Bittersweet Chocolate (39 page)

Nonetheless, the meal became rushed.

Mere seconds after Marissa laid her fork down, Tristan grabbed her hand, the bottle of wine, and two glasses. He all but dragged her to the second floor, making one brief stop before the master suite. They peeped into the nursery, saw Kate snoozing in the rocker, the babies sound asleep, and the ever-present Dobies beneath the cribs.

Tristan eased the door shut and continued toward their room. He tugged her into his arms as soon as they stepped inside, using his foot to push the door closed behind them. Wanting the night to be special, she’d left the candles burning, their soft glow and scent setting the mood.

“Rissa, I doubt I can do slow.”

Oh yeah, she understood, could feel his need, but her resolve to savor every moment of their intimacy prompted her to take her time. Unbuttoning his shirt, she eased it from his body, her nails scraping along his arms, muscles flexing beneath her touch. She dropped the shirt to the floor and reached for the waistband of his slacks. Unfastening the clasp, she eased the zipper down. The trousers slid down his legs as she knelt before him and glanced up at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression pained.

“It won’t hurt,” she whispered.

His eyes snapped open. Those memorable words from the night they met drew his attention. “Dahlin’, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded.

“I promise it will be worth it.”

He groaned, closed his eyes, kicked off shoes, and stepped out of the trousers puddled at his feet. Her hands glided up his legs and thighs, across taut abs. Thumbs hooking onto the waistband of his briefs, she peeled them down over the firm contours of his hips and ass. Released from its confinement, his erection bounded out, her head moved forward, and he grabbed her hair. That didn’t stop her.

“Rissa.”

* * * *

The scintillating touch of her mouth, tongue teasing, licking around the ridge, gliding up and down the shaft before warm moisture engulfed the glans. Clasping her head, he sighed, relishing the anticipated pleasure he could only tolerate for a few minutes. Hands fisting in her hair, he jerked her away, urged her to her feet, and swiftly stripped her of her clothes.

He scooped her up in his arms, laid her on the bed, and stood back, his gaze wandering over the beauty of her naked body. A little over two months ago, she’d given him two healthy babies, and she’d remained as svelte as the day they met. The only evidence of pregnancy was a razor-thin scar and slightly fuller breasts.

He climbed onto the bed and stretched out beside her. Hand moving down her body, his palm came to rest at the junction of her thighs. Leaning over, he touched the tip of his tongue to her lips, coaxing them apart as his fingers slipped between fleshy folds, teasing the sensitive nubbin. He groaned as his fingers probed further, sinking into heated moisture.

“Baby, it’s been too long, I can’t wait.” He withdrew his fingers, readjusted his position, and settled between her legs. “Are you ready?” She squirmed beneath him, raised her legs, and anchored them around his hips. “I guess that’s a yes.”

Penetration was swift, driving into her with savage impetus, and she matched his energy, flesh against flesh, rhythmic, synchronized. Her grip tightened, her body stiffened, and their gazes locked. “Tris...” She yielded to her pent-up needs with long, shuddering moans. He responded with his own explosive discharge.

Several moments of pulse-pounding quiet elapsed before he relaxed his hold and dropped down beside her. She turned to face him.

“Rissa, I love you, and you’re right. We have so much. The babies, our happiness together, it is scary.”

* * * *

Her climax had been a culmination of too many feelings. She remained quiet, watching him, no longer denying the depth of his love, yet what they were together, neither could explain.

Her tongue crept out to moisten her lips and his eyes tracked the almost imperceptible action before he leaned over, his teeth capturing the tip of her tongue. In gradual degrees, he sucked her tongue into his mouth, tongues exploring. The hot touch of his palm skimmed across her breasts, his fingertips tantalizing each nipple. Clamping down on the impulse to prolong his enticing possession, she regrettably pulled back.

He sat up, eased her over on her stomach, and straddled her body, his cock nestled between her thighs. The gentle massage of his hands down over her back, fingers skating along her spine, sent currents of pleasure surging through her overloaded nervous system.

“Tris?”

“We have to go easy, Rissa. It’s been a while.” He reached for the K-Y.

