Tempting Tristan Read online

  She’s with me. She’ll always be with me.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and clear my throat.

  “You never blamed me, did you?” I shake my head at my stupidity. “I was so messed up about letting down my team by getting injured, and my leg, and losing you…” I push to my feet and scrub a hand down my face, feeling guilt turn to understanding. “I need to be here, Gram. I need Tristan.”

  As I walk back to my motorcycle, the layers of guilt peel away, revealing more of the resilient, confident, and determined man I once was. The man I’m destined to become once again. The man Tristan deserves.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tristan

  “ALEX, COME LOOK at this list. See what you can add.” I set my notebook on the table and put my coffee cup on it to keep the pages from lifting with the ocean breeze. It’s Friday morning and we’ve been brainstorming marketing ideas for Alex’s store while he works on his designs.

  “Alex?”

  “Hm?” He looks up vacantly, blinking his baby blues in confusion. It should probably annoy me when he disappears into his designs, but it doesn’t. It’s at these times that his creativity really runs wild, and it leads to amazing creations.

  After a beat or two he shakes his head, sets his notebook aside, and looks at mine. “Sorry.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “What are you working on?”

  He checks his watch. “Something for the store. Let’s go over this one more time so we can get going.”

  “Going?” I’m off work for the next two days, but as far as I know, we don’t have plans beyond trying to finalize marketing ideas for his store and meeting everyone for drinks at the Taproom later tonight.

  “I have someplace I want to take you.” He reads through my list. “These are fantastic. Let’s get out of here and we can talk more about it in the car.”

  “I found a few properties that are on the market. I thought we could drive by and see if they’d work.”

  He picks up our notebooks and reaches for the door. “No need to drive by. I trust your judgment. Come on. We’ve got to go.”

  “I thought you wanted to work on the marketing plans.”

  “I do, but this is more important.”

  Alex gives up nothing as we drive out of Harborside. Every question I ask is met with a Cheshire-cat grin. Forty minutes later he pulls off the highway and follows desolate roads lined by pitch-pine trees out to what feels like the ends of the earth. Alex pulls down a dirt driveway lined with a knee-high rock wall with statues, repurposed bottles, plates, buttons, and other paraphernalia embedded into it. Gorgeous plants spill over the sides of the wall, and bushes sprout up unevenly, their spiny branches pointing in all directions. He parks at the end of the driveway, which overlooks a small pond, and we climb from the truck.

  Although I can’t see a house, a metal arbor leads to a set of stone steps that disappears behind giant bushes.

  “Where are we?” I ask, in awe of the eclectic setting.

  “This is my grandmother’s friend Metty Barrington’s house. I’ve known her since I was a kid. She and my grandmother met at an artists’ retreat when they were our age. My grandmother used to take me with her when she visited Metty for the weekend, and Metty would come to Boston and stay with my grandparents. She was the one who convinced them to look for property in Harborside. I thought you might enjoy meeting her and seeing her gardens, so I reached out to her. She emailed directions this morning and said she’d love to see us.”

  As we walk beneath the arbor and up the steps, I realize he’s put aside the work we were doing for his store to take me here.

  “Alex, that’s…” Thoughtful? Romantic? Too awesome for words?

  “What boyfriends do,” he says, and nudges me up the steps.

  The stairs wind through overgrown gardens bursting with colors, textures, and gorgeous plants of varying heights, the hallmarks of New England gardens. Massive boulders and small groupings of rocks appear throughout, along with sitting areas with moss creeping over jagged-edged rocks.

  The stairs lead us to a mulched path with more leafy plants cascading over rocks and creeping along the edge of the path.

  “Alex, I’m blown away.” I stop walking and point to a bench made of driftwood, recognizing the intricate designs. “Yours?”

  He nods. “I made it the first year I was in the army, when I was home on leave. Metty had taken care of my grandmother that winter when she had the flu, and it was a thank-you gift.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. I’m blown away by the gardens and by you.”

