@BettencourtBets: Hmmm. IVy didn’t come into the office this weekend. What game was he playing at home?

Tristan

My voice sounded sharp, even to my own ears. How was it that Reina wasn’t even my girlfriend and yet I was waiting for her answer as if she was my everything? That tweet about escaping from my father’s shadow had been closer to the truth than I would ever willingly admit. Was I falling for a woman who would turn as cold and sharp as the diamond she’d set her sights on? Was Reina like Elise, willing to do anything to become a hedge fund heiress? Was she just another Claudia in disguise—a gorgeous, sexy-as-hell disguise?

If Reina had any ulterior motives at all, I needed to know. Now. Because our date wasn’t going quite the way I’d planned. There was a depth to Reina that I hadn’t expected, and it was about time I owned up to the truth—I wanted more from her than just her body, exquisite as it was. Nearly ten years younger than me, and fresh out of college, Reina should have been about as deep as a puddle. Instead I found myself staring into a wishing well, taunted by the pennies glinting at the bottom. They might be just an arm’s length away, or so far I’d never be able to reach them. And it was killing me.

The silence stretched out as Reina put down her fork, turned to face me. “Tristan, if I told you that I knew what we are, or what this is, I’d be lying. I don’t. I don’t have a fucking clue.” Her eyes searched mine, looking for . . . something. They were wide and green, fringed with lashes so long they brushed my cheek when we kissed. “You scare the hell out of me, you know. I thought working for Bettencourt was what I wanted. And it is. It still is. But all these risks I’ve been taking—creeping down corridors and showing up at your door with a baseball cap covering my face—that’s not me.”

“I don’t want you because someone else does—although I’m sure if we went to the bar down the street every girl would be all over you. I want you because . . . I don’t know how not to want you. And I’m scared. I’m beginning to realize that I want you more than some job—even the one I’ve been working toward for more years than I’m willing to admit.” She laughed suddenly, running her fingers through her hair and ruffling it. “I didn’t know guys like you even existed. And even if I did, you’re not on my five-year-plan. I didn’t think I had room in my life for you, but now . . .” She reached out her hands for mine. “I need you to be patient with me, Tristan. Because I’m coming in blind.”

I swallowed. Hard. Her answer, her explanation, was exactly what I needed to hear. Reina wasn’t devious or calculating. She didn’t look at me like I was just the next phase in her master plan. She was just cautious, and as confused as I was about what we were and where we were going. My fingers closed around hers.

This one, she’s a fighter. The voice in my head, it didn’t belong to me.

My thumb pressed into Reina’s palm, kneading her tender flesh. “The first night we met, when you smiled at me in the middle of the ballroom, I knew you looked young, but I would have sworn you were five steps ahead of me. Ahead of everyone in the room.”

Reina laughed. “I thought I was. But you shoved me off my pedestal pretty quick.”

“I like you unsteady.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because it means you have to lean on me, just a little.”

She toyed with her wine glass, running her finger along the rim. “You don’t mind?”

I smiled. Reina was no Claudia. Neither was she Elise 2.0. I didn’t exactly know what we were yet. But there was something between us. Something pretty fucking special. “Hell no. I like keeping you close.”

Reina

My heart could have burst. I rose from my own chair and swung my legs over Tristan’s strong thighs, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Me too.” There was a muted click, like the sound of a door closing. “I think we scared the server away.”

“Don’t worry. He’s all taken care of. I told him to leave once we lost interest in the food.”

“Do you always think of everything?”

He shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Lately I’ve only been thinking of you.”

Sentences like that flayed my skin with the precision of a vegetable peeler—the kind you bought at Sur La Table, not Target. I felt raw and exposed; even the air stung. So I did the only thing that made sense anymore. I kissed Tristan with every pent up bit of longing and frustration bubbling in my veins, giving as much as I took. I pulled at his hair, bit at his neck, tore at his clothes. I could feel him hold back for a minute, thrown off by my urgency. But I’d crossed the thin line between passion and pure lust. I was lost in a vortex, operating purely on animal instinct. I wanted Tristan. I wanted his mouth and his tongue, his hands and his cock. I wanted everything he had to give.

