It was still dark when Tessa woke. Something was missing. Heat. A solid body. Tessa felt the spot next to her. Empty.

She panicked for a second, afraid Tristan had left. Then she heard a small clatter from the other side of her bedroom door.

Tessa grabbed her robe from the chair in the corner, threw it on, loosely tying the belt before going to investigate. Her apartment was small. Even in the unlit room, it didn’t take long to find him.

Tristan was standing in front of her balcony doors, looking out down towards the resort. He’d pulled on his boxer briefs, but nothing else. Tessa flicked on a small table lamp. She wanted to see him. She’d never get tired of seeing him.

Her breath rushed out all at once. Tristan turned slightly when the light clicked on, but stayed silent. He had his arms crossed over his chest, the wide expanse of his back pulled taut. Tessa reached blindly for the wall to steady herself.

She’d never really seen his back before. She’d felt it. Last night, and the night before. She’d seen it from far away, when he’d been so far out in the ocean she couldn’t make out any detail. But this was the first time she’d seen it up close.

Tristan’s back rose from his lean hips in an inverted triangle, the groove of his spine deep and straight, the network of muscles and bones that stretched up and out proof of how hard he worked in that ocean. Those details barely registered. It was the broad scar—and the black tattoo on top of it—that had Tessa staring.

Tristan knew she was there. But he still looked out in the direction of the sea, giving her the silence she needed to absorb was she was seeing.

The scar she’d felt started at the base of his neck. The line was deep and cut diagonally to the center of his right shoulder blade, where it vanished beneath a sun roughly the size of her hand.

It was geometric, not astrological. The center of the sun was perfectly round with narrow blades lashing out from the center at regular intervals. Coming up behind him to get a closer look, Tessa realized there was a face in the center. Simple, made up of a few basic strokes. The eyes were closed. Like the sun was sleeping. Like it would never wake up….

Tessa held her breath and gently traced the lines of the tattoo. Tristan stilled for a second but didn’t move away. In the center, beneath the nose and lips, was a fracture, a starburst of small cracks that radiated out. Like the center of a broken window at the impact point. Tessa ran her hand lightly over the artwork, and she realized the cracks weren’t just on the surface. They mirrored the grooves in Tristan’s skin.

Tessa squinted, her eyes focusing in the low light. Slowly, she could distinguish the skin beneath the ink. It was just as broken as the image drawn on it. Some lines were fine, superficial. Others went deeper, some evidence that the injury had gone bone deep.

She pressed quivering lips to the center of the sightless sun, catching a tear where it escaped her closed eyes. Tristan’s chest expanded wide when she looped her arms around him, pressing her palms flat against his chest.

“What are you doing up?” His question reached her through his back, a rumble against her ear.

“I missed you.”

Tristan lifted one of her hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss, firm, closed-lipped, against her palm. “I’m here.”

“I’m so glad.” They stayed locked like that, Tessa wrapped around him from behind, as the silence stretched. Tessa tried to drown out all of the questions, but it was impossible. “When did you get it?”

“The tattoo?”

Tessa shook her head. “The scar.”

“Long time ago. When I was sixteen.”

Tessa’s stomach dropped. The year he ran away. “I want to ask how you got it, Tristan. I want to ask, even though I know you might not answer.” She felt his spine stretch as he dropped his chin to his chest.

“I can’t,” he mumbled. “I won’t. Not yet.” Another ragged breath. “I never talk about it, Tessa. Never. Not to anyone.”

Tessa shivered with cold, despite the heat radiating off him. So few words, so many secrets locked away. She loosened her arms, but Tristan covered both of her hands with one of his, keeping her close.

“I couldn’t let him hurt her.”

Tristan said it so quietly Tessa almost didn’t hear him. It was so out of order with everything he’d said before. She didn’t understand. “Who, Tristan? Who are you talking about?”

“My mom.”

Tessa felt like all of the blood rushed out of her body at once. There was no missing the bleakness in his voice. She stayed quiet, hoping he’d continue.

“I couldn’t let him hurt her,” he repeated. “So I got between them.”

“And you got hurt.”

“Yes.” Such a simple answer, for such an awful thing.

“Badly.”

Tristan shifted. “I survived.”

“Who—” Tessa swallowed. “Who was trying to hurt your mom?”

Tristan froze. Tessa winced. He wasn’t going to answer.

“Not tonight, Tessa.” He shifted in her grasp, wrapping his arms around her when he turned. “Come. Back to bed.” Tristan ended their conversation with a gentle kiss, shutting her out as effectively as if he’d closed a door in her face.

* * *

Tessa groaned. It was way too fucking early. Sunrise was still two hours away and the only thing she wanted to do was climb back into bed with Tristan. Sadly, that wasn’t an option.

“Where are you going?” came his disgruntled question from beneath the covers.

“Work.”

“What time is it?”

“Four.”

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. Tristan peeked one eye out from beneath the blanket, his head an adorable mess of hair and sleep.

“No, you stay.” Tessa smoothed the covers over his shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll see you later.”

He made an undecipherable sound and Tessa was smiling when she turned on the shower. Her body ached with a combination of exhaustion and well-fucked satisfaction. She released a small sigh under the hot water.

