Bittersweet Chocolate (28 page)

“On the contrary, the only person I’ve known who might have come close to Tristan would have been Graham.”

“Don’t tell me that, you’re making me jealous.”

They had finished their meal and Marissa had started gathering up the remnants when Tristan reappeared.

“Don’t let me interrupt, I came for more wine.”

“Vi, close your mouth.” Marissa started laughing and Tristan had to steady her hand while she poured the wine. He smiled and winked before leaving the room.

“Damn, I can’t help it. The last time I saw something that fine, he wore a g-string that we were stuffing money into while he danced. Only you, Marissa...hell, when do I get my turn?”

“Well, there are five more where he came from.”

“Don’t kid about something so—you’re not kidding, are you?”

“Uh-uh. Tristan is the youngest of six brothers.”

“They’re married, right?”

“Not all of them.”

“Yeah well, West Virginia is on the other side of the world. I doubt I’ll ever get a chance to meet any of them. It’s not like they welcomed you with open arms.”

“I know, but who knows. Tristan used to be close to his oldest brother, Christopher. Maybe we can arrange a reconciliation, just for you.”

“Uh-huh. They treat you like a subspecies, how do you think they’ll treat an orphan with a questionable ethnic background?” Vi laughed and glanced at her watch. “Hey, since Tristan’s here, I’m going to go. I don’t want to intrude on your time with him by staying over, and I need to be at work early tomorrow. We’ll do this again, next time he’s out of town.”

“Sure, sorry about that. I became so caught up in telling him about my past, I forgot you were coming, and then it was too late,” Marissa explained. “I’ll let you know when he’s scheduled to leave town again.”

“It’s a deal. But believe me, getting the chance to meet Tristan wasn’t a waste of my time.”

“I’m serious about getting you one of your own,” Marissa said as she walked Vi to the door. “There are two brothers who aren’t married.” Laughing, she hugged Vi and remained in the doorway, watching until her friend settled into her car and drove away. She had locked the door when Tristan spoke close to her ear.

“Alone,” he whispered and slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. “Bedtime.”

The moment they entered the bedroom, she broached the topic she imagined was foremost in his mind. “Can I finish telling you about my dark past tomorrow?” she asked while undressing. “I’m exhausted.”

“Sure. I’m pretty damn tired myself.” He stretched out on the bed. “It must be all that fresh air we enjoyed today.” Marissa climbed onto the bed, snuggled up against him, and rested her head on his chest. Wrapping his arms around her, within minutes, he fell asleep.

She drifted off moments later.

* * * *

“
Nooo,
stop, let go,” she screamed.

Tristan came awake with a start, bolting upright, dazed, and unsure of what had awakened him, until Marissa drew his attention. Thrashing about, tangled in the covers, fighting to get out, her screams muffled, the pitiful sounds disturbing.

He scrambled to the side of the bed and switched on the lamp, then turned and gripped the bedding. Grappling with her, he untangled her from the covers and grabbed her shoulders.

“Don’t. Let go. No!” She fought him, struggling against his hold.

He shook her and shouted, “Marissa—Rissa, wake up, open your eyes.” He shook her again, but her screams persisted, unrelenting, then stopped, the abrupt silence much more disturbing.

“Rissa.”

Trembling and gasping for air, her eyes opened, widening, her terrified gaze fixed on some point beyond his shoulder. He whipped around and looked behind him. Stupid move, but the screams and her look had spooked him.

“Rissa, what is it?”

Teeth chattering, and shivering uncontrollably, several moments of silence elapsed before she focused on him. “Bad dream, I guess.”

He pulled the covers up around her and settled back, pulling her against his side. He held her cocooned between his body and the covers. “Was it something to do with what you were telling me earlier?”

“Probably.”

“Want to talk?”

“Look at the time.”

“Fuck the time. You were scared shitless...” He stopped, inhaled and exhaled harshly, hoping to calm down and shake off his mounting anger. “Look at you, still shaking. I want to help, if talking will help.”

“Tris, we have to work tomorrow.”