There was ripping and tearing, and at one point I could have sworn the chair was going to fly backward and leave at least one of us with a concussion. But Tristan steadied it and in under a minute we were both naked, skin to skin. I groaned at the sheer pleasure of it. His touch was everything I craved.

Then he was in me and I was finally full, finally whole. I came in a rush, eyes closed, clinging to Tristan for dear life. He must have pried me off him, because the next thing I knew we were standing, then I was leaning over the table and he was inside me again, holding my hips steady as he pounded into me. My breath fogged the ebony table top, and I heard a glass topple over, watched the wine spreading across the surface toward me with half lidded eyes. The scent of sex, of sweat, mixed with the acrid notes of the wine and I cried out, overcome with too many sensory inputs.

Tristan’s rhythm sped up, and a hand crept between my ass cheeks. His thumb pushed into me at the last minute, amping up the intensity with the grace of a sledgehammer and catapulting me over the edge. No one had ever done that before. I came again, my orgasm more intense this time. Tristan followed just moments later and I savored the feeling of him spurting deep inside of me.

“That was . . .”

We glanced around at the wreckage of the table: broken glass, spilled wine. “Messy,” I finished.

“Yeah. But worth it.”

I winced slightly as he pulled out of me, both places. “Agreed.”

Together we cleaned up, it didn’t take long, and got in the shower together. At least five times the size of the one in my apartment, it had more jets and levers and dials than I knew what to do with. But Tristan did, handily pointing one of the sprays in just the right position to leave me limp and clinging to him, again, within seconds.

He carried me to his bed afterward, where I felt both completely sated and wholly depleted at the same time. In his arms, we alternately chatted and dozed. And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the kind of relationship my mother had had with Van Horne. Maybe not anymore, but at the beginning of their relationship at least. Because this—whatever was happening between Tristan and me—was something I couldn’t imagine anyone else, even my own child, competing with.

Falling asleep cocooned within his arms, I felt just a tiny bit less resentful of her leaving me. Van Horne was still a piece of shit son of a bitch for denying my existence, making her walk away and cut all but the most tenuous ties with me, but if what she had was anything close to this . . . I could almost forgive her for going after the brass ring.

* * *

“Come on, get dressed.”

“Hmmm?” I was still in bed, Tristan’s bed, the same place I’d spent most of the weekend. I lifted my head, wondering how I hadn’t realized he wasn’t still curled around me, the way he’d been after our early morning sex aerobics. Seriously, Jillian Michaels and Shaun T had nothing on us. Exhausted, and lulled by the rhythmic sound of Tristan’s breathing, I’d fallen right back asleep. How had he gotten up, and—by the looks of it—dressed and ready to start the day already? “Why? I thought you liked me naked?”

Striding to the bed, Tristan lifted the covers, his eyes lighting up with appreciation. “Oh, I do. But I don’t want anyone else to have the same pleasure.”

In the past, had anyone looked at me with such blatant appraisal, in the bright light of day and without a stitch of clothing on, I would have snatched the covers from his hands, blushing furiously. But this morning, with this man, I didn’t. My skin warmed, but not from embarrassment. I stretched. I smiled. I fucking preened. Tristan made no secret of the fact that he loved looking at my body, and I liked the person I saw reflected in his gaze. “Why? Are you expecting company?”

“No. But I can’t stay inside for another day, not even with you.” He gestured toward the wall of windows. “It’s a gorgeous morning. Let’s go outside, walk around, find someplace to have brunch, see a movie, go to a museum.”

I shook my head, trying to shake the sleepy cobwebs loose. “That’s quite a list. Sure I can’t tempt you to come back to bed for a little while longer?” Tucked away in his penthouse with a stack of takeout menus handy, we’d been practically inseparable for thirty-six hours. Even so, I wasn’t quite ready to face the real world yet.

No such luck. Tristan threw the covers to the side, his hand coming back to rest on my hip. “Not even you can tempt me to stay inside today. I feel like a lab animal trapped in a cage.”