She wriggled beneath him when he ran his fingers down the crease of her ass, his touch light but agonizingly seductive. He reached the tiny orifice, the lube facilitating penetration, her sphincter clamped around the intruding digit and he leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear.

“Baby, relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” His erection replaced his finger and she moaned. “I won’t hurt you, will I?”

“Uh-uh, don’t stop.” She flexed her sphincter, felt his pulsing response, and urged him on, their rhythm accelerating. Sheets clenched in her fists, she gritted her teeth, straining against the uncontrollable, paroxysmal trembling as she tried to prolong the pleasure. It became a lost cause.

“Oh damn, Tristan, yes.” Seconds later, a rush of liquid heat flooded her narrow channel.

Exhausted, lying with bodies intertwined, their ordered existence abruptly exploded around them.

Marissa reacted first.

The sound of CJ and JC snarling and barking had her reaching into the nightstand drawer. She palmed her knife and came off the bed in one fluid motion. With Tristan right behind her, she yanked open the door. They darted into the hall, but she came to a skidding halt, turned, and ran back into the room.

* * * *

Tristan continued on to the nursery. Fear and anger warred for supremacy in his mind.

Prepared to kill, he reached for the nursery doorknob, but the door sprang open, and the dogs almost knocked him over in their rush to get out. Marissa came running up and tossed him his robe. He jammed his arms into the sleeves and tied the sash as he sprinted after CJ and JC and reached the bottom of the stairs moments after the dogs. They were barking at the front door, which was closed, but unlocked.

“Fuck!” Tristan slammed the side of his fist against the doorjamb, then turned and tried to calm the dogs. Marissa came down the stairs and snapped her fingers. The dogs quieted and came to heel, but remained alert, low growls emanating from their throats, the hair on the backs of their necks rigid.

“Damn it to hell, look at the door, it’s unlocked.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Are the babies okay, and Kate?”

“They’re fine. Too bad the dogs couldn’t—shit!” She stopped and stared at the door with cold speculation. “Tris, he came after the kids, didn’t he,” she demanded. “He had the fuckin’ nerve to go after our kids.”

“Come on, Rissa. He could have been searching for your room.”

“Knowing my husband would be with me―oh, hell no.”

“Okay, agreed. But how did he get in?”

“Tris...” She groaned. “Has to be the dog door panel. Even if he couldn’t fit, he could reach the latch on the sliding glass door,” she stated. “And how crazy is that? Did he intend to drug the dogs, or kill them?”

“Don’t know, but we didn’t have a dog door at the other house.”

“True, and we had to replace those locks.”

“Hell.” Tristan started pacing. “From now on, I’ll put the dog panel in and lock it at night.”

“Fuckin’ with me is one thing, but going near the babies is off limits by any standards. I’ll kill the bastard when I catch him. I swear to God, this time I’ll kill him.” Stance unmoving, and her stare fixed, her voice became cold, brisk. “He went near our babies, and for that alone, he has to die.”

Tristan stopped pacing and stared at her. He’d seen her angry before, but never so unnerving. A frisson of fear rippled along his spine. Her current demeanor convinced him, without a doubt, that his decision to handle their situation had been a smart move.

Closing the distance between them, he yanked her into his arms. “Rissa...honey, calm down.” He could feel her tension. Hell. His anger wasn’t far beneath the surface, but he needed to keep it under control so it wouldn’t fuel hers. He continued to hold her, giving her time to relax.

She pulled away, looked down at the dogs sitting patiently, waiting for her attention, and she knelt between them, hugging and petting each one in turn. “Good dogs.”

Tristan watched her interaction with the Dobies, and he would remain forever grateful she had convinced him to get them. If the dogs hadn’t been in the nursery—it wasn’t just about Marissa, any longer. Joel intended to hurt her in any way he could. Tristan couldn’t remember ever having experienced anger of such magnitude. He snapped his fingers, drawing the dogs’ attention away from Marissa, and helped her to her feet.

“Up,” he commanded and both dogs raced upstairs. He knew they would return to the nursery, and again, he had to acknowledge Marissa’s exceptional job of training them. She spoke to them like people and they responded without hesitation. In addition, another brilliant move on her part was her decision to purchase silent whistles. She included their use in the dogs’ instruction. She wore her whistle on a thin silver chain around her neck, and he kept his on his key ring.

