Crash Into Me (24 page)

"And
not just with my clothes. I love the way you dress Tristan also."

Angelo's
demeanor changed ever so slightly and he gave me a genuine smile that made him
look almost friendly. "Thank you, miss. If I do say so myself, you look
beautiful."

"She
does."

Tristan
stood leaning against the doorframe dressed in his black tux and looking so
incredible I wasn't able to formulate coherent words for a moment. Somehow,
that night his tux looked so much better than it ever had in pictures or all
those times he'd gone somewhere in it without me. His dark brown hair just
barely hit the collar of his stark white shirt and his jacket fit perfectly.
Peaking out from beneath it near his wrists were gold and onyx cuff links that
seemed to go with my necklace perfectly.

"Thank
you, Angelo. You've done a wonderful job. Have a good night."

Tristan's
not-so-subtle dismissal of the man made me feel uncomfortable, but Angelo left
without another word, and I got the sense that this was how their relationship
worked.

"You
look incredible, Nina. I want you to remember this whenever you think that
you're anything less than anyone. If I wouldn't catch hell from the board, I'd
close this door and make love to you for hours like every ounce of me wants
to."

I
walked over to him and adjusted his bow tie. "After all the work Angelo
and I did to get me looking like this?" I teased.

He
cupped my nape and pressed his mouth to mine in a hard, passionate kiss that
almost took my breath away. My legs felt weak when he snaked his tongue inside
my mouth and teased me with the tip of it. He looked so stunning and smelled so
good that if he'd told me to strip and tear the pins out of my hair, I would
have done so without even a whimper of protest.

Pulling
away, he ran the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. "You're right. But
tonight when we get home, I'm going to give your pussy what I just gave your
mouth. And that's just for starters."

He
took my hand and kissed it as he led me toward the car that waited outside.
Instead of the usual Town Car or his Jag, we were taken into the city in a
stretch Rolls Royce that made the drive feel like we were floating on a cloud.
Settled into the leather seats, we talked about the release party and I found
out Blake had been given a new job doing work on the rooftop landscaping at
Tristan's hotel in the city. And even though I'd wanted Kacey left where she
was, within a few days of the Executive Homes shoot and interview at the house
she was to be reassigned to the Miami hotel and put in charge of concierge
there. I couldn't say I was unhappy, but when Tristan mentioned that her first
assignment in her new job was to oversee the placement of my choice of artwork
for the Miami suite, I secretly jumped for joy—on the inside, of course.

The
whole Blake-Kacey Incident, as I secretly referred to it, had taught me a good
lesson. A little jealousy was fine. A lot and it spilled out all over the place
and could ruin even the best relationship.

Tristan's
hand traced figure eights on my thigh as we traveled down the highway toward
the biggest and most prestigious party I'd ever even been invited to, but I
wasn't self-conscious or nervous anymore. With every adoring look he gave me, I
felt more confident and beautiful than ever before. By the time we arrived, I
felt as good on the inside as I looked on the outside.

Jenson
pulled up in front of the Richmont hotel and came around to my side to let us
out. Quietly, Tristan whispered in my ear as I stepped my foot out onto the
street, "Don't ever forget how much I love you, Nina."

Lights
flashed all around me before I even could straighten myself and step onto the
sidewalk. Thankfully, Tristan was quick to join me and took my arm to guide me
into the hotel, poised and cool as if this was second nature to him. Men and
women yelled his name and barked out requests to look this way and that way,
but he ignored them and held my arm tightly as we walked the red carpet, a
private couple no more.

We
entered through the glass front doors and the interior of the Richmont hotel
nearly overwhelmed me. An enormous crystal chandelier hung from the three story
ceiling, reflecting the hundreds of tiny lights that adorned virtually every
surface of the lobby. I looked up to take it all in, and in my awe, almost
tripped. Tristan steadied me and leaned in to whisper, "Remember, you're
marrying the man who owns this. You belong here."