  “Shut up,” he scoffs.

  At the end of the path is a tiny cedar and stone cottage that looks like it came directly out of a fairy tale. The shutters are a vibrant green with coral, yellow, and red flowers painted like vines snaking along the edges. The trim is painted bright purple, and potted plants line the perimeter of the house. Flower boxes are placed at varying heights along the walls, making the cottage itself look like a garden. Ivy climbs the corners of the building and snakes over the gutters, hanging down like thick bangs.

  The front door opens and a willowy woman with thick gray hair steps outside and throws her arms open. “Bruce Alexander Wells, get that fine ass over here.”

  Bruce Alexander? Fine ass? The woman looks to be at least in her mid-seventies, though she dresses like she’s at Woodstock, with multicolored wide-legged pants and a gauzy blouse with sleeves that hug her biceps and widen at the cuff like trumpets. Her headband matches the mulberry, red, orange, and green design in her outfit, and she’s got a ring on every finger.

  “And you must be Tristan,” she says, running an assessing gaze over me from head to toe. She lifts her finger and twirls it. “Spin. Let’s see what you’ve got going on.”

  “Metty,” Alex says with a laugh.

  I hold my hands up like I’m being frisked and turn in a circle.

  “Okay, you pass.” She throws her arms around me and plants a loud kiss on my cheek. Then she squeezes my face and turns it from side to side. “Damn, boy. You are one fine specimen.”

  Alex pulls me away from her, laughing again. “Okay, that’s enough.” He turns to me and says, “I forgot to mention, Metty’s as big a flirt as she is a gardener and artist.”

  She waves a dismissive hand. “You’ve only got so many years on this earth. Might as well enjoy them. Come on around to the patio. Let’s chat.”

  We follow her around the house and down a hill, passing rock garden after rock garden, to a small stone patio overlooking the pond. She waves to the chairs and lifts a pitcher from the table.

  “Tea?” she asks.

  “Sure, thank you,” Alex says.

  She fills our cups and sits with a dramatic sigh that softens the fine lines in her sun-drenched skin. “Tell me how you’re doing, Alex.”

  Alex fills her in on what he’s planning for the business, and they talk for a few minutes about his grandmother. It’s nice to see him with someone with whom he has history. He probably doesn’t have many people like that in his life. Metty’s eyes turn serious, and she leans forward and cups the back of his injured calf. Alex bristles. I hold my breath. Metty’s eyes remain trained on him.

  “Now,” she says with the same firm tone my mother has used on me a million times. “Tell me how you’re really doing.”

  Alex’s eyes drift to me, and surprisingly, a crooked smile slides into place.

  “Good,” he finally answers, returning his attention to Metty. “It’s an adjustment, getting used to not being able to carry eighty pounds of equipment and haul ass for miles, but I’m getting there.”

  Until now, I’ve been focused on Alex’s issues with his leg stemming from the scars. As they talk about what it was like for him to go from carrying men out of battle to not being able to run for long distances without pain, I realize how shortsighted I’ve been. Now I understand what he meant when he said he didn’t want me to think of him as any less of a man. The fact that he kept that to hi
mself shows how much of a man he really is.

  When Metty turns that welcoming smile on me, I know I’m in for the equivalent of a parental interrogation. Alex gives me an apologetic look, and I reach for his hand, letting him know I’m totally cool with this. I’ve dated guys for months and never met their family members. Metty seems as close to family as Alex has, other than his flighty mother. I feel honored that he’s brought me into this special part of his life.

  Alex is proving to be all the things I’ve ever dared hope for and never thought I’d find.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tristan

  OVER THE NEXT week, Alex and I fall into what Charley calls happy, horny coupledom. Alex works on his furniture while I’m at the Taproom, and he often stops in for lunch when I have the afternoon shift. Charley and Livi are constantly teasing me about the way Alex and I look at each other, and I can’t deny that the man makes me hard with nothing more than a glance. Even when we’re not together, all it takes is a thought about the things he says or does and I want him all over again. Most nights we don’t make it to the bedroom until after we’ve devoured each other. Not only have our lives come together, but ever since the party, my friends have all gotten closer to Alex, too. Since we’re not the quietest of lovers—which is also new to me; I’m totally digging not having to hold back—we spend nights together at Alex’s house.