It had been a long time since she’d left someone asleep in her bed. Her profession didn’t exactly encourage lazy mornings. Not to mention that she hadn’t been in a serious relationship in years. She’d had a boyfriend or two in high school. And an on-again, off-again romance that stretched over her years at the CIA. A few flings more recently. But this, whatever it was, with Tristan, eclipsed everything she’d ever experienced. And had her regretting, for the first time ever, the early hours that her job required.

It’s not just about the job this morning, though, is it? Her conscience bristled. The key. The pretense about the room service test run. The suite. Those hard facts effectively killed any lingering drowsiness and Tessa scrubbed her hair furiously.

The faster she got the day started, the faster she got this shit over with.

Tessa was dressed, hair braided, shoes on in no time. She dropped a quick peck on Tristan’s cheek. She kept her hands to herself. If she touched him, even a little, she’d never leave. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered before heading out.

She’d gotten her instructions the night before. The hand-off would be simple, straight forward. Nothing to stress about, assuming she got through the next several hours without losing her mind. Or confessing everything to the man asleep in her bed.

Not to mention the fucking popovers.

Tessa had to actually go through with the trial room service order. Grace would ask how it went, not to mention check with Carrie to make sure a delivery made it to the suite.

A few kitchen staff were in early. She and Caleb were close to finalizing the updated menu, and now that Grace and Mark were due back, the entire restaurant team was stepping up the pace so they could present it to resort’s owner and GM by the end of the week.

In no time, Tessa had the batter mixed and the pan heating in the oven. She pulled Philip, one of the prep chefs she’d gotten to know over the past few weeks, aside and talked him through the basic instructions for cooking the airy, savory muffins.

“When the timer goes off, turn the oven down to 350 and let cook for another fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“And whatever you do, do not open the oven to check them. Only take them out at the end of the full forty-five minutes.”

Phillip gave her a look like he thought she was losing it. Yeah, well, he wasn’t far off. “Yes, Chef,” he repeated. “I won’t open the oven. Understood.”

Tessa checked the time as she yanked off her white coat. “Someone from room service should be here right when they come out of the oven. I’ve sorted out all the timing. Your only job is to put them in the basket. Okay?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Yes, Chef,” Tessa mimicked, pissed off, as she left the kitchen. Not that it was Philip’s fault. No, the whole fucking mess was hers. And her father’s.

The suite was located on the ground level of one of the hotel’s longer structures. The Seven Winds Resort was comprised of a series of buildings, rather than one large one. The lobby, bar, main restaurant, and central pool formed the focal point in the middle, and guest room buildings spread out on either side, with golf-cart paths winding between them. The private villas dotted the lowest rise of Nevis Peak, the Seven Winds Villa, where Mark and Grace currently lived, the second highest at the resort. It looked down across the spa to the ocean beyond.

Tessa’s destination was on the other side of the resort, approaching the eastern edge of the property. It was almost as large as the central structure, with multiple entrances and exits on different levels. Tessa followed the room number signs until she found the door she needed. The hallway smelled of fresh paint and construction dust lingered along the baseboards.

Grace had embraced Mark’s enthusiasm for renovation and decided to overhaul some of the suites that had become dated. It was nothing like the scale of work at the spa, but enough to necessitate taking the floor out of inventory for a few weeks. Since it was low season on the island, they weren’t worried about not having enough rooms available. Which was how Tessa ended up in a freshly furnished suite on a completely empty floor, waiting for soggy popovers, followed by someone she had no desire to meet.

The room service delivery guy gave Tessa a weird look when she opened the door, but he rolled the cart in without comment. She waved him off silently, so ready for the entire charade to be over.

She ignored the basket of food that Phillip had sent over, and grabbed the coffee off the tray. She couldn’t eat and she was jittery, but she needed something to keep her hands busy.

The knock came two minutes earlier than planned. Tessa wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but the man on the other side wasn’t it. At first glance, he looked benign. Boring. With close-cropped hair, unremarkable features, and an outfit of shorts, polo shirt, and flip-flops, he was designed to disappear into a crowd. Maybe that’s what had the hairs on the back of Tessa’s neck sticking up.

This guy, whoever he was, wasn’t a man. He was a ghost.

“The key.” He held out his hand. No introduction. No explanation. Neither of which, Tessa realized, was needed.

She handed over the plastic card.

He tried to take it from her, but Tessa held on, waiting until he looked her in the face. “You tell him I was here. That I did exactly what he said. Yes?”

The man’s bland eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t understand what she was saying.

“Tell him,” she repeated, “that I held up my end of the bargain. As agreed.”

He pulled harder on the key but nodded. Tessa wasn’t done.

“Just one night.”

The man’s mouth twisted in a smile that was nothing close to friendly. “I’ll be gone long before tonight.”

Tessa looked down at the bag he carried. It was small. The size of a briefcase. It could maybe be an overnight bag, assuming he just carried a toothbrush, a change of clothes, and a laptop. There was no way it could hold more than that. The man caught her looking at it and jerked the key.

“Eyes up, missy.”

Tessa was about to retort, when the guy yanked the key from her hand and cocked his head at the door. “I’ll tell him you did what you were supposed to. And you remember that no part of this deal included you asking questions. Got it?”

Tessa willed herself not to shiver under his cold gaze. “Got it.” She backed towards the door, keeping her eyes on him the entire way. He watched her right back, his face void of expression. “I’ll be sending security to check the room is empty and you’re gone.”

“Don’t worry, missy,” he said in that flat, awful voice. “It’ll be as if I was never here.”