Crowds
of people mingled as a string quartet played gentle music meant to provide a
background but not disturb the festivities. As Tristan introduced me to members
of Stone Worldwide's board and other people he quietly referred to as
"people he found worthy of his time and mine," I relaxed into my role
as his date and actually enjoyed myself. The author was a quiet woman who
seemed out of place at her own event, but I was able to get her to laugh at a
story I told when it was just Tristan and the two of us, and by the time the
night had ended, I could honestly say I'd had a good time.

Even
more, I could say that Tristan had. As he socialized with the guests, I heard
the same whispers over and over. Women and men leaned over to those people next
to them and quietly noted, "I've never seen Tristan Stone smile like
that." And that was followed by the words, "Is that an engagement
ring on her finger?"

That
he'd smiled because I was on his arm meant the world to me. I may not have been
from his social circle, but I'd been able to make him happy. Me. No one asked
if I was his fiancée, but it didn't matter. It was enough to know that for the
first time, his picture on Page Six would be of the man I knew with me by his
side. 

By
the time we sat down in the back of the car, I was so wound up I wouldn't have
been able to sleep even if I had to. I felt like a girl after her first school
dance who wanted to talk about everyone she'd seen and everything she'd done.
As I chattered on about dresses and drinks and the best tasting hors d'oeuvres,
Tristan merely sat back against the leather seats and listened. We were out of
the city by the time I'd realized I'd done nothing but talk for miles.

Shifting
in my seat, I played with the end of his undone tie. "I'm sorry. I've been
so busy talking, I haven't given you a chance to get a word in edgewise."

"Don't
stop. I love listening to you when you're happy like this," he said
quietly.

"Well,
did you have a good time?" I asked, secretly hoping he did. I wanted this
to be something I could believe I made better for him.

He
thought about it for a moment and turned his head to look at me. "Yes. For
the first time, I can say I did."

Happy
to hear those words, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "That
means a lot to me that you said that."

Tristan
caught my face as I moved to lean back against the seat and kissed me like he
had in our bedroom hours earlier. My stomach did a flip and that tiny tug in
the pit of my abdomen appeared as he pulled the pins from my hair.

"I
want you. Here. Take the dress off," he ordered as he unzipped it and
began pushing the fabric from my body.

I
protested, if only meekly, "Tristan, Jenson's going to know what we're
doing back here."

With
my dress in a heap on the floor, he cupped my breast and sucked the nipple hard
into his mouth. Looking up at me, he flicked his tongue over the peaked tip and
said in a husky voice, "I don't care. He can't see anything, and even if
he can, I don't fucking care. I want you now."

He
slid my panties off and pulled me onto his lap to straddle him. I felt the
hardness between his legs as he lifted his hips off the seat and pushed his
cock through my drenched folds. Desperate to feel his body on mine, I undid his
pants and zipper and freed his stiff cock. He was so long and thick in my
hands, and I stroked the full length of him, loving how my touch affected him.

"God,
I want to be inside you," he whispered hoarsely as he slid the head of his
cock toward my opening. "I want to feel your tight cunt around my cock as
you ride me right here, Nina. Ride me."

He
eased into me in one slow push, filling me completely before he began guiding
my hips up and down on him. The threat of his driver seeing us thrilled me, and
I rode his cock with abandon, loving each time he rammed it inside me. His
hands controlled my body's movements, and his mouth sent waves of delight
racing through me as his teeth nipped at my breasts. The mixture of the
pleasure he gave me with his cock and the pain from his passionate biting was
almost more than I could take. I begged him to let me go longer, but that only
made him fuck me harder so that I came within minutes of him entering me.
Buried balls deep in me, he continued to thrust through my orgasm, wanting
release of his own.

 My
body still quivered from coming, but I wanted him to feel as good as he'd done
for me, so I returned to riding his cock quickly. His dark gaze as he stared up
at me told me he was getting close, so I rolled my hips with each push down on
him, grazing the most sensitive part of his cock with my G spot. He came with a
force so powerful I felt like I would drown with each blast inside me. Just
then, my own release roared through me for a second time, and I cried out as he
pulled my hair sharply to bring my mouth to his as he buried his cock inside my
body.

