Finding Love's Wings (9 page)

I get up quickly from the table and grab the pack I had put on the mantle after Tristan found me on the balcony. As I hand him the pack and my lighter, he continues, "But now I'm guessing I really have no choice, and I know that I'm running out of time."
 

He continues pacing, and the silence grows between us. I pad quietly back to the chair at the table and sit down. I watch him with my eyes only as he paces, taking long drags on the cigarette he took from my pack. After a couple of minutes I grab the pack and light one myself. His tension is starting to rub off on me and I haven't the first clue why.
 

I don't press him to talk to me. Mainly because I've learned from my father that once a question is asked, you stay silent until the other person breaks the silence. Gradually his pacing slows. I finish my cigarette, ignoring the food in front of me.
 

Finally he breaks the silence and starts to talk. "Why are you not eating your breakfast?"

"You asked me to join you. I figured it would be best to wait. To be honest, my appetite is on a mini vacation back in the States." I try to smile, but it's a strained attempt.
 

He ignores my joke. "I—I can't. I am trying to figure out how best to explain this to you." Finally he stops pacing and sits down in my overstuffed chair, elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor again. With his head in his hands he explains, "Layla cheated on me. From my understanding, it was with half of the staff from the movie she just finished filming."

The angst I felt earlier about seeing the pictures of Tristan with Layla dissolves in an instant. They were obviously having some major issues and are no longer together. Hope blossoms in my heart that maybe, just maybe, this can be more than a professional relationship.
 

"That's not a reason to go running," I whisper. God, what kind of hypocrite am I? "Though, I, um, ran for a similar reason. I actually caught him in the act."
 

His head pops up. His eyes, which are normally so light as to be almost translucent, grow dark and hard. "Well, at least we figured out the first true thing that we have in common. Though of course your sex life will not be plastered all over the headlines of magazines and newspapers." He takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair so violently that I'm afraid he's going to pull it out at the root.
 

"Cami, there are pictures. Pictures taken by an unknown person and submitted to a magazine that intends to publish the story. This is what we were fighting about. Not about her cheating, but about the effect this will have on her career and mine. I blame her for being so stupid. This was not the first time she's cheated on me, but this is the first time it's going to be made public with proof."
 

He trails off as he takes in my expression. I'm raging mad. Not at him, of course, but mad is an understatement. Murderous might be a better word for how I feel at this moment.

PART NINE

My rage is so unbelievably out of control; I can't even begin to fathom how Tristan can be so calm about this. Rage flares for my own reasons, but mainly because Tristan has to face her infidelity publicly and he doesn't deserve it. He needs to put a stop to this, and why he hasn't done that already is a driving force in my rage. "You really need to contact Trinity. Immediately. One, she needs to know where you are, and two, she needs to know what is going on so that she can stop this madness. Whatever it is that needs to be done to get those pictures or keep this quiet, Trinity will do just that, I ca—"

"I'm not entirely convinced that I want this kept quiet," Tristan interrupts. He starts pacing again and running his hands through his hair.

"Why in bloody hell not?" He smiles at me then. His smile is warm, almost seductive. I know he likes that expression, but why the smoldering smile? My head starts to swim. It’s no doubt a distraction tactic, and it's working. Dammit. Taking a deep breath, I continue, "Why would you want to let this spread like wildfire? Do you want the world to know that she cheated on you and have your image plastered all over the tabloids under headlines like 'Tristan Michaels Cuckholded' or 'Star of Love is Burning Gets Burned'?"
 

For a minute Tristan just stands there, hands in hair, elbows out, almost like he’s going to start flapping like a bird and fly away. Then he takes a deep breath and says, "The main reason I want to see this story unfold is because Layla is in desperate need of help. She's addicted to drugs and her career is going down the toilet quick. Word has gotten out how difficult she is to work with. If she keeps going this way she's going to end up washed up, homeless, or even dead. The only way at this point that I can see to it she gets help is to see everything she knows come to a crashing halt."
 

I can't believe what I'm hearing. His girlfriend cheats on him with not just one but several men, and he wants to use his misfortune to get her help. The word selfless comes to mind.
 

She's obviously hurt Tristan in a big way, and he's standing here talking about helping her? Is anybody really that unselfish? I can't decide whether to cry or shake him. So instead I bring it back to business.

"Tristan, are you at all concerned about the effect of this on your own career?"

"Absolutely not. I don't think you truly understand what the last five years of my life have been like." His voice is raw with emotion. I can see it in his eyes that he is playing with some serious inner turmoil about all of this.

"You don't like being an actor?"

"I love acting. With all my heart, Cami. I would do everything and trade nothing for my career, except..." He pauses. I know where this is going.

"You would happily trade your career for a life free of the fans, the paparazzi, and all of the fame, wouldn't you?" I try hard to smile, but I know the second his eyes meet mine that I'm right. His shoulders slump; they’d probably be on the floor if not for the fact that his spine is keeping him upright.
 

I can imagine it: the paparazzi chases, the crazy fans, the inability to have a meal without signing a dozen autographs in the course of a thirty-minute dinner. I don't blame him for wishing it away.
 

"So that is why you're here. In Tarah, away from the madness that is Hollywood. Trying to escape and be a normal human being while all this goes down the drain. You haven't told Trinity or even Vincent of what's going on because you want to let it happen, and you know that they will try to squash it. You also know that Bold will do whatever it takes to stop your name from being dragged through the mud."

"Yup, that about sums it up right there." He finally sits back down in my overstuffed chair. He looks drained, tired. Sadness is radiating from his body and I want to go to him, to comfort him, but before I can get to my feet he says, "I should really go."

What? No. He can't go yet. I'm not ready. "But...you haven't eaten your breakfast." That's the best I can manage, given my state of confusion as to why he wants to leave.