“Damn work.” He sat up, grabbed her shoulders, shook her, then shoved her away, angry with himself for his harsh treatment in the face of her fear. “Marissa, listen to me,” he shouted, then paused, raked his fingers through his hair, and several deep breaths later, he continued, calmly.

“If we have to use all our vacation and sick leave, we’re going to stay here until you’ve told me everything. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help you get over the traumatic events from the past that continue to haunt you.”

“Tris, I’m afraid.”

“Of what, damn it!” He was shouting again. Sighing, he said, “Don’t you think I can protect you? We’re talking about the past—wait a minute.” They exchanged glances. “We are talking about the past, aren’t we?”

“I’m not so sure anymore. I know it stems from my past, and I know you can protect me. Hell, I can protect me.”

He propped the pillows behind his back to get more comfortable, then pulled her up along his side, using the time to calm himself. The sound of her screams, still echoing in his head, had rattled him. He kissed her brow. “I’m waiting, Rissa.”

She resumed her story.

An hour later, her voice died away on a choked sob.

“Rissa, oh Jesus, the baby,” Tristan whispered, emotion choking off his words. He brushed his lips across her temple and leaned his chin on top of her head.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her tears flowed unchecked as piteous sobs shook her body.

He tried to comfort her, whispering soothing words. “I love you, Rissa. This doesn’t change the way I feel about you.” He lifted her chin and gazed down at her tear-stained face, kissed her forehead and each eyelid, his tongue tasting the salty teardrops trembling on her lashes. Kissing the tip of her nose and her soft, quivering mouth, he whispered, “I am so sorry.”

“They should have killed me.”

“No, don’t say that.” His hold tightened. “I’m truly sorry you had to go through something so violent and demeaning. I’m sorry I forced you to tell me, making you relive the memories, but don’t say you should have died.”

“It wasn’t over yet, and it gets worse.”

“Honey, let’s get some sleep. You’re upset. The rest can wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she readily agreed. “You’ve waited this long.”

Marissa snuggled up against him, and instantly fell asleep, but he remained awake for some time afterward.

Anger knotting his gut; sympathy tore at his heart. Looking at her now, sleeping peacefully, she seemed vulnerable, and while she told her story, he’d heard the underlying terror in her voice, a fear she’d never openly admit.

Nineteen years old, damn it, just a baby. So tough, trying to deal with so much on her own. It amazed him that she’d been able to live through such an ordeal, surviving with her spirit intact. He truly loved this woman. If only he could convince her.

Anger dissipating, he relaxed, but before sleep claimed him, his last thoughts turned to the bastards who had viciously beaten and raped the young Marissa. If only it hadn’t happened so long ago.

* * * *

“Tristan...” Damn. He’d left without waking her.

She sat up, glanced at the bedside clock. “Shit!” Nine o’clock, she’d overslept. Reaching for the phone to call her office, she paused, receiver in hand when Tristan strolled into the room. She watched him approach, carrying a tray with coffee, tea, bagels, a small tub of cream cheese, and fresh slices of cantaloupe.

Slowly replacing the telephone, she scrutinized his features, trying to discern any change in his demeanor.

“Morning.” He bent and kissed her. “I called your office, spoke to Megan, said you’d touch base with her later.”

“Thanks.” She eyed him warily.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted, after being up most of the night.” He placed the food on the table of the wrought iron dinette set he’d brought from his apartment, and set the tray aside. “I’m taking a sick day. I want you to finish telling me what happened. No more secrets between us.”

Instead of replying, she slid off the bed and walked into the bathroom, brushed, gargled, and washed up. Returning to the bedroom, she joined him at the table, and busied herself with spreading cream cheese on both halves of her toasted bagel. They ate in companionable silence.

Meal finished, she wiped her hands and mouth. Leaning back, sipping her chamomile tea, she looked over at him.

“Tris, I didn’t tell any of it before because I’m ashamed of the way I acted. If I hadn’t been such a tease, enjoyed having sex—”

“Don’t even go there. You didn’t deserve what happened. Always...the when, the where, the how, and with who should be your choice.” His gaze met hers. “Rissa, I love you. It affords me a great deal of pleasure to share your enjoyment of sex.