Tristan
panted near my cheek as his release slowly subsided, and I looked down to see
him touching a reddish mark just above my right breast. He tenderly pressed his
lips against my skin where he'd bit me and whispered, "Mine."

"I
guess I've been marked," I said as I ran my fingers through his sweat
dampened hair.

"I
want every man who sees you to know you're mine, Nina. I want them to know even
if you were covered head to toe that underneath you bear my mark. That as much
as I'm yours, you're mine and mine alone."

Pressing
my lips to his forehead, I leaned against him as he held me.
"Always."

Chapter Twenty-Three

I'd
had one of the best nights of my life, and as much as I didn't want it to end,
by the time we returned home, I was exhausted. I was spared the embarrassment
of having to face Jenson as we left the car since the driver disappeared almost
as soon as he turned off the car. The thought that he'd seen this with Tristan
before crossed my mind, but I quickly pushed it away with a gentle reminder to
myself that I didn't need to doubt how much he loved me and a not-so-gentle
reminder to not screw up the great thing we had with my irrational jealousy.

We'd
made a mess of each other in the car, so we took a quick shower. As I toweled
myself dry, I heard Tristan's phone vibrate on the nightstand and saw his
expression instantly turn serious. As if on cue, he picked it up and walked out
of the bedroom to answer it.

Curiosity
about who was calling and what they said to him to change his mood so
drastically played on my mind, and after five minutes of obsessing over it, I
made a conscious choice to get into my shorts and t-shirt and distract myself
with the mail I'd gotten from Jordan's that day. Junk mail I quickly tore up
and a letter from my university about alumni dues took up a few minutes,
thankfully taking my mind off what Tristan could be talking about outside.

At
the bottom of the pile I found two letters like the one I'd lost that day when
Mrs. Phillips' grandson jumped me. Neither had a return address, but they were
both addressed to me at the apartment. The envelope of the first one looked
like the mailman had dragged it along the street before delivering it to Jordan's mailbox. It was filthy, stained from dirt and what looked like coffee. As I
struggled to make out when it had been mailed, I saw the postmark said July 9
and the letter was sent from a post office on the Lower East Side. Turning it
over, I saw the hint of a shoe print on the outer edge too.

This
letter has been on quite a trip.

I
slid my finger under the flap and ripped open the top of the envelope to find
the letter inside was in no better shape. Stained from coffee and dirt, it was
unreadable, except for one line at the bottom that read in part, "Don't
ignore this warning..." I strained to understand the words that came
after, but the abuse the letter had endured made it impossible to figure out
its meaning through the smeared ink.

Turning
the envelope and letter over, I saw nothing more. Sure it was a debt collection
letter for some bill I'd forgotten, I dismissed the piece of mail and threw it
all in the garbage, along with the alumni and junk mail.

The
last envelope in the pile sat waiting for me. I picked it up and examined it,
noticing it had the same handwritten address and post office mark on the front
of the envelope, but it had been mailed only the day before. At least the
mailman hadn't put this one through the wringer. Tearing it open, I unfolded
the letter inside and began reading.

The
words swam in front of my eyes.
Your father. They got away with murder. Ask
Tristan. He knows who's responsible.
My hands began to tremble violently,
and I threw the paper away from me. Shaking my head in disbelief, I struggled
to hold back the tears.

It
wasn't possible. There was no way Tristan was involved in my father's murder.
He couldn't be. He didn't even know him.

As
I repeated those words again and again in my head, I realized I couldn't be
sure he hadn't known him. I knew very little about Tristan before just a few
months ago. What if the person who'd written this letter was right?

My
head felt like it was beginning to spin, like everything around me was
spiraling out of control. My mind raced to find any sign that the accusation
made in the letter was correct. Every word he'd said suddenly became suspect,
every action confirmation of his guilt.

