I’m out of my league. The house is beautiful, and taking Darcy to school has been a breeze once I figured out how to get there. Wendy and Ken, Tristan’s parents, have come around a few times, too. They both wanted to make sure I don’t have any issues settling the kids in.

In the beginning, it was a bit overwhelming, as they’d show up daily—morning, noon, and night. I think Tristan might’ve had a word with them, though, because they haven’t been around for the last couple of days. It hasn’t stopped them from calling, but I’d never begrudge them that. They don’t know me, and I can’t blame them for wanting to make sure their grandchildren are well cared for.

Maria comes in daily, too. She’s the housekeeper, and seems to rule with an iron fist, so she manages to keep everything in order, even if I feel things are on the verge of falling apart. The kids like her, and as soon as they see her come through the door, they erupt into a wild frenzy of greetings and hugs. Maria always greets me the same way, however, saying, “You’re too skinny. I’ll see to that!” It makes me smile every time, and be damned if I can resist her gourmet cooking when she offers it. The woman’s a dream in the kitchen.

I have the use of a car, which was supposed to be for Isobel. It’s a small Civic, and knowing that it isn’t one of Tristan’s cars makes me feel more comfortable behind the wheel.

I’ve even met up with Sandy a couple of times, too. We’ve taken the kids to the park and had a coffee. But, we have little in common, and most of the time we just end up talking about the kids.

I never realized how seriously impaired my social skills were, until now. I talk to the customers that come to our concession stand, I take their order, and I serve them politely. The same goes for my time spent working at the hardware store. But that’s about it.

After Mom died, I lived my life in a shell, cut off from the world by my own accord. I don’t have anything in common with my friends, and most of them are in college now.

Pushing myself into this situation with Tristan’s kids is the most interaction I’ve had with anyone in a long time. Coming here has worked out better for me in more ways than one. I feel as if I’m finally living, rather than just existing. I do things now, and don’t just go through the motions. I’ve even toyed with the idea of going to a local rink, to practice my skating techniques, but I wanted to settle in first. I’m working my way towards it. Tristan says practice makes perfect, so I’ll focus on that more in the meantime while he’s away.

Everything’s pretty simple, and I’ve managed to find a routine while spending my days taking care of his kids. But the nights are a different story—that’s when Tristan invades my mind the most. It’s hard enough that I’m counting down the days until the team plays on home ice and he can come home.

I’ve only been here a couple of weeks, and I rarely even think about my own home in Boston. Which isn’t difficult since Dad hasn’t even bothered to call me since Tristan transferred the money into the account.

Not even a simple thank you.

I’d like to think I deserve at least a little gratitude for thinking outside the box and coming here in the first place. If I didn’t, what would he have done? Pretend like everything was okay and then, one day, when I’m on my way home, just tell me to meet him at a different address? I hate the way things have turned out, but he has no right to take it out on me. Or put it all on me to fix. No right at all.

I sigh, glancing at my phone and wondering if I should send Tristan a quick message. He keeps me up to date with his games, which the kids and I watch on the TV, anyway. The kids insist on staying up and watching their dad play, and I won’t deny them that luxury—hell, I love watching them more than the actual game. They get so damn excited. And when I ask them both what they want to be when they grow up, the pair of them don’t hesitate in telling me that they want to be hockey players, too. Just like their daddy. It warms my heart every time I hear it.

He usually calls them at night when he can, if he’s not playing or flying somewhere. But tonight, he takes me by surprise as I see a message from him.

Tristan: Are the kids asleep?

I reply back straight away.

Me: It’s way past their bedtime. What do you think?

I wonder if he’s tricking me. Does he want to know if the kids are awake because he still doubts whether I can handle my job or not?

As I wait for his reply, I strip out of my clothes, ready to put on my PJs. That’s when I get an answer from him.

Tristan: I want to see you. Go into the study and turn on Skype. I want to talk to you.