I glanced around his luxurious, multi-million-dollar enclosure, and laughed. “Pretty nice cage.”

I caught a twitch of Tristan’s lips, but nothing more, before I was scooped into his arms. He kissed me until my head was spinning, and I would have thought for sure we’d wind up back in bed, exactly where I wanted to be. But then he relaxed his grip, letting me slide down his body to stand on my own two feet. Rather than fight a losing battle, I headed off to shower and dress, grumbling to myself the whole time.

Yanking on my hoodie, jeans, and Converse kicks, I realized I didn’t know enough curse words to properly deride the ridiculous wardrobe choices I’d made Friday. Compounding my problem, I’d tossed just a toothbrush into the cosmetic case in my purse—preparing for a booty-call, not a weekend rendezvous. The only makeup I carried with me on a regular basis was lip liner and gloss. Without pencil to fill in my nearly invisible brows and mascara to darken my pale eyelashes, I looked like a teenager.

Tristan laughed as I emerged from his bathroom. “We might have to expand our list of excursions to include shopping.”

I twirled, enjoying our private joke much more than my outfit. “What, you don’t like my college coed look?”

“College coed might be pushing it. You look like you’re still in high school.” His voice was light, but truthful.

Deciding the ponytail wasn’t helping my cause, I pulled at the elastic, letting my hair fall free onto my shoulders. “Better?”

Tristan’s lips twitched as he strode toward me, wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me against him, our eyes meeting in the mirror. “You went from cute junior to sexy senior.” He bent to kiss my neck. “But I’ll take it.”

Tristan

I wasn’t kidding when I told Reina she looked like she was still in high school. Reaching for her hand as we walked down the street, I hoped I didn’t look like a lecherous old man. As seductive and beguiling as she looked in dresses that accentuated her lush curves, wearing heels that made her hips sway so enticingly that even walking from one end of a room to another was as sexy as any striptease, this morning Reina barely looked old enough to drive, let alone drink.

But her reluctance as I enfolded her hand within my own only made my grip tighter. Why? I have no idea. PDA isn’t exactly my thing. But the idea of being within arm’s length of Reina and not reaching out for her hand, at the very least, felt completely unnatural, especially in light of how close we’d been the entire weekend. If my track record was anything to go by, I should have been anxious to get rid of her already, the way I always felt after spending the night with a woman. And we’d spent a hell of a lot more than just one night together. Since Reina’s first day at Bettencourt, I’d rarely gone more than a few hours without being charmed by her leprechaun eyes.

This morning, getting rid of Reina was the last thing on my mind. Even when I’d been half of a couple I’d never really done couple things, like sipping Bloody Marys at a sidewalk café or strolling hand in hand. But here I was, strolling hand in hand, and damn it if I didn’t want a Bloody fucking Mary too.

“Hungry?”

Reina grinned. “Yeah.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“You mean, besides you?”

My cock twitched. “Minx.”

“Sorry, can’t help it. Um, what’s good around here?”

I shrugged. “No idea. I usually wind up grabbing something from a deli on my way into the office.”

“Even on a Sunday?”

I chuckled. Just because the markets weren’t open, didn’t mean there wasn’t work to be done. “Especially on a Sunday.”

“Do you want to go into the office? I could come with you if you want, or head back home and get out of your hair.”

“No.” I raked my fingers along my skull for effect. “You’re definitely not in my hair, and I got some work done while you were sleeping.”

She cast as sidelong glance at me as we crossed the street. “This morning?”

“Yeah. You must have been pretty worn out after all those orgasms I gave you.”

Reina’s throaty giggle was a welcome addition to the typical Manhattan orchestra of busses, taxis, and swearing pedestrians. “Obviously I didn’t give you enough.”

“Oh, you did.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “I just have more endurance than you, on account of your young age and all.”

“Okay, old man. Maybe we should stop at a pharmacy to get you a little blue pill, in deference to your advanced years.”

“Touché,” I conceded.

“Oh, hey.” Reina pointed to a restaurant with a red awning stretching over a cluster of tables. “I know that place. Lots of brunch options, and they make the best Bloody Marys.”