My
stomach tied itself into knots as every moment we'd spent together played out
in my mind. Why had he wanted someone like me in the first place? Why had he
pushed for me to live here with him? Did the phone calls he'd begun receiving
right around the time I should have received the first letter have anything to
do with this? I didn't want to believe I was in danger, but for the first time
since I'd met Tristan, I was truly frightened.

"Where
were we?"

I
looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, a look of concern of his face
like he always had after taking one of those phone calls. But now he looked
different. Foreign.

"Nina,
what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Staring
at the letter that lay near the edge of the bed, I reached over and picked it
up. "Tell me you had nothing to do with my father's death. Tell me whoever
wrote this letter is simply being cruel."

Tristan's
face grew ashen as he stood staring at me, his eyes wide. "What are you
talking about?"

"This
letter. Someone says you know who killed my father. Do you?" My voice
cracked as I pleaded for his answer.

He
walked toward me and tried to take the letter from my hand. "What are you
saying?"

Jumping
to my feet, I pulled the letter from his hold and pressed it close to my chest.
"Do you know who killed my father? Tell me!"

"Nina,
calm down. Let me see the letter."

I
backed away from him, shaking my head. "No! Just answer the fucking
question! Do you know anything about who murdered my father?"

His
silence was deafening as he remained staring at me, hurt filling his eyes.

"Oh,
my God! You do!" I cried. "How could you? Get away from me!"

He
followed me and gently touched my arm. "Nina, it's not what you think.
Calm down and take a seat."

Pushing
his hand away, I screamed, "I will not calm down! Tell me what you know!
Who killed my father?"

"Please
sit down. I promise you I had nothing to do with your father's death."

Tears
rolled down my cheeks as I let him lead me over to the bed. I wanted so much to
believe he hadn't been a part of taking my father away from me. Tristan was the
man of my dreams and now it seemed like everything we'd had was tainted by this
one letter.

I
sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him kneel down in front of me, just
like he had days earlier when he'd made me the happiest woman in the world. He
looked up at me with those brown eyes that spoke volumes even before the first
world left his mouth.

He
knew. He knew who'd killed my father.

Holding
my hands in his, he brought them to his mouth in a kiss. Quietly, he said,
"Nina, I never met your father. I need you to believe me. I didn't harm
your father."

"Why
did the person who wrote that letter say you'd know?" I asked, praying to
hear that he knew nothing about my father's murder.

"I
need you to understand. Until my father and brother died in that plane crash, I
wasn't part of the business. I hadn't found what I wanted to do, but I knew I
didn't want to run hotels or anything else they did. I was your typical wealthy
kid in his mid-twenties drinking and jamming whatever I could up my nose. I'm
not proud of that, but I need you to know I wasn't part of what went on with
them."

The
man on the floor in front of me seemed so strange now. I'd never known anything
about him like that. "Tristan, I need to know what this is all
about."

He
squeezed my hands and continued in a shaky voice. "When my father and
brother died, I was thrust into everything with the business. I had to be that
person I'd never wanted to be on top of learning how to run all the businesses,
particularly the Richmonts. I had no idea what either of them had done. For
months, I found out things about my father and Taylor that I'd never imagined
they could do. Then one day I began sifting through documents related to a real
estate deal my father and brother had been involved in." He stopped a
moment and then said, "I didn't know why, but your father's name was on
one of the documents."

Documents?
"Why would my father's name be anywhere in papers of your father's?"

Tristan
began to speak but his voice cracked and he stopped. "I didn't know. Then
when I began digging, I found a slush fund my father used to pay for things he
didn't want some on the board to know about. It wasn't until I dug into the
money he spent there that I found out why your father would be involved in
anything with my family's company. I swear I wasn't involved in what my father
did."

"No,
don't tell me your father was part of why my father died. Please don't say
that."

"I'm
so sorry, Nina. He must have been investigating a real estate deal and my
father..." He couldn't finish his sentence, so I did.

With
a sob, I said the words that broke my heart. "Your father had my father
killed because he was getting too close to something he was doing."

