Tristan slammed the suite door behind him.

What the fuck?

He had five minutes before he needed to call Mark. Five minutes he could use to pace off the energy ripping through his veins.

This didn’t happen. This never happened. Tristan was religious about his morning workouts so this wouldn’t happen. Before he came to the island, he’d run every day, without fail. Far and fast, through blistering heat, rain, sleet, or snow. Now that he was on the island, with the ocean literally at his door, he swam. The exertion was important. All that work ensured that he sweated out the demons that crawled in overnight. It muted the need to release the scream he refused to let free.

Tristan’s morning workouts ensured he was calm, his muscles borderline spent, his brain subdued enough that he could focus on his work and get through his day. But tired enough that he wouldn’t think about anything else.

And it worked. Always. Until he’d walked into the kitchen and seen her. Again.  

“Motherfucker,” he spat out. Tristan clenched his fists at the curse. He tried to limit how much he swore. He didn’t get mad. He didn’t yell or scream. He lapped the room faster, careful to avoid the expensive furniture, trying to calm down. His chest was rattling under the effort.

Seriously, what the fuck was happening?

She is what’s happening, his brain whispered.

That first time, he’d written it off as surprise. He’d barely been out of bed an hour before he’d gone in search of the whipped cream he’d sampled the night before. He didn’t know where the confection had come from and he hadn’t cared. It was amazing and he wanted more. So much so, he’d been willing to overlook the company of the woman who’d tried to take it from him.

Executive Pastry Chef, Tessa Armstrong. Mark and Grace had told him she was arriving. He just hadn’t expected her to get to work so soon. Yet, there she’d been. A mass of soft hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a light dusting of freckles that were ten times more attractive when her cheeks were flushed with irritation.

Or something else…

“Shut the fuck up,” he cursed, scrubbing his hands violently over the back of his neck. At this rate, he’d have to take another swim before lunch. Shit, maybe a run too.

He’d started to realize the real problem the night she’d caught him taking the cake. He understood why she’d been pissed. Hell, he was pissed at himself for not thinking about how eating it might’ve screwed things up for her. That was one side effect of solitude: it made him selfish. If he was never with anyone, he never had to worry about how his behavior impacted others. So he understood why she’d yelled. Didn’t mind it, either. That wasn’t what threw him. It was what she’d done after that.

Not the dinner. He’d practically coerced that out of her, his hunger overriding his judgment.

It was the way she’d looked at him as he’d eaten. Like it delighted her to see him enjoying something she’d made. Like she was taking satisfaction from seeing him happy. Goddamn, he’d almost choked when she hadn’t even tried to hide her smile. Tristan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anyone other than his cousin happy on his behalf. And seeing it on a beautiful, fiery woman who was an absolute rock star in the kitchen had tripped him up. And the blow to his defenses must’ve been bigger than he’d guessed.

He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, tossing and turning, the ache deep in his gut harsher than usual. His swim the next day had been brutal.

Tristan was good at being alone. It was part of the agreement he’d made with himself long ago. With the exception of Mark and Grace, he worked hard to limit the amount of time he spent with people.

He was polite. Friendly, when necessary. He knew how to carry on a conversation, to make enough small talk that colleagues and employees felt comfortable with him. He knew how to seek out company when the burn in his blood couldn’t be satisfied with exercise alone. He sure as hell wasn’t a monk. Tristan knew how to navigate a meal with a charming yet casual companion, how to negotiate the terms of their mutual satisfaction. They’d both get off and they’d both go home.

Beyond that, Tristan kept to himself, Mark the only exception. He’d been a part of Tristan’s life long before he’d decided—needed—to shut himself off from real relationships. And Tristan was happy—or as close to happy as he could get—at the Seven Winds with his cousin. Reconnecting with Mark was good for him. Tristan knew that. And he owed his cousin a great deal for making a home for him at the resort.

Tristan paused pacing long enough to catch Mark’s call before it went to voicemail. Before his cousin spoke, he had a sneaking suspicion it was the great deal that was going to get him into even more trouble.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to pick up.”

“Sorry,” Tristan said. “Got caught up.”

“How are things going?”

“Fine.”

Mark laughed. “Really? Doesn’t sound like it.”

“How does it sound?” Tristan shot back, harsher than he had intended.

His cousin was silent for a second, then, “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” Tristan worked to sound calmer.

“The hotel is okay?”

“Yes,” he repeated, a little steadier. “We still have a few issues at the spa, but we’ll get it done. Everything else is running as expected.”

“And the storm?”

“Still not sure of the path, but we’re getting everything ready regardless. Don’t want to be caught unprepared.”

“No.” Though quiet, Mark’s answer was emphatic. “We do not. Speaking of, any word from your contact?”

Tristan had his laptop open and was skimming his inbox. “Nothing yet. But it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Okaaayy.” Mark dragged it out.

Some of Tristan’s agitation faded. Mark was worried. They both were, rightfully so. He needed to pull himself together. They were fighting a much bigger battle. Tristan couldn’t afford to go off the rails now, regardless of how much the prickling at the back of his neck urged otherwise.

“I trust Dean. He’ll get us what we need in time. I’m positive.”

“I know. I don’t doubt him. Or you. This is just—”

“Really fucking important,” Tristan finished for him. “I know, Mark. Believe me, I do.”

The line was quiet before, “Tristan?”

“Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely.” There was no doubt.