I realize that he’s asking if the kids are sleeping for another reason. He doesn’t want to check up on me. He wants to talk, something that we haven’t really done since he’s been away. I take a deep breath and reply back.

Me: Sure, just give me a minute. I was putting on my PJs.

He replies back instantly.

Tristan: Don’t worry about those. I want to see you.

The kids could wake up and see me heading down the stairs in only a short robe, but for some reason, that doesn’t faze me. They’ve never woke up in the middle of the night yet. When those kids hit the sack, they sleep, and they sleep hard.

The first couple of days, I left their bedroom doors open. I even sat up in between the two rooms in the hallway, fearful they’d wake up and I wouldn’t hear them in my room upstairs. They never did.

One night, Darcy asked me sleepily if I could close the door behind me, telling me I didn’t have to leave the nightlight on in the hallway. I knew from that moment on that she didn’t need a chaperone throughout the night and felt safe in her own home.

My heart’s beating out of control as I think about what I’m doing, but nothing but dirty thoughts are running through my mind.

I head towards the study, a room at the other end of the house. I’m relieved to see it has a lock on the door. Good, I don’t have to worry about the kids coming in and seeing me in my underwear.

My hand’s shaking as I enter the study and turn on the lights. It’s big, and I wouldn’t call it just a study. A large screen covers one wall, with a projector TV, and the sofa faces it. Wendy told me once that Tristan spends most of his time on that sofa, and hardly any time sitting behind the desk. I touch the glass desk gingerly, then switch on the Mac computer in front of me.

I’ve used the computer intermittently, just to see what the press is saying about Tristan. I don’t have social media profiles or anything, so that’s the only reason I’d have to use it.

Until now.

As Skype starts up, I make sure that I don’t have my video on. I want to make sure that he’s alone, and my heart is racing out of control at the idea of seeing him.

Of doing this.

I don’t do things like this.

I’ve never had a hot and heavy relationship before, and I’ve only ever been with one other man. Compared to being with Tristan, he doesn’t even begin to count. He didn’t set me alight or make me burn with the need to feel his fingertips on me. Not the way Tristan does. Tristan has managed to leave me desperate for more, aching for him. Nothing else can compare to that.

I smile as Skype finishes booting up and I see him on the screen, waiting patiently for me.

“Faith, are you there?”

I smile, still not having the courage to put on the video.

“I’m here, but I’m just in my underwear.”

He chuckles, low and mischievous. “I know. I want to see.”

“Why?”

God, I sound like a child. I’m supposed to be being seduced by the man over Skype, but the frightened little schoolgirl inside me has a habit of coming out whenever I get nervous.

“Because I want to remember every inch of you.”

I take a deep breath, and I do something crazy. I slip out of my robe, letting it float silently to the floor, then turn on the video and wait for him to speak.

On the screen, his eyes grow wide. He can see me, partially naked, and it’s definitely got his attention.

I don’t have sexy underwear. Nothing that he’s probably used to seeing. Which only makes me feel even more bashful about doing this.

“Do you like what you see?” I whisper in a soft, seductive voice I don’t even recognize.

Where’d that come from?

I’m about to repeat the question when he growls, “Take it off.”

“I don’t have other clothes on.”

“That’s right. And I want to see you naked. Like I did the night you were in my arms. Stark naked, and ready for me to take you. That’s what I want to remember right now, Faith. Now, take it off.”

I blush as I close my eyes and do exactly as he asks. I’d be lying if I said his commands weren’t making me wet. Not only does he want to see me in my underwear, but he wants to see every part of me without them. I unclasp my bra, and let it fall to the floor.

He growls on the screen. “Fuck! You’re so damn sexy. I wish I were there, pinching your sweet nipples and running my tongue all over them.”

His sexy talk emboldens me, and I do a dramatic twirl. It encourages me to do more than just strip.

I realize then that I can please him just like this every night. Ease the longing. Make him want me without even being in the same room. Just knowing he wants me is enough to put me in a trance, and I slowly bend down and start to take off my panties. Very slowly.