Reina

There were a handful of tables available inside, and a line of people waiting for the one open table outside, but of course, after a brief conversation with Tristan, the hostess escorted us to it immediately. How does he do that? After I sat down in the chair he held out for me, trying not to simper like a ninny at the old-fashioned gesture, I asked him.

Tristan flashed a grin that warmed me from the inside out. I was a sucker for a good smile, and his was seductive and intimate, not the kind he would give to just anyone. This one, I knew, was reserved solely for me. “Magic.”

I gave a half-hearted eye-roll, wondering if his magic came from his billfold or the fact that the hostess had looked as if she wanted to jump his bones from the moment he walked in the door. Seriously, I should probably worry about her slipping something into my food to get me out of her way.

My egg-white omelet with sundried tomatoes and pesto was definitely worth the risk, though, and my Bloody Mary probably had enough vodka and horseradish to kill all but the most vicious toxin. Halfway through my meal, I plucked a french fry from Tristan’s plate and nearly moaned at the crispy, salty deliciousness. French fries were my kryptonite. “You were right, you know.”

“About ordering real food rather than whatever it is on your plate?”

No question, his side of fries was definitely better than the dandelion greens accompanying my eggs. But that wasn’t what I was referring to. “About getting out of the apartment. This is nice.” Maybe I would get used to the whole dating thing.

Tristan reached across the table for my hand. “Yeah, it is.”

I resisted. It was such a boyfriend/girlfriend thing to do, like holding hands as we walked down the street had been. How far could we push the envelope before getting caught? “What if someone sees us?” His grin faltered, and I relented, his fingers closing around mine.

“What if they do?” It was a bright, clear day, and neither of us was wearing sunglasses. The challenge in his gaze was obvious.

“They might get the wrong idea,” I said.

“About what?”

I took another sip of my cocktail before answering. “About us.”

Tristan was enjoying this. “That we’re hungry?”

It was almost impossible to be cross with him, but I was trying. “That we’re a couple. Someone might think we’re a couple.”

“And that would be bad.”

I nodded. “Very bad.”

“For you, or for me?”

“For both of us.”

Tristan dropped his smile, looking as serious as if we were talking about a risky trade. “I’m a big boy, Reina. I can handle myself. And I won’t let anything happen to you, not because of me.”

My stomach lurched. It was one thing to spend the weekend in bed together, to eat takeout and watch movies. To hide. But were we really ready for public scrutiny? For any scrutiny at all?

It would be so easy to give in. To just follow Tristan’s lead and sit here holding hands and enjoying our lunch date. But I fought the urge, knowing how much was at stake. I was used to being relegated to the shadows, had learned to find comfort in them. The two of us, in public, in the bright light of day, no less . . . I felt like a mole forced above ground, blinded by the sun. Every instinct told me to dive back into my safe, dark tunnel. But I was held captive—by Tristan’s strong grip, by the weight of his stare.

“A scandal could tarnish your reputation, just when you’re starting to make a name for yourself. Are you sure—” I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Are you sure I’m worth it?”

Tristan

I like to think of myself as a roll-with-the-punches kind of guy. It takes a lot to shock me, or make me lose my temper. Reina’s question did both. What fuckwad had convinced her that she was worthless? I wanted to know his name. I wanted to know where he lived. Because I wanted to shove his balls down his throat, and feed his dick to the pigeons hungrily eyeing our food from their perch on the awning above. And that was just where I planned to start. With a huge effort, I blinked away the haze of red clouding my vision and focused on Reina’s earnest face. “Yes. I am, one hundred percent.”

Reina fidgeted in her seat. She wanted her hand back, I could tell. I was going to give it to her, just not yet. “Listen, I’m going to let you in on a secret, but only because it’s something you should already know.”

She leaned forward, expectant. “Okay.”