“I know how you feel about him,” Mark hedged. “Fuck, I’m the one who practically demanded you leave him and the family business as soon as you could. But he is your father.”

“Not in any way that matters,” Tristan responded. “Besides, after the shit he pulled with Marcus, trying to hurt you and Grace…. I was certain before. I am one-hundred-fucking-percent certain now.” Jesus, the curses are coming fast and free now.

“Understood. Thanks.” Mark’s voice was gruff.

Tristan dug his fingers into the back of his neck and flinched when he caught the line of puckered flesh that rose above his collar. “No thanks needed, man. We’re in this together. Don’t ever doubt it.”

“I won’t.” Mark’s answer was almost too quiet for Tristan to hear. After another beat, his cousin cleared his throat and said, “As soon as you hear back from your guy, let me know. Things are falling into place on this end. Jack’s on board. We’ll be ready to move when you give the go-ahead.”

“Understood.”

“Fantastic. Now.” Mark brightened. “Tell me, how’s Tessa?”

Tristan groaned.

“What? Please don’t tell me something has happened. Chef hasn’t pissed her off, has he? She hasn’t left? Grace will fucking kill me, Tristan. I promised her you’d make sure her friend got settled in.”

“Christ, calm down, man.” Tristan almost smiled. He’d never seen his cousin so caught up in a woman. It was actually kind of awesome. Mark needed something good in his life. And, from what Tristan had seen, Grace was beyond good for Mark. She was perfect. As for her friend…. “Tessa is doing fine, I swear. Just saw her with Chef. She made scones.”

“Hmm.” Mark sounded unconvinced.

“Honest to God, she seems like she likes it here. From what I can tell she and Caleb have already gone through a bunch of ideas for the menu. He seems really pleased with her work. As he should be. I’ve tasted it. It’s really good. She’s learning her way around the hotel. Even comes down to the beach in the mornings…” Tristan trailed off, catching himself before he was forced to explain his sunrise swims and how Tessa watched. “You can tell Grace her friend is doing just fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Grace said something about a strange guy going into Tessa’s kitchen. Something about him eating cream?”

Tristan choked, both at the description and the way Mark’s voice tightened. “I might have eaten part of a dessert without knowing it was hers.”

“She called you strange.”

“Well, that’s not completely inaccurate.”

“No.” Mark barked out a laugh. “Trust me, I know how strange you can be.”

“Hey,” Tristan shot back, not nearly as offended as he sounded.

“Dude, don’t. We’ll be here all day if we have to debate this particular point.”

Tristan covered his mouth with one hand and was surprised to feel his lips curved upwards. Smiling was something he was still getting used to.

“Hold on a sec,” Mark muttered, a female voice fluttering somewhere in the background. Tristan could have sworn he heard his cousin groan. “So, I need you to do me a favor.”

“You mean Grace told you to tell me to do something, right?”

“Shut it. We feel bad, leaving just as Tessa arrived. We just want to make sure she isn’t lonely.”

“Yeah, yeah, spit it out.”

“Have dinner with her.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, what? You know, get together, sometime after seven. Or after six, if you’ve gotten really fucking old. Sit down. Eat food. Drink something. Talk, if you want. Dinner. With another person. Pretty self-explanatory.”

“When?”

“How about tonight?”

“I’ll have to ask her.”

“You’re up to the task.”

Mark was laughing at him. The half-quirk of Tristan’s smile vanished. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Tough. I do. Besides, you could use some company. You get so fucking grumpy when you’re alone too long. And Tessa could use a friend. You’ll survive. I promise.”

“Debatable.” Tristan’s fingers landed on his scar and pressed hard.

“I have to go. Just do this for me. Please?”

What are you worried about? It’s just dinner. You can do this. This is something you can survive. “Yes. Fine. I’ll do it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” Mark’s relief was audible. “Really appreciate it. Let me know how it goes, will ya?”

“You just want to make sure I do it.”

“You know me so well,” Mark said, laughing. “Just looking after you, coz.”

“I thought this was about Tessa.”

“Who said it isn’t about you both?”

“Whatever. Gotta go. Things to do before my obligatory dinner date.”

Tristan said goodbye and placed his phone on a nearby table. Carefully. To counter the urge he had to throw it through a window.

Stalking to the mini-bar, he grabbed a large bottle of water and chugged. His throat constricted under the chilled liquid, but it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have time for a swim. If he was going to have dinner with Tessa he needed to pound through the rest of his work. But he wasn’t going to be able to get anything done with the dangerous energy pulsing through him. If he couldn’t sweat it out, he’d drown it another way.

Tristan entered the pristine bathroom, turned the shower as cold as possible, stripped off his clothes and stepped in.

He didn’t even flinch when the cold water accosted him. That would have worried most people. Not Tristan. It was a relief. Proof that nothing had changed. He’d been wrong.

The look of panic that had crossed Tessa’s face at the mention of the hurricane, it hadn’t knocked him in the gut.

The nervous shuffle of her feet, it hadn’t made him want to reach out and calm her.

The disappointment in her voice when he’d refused to take her scones, it hadn’t made him curse himself and want to eat the entire plate in front of her, grinning like an idiot between every bite.

Tristan didn’t grin. He didn’t comfort. He didn’t want company, he didn’t have friends. And he sure as fuck didn’t feel.

That was why he stood in that shower, the water running across the cuts and grooves on his back, every part of him numb, and sighed in relief.

Nothing had changed. He would be absolutely fine.