Bittersweet Chocolate (31 page)

Like two young lovers, they raced each other to the shower, and afterward neither bothered to dress. They donned robes, went into the kitchen, and he reheated their food.

“Sit,” he told her when she tried to help. “You look like you need something to eat. You’ve lost weight.”

“Yeah, and I always thought I wanted that. It doesn’t look good on me, does it?”

“Hey, don’t start. I’ve always accepted you just as you are, no complaints.”

“Chill, Tris, I’m teasing,” she said. “What’s for dinner?”

“Beef stew, cornbread.”

Moving about the kitchen, he set the table, poured wine, and dished up stew into bowls. With everything they’d need on the table, he sat across from her, his manner guarded. He didn’t want to disrupt the amiable atmosphere. Several minutes passed before curiosity outweighed caution, and he asked the question haunting him for the past three weeks.

“Rissa, where have you been?”

“I drove to Lake Tahoe to relax, and think.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I did not walk out because of anything you’d said or done. It was what those bastards did, leaving you to die, that pissed me off. I wanted to hurt something, so I left to walk off my anger.” He shook his head. “I can’t comprehend such hatred, and because of their actions, you can’t have children. The bastards deprived you of your choices. I’m still pissed, but Rissa, not with you.”

She looked up and stared into his eyes. “You want kids and I can’t give them to you.”

“Marissa, I want you.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “You, just the way you are. Hell, there’s no denying I’d like to have children with you. We can’t create them, we’ll adopt them.”

Her gaze lowered and she started eating. They completed their meal in silence and she started to remove their empty plates. He stopped her.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “You look like you could use the rest. The drive home must have been tiring.”

Dishes loaded in the dishwasher, and cleanup complete, they moved into the living room and settled on the sofa. Tristan pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around her body. They remained in that position for a long time, not saying anything.

“Tris.”

“Hmm.”

“Let me tell you the rest, so we can put my hang-ups behind us, make decisions.”

“Decisions? Hell, go ahead, I’m listening.”

* * * *

She picked up her story where she’d left off, after the doctor had delivered his heartbreaking verdict, detailing the far-reaching decisions she’d made that day in the hospital, and the horrific results. An hour later, she stopped talking. Thoughts of Graham’s senseless death continued to haunt her, and she continued to blame herself. If only she’d been different, maybe. She didn’t realize she was crying until Tristan spoke to her.

“Shh, Rissa, don’t cry.”

Looking into his eyes, she whispered, “Tris, while he lay dying, all Graham wanted, his last wish had been a kiss from me.” A sob escaped her. “It broke my heart to realize I’d meant that much to him.”

“I’m truly sorry about Graham,” he said.

She gave him a long, searching look. “Tris, didn’t you understand what I just told you? I cut a man’s throat. I tried to kill a man.”

“God, yes,” he whispered excitedly, squeezing her tighter. He bent and kissed her mouth. “I understood exactly what you told me, and I love it. But that son of a bitch wasn’t a man.”

His attitude stunned her. He seemed pleased that she’d cut Joel’s throat. “You really aren’t the least bit upset about what I did, are you?”

“Upset, hell. I wish I could have done it for you.”

Tristan continued to smile, hugging her and calmly waiting for her to continue. Definitely a side of his personality she never would have attributed to him. He reached across her body, snatched a tissue from the box on the end table, and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and resumed her account of past events.

“My transfer came through and I left town after Graham’s funeral. Only Brad came to see me off to keep too many people from knowing about my departure.”

“Has Joel ever come looking for you?”

“Not that I know of, but he might know where I live,” she remarked. “Several years ago, my mom ran into him, told him I’d moved to California.”

“For God’s sake, why the hell would she do that?”

“Tris, only Frank and Brad knew why I’d left. I haven’t been back to Philly and they haven’t come out here. The word on the street—I had transferred with my company and moved out West, nothing specific, and I never told my father about Joel’s involvement,” she explained. “My mom didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to say anything.

“To her, Joel was an old boyfriend who asked about me. Hell. If Dad had had any suspicions about Joel, he would have found out what he needed to know, and Joel would be history.”

