Bittersweet Chocolate (30 page)

“Hi, is Marissa in?”

Tristan. Damn it, she should have known. She moved away from the door.

Megan only hesitated a second before answering. “No, I’m sorry, sir, she’s out of town. She won’t be back for at least three weeks. May I take a—”

“Bullshit. Don’t lie. I saw her car out back,” Tristan stated.

“Excuse me, sir,” Megan said with bristling attitude. “I don’t have to lie to you or anyone else. I drove Marissa to the airport, and I intend to pick her up when she returns. Is there something I can help you with, Mister...”

Tristan cursed, swung around, and stormed out without another word. Marissa breathed a sigh of relief but stayed in her office for several minutes to make sure he’d left the building.

“Thanks, Megan, I owe you one.”

“Marissa, do not tell me that’s Tristan. He’s gorgeous. Talk about being all together,” Megan gushed. “If you’re finished with him, would you pul-
lease,
point him in my direction.”

“Decision is still out. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” She shrugged. “I’ll call you with the name of my hotel and room number, information for you and Hal only. Understand?”

“Sure, I’ll take care of everything while you’re away.”

“I know you will. Thanks.”

Marissa left the office, peering around the door before stepping outside. Her gaze darted about, scanning the parking lot as she made her way to her car. It would be just like Tristan to hang around watching to make sure Megan hadn’t lied. She reached her car, scooted behind the wheel, and started the engine. She did a mental checklist, acknowledging she had everything she’d need to survive for the next three weeks.

Making a swift decision, she drove away, headed north toward South Lake Tahoe, knowing she had to put some distance between her and Tristan to be objective. No one would think to look for her so far from home.

* * * *

Tristan returned to work, pissed with himself. It had been a stupid move, going to her office. He dropped down in the chair behind his desk, grabbed the phone, and called Vi.

“Hi, it’s Tristan. I just did the stupidest...uh, okay, not the stupidest thing. I already had that move covered.”

“Let me guess. You went rushing to her office.”

“I know, I’m usually not this dense. Megan must think I’m nuts. Hell, I thought she’d at least go to work. What do you think I should do?”

“Nothing,” Vi stated.

“Shouldn’t I call the police? I can’t sit around doing nothing.”

“Tristan, listen to me. You cannot call the police,” she insisted. “Marissa told you about her childhood. Where do you think police fit into her lifestyle? Nothing about that has changed.”

“You’re right.”

“She’ll be fine. If she doesn’t call you, and she has any problems, she’ll call me. Trust me. Do nothing.”

“I don’t know.”

“Give her some time, okay?”

Not knowing what else to do, Tristan decided to take Vi’s advice. He’d wait, and hope.

* * * *

After eight hours on the road, with only two pit stops for the restroom, gas, and refreshments, Marissa reached her destination―Harveys, South Lake Tahoe.

With a combination of exhaustion from the drive and the turmoil of the last few days taking a toll, she checked in, made her way to her room, and unpacked. She took a quick shower, appreciating what soothing hot water could accomplish. Refreshed, she dressed and went downstairs to the Sage Room Steakhouse for dinner. While waiting for service, she realized she was famished. When had she eaten last?

The hostess showed her to a table. She relaxed and ordered a drink before ordering her meal. After a few sips of her White Russian, she sighed and tried to concentrate on the menu, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate. She kept visualizing Tristan’s anger. During all the months of their relationship, she’d never seen him that angry. Her lips twitched.

Okay, as frightening as his anger had been, she wouldn’t have backed down and it had nothing to do with her believing he wouldn’t intentionally hurt her. Uh-uh, unlike Tristan, if she sensed a threat, she would do just about anything to protect herself, even from him. Considering his size, and knowing he could kill her with one blow, would make her intentions even more deadly.

She shook her head. Brushing her problems aside, she ordered dinner. For starters, she ordered the spinach salad with sweet and spicy warm bacon dressing and hardboiled eggs. In the mood for pasta, she chose the chicken piccata, a boneless breast with butter, garlic, capers, and fettuccine Alfredo.

