth, I knew there were far worse things than a man
buying me whatever made me happy whenever I wanted it.

But
the stubborn part of me still thought it foolish.

"I'd
be happy if you never bought me a thing again just knowing you love me."

And
as soon as the L word left my mouth, I felt like crawling into a hole. He'd
never said he loved me—just written it—and the look on his face screamed that
he hadn't meant what I'd hoped when he used it in his notes.

That
same look of fear I'd seen in his eyes a few times before returned, and he
quickly looked away toward the bedroom. "Well, you better get your things
packed so the bags can be ready. We're going to be late if we don't get
moving."

I'd
done it. Ruined everything by using the L word too soon, and now I felt like a
fool. I hurried into the bedroom to escape the look of discomfort in his eyes.
He was probably thinking of how he could let me down easy. He could be sweet
like that. Maybe he'd disappear back to the city, leaving me out in the
country. Or maybe he'd suddenly have a lot of work functions to attend with the
actresses, again leaving me alone out in the country.

Whatever
he would do, I cringed at what I'd done. I knew better than to introduce that
word into a relationship so early. Nothing worked better to send a man running
for the hills than to start talking about love this soon, and I'd gone and done
it. What an ass I was!

I
quickly packed my things and returned to the living room. Tristan stood
waiting, and as we left, I had the feeling whatever progress we'd made while
we'd been in Dallas was gone, blacked out by my silly slip of the tongue.

Men
were funny when it came to expressing what they felt, but a woman knew the
truth about the man she was with if she cared to pay attention. Tristan was
very much the same man he'd been with me all along as we rode on the plane and
the drive back to the house. He laughed at my forced jokes, which was nice
since I felt like I was walking on eggshells, and even held my hand as we rode
from JFK to his house upstate.

But
there was something different about him. It was subtle, but it was there.

By
the time we got back to the house, all I wanted to do was skulk into my bedroom
with my tail between my legs and hope that a little time apart would repair any
damage I'd done. I wouldn't have blamed him if he wanted to escape to the city.
He seemed as interested as I was in going off on his own and made some excuse
about having work to do as we walked through the front door.

A
quick shower and I was ready to crawl under the covers. I changed into my
t-shirt and shorts and flopped down on the bed, physically and emotionally
exhausted. How he travelled like he did baffled me. Just the trip to his
penthouse and then to Dallas had worn me out, but I knew what I was feeling was
more in my heart than in my bones.

Regret
was exhausting. And for two days and two nights it nearly wore me out. I busied
myself with researching possible art groupings for future suites and
penthouses, just trying to keep my mind off what had happened. Noticeably
absent were any flowers in my room when I woke up either morning.

On
the third day, I checked my email and saw that Jordan had sent me a message. I
stared at my laptop's screen in terror, praying to God that she hadn't sent me
anymore links to pictures of Tristan and stunning women. Finally, after a long
tug of war between wanting to know what she'd sent and pure, unadulterated
dread at the thought of him with someone else, I clicked on the little envelope
icon and breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. No Tristan and hot women,
thankfully. Just an email to tell me I needed to pay my cell phone bill. Seems
I'd forgotten to pay it and the fine people at the phone company had been good
enough to send me a reminder that had ended up in her mailbox that morning.

I
tapped out a quick thank you email, making sure I let her know that everything
was so much better now between Tristan and me. Lying to my best friend made me
feel worse, but I didn't know how to explain that I'd actually succeeded in
finding out he wasn't with other women only to ruin everything with a rookie
dating mistake.

Despite
not having even a bar of service out there, I had to keep my cell. I may have
been out in the country, but I wasn't back in time. A few clicks and I was at
my bank's online site with the hope that I had enough in my account to pay my
bill. Poor and I were long time friends since college, but if Tristan had
deposited the $20,000 advance in my account, I'd be in better shape than ever
before.

I
logged in and for the first time in my life, a number took my breath away. My
eyes were glued to the page for so long they began to dry out. I rubbed them
and opened them again to see my bank account had a balance of $25,085.47.

There
must have been some mistake. Over and over I told myself those exact words as I
clicked to check the source of the deposits. One for $20,000 had been made the
day I'd signed my contract and one the day after we returned from Dallas for $5000. But what was that for? I wasn't due to be paid for my first month for
weeks.

A
knock on my door that night shook me out of feeling sorry for myself and my
lovelife woes, and I opened it to see Tristan standing there in just the silk
pajama bottoms I'd seen draped over a chair in his room.

"I'd
hoped you'd be in my room," he said with that innocence that sometimes
seeped into his voice.

I
looked away and bit my lip nervously. "I just figured you'd want to be
alone. I mean...well, I thought maybe you'd be back at the penthouse instead of
staying here."

"Why?"

His
question made me turn to look at him, and he seemed genuinely confused by what
I thought. There was a gentleness in his eyes that made me want to say what was
on my mind, so I came clean.

"I'm
so sorry I said that back in Dallas, Tristan. I didn't mean to put words in
your mouth. It's only been a short time that we've known each other. I mean, it
feels much longer since we've spent so much time together, but..." I let
my sentence trail off and finally said, "I didn't mean that I actually
thought you felt that way."

He
extended his hand and held it out for me to take it. "Come with me."