  After a particularly grueling Friday-night shift, I come home and find Alex still in his workshop. He’s sitting at his design table, hunkered down over a drawing, and he rises as I come into the room, reaching for my hand. I’ve never been with a man who’s this attentive. It feels like we’ve been living together for months instead of dating for weeks.

  “Hey, T.” He embraces me and asks how my night was.

  “Good. Busy. Normal Friday night. I’m glad to be home.” Home comes out so easily it should probably jar us both, but it doesn’t. “How about you?”

  “I had a great day, but I realized we never cleaned out the kiln. The pieces my grandmother made for the kids are in there.”

  “I wanted to talk with you about those.” Although he’s gotten over me seeing his leg, whenever I bring up his award he brushes me off. So I came up with another way to bring some perspective to his military stint with the hopes that he’ll change his mind about accepting the award.

  “You’ve got your ‘push Alex’ face on.”

  I run my hand down his chest. I love his chest. I love the heated look he’s giving me right now, like he’s debating sidetracking me with sex. When I move my hand from his chest, he looks amused, and as eager as he is worried about what’s going to come out of my mouth.

  “I did some research, and it turns out there’s a pediatric physical medicine and rehab clinic on the army base just a few miles from town.”

  He clenches his jaw.

  “I thought it might be a good idea if we brought the pieces to the kids there. I called, and—”

  “You called?” His brows draw into a conflicted slash.

  “Yes. I called, and they have a support program on Tuesdays for the kids. I know it’s not the same as what you’ve gone through, or what you’re dealing with, but I thought it might be nice for you to go in and talk to the kids, and bring the things Arty made. I think it might help them.” And you.

  “They’re kids, T. How’s seeing me going to do anything for them?”

  “They’re kids and you’re a war hero. You can wear your uniform and bring the gifts from Arty, and—”

  “I’m not a fucking hero.” He paces, flexing his hands repeatedly.

  “You are, even if you don’t want to accept it. We should talk about your award at some point. When is the ceremony?”

  He glowers at me. “Can we just get through one big thing at a time?”

  “I think this is all part of one big thing.” I put my arms around him, ignoring his reluctance, and hold his angry stare. When I brush my lips over his, his lips part for me, and I feel the tension in his body ease. I know all it would take is a few strokes of his cock for him to give in to me, but I want him to meet me halfway on this, not give in to get laid.

  “We’re making headway, babe. But if you think it’s hard to lose part of yourself, or to look different, how do you think children feel? You’re a sinfully hot, virile man.” That earns me a sexy smile. “You’re strong enough to get through it, and clever enough to know how to camouflage it.”

  I pause, feeling tension rising in him again with the accusation. He needs to hear this. He is camouflaging his leg, and how long can he do that? And he deserves that award. I did some research on that, too, and found out that it’s the third-highest military decoration for valor. I can’t let him disregard something that he might regret when he’s had some time and distance from the parts of the military he hates.

  “These kids have got years of dealing with assholes ahead of them. Years of enduring hurtful stares and questions they might not be prepared to answer. They’ll have to face the discomfort of being around kids who may shy away from them, for no other reason than because those children don’t understand, or know how to deal with, a child who looks different.”

  I brush my hand over his jaw, marveling at his strength and his vulnerability. He already owns my heart, and it terrifies me to admit this to myself, but there’s no denying the way I feel. Even if his body can’t be as whole as it once was, I want him to feel as whole to himself as he does to me.

  “It costs you nothing more than an hour of your time, Alex, and I’ll be right there with you.”

  “It’s not just about accepting my leg and my scars. You don’t get it, Tristan.”