She smiled, remembering how Tristan teased her for ordering chicken every time they dined at a steak house. Well, she liked her steak well done, and except for Cask N’ Cleaver, she had yet to find another restaurant that could accomplish it. Oh yeah, the outside would be way crispy, but the inside, a little too on the hoof for her.

Okay, enough of the Tristan reminiscing.

After a surprisingly satisfying meal, she even ordered dessert, the Caramel Apple Delight with vanilla ice cream. It must have been the fresh air heightening her appetite, because she rarely ate dessert.

Returning to her room, she quickly undressed, intending to take a long, hot bath but thoughts of Tristan returned, derailing her intentions. Twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed, and she had imagined she could get through three weeks without hearing his voice, or feeling his touch?

Hot bath forgotten, she stretched out across the bed to relax for a few minutes. The long drive, the fresh air, and the excellent dinner conspired against her.

She drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

Damn.

She’d been in Tahoe for three weeks. What happened to the great appetite she’d had when she first arrived? Wasn’t she supposed to be relaxed, healing, making sound decisions?

For sure, she had the relaxing down pat. She’d read every current best seller by her favorite authors, and even won a few bucks in the casino, but sleep was a joke. Her stomach seemed tied in knots, and trying to eat was a bitch. Just the smell of food made her nauseous, and mornings were the worst. Was she coming down with the flu? The temperatures were cooler in Tahoe. Or was it the result of anxiety because of the prolonged separation from Tristan doing a job on her?

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel around her body, her gaze pensive as she observed her reflection in the mirror. Was she losing weight? Eyes narrowing, she stared at her body, from every angle. Yeah, just what she needed, to return home looking anorexic. Wouldn’t Tristan be all over that?

Hell. Regardless of her looks, she had to go home and face him, reveal all her transgressions. Afterward, they could decide whether to stay together or go their separate ways. Even splitting up would be better than this torture.

Decision made, and facing the possibility of a breakup, she felt numb as she packed her bags. She checked out of the hotel, but before leaving the lobby, she headed for a bank of public phones and called Tristan’s office. She needed to hear his voice. His secretary answered on the third ring.

“Readiness Assessment, Tristan Corbett’s office.”

“Hi, is Tristan in?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Marissa Wells.” Put on hold, she had time to consider what she’d say.

“Marissa?”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. Hearing his voice affected her, same as always—heat warmed her cheeks, and her pulse raced. Seconds ticked by before she spoke again. “Yes, Tris.”

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice tight.

“I’m on my way home. I’ll be there later tonight.”

“I love you.”

“I know. See you tonight.” She hung up before she made a fool of herself. She’d driven away from the hotel before she realized she was crying.

* * * *

“Yes,” Tristan whispered as he replaced the phone.

Relief and excitement warred for a place in his mind, while his body’s reaction to the sound of her voice had him shifting on his chair. Picking up the phone again, he pressed the numbers for Vi’s place of work.

“Vi, she’s all right, she’s coming home.”

“Thank God, when?”

“Tonight.”

“Good. I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” she said. “And Tristan, let her talk? You need to hear everything.”

“I know, and I will. Thanks for being there, Vi.”

He left work early and rushed home. First he’d feed her, give her a little wine to relax, and let her tell him everything. Afterward he’d make love to her for the rest of the night.

* * * *

Marissa glanced at the car clock. Seven thirty p.m., not bad travel time. She pulled into the garage but remained in her car, gripped by powerful, conflicting mood swings. Glad to be home, but depressed by the thought of an impending breakup. Would Tristan understand once he knew what she’d done, accept it, and continue to trust her?

Who was she kidding, with his background? To date, he only had to adjust to her inability to have children. Was she crazy to think the rest wouldn’t matter? Hell, he said he loved her, and she so wanted it to be true. What she was going to tell him would put his love to the test, feeding into all the bogus shit about blacks he’d watched on television most of his life. What could he know or understand about her previous lifestyle?

Ab-boh-lute-ly nothing,
as the old folkes would say.

Troubling thoughts aside, she opened the car door, slid out from behind the wheel, and moved toward the trunk. She couldn’t be more exhausted, but her anal-retentive soul wouldn’t let her rest until she unloaded and unpacked, because she intended to go to work in the morning. Hell. Why wasn’t her personal life as ordered as her business world?