"That's all right. I had it billed to my room, so don't worry about it."

"That is so not the point." I sigh and look away. "If you must go, I understand. But...I really want you to stay. Please?" I can't look him in the eye.

"I...I...ah..." I look up then. He is looking at me like I have actually taken his breath away. "I'm not sure that is such a good idea."

"And why not?" I huff.
 

"Because." His eyes focus on a spot on the carpet about halfway between us, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Because I'm afraid of what will happen if I stay." He takes a deep breath and changes the subject. "Besides, I should talk to Tyson. Get his take on how I should handle this."

Ah ha! I got him now. I stand up, turn around, and walk straight to the door. Swing it wide open, poke my head into the beautifully decorated hallway. About two doors down is the gorgeous, well-groomed, muscled-up man with military-short, dirty blond hair that I'd seen in the hall when I arrived on Thursday. His piercing grey eyes are staring straight at me.
 

I flash him my best smile. "It's Tyson, isn't it?" He doesn't acknowledge what I've just said, but I continue anyway. "Would you please join us?"

Just then Tristan comes up behind me and places his hand on the small of my back. A gentle, comforting gesture, but his touch shoots straight through my core and sends involuntary muscle spasms straight to my sex. I try hard to fight against it, but there is something about his touch that is all hot and sexy. My breath hitches in the back of my throat.
 

Tristan glances at me with a look of "
yeah I feel it too
" on his face. I slowly bring my eyes down from his, past his nose, perfect, his lips, full and delicious, to his chin and jawline. His two-day old stubble helps to accent his angular jawline. His neck – I can almost see the blood pumping through his veins. His tight shoulders hidden perfectly under the Ed Hardy shirt he wears. His pecs are equally on display, followed by his abs, though not as defined but still... Right down to the apex of his thighs. A half smile catches on my lips as I take in the fact that his cock is hard as a rock in his swim trunks. Thick, long, and heavy. I can see the outline of it running from his center all the way to his right hipbone. My God, he's huge.
 

He chuckles in amusement as my eyes widen momentarily and he realizes I'm staring at his cock. He whispers very quietly, "Now you see why staying is kind of a bad idea. If you keep that up, I am going to take you right here, right now in the hallway, and I don't care who sees, watches, or comes into your room."
 

My lips part as hot breath escapes in a rush, my heart rate triples, and my breathing becomes irregular. Suddenly that dull ache between my thighs starts screaming with need, desire. Desperate for his touch.

It takes me a minute to peel my eyes away from his erection and direct them back up to his. He’s grinning in satisfaction at my heavy, lazy eyes. He knows exactly what he's done to me, and he is taking in pure enjoyment at my discomfort and desire. His eyes are blue. Deep, ocean blue. Warm.
 

Meanwhile Tyson hasn't moved. Tristan finally breaks eye contact with me and turns to him. "Tyson, if you would be so kind to join Ms. Enders and myself."
 

I look at Tyson then and think I see recognition in his eyes, though I'm not sure if it's name recognition and the fact that I am more or less his employer, or something else entirely. "Yes, sir," he says as he pulls himself away from the wall and starts walking toward us.
 

Get your butt in gear and your head out of the gutter, Cami! I scold myself, because all of a sudden the only thing I can think about is Tristan naked between my legs and the two of us between the sheets or on the floor. Enough! I scold myself again.
 

"Tyson," Tristan says once we're all inside my suite and the door is shut behind us. "Cami and I were just discussing the news story that's about to break about Layla, and she doesn't understand why I'd want to let this story run." Tyson looks at me and back at Tristan, a question in his eyes. "Relax, Tyson," says Tristan. "Cami is the CEO of Bold and apparently Trinity is on a mission to find me because I've 'disappeared.' I was explaining to Cami about Layla's drug addiction and her sexcapades." He gives Tyson a look heavy with hidden meaning, but before I can ask about it, Tyson speaks up.

"Layla has a long history of infidelity as well as some more recent incidents with drug use. She's a terrible actor. It's a mystery how she even got the part in the
Burning
movies, and if the contract had not included all of the movies, she would have been replaced. Now she's trying to use her 'abilities' to get roles and have a longer career in Hollywood. She is on a path of destruction, and she will take down anyone and anything she can manage along the way."
 

Tristan looks like he's upset – sick to his stomach and almost heartbroken. "Okay, that is not news to me. I understand that part of all this mess. But what I don't understand is why do you two look like there is going to be a beeline to one of the two toilets in this suite?" I turn to Tristan, a sudden lump in my throat. "Do you love her?" That does it. He looks absolutely sick.
 

It doesn't take him very long to recover, and he attempts to answer my last question. "At one time I did love her. I thought that maybe it was real for both of us. In the beginning, I have no doubt, there was really something between us. Then, we started to argue constantly. We broke up, but before the news was made public, her PR crew at Erickson stepped in and offered both of us money to stay quiet and appear to stay together." He takes a deep breath. He's not looking at anyone, just staring off like he's trying to remember the story. "I knew that it was a bad idea and utterly stupid to drag out a so-called relationship, but Bobbie stepped in. Said to take the money and do what I could to keep the relationship intact. I didn't want to go along with it, but he said that if I lost the 'natural chemistry' I had onscreen with Layla, then I could lose my part. Unlike her, my first contract did not include all three movies. I was new in Hollywood, literally plucked off the streets, and I wanted so badly to be an actor at the time that I listened to him. I accepted the offer, and things between Layla and I got better. For a while."

"So why not stop the story, save her career?" Even as I ask the question, I'm pretty sure I don't want to hear the answer. "If you care about her, why do you want to see her career destroyed?" I whisper, not trusting my voice completely. I'm trying to wrap my head around what he must be going through, but it feels like a rug is being pulled from under my feet. He loves her.