The camera shifts downward, and I can see Tristan’s hands undoing his jeans.

My breath quickens, and I spin the leather chair behind me, sitting down in haste. I don’t want to lose the momentum.

“Touch yourself, Faith,” he coaxes me. “Imagine it’s my fingers between your legs. Damn it, you’re making me so hard right now.”

All my insecurities and fears are gone. I angle the camera so that he can see what I’m about to do. Something that I’ve only ever done in secret, and I’m about to share it with him. I don’t feel naughty or even dirty as I have so many times before. This time, it’s different. It’s as if sharing myself with him makes me feel powerful. Superior.

I’m locked in a room, about to make Tristan Wright come. He could easily be with one of his fans. I’m sure there are a dozen that would be happy to be at his beck and call. But he wants me.

All of me.

“Shit, I wish these were your hands on my cock, Faith.” He moans, circling his fingers around his erection, up and down in rhythmic motions.

He’s talking dirty, and I open my legs wider as his labored panting reaches my ears. My eyes close momentarily as I think back to that night in the hotel room. When he took me, fast, hard, and desperately.

My finger glides into my slit without hesitation and I moan softly, rubbing gently at first. I’m not shy like I thought I’d be. I want to explore myself, and I want him to watch. I hear him groan in need, and the sound only encourages me to go deeper, opening my legs wider.

“Slow down.” His voice is merely a forced breath now, as he watches my fingers move faster. Thinking that this is what he wants, to be inside me, filling me. I open my eyes to see him staring back at me, his own gaze dark and lust-crazed.

“There’s no rush. Take your time,” Tristan demands, and I wonder idly how many times he’s done this. I shake my head at the thought of it. It doesn’t fucking matter.

I arched my hips, putting my pussy in full view of the screen, one leg on the desk. One hand is between my legs, the other’s squeezing my nipples.

I rub myself in frenzied circles, focused on the passion I can see in his eyes. He picks up speed, stroking his cock harder. It’s as if I’m the one in control of his pleasure. I’m bringing him to the edge without touching him. Just the thought of it makes me ache and clench deliciously.

I focus on my clit, adding another finger. I rock my hips against my hand, in full view of Tristan’s predatory eyes. My nipples are small, hard pebbles.

I can feel the impending explosion inside of me. And I crave it. I’m ready to burst, to shatter, because I want to be with him so badly right now. I throw my head back, moaning loudly in desperation. “Tristan, I want to come so badly.”

I yearn for his touch so much that I open my eyes, just to see him before me on the screen. Now, we’re both moving to the same rhythm. I can see him jerking himself, hard and fast, and I rub myself more aggressively, matching his pace.

I try to hold back, but I can’t. It’s too much. “Oh God, Tristan, I’m coming. I’m coming!”

“Faith!” He growls my name, but my body shudders violently, a flood of heat washing over me as I careen over the edge, gasping loudly at the strength of the orgasm that rips through me.

I can’t even open my eyes, unable to focus on anything beyond the absolute ecstasy that overtakes me. The only sound I hear is Tristan hissing obscenities, unable to control himself as he finds his release, too. I should say something to him, but his voice sounds so distant, and I’m not sure I can get the words out.

He’s taken every ounce of energy I had, and I sigh as my breathing slows.

Tristan’s low, playful chuckling makes me raise my head. He’s smiling, completely exhausted. I know the feeling.

I reply with a crooked smile of my own. “I want you here. So bad. When are you coming home again?”

“Soon,” he assures me. “You just have to be patient.”

I smile. “It’s hard to be, when I miss you so much.”

He doesn’t reply, but our eyes lock as we both stare longingly at each other through the screen. I should cover up my confession with small talk, tell him everything’s fine with the kids and that I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.

But, that would be a lie. Because I want him here, and I crave him more now than I even thought possible.

It scares the hell out of me. We hardly know each other, and the arrangement was purely for me to look after his children, not to fall in love.