“Rissa...”

She whirled around. He stood poised in the doorway, looking as fine as she remembered, and she had an irresistible urge to touch him. Dropping her luggage, she launched herself into his arms, smiling like a fool, she looked up, and his mouth descended on hers.

Minutes passed before he tried to pull back, but she refused to let him go, even knowing he’d hurt her if he didn’t lighten up. He hated when the violence of their passion left her bruised. With a degree of effort, she regained her composure and ended their kiss.

Tristan raised his head. “I needed that.” He picked up her bags, cupped her elbow, and guided her into the house. The strong aroma of food wafted toward her as soon as she stepped into the kitchen—
run!
She snatched her arm from his grasp, and with hand to mouth, she made it to the bathroom, just in time.

“Rissa, are you okay?” Tristan leaned against the bathroom doorjamb, looking puzzled. “Can I help, get you something?”

She waved him away. The minute she stopped retching, she splashed cold water on her face, snatched a hand towel from the rack, and dried off. Feeling cool and refreshed, she said, “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”

“Hmm, where do you want your bags? In front of the closet, or knowing you, on the bed so you can unpack,” he teased. “Considering what just happened, you could leave unpacking until morning.”

“You’re right. Put them by the closet.”

“I have dinner ready, but if you’re not up to eating.”

“Tris, I’m all right, honestly, and I’m starving. I’ll try to hold something down.” She headed for the kitchen.

“If you’re sure, it’s ready. Sit, I’ll serve.”

“After, we have to talk.”

“I know, and I’m ready to listen.”

Marissa sat at the table, content to watch him move about the room. t-shirt molded to taut muscles, tight ass in fitted jeans, it seemed like years since they had touched each other.

Tristan turned and caught her staring. His smoldering gaze, the changing color of those sexy turquoise eyes alerted her to his inner thoughts even before he put the food on the table, and held out his hand. She stood, clasped his hand, and they returned to the bedroom.

* * * *

With trembling hands, he undressed her and stepped back. Devouring her body with his eyes, he started to remove his clothing, but didn’t get any further than tossing his shirt on the floor. He needed to touch her. Hands pressed to the sides of her face, thumbs softly stroking the corners of her mouth, he lowered his mouth to hers. Tongues dueled, until a salty tang intermingled with her usual taste. He lifted his head and examined her features before raining kisses down over her face, following the damp trail of her tears.

She fumbled with the button on his jeans, and he grabbed her hands, placed them on his bare chest, and held them there. His need was great, his control wasn’t.

“Rissa, I love you.” He reclaimed her mouth, released his hold on her hands, and eased her back on the bed. Hands never still, he renewed his acquaintance with her body, then came over her, and paused. Holding her gaze, he ran his hands down her arms, grasped her hands, their fingers interlocking, he raised her arms above their heads, and lowered his chest to hers. The throbbing cadence of their hearts synchronized.

With her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock eased inside. She was wet, facilitating entry, but always so damn tight, access progressed at an agonizingly slow, stimulating pace until moist heat enveloped him and he lost control. The savagery of his thrusts would have been painful if she hadn’t matched his ferocity, push for shove, their tempo increased.

“Damn, Rissa, I wanted to do slow,” he whispered, tensed, his sperm erupting inside her. She silently capitulated, her nails scoring his shoulders, mutual climax a done deal.

Tristan rolled away from her and collapsed. For the first time in weeks, he relaxed and started to drift off to sleep, but she nudged him and dragged her fingers down his side. “Rissa...” He groaned, grabbed her hand, and brought her fingers to his lips. He knew what she needed, what they both needed, but he had to have a few minutes to recuperate.

“No, Tris, not that, I’m hungry.”

Detecting the gravity in her tone, opening his eyes, he turned toward her. Unable to disguise the surprise in his voice, he said, “You want to eat, now!” She smiled and nodded. He laughed, pulled her against him, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Thank God for microwaves. This is becoming a habit. Are you sure you don’t...ouch!” he yelped when she bit him. “I guess not.”