“I’ve never exactly tried to come up with a standard for valuing women, but if I did, you would blow away every conceivable benchmark I could come up with.” A flush rose up on her cheeks and she looked away. “Reina, look at me.” I waited until she did before continuing. I wasn’t one to dole out gratuitous praise, and I needed her to know I meant every word of what I was about to say. “Your worth is immeasurable. You have curves that would make an hourglass jealous. Your face would put Helen of Troy to shame. And your mind gives Michael Lewis a run for his money. Whatever happens with us, don’t ever let anyone relegate you to the corners of their life. Do you understand? You deserve to be center stage, top billing. Nothing less. Promise me.”

Reina’s eyes widened, sending green-gold sparks my way, and her hand trembled within mine. I waited for her to swallow, to take a breath, to respond to me. Come on, you can do it.

“I promise.”

I gave a last, small squeeze, and then released my grip. Reina flashed me a relieved smile, dabbing at her face with a napkin as she excused herself to the ladies’ room. If I thought they were anything but happy tears, I would have followed her. Our plates were cleared, and I ordered a second round to replace the half-drunk concoctions that remained.

“Tristan.”

Lost in my thoughts, I was entirely unprepared to face the woman standing expectantly by my side. Holy shit.

Reina

I staggered from the table, Tristan’s affirming words reverberating in my mind. And as a reminder, as soon as I returned to my crappy apartment, I was going to break out my glitter pens, and commit every single one he’d just said to paper. I would frame each compliment and hang them on my walls. Not that I would ever forget the three best sentences I’d ever heard, or Tristan’s throaty drawl when he’d said them. But I wanted to see them too, in full glittery glory.

In the ladies’ room, I splashed at my stinging eyes with water. I think it was finally sinking in—after a lifetime spent fighting, I’d finally found a man worth fighting for. Tristan was worth the risk to my career, worth the potentially damning consequences. Because whatever they were, I could handle them. So what if I’d fallen in love with my boss? It didn’t negate my intelligence or work ethic. This was Wall Street, for god’s sake. A place where success was quantified in dollars and cents, profit and loss. As long as my investments made money, no one could say a damn thing about my love life.

I’d waited my whole life for someone to see me, to really see me, and to want me too. And I wanted him right back. Every bit as much as my career.

It was crazy. Crazy good. I never expected to feel that way about anyone, but Tristan was too good to be true. I was falling for him. Hard.

But even as I said it to myself, a small frisson of doubt invaded my euphoric haze. What if Tristan really was too good to be true? That person he spoke so highly of back at the table—that was the woman I’d allowed him to see. The woman with the Mona Lisa smile and no baggage. Tristan still didn’t know all of me. I still hadn’t let him in, not completely. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, or maybe it would. But either way, until I was honest, I was just an imposter.

I blew my nose, dried my face, straightened my spine. It was time to tell Tristan who Reina St. James really was. If he still wanted me, the real me, I was his.

Tristan

“Elise.” I rose, stiffly returning her embrace. Dumb move. She took the opportunity to slide into Reina’s vacant seat.

“What a treat running into you,” she enthused. “It’s been forever.”

Forever hadn’t lasted long enough. “I didn’t know you were back in New York. You look well.”

“Thank you.” In sharp contrast to Reina, Elise’s beauty only ran skin deep. “I’m not back for long.” She extended her hand, the enormous rock on her finger casting shards of light onto the tablecloth. “Derek and I are just here for the Met Gala. We’ll be returning to London next week.”

“Is your child with you?”

Elise reared back as if I’d slapped her. “Of course not. He’s in Paris. With his father.”

So she’d had a boy. If not for that unexpected visit, I would be raising a son right now. Imagining a towhead with eyes as bright as freshly cut grass, a pang of sadness hit me in the solar plexus. “Derek isn’t the same guy—”

“Of course not. Pierre and I would never have worked. No, I met Derek not long after I got my body back. He knows about my son, of course. But our lives are too full for a child right now. He lives with his father and we make sure he’s well provided for.”

It wasn’t difficult to read between the lines. Elise was happy to cut a check so that her life wouldn’t be hampered by the responsibilities of raising another human being. Becoming a soccer mom had never been part of her plan. Her interest in me had been twofold: my cash and my connections. A baby was just the cheese in her trap. What had I ever seen in her?