Arm draped across her shoulders, he guided her into the kitchen. He put on water to boil, anticipating a cup of her favorite chamomile tea would soothe her. The kettle’s shrill whistle erupted into the silence just as a shaken Kate bustled into the room.

“Sit. I’ll do it,” she ordered. “Do you want something to eat?” Not waiting for an answer, she fixed the tea and started making sandwiches.

* * * *

Kate’s answer to any stressful situation seemed to be food.

Marissa waited until Kate finished preparing the sandwiches before she spoke. “Kate. Stay. Join us. You’re part of this family too. Unless what happened makes you want to resign.”

“I don’t know everything that’s going on, but no one is running me away from a job I enjoy,” Kate snapped, large brown eyes sparkling with fury. “I’m beyond angry. Coming near our babies. I could...ooh, I’m hard-pressed to contain myself.”

All of five-foot nothing, Kate symbolized the feisty, outspoken grandmotherly type. She had a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and she wore her gray-streaked, dark brown hair pulled back from her face in a ponytail. At forty-five, her unlined, fresh-faced, mocha-colored skin always seemed to glow. Rounded in all the right places, by no means was she fat.

Marissa looked at Tristan, who winked and grinned. “Thank you, Kate,” she said. “Let me fill you in on what we think is happening before you commit to staying. Some of what I’m about to say may shock you, but I hope you’ll understand.”

She gave Kate the modified version of her youth, covered the vital points, and revealed her suspicions concerning the night’s break-in. Finished with her narrative, she waited, watching to see if she detected any signs of disgust in her housekeeper’s demeanor.

Tears shimmering in her eyes, Kate reached across the table and grasped Marissa’s hands. “Those things shouldn’t have happened to you,” she stated. “I won’t pretend to understand how you grew up, but it’s not my place to judge. All that violence, people do what they have to do to survive.”

Marissa fought back her tears. What an incredible woman. Kate had only known Marissa for several months, yet she wasn’t judgmental or condemning. It seemed a shame that Kate never married and never had children, because she had the love and skills necessary to be a spouse or a parent. She lavished an abundance of both on Marissa and her family. More to the point, under the circumstances, Kate insisted on standing by them.

Tristan said, “Are you sure, Kate? It could get rough.”

Kate stared at Tristan for several seconds before answering. “Mister Corbett, you do know what they say about when the going gets rough, right?” she replied, stood and headed toward her room.

Tristan’s next words stopped her in her tracks. “Tell me, Kate. Why am I, Mister Corbett, but my wife is Marissa?”

Kate turned, regarding him curiously, and a quirky smile lit up her face. “I never thought about it before, Tristan.” She shrugged, chuckled, and continued on to her room.

He winked at Marissa, who laughed. His words had the effect he intended, to lighten the mood. For a moment, both watched Kate’s retreating figure, before they turned to each other.

“Honey, are you okay?”

“I’m calm, but not okay.” She stood and came around the table, straddled his lap and leaned forward. Arms around his body, head on his shoulder, she nestled her face against his neck, needing to feel the closeness, needing his warmth.

She fell asleep.

* * * *

Tristan held her, listening to her calm even breathing. The moment her arms went slack, he stood, carried her upstairs, and placed her on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open.

“I saw Rick today. I intended to tell you after dinner.” She smiled up at him, drowsy from sleep, struggling to keep her eyes open. “I must have had other things on my mind.”

He sat next to her and idly brushed several wispy strands of hair from her forehead. “Do you think it’s him?”

“No. He seemed shocked and afraid when he saw me. It wasn’t feigned.” She went on to tell him everything Rick had said.

“So our money stays on Joel.”

Marissa nodded and closed her eyes.

* * * *

Waking early the next morning, Marissa showered and dressed, checked on the twins, then went downstairs and had a light breakfast. The previous day’s turmoil had left her with little appetite.

Confronting Rick, she’d been pissed, but the break-in had frightened her. She decided the only way to put an end to the cycle of revenge was her
only one left standing
philosophy. She needed to make the first move.