“That’s some network of secrecy. Do you think Joel will come after you?”

“I wish, and considering our backgrounds, he might, but it doesn’t worry me. If he comes...” She shrugged. “I believe he should have died by my hand.”

“I hope he comes after you,” Tristan said. “I’d like to meet him.”

She grinned. “I bet you would, but I don’t want you involved in my problems. I lost Graham.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

“Good. Let’s go to bed.” He stood and helped her from the sofa. “I have to get to work early tomorrow. I should be able to get a good night’s sleep, with you safely back home.” They were heading for the bedroom when he stopped and looked down at her. “You’ve told me everything, right?”

She hesitated. “Yes...”

“Marissa?”

“I’ve told you the serious stuff. The rest, it’s more of the stupid crap I did as a teenager. Some things about my father might interest you, considering what you’ve hinted about your brothers’ professions.”

“You are back to stay, right?” He scrutinized her features.

“If you want me.”

“Marissa.”

She kissed his chin. “Yes, back to stay, won’t ever leave you, promise.”

“Good, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss everything else.”

* * * *

How fortuitous? He was a lucky bastard.

After almost twenty damn years, he’d come across her, entirely by chance. Clearly, if he’d believed the rumors making the rounds years ago, he could have put her out of his misery, at that time. Oh yeah, he never forgot what she did to him, probably never would. He owed her, and once he had a secure, detailed plan, he intended to settle a score. She wasn’t getting away this time. He had her number, knew where she lived, and worked.

Yes, Marissa, it’s my turn. Payback is a bitch.

“What the...” Tristan grumbled as the noise became louder, forcing him to come fully awake. Groaning, he reached for the alarm and turned it off. He rolled onto his back and stretched out his arm. Marissa wasn’t there.

Panicked, he bolted out of bed and reached the bedroom door before he heard retching sounds coming from the bathroom. He hurried across the room.

“Rissa?” She stood at the sink with a washcloth pressed to her face. “Maybe you should go to the doctor and get something for that. Stomach flu can be a bitch,” he remarked, kissed the top of her head, and stepped into the shower.

“If I’m not feeling better later today, I’ll drop by urgent care,” she called out over the drone of rushing water.

* * * *

Marissa swished mouthwash around in her mouth, brushed her teeth, gargled again, washed her face and hands, and slipped into her robe. Headed for the kitchen with the idea that she’d have a cup of tea and some toast, if she could keep it down, forget the doctor.

Nibbling on the toast, she managed to finish it without the urge to dash for the commode. She drained her teacup, rinsed the dishes, put them in the dishwasher, and returned to the bedroom. Her mind already on her workday, she stepped into the closet and pensively stared at her clothes.

Decisions...decisions.

She felt like shit and let her mood dictate her choice of colors. Choosing a dark brown suit—skirt, vest and jacket, a beige blouse, and matching beige leather shoes, with that taken care of, she went into the bathroom.

Hair already blown dry and styled, Tristan stood at the sink, shaving. Unable to resist touching him, she put her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. “I love you.” Her fingertips ran a feather-light course over his chest before easing beneath the waistband of his briefs.

Muscles clenched beneath her touch, but he continued shaving while he kept his attention on her in the mirror, his gaze following the movement of her hands. Eyes narrowing, he smiled down at her when she peeked out from behind his back, but he didn’t say anything. She walked around beside him, propped her hip on the sink, and stared up at him through her lashes.

He briskly rinsed the residue of shaving cream from his face, reaching around her for a towel. She leaned forward, causing his arm to brush against her breasts. “Marissa, we have to go to work.” Putting two fingers under her chin, he tilted her head and brushed a light kiss across her smiling mouth. “I love you too.”

* * * *

He hurried from the bathroom before his natural instincts took over. Her faint, tinkling laughter echoed throughout the room before running water muffled the sound. He couldn’t stop grinning as he moved about the room getting dressed. Her touch had shaken him, and her ploy to seduce him had been tempting. If he’d gone with his first impulse, he’d never get to work.