Tristan
buried his face in my lap and pleaded, "I swear I didn't know. I wasn't
part of the business then. If I was, I wouldn't have let that happen. I
couldn't get your father's death out of my mind. I wanted to do something to
try to make up for what had happened."

I
looked down at his head in my lap and realized what he was saying. "It
wasn't a coincidence that we met, was it?"

He
said nothing but lifted his head to look up at me, and I knew the answer.
"No. I was sickened by what my father had done. I needed to do something,
so I researched everything about your father and found out about you and your
sister. I knew you lived right in Brooklyn and found out you worked at a
gallery in SoHo. I just needed to try to fix what had been done, to see if I
could help any."

His
sorrow touched my heart, but then all my insecurities blew up inside me.
"So you thought you'd just come by and see what the child of the man your
father had murdered looked like? Maybe throw some money at her to make yourself
feel better."

"Nina,
I swear I didn't mean any harm. It's all I had to give and I thought if I could
help you, then maybe some part of your life could be better."

I
pushed him away in disgust and leaped up off the bed. "So that first night
you didn't like me or want to spend time with me? You just wanted to take me
for a ride in your expensive car and foist some cash on me to ease your
conscience?"

He
sat hunched over on the floor with his back against the bed. In a quiet voice,
he admitted what I already knew. "It wasn't like that. I didn't set out to
look for anything romantic. I swear. But then I talked to you as we drove up
here and you were unlike anyone I'd ever met."

"So
that's what this whole art curator charade has been about? That's why you've
been dumping money into my account all these months? To make you feel
better?"

Shaking
his head, he said, "No. Money's all I ever had to give anyone, so it's
what I fall back on. All I wanted was for you to happy."

My
heart hurt hearing all of this, but I needed to know everything. "Why did
you make up that whole contract thing if you didn't care for me then? Why make
me stay here if you didn't even like me?"

He
quickly stood and moved toward me, his eyes filled with pain. "That's not
true. I did like you and I fell in love with you. I love you, Nina. I'd never
do anything to hurt you intentionally. Please believe me."

"But
why, Tristan? Why bring me here?"

Letting
out a deep sigh, he said, "When my father died, there were still people in
the company who had been part of what happened. I realized right after meeting
you that they think you have information your father left you that can
implicate them. I couldn't stop them from killing your father, Nina, but I
could stop them from hurting you. So I came up with the contract and made it a
requirement that you live here so I could always watch out for you, either
myself or Jenson and Rogers. I figured if I had six months, I could find a way
to make sure they knew you had nothing on them."

"And
you figured I'd just jump at the chance to live in this great house with
you?" I snapped. "Poor, pathetic girl who loved art. It couldn't be
hard to convince her to live in a place like this with someone like you,
right?"

He
cupped his hands against my cheeks. "It wasn't like that. Please listen to
me."

"Your
father killed my father and you've known every moment you've been with me. How
can I believe anything you say to me?"

"Nina,
I'm begging you. Listen to me. It wasn't like that. I fell in love with you
like you fell in love with me." Tristan's dark eyes pleaded with me as he
tried to make me believe him. "This doesn't change anything. I love you.
Please tell me you love me."

That
was the problem. I did love him. I adored him. If I didn't, then everything
he'd just said wouldn't have hurt so much. My heart felt like he was tearing it
out of my chest, and the only one who could make me feel better had done the
damage.

"Tell
me this wasn't some charity thing, Tristan. Tell me that even though I wasn't
of your level that you didn't see me like that."

"Never.
I never thought of how much money you had or didn't have. It didn't
matter."

"Spoken
like someone who's always had money. And the test at your penthouse? Why?"

"I
can't help who I am, Nina. The doctors say it's probably because of the
accident, but I don't trust easily anymore."

"Then
why did you return the next night if I obviously hadn't passed your test?"
I asked, afraid to hear his answer.

Quietly,
he said, "I found out you were in danger. I couldn't let them hurt you
like they'd done to your father."

"Did
you even like me, Tristan? We slept together that night," I sobbed, the
pain of this whole thing settling into my mind.

He
leaned down to kiss me, but I turned away.