“I have no doubt you were a little badass, but there wasn’t any way you could have prevented four men from raping you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Hell, your survival is proof of how tough you were.”

She lowered her eyes as a rush of heat strafed her cheeks. He had a way of making her feel loved with a word, or a look. If she wanted a life with him, he was right, no more secrets, she had to reveal everything. In her present state of mind, she was too uptight and defensive to enjoy their relationship.

“Tris, there’s more. I hope you’ll feel the same about me when you hear the rest.” She remained quiet for a moment. “Because of me, Graham died. He didn’t deserve that.”

“Rissa, how the hell can you say that? He was in on the plan to humiliate you.”

“Not true. He was part of Joel’s challenge. But once Gray knew me, he realized Joel had lied about me. Gray fell in love with me. That doesn’t excuse his initial intent, but don’t you see...it was about me,” she insisted. “I didn’t think or care about how my behavior affected other people. I provoked, taunted, teased, dared, and defied, deliberately, knowing there would be consequences for my actions.”

“Uh-uh, damn it, they went too far. I refuse to agree with you. The reasoning, to justify going to such extremes, bordered on narcissistic psychosis. If he wasn’t satisfied with the relationship, Joel should have left.”

“Yeah, you have part of that right. They shouldn’t have done what they did,” she remarked, then added in a whisper, “And left me alive.”

Eyes smoldering like blue fire, Tristan snapped, “Tell me the rest, please.”

Recognizing his pissed, impotent, no-control-over-events-but-wanted-answers look, she took a sip of tea, and watching him closely, she resumed her story.

Her voice a shaky whisper, she ended with, “The doctor’s prognosis indicated it was unlikely I’d ever have children.”

Cup halfway to his lips, Tristan paused, brow furrowed, his blank gaze riveted on her. With steady deliberation, he lowered the cup. She could see by the changing expressions on his face—shock, mingled with pain, culminating in anger—the dawning realization of what she’d just said.

He leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the table. Dishes rattled, and she watched mesmerized as coffee and tea sloshed over the sides of cups, spilling into saucers, before dribbling onto the tablecloth. For a moment Tristan stared down at the table, malevolent anger in his eyes, before he turned and stormed out of the room. Oblivious to the havoc he’d left behind, he never said a word, and never looked back.

A single tear stroked her cheek, as solitary and alone as she felt. He just left, not a word. Gone.

What did you expect?

Okay, his reaction was predictable. She’d had plenty chances to tell him before he invested any time in their relationship. Especially after he quit using protection, and tried to talk to her about birth control and having children. Concerned about her age, he’d wanted reassurance that pregnancy wouldn’t be a risk. Those discussions had been in depth, debating the ramifications of interracial children, and the effects that living in today’s society would have on the kids.

She never allowed him to pin her down, and now he knew why. Like her previous pattern of lifestyle choices, she had no one to blame but herself.

Damn.

For several seconds his anger had been frightening. He didn’t anger easily, but if he did... He was big, it wouldn’t take much effort on his part to hurt her. She always appreciated his ability to keep such a tight rein on his temper. But today his expression was a look she wouldn’t easily erase from memory, and no way would she wait around to test his powers of restraint.

She dressed as fast as she could, frantic to be gone before he returned. Grabbing underwear, clothes, and accessories from the closet, she ran out to her car and shoved everything into the trunk, rushed back inside, and grabbed two pieces of luggage. She’d pack later.

After she retrieved some business papers and rammed them into her briefcase, mind whirling, she wondered where she could go.

Backing out of the garage, she remembered she had a key to Vi’s house, but if she went there, she couldn’t stay long. It would be the first place he’d look. Even so, it was the place to go until she figured out her next move.

* * * *

He’d driven away from the house with anger rising in his throat like bile. With no clear idea of where he intended to go, he drove around in a daze until he found himself at Fairmount Park. Back where it started. He parked, climbed out of his car, and started walking.

Hell!

Anger gnawed at the pit of his stomach, growing, radiating to his chest. Knowing he wanted children, she should have told him in the beginning. He stopped, a snarl of agony erupting from his throat.