He donned a pearl-gray shirt, black trousers, and matching black vest. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put on black socks and slipped his feet into black Italian loafers. A quick look at himself in the full-length, closet door mirror and, satisfied with his appearance, he headed to the kitchen for his morning caffeine fix. He stood at the counter, sipping coffee while he debated whether he should eat breakfast at home or grab something on his way to work. Mickey D’s won.

Back in the bedroom, he noted Marissa’s conspicuous absence, before he devoted a few minutes to choosing a black tie with gray pinstripes. He’d adjusted his tie and shrugged into his suit coat when he realized no sounds were coming from the bathroom and the door remained closed.

“Rissa?” He strolled to the door, eased it open, and peeked inside.

Hand tightening around the knob, pulse roaring in his ears, for a split second, in the grip of a paralyzing fear, he didn’t move. She was fully dressed, crumpled on the floor unconscious.

Coming to his senses, he bent and scooped her up in his arms. Heart racing, he rushed to the bed, laid her down, grabbed the phone, and pressed 9-1-1 while he checked for a pulse.

“No, she’s breathing, but unconscious,” he snapped. The dispatcher said paramedics were on the way and Tristan slammed the phone down.

He held her hand, talking quietly while he kept glancing at his watch. “Damn it, Rissa, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
Where’s the damn ambulance, the hospital is almost around the corner
―he flinched at the sound of the doorbell. He hurried to the front door. “What the hell took so long?” He hustled the paramedics into the bedroom.

“Sir, it’s been seven minutes since we received the call,” one paramedic responded. “And you are?”

He jotted down Tristan’s information, asked pertinent questions regarding Marissa’s general health, medications she might be on, and recent illness. The other paramedic did a preliminary examination, started an intravenous drip. The men placed the unconscious Marissa on a gurney and wheeled her away.

Trailing close behind the men, Tristan came to a sudden stop, turned, and strode back to the bedside table. He grabbed the phone and pressed Vi’s number. While waiting for her to pick up, he yelled to the paramedics, “I’ll meet you at the hospital emergency.”

“Hello?”

“Vi, no questions, get over to Community emergency, it’s Marissa―Vi, please, just meet me there!” He slammed the phone down, raced out the door, and made it to the hospital in record time. Vi arrived ten minutes later.

“Tristan, what the hell happened?” She clutched his arm.

“I found her on the bathroom floor, unconscious.”

“Oh my God, has she been sick?”

“She said she might be catching the flu, vomited last night, again this morning.” Vi snatched her hand away from his arm and stared up at him with a stricken look on her face. “Vi, what? Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

“Let’s wait for the doctor.”

“I can’t lose her!”

“Tristan, calm down, sit, let me get you some coffee. I’ll be right back.”

He dropped down on a chair, stared at his hands, but couldn’t stop the trembling.

“Here”

Startled, he leapt from the chair. “Shit! How can you be so calm?” He took the coffee. Before she could reply, a tall, slender, middle-aged man with dark brown hair threaded with slivers of gray, and wearing blue scrubs, approached. Tristan set the coffee on a table. “Doctor?”

“I’m Doctor Marin, and you are?”

“Tristan Corbett. I live with Marissa,” he stated, jaw tightening when he saw the flicker of surprise that always accompanied that statement. Vi must have noticed the doctor’s reaction, because she grasped Tristan’s arm, and with effort, he controlled his temper. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Oh...yes, nothing serious, I assure you.” Doctor Marin’s recovery was swift. “Miss Wells says she hasn’t been eating properly, and preliminary blood tests indicate she’s slightly anemic. Otherwise, she seems in perfect health.”

“If that’s true, why did she faint?” Tristan asked.

“We’re running more tests to be sure.”

“Tests?”

Before the doctor could reply, a young nurse came into the waiting room. She glanced at Tristan and smiled appreciatively before turning to the doctor. “Miss Wells is asking for Mister Corbett.”

“This is Mister Corbett, Nurse,” the doctor said and her smile vanished. “You can take him in to see Miss Wells.”

Irritated by their attitudes, Tristan strode away. “Thanks,” he snapped in the general direction of the doctor and the nurse. He reached the cubicle Marissa occupied and paused. “Vi, would you call my office and explain to my secretary?” She acknowledged his request with a nod.