Beneath the table, my leg was bouncing up and down. Elise represented a time in my life when I’d taken too much at face value. I’d learned my lesson, and that mindset belonged firmly in the past. Never again would I let myself fall for a woman who could lie so easily, and with so little remorse.

I’d thought getting involved with Reina was a risk, but I was wrong. The greater risk was letting her get away.

Reina

Feeling terrified but determined, I picked my way through the crowded restaurant, eager to finally come clean to Tristan. But when I came within sight of our table, he wasn’t alone. In my seat was an elegant woman, maybe late twenties, thirty at the most. Polished. Well-dressed. And besides the diamond covering her ring finger from knuckle to knuckle, her other jewelry was understated, though no less exquisite. Her bag was Chanel, as was her pale pink tweed suit. A genuine Park Avenue Princess—the kind of woman I’d told Tristan he should be with. They looked good together, like they matched. Perfectly.

Suddenly his words didn’t seem so affirming. Maybe I was just a rebound. Maybe he was just incredibly good at telling people what they wanted to hear. I’d witnessed it first hand on the road, while he was meeting with potential investors. Tristan had a knack for seizing on the motivations of others, turning them to his advantage with a few well-reasoned, well-timed remarks. Was that what had just happened?

They had history, I could tell. And then I looked closer, at the woman’s haughty posture, her pursed lips. Tristan’s face was flushed, and he’d pushed his chair back from the table, as far as it could go without bumping into the person behind him. Whatever had happened between them, it hadn’t ended well. I debated staying back for a little longer, giving them time to catch up. But then I saw a look of revulsion cross his face, an expression so naked, so obvious, I didn’t hesitate to join his side. Pulling me into his lap was a surprise, though not an unwelcome one.

“What the hell took you so long?” Tristan growled the rhetorical question into my ear and I watched Elise recoil, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. I seriously was going to burn my clothes as soon as I peeled them off. My hoodie-wearing days were definitely over, at least if Tristan and I were going to be a thing. I might be ten years his junior, but the least I could do was look like a sophisticated twenty-something.

Before I could respond, Tristan introduced us, making no attempt to request another chair, or dislodge me from my perch. “Elise, this is my girlfriend, Reina St. James.”

My girlfriend. I could get used to that.

Elise didn’t address me directly. “My goodness, Tristan, I didn’t realize you had taken to swimming in the kiddie pool.”

Ouch. My smile faltered. So much for taking a few minutes to bask in my newly assigned title. Girlfriend. Tristan’s girlfriend.

Tristan gave a tight smile, tightened his hold on my waist. “Crazy, right? You look so much older than Reina, no one would ever guess you’re only a few years apart.”

I blanched. Whoa, who knew Tristan could fight, mean-girl style?

“Although, since you’re a mother now, I thought you might spend some time in the shallow end yourself. But I should have known it’s just a character trait you favor, not a destination.”

Elise’s jaw gaped open, taken aback by Tristan’s harsh smackdown, but he still wasn’t finished. “Good-bye, Elise. I’d like to enjoy the rest of my day with a woman who doesn’t make me question the future of the human race.”

And then he kissed me. In front of Elise. In front of everyone sitting at the tables surrounding us. In full view of anyone walking by. It wasn’t a get-a-room kind of kiss, but it was definitely a possessive, ownership-marking statement that made my toes curl, even inside my tattered Converse.

There was a sharp scraping noise as Elise pushed back from the table and stalked off, but there was no clap of thunder. No swarm of locusts. I was drowning in lust, drowning in Tristan. The world stayed on its axis, though. We pulled away, slowly, just as our waiter came bounding up with our second round. He set it on the table and left.

“Meow. You never told me you could hang with the big cats. Jeez, remind me to never get in a whose-claws-are-sharper contest with you.” I slid off of Tristan’s lap, reclaiming my own seat. “So, who was that?”

He sighed, lifting his glass. “Everything I hate most. A liar. A social climber. A woman who doesn’t know the first thing about the meaning of family.”