  “No, I guess I don’t, but you have a chance to do something good here. If not for yourself, or for us, then for the kids.”

  “T,” he says softly. “Why do you push me so hard?”

  “Because even though I like you just the way you are, I can tell you’re not there yet.” I kiss him tenderly. “You still think part of you is missing. I think the part that you lost left you a stronger man, but until you feel that way, those ghosts you’re wrestling with will never leave.”

  After a long moment, he turns back to the kiln, and I gaze out the window wondering how I can feel so fulfilled being with someone who has so far to go to find himself. The strangest part is, I don’t see his leg or his angst with the military as obstacles we need to navigate around. I see them as issues we need to deal with together.

  When Alex turns around, he’s holding the statue of himself that his grandmother made. I hadn’t realized he’d put it in there, and I wonder where he’s going to put it. It’s a gorgeous piece, and the resemblance to Alex is impeccably done.

  He runs his fingers over the length of it with a thoughtful gaze, and then he holds it out to me. “I want you to have this.”

  My chest constricts, remembering the look on his face when he first saw it. “I can’t, Alex. What if we don’t—”

  “T,” he cuts me off. “I know we haven’t been together for even a month yet, but it feels like much longer. You can doubt us until the cows come home if that’s what keeps you sane, but I want you to have this. You never got to see me without my scars, and this is a damn good replica made by a woman we both loved. She loved you, and she’s a part of us. She led me to you. It really would mean a lot to me if you would accept it.”

  I’m too overcome with emotion to speak.

  He places the statue in my hands and pulls me against him. “I’m falling for you, T,” he says in a rough voice, holding me so tight I can feel his heart beating against my chest. “You can worry all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  I’ve waited my whole life to find someone who would treat me like Alex treats me. To find a man who is as loyal and emotional as I am. Here I am, in the moment I’ve dreamed about, and I feel like I’m standing at the end of a tunnel and the world is zooming around me. I hear Alex in the distance, beckoning me, repeating what he’s just said over and over, and behind me,
shrouded in darkness, are all the men who have hurt me in my past. Evil laughter spews from them as they beckon Alex over to the dark side. And there I stand, wanting to run full speed ahead into the arms of the man who has yet to lie to me, make me feel small, or unimportant, but I’m too damn scared to breathe.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Alex

  TUESDAY MORNING I lay in bed watching the sun creeping slowly across the backs of Tristan’s legs. He sleeps so soundly that as I turn on my side and run my fingers along his back and over the swell of his ass, he doesn’t wake. I press my hand flat on the back of his thigh, remembering the first night we made love. Even now the thought of when we first came together brings a burst of heat to my chest. His hips are strong, his legs are muscular and well defined, and I wonder, not for the first time, what it would be like to have all that power, all his emotions, driving into me. He’s beautiful inside and out. No matter how close we get, I want to be closer.

  I trace the back of his thigh and ride the arch of his calf all the way to his ankle. I thought he deserved a man who was whole, a man who had no deficits, but Tristan makes me feel like I am whole. He’s making me whole. Filling in all of the empty places inside me. He’s stable and loyal. He’s loving and smart, and I can’t imagine how any man could have ever treated him like he was anything short of perfect. I’ve been lying here wondering why I let him talk me into going to the military pediatric pain clinic today, but in this quiet moment, I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.

  I move over him, inching down between his legs, and caress his ass with light circular strokes. I touch my lips to his upper thigh and slick my tongue over his warm skin. He moans sleepily and hikes one knee up beside him, raising his ass a little higher. I kiss my way up his thigh, over his firm cheek, and slide my tongue along the crease, earning another sexy moan. I love when he moans. I love hearing what I do to him, seeing his muscles tense with desire. Goose bumps chase my touch up his skin. I continue my silent assault, kissing his other cheek, licking his succulent skin, until he’s writhing against the sheet, his hips rocking as if I’m beneath him. I part his cheeks, loving him with my tongue where I loved him with my cock last night.