Her Immortal Love (17 page)

She sat next to him, her hands clasped in her lap. As he read, she watched his jaw harden and his lips press together.

He snapped the folder closed. “Your mother hired him.”

It was not a question, but Lydia nodded anyway.

“He's very good,” he observed.

A laugh shattered her throat. “Mother would have only hired the best.”

He released a heavy breath and placed the report on the couch. Lydia waited. Waited for him to tell her it was all a lie. A mistake. That the detective had confused him with someone else.

He reached over and took her hand. “I know what you want me to say.” He squeezed her cold fingers, rubbing them as if to bring warmth back into them, his dark blue eyes gazing solemnly into hers.

“But it’s true, Lydia,” he said. “All of it.” He gave her a rueful smile. “As I said, he’s very good. And very thorough.”

She slowly drew her fingers away from his. He tried to hold onto her hand but she would not let him. He finally released her.

“So you really are the CEO of a multi-national pharmaceutical company?” she asked.

He nodded.

“And you’re rich?”

“Yes.” he said simply.

He was young, attractive, an amazing lover and, to top it all off, very rich. So what was he doing with someone like her when he could have any woman he wanted? Was her mother right? Was it pity? Or did he get some kind of perverse pleasure out of playing with her affections?

She rose from the couch and paced about the room. He silently watched her. Apparently he was waiting for her to make the first move. She stopped and looked over at him. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rose from the couch, went over to her and gently put his hands around her arms. She wanted to pull away from him, but as she looked up into his eyes, which were gazing worriedly down at her, she remained still and waited.

“It's…complicated,” he said.

“Complicated? That's the understatement of the year.” She gestured at the report where it lay on the coffee table. “What does it mean? Who are you?”

His hands tightened about her arms. “Lydia, please, listen.”

“I am listening, Tristan. But you're not saying anything.”

His lips curled up into a small, sad smile. “True. Come. Sit with me.”

They went back to the couch and sat down. He took her hand and stroked the back of it with his fingers. “I want to ask something of you. Something very important.”

“What?”

He gently squeezed her hand. “I want you to be patient.”

“Patient?”

He looked deep into her eyes. “Yes.”

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding me. Regarding that.” He jerked his chin at the detective's report where it lay on the couch next to her.

“Why must I be patient? I don’t understand?”

“Because I want to explain everything to you but—” He stopped and shook his head.

Lydia leaned towards him. “But what? Tristan, please, tell me what's going on?”

“I want to, sweet. I want to so much. But I can't. Not yet.”

“Why? Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It's not the right time. When I tell you what all of that means—” He glanced at the report then back at her. “—it has to be the right time. Or I might lose you. And I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

Surprise at his words made her heart skip a beat. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” He gently gripped her hand. “Do you still doubt it?”

“I don’t know.” She pulled her hand away from his and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know what to think, Tristan. You freely admit that everything in that detective’s report is true but it doesn’t make sense. He basically came right out and said that he didn’t believe that men you claim to be your grandfather or your father don’t exist.”

A shadow crossed his eyes. “I’ve tried my best not to lie to you, Lydia.”

“But that means that you have, haven’t you? Lied to me?”

“Yes. No. What I mean is I’ve not been as forthcoming about some things.”

“Not telling me the truth is just as bad as a lie, Tristan.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I swear.”

“Then tell me now, please.”

He shook his head. “I can’t. I might lose you.”

“You won't lose me. I love you.”

There. She’d said it. She hadn’t meant to, but it spouted out of her like a blossom from a seed deep in the earth bursting forth from the darkness into the light.

He stroked her cheek. “Do you, Lydia? Truly? Even now?”

She placed her hand over his where it cupped her face. “Yes, I do love you and I don’t care what secrets you have. I ask only that you trust me enough to share them with me.”

He moved his hand from her cheek and ruefully shook his head. “You say that now. But if I were to tell you the truth before you're ready to hear it…” He shook his head again.

“I'm not a child, Tristan. Please don’t treat me like one. I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me.”

But even as she said the words, she wondered how true they were. She had not handled her discovery of Douglas’s adultery all that well. It had hit her like a truck. She’d spent a week holed up in her bedroom while Douglas had stayed at a hotel, leaving her alone with her grief.

“I'd do anything to keep you from ever having to suffer,” Tristan said.

“That's kind of you to say.”

“I don't speak in kindness.”

“What?”

“Kindness is a thin, shallow thing compared to how far I would go to shield you from harm.”

“Tristan, what are you saying?”

“I care for you, Lydia. More than I had intended to.” His dark blue eyes were stricken. “And I'll be honest with you, sweet. I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I want to love you, Lydia. I want to give my entire body and soul to you. But I can't. Not yet.”

Her heart stopped. Love her. He wanted to love her? “Why, Tristan? I don’t understand. Why can't you love me?”

“I…I can't tell you. It’s…complicated.” Then he laughed, but his laughter was bitter. “And you wouldn't believe me if I did tell you.”

She squeezed his hand. “I would, Tristan. I would believe anything you told me.”

“Not this.”

“Is it because…I'm too old? Is that why you won’t let yourself love me?”

“What? God, no. That's not it at all.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Oh, sweet, if only you knew...”

“Knew what? Please, tell me.”

He stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, and as he looked over at her, his eyes were so full it hurt her heart.

“Will you trust me, Lydia?” His gaze darted over to the detective’s report. “Can you? Even after that?”

Could she? She’d just admitted she loved him. Loving him meant trusting him. But how could she trust him when faced with the black and white facts in the detective's report. But facts were cold and hard. And Tristan was here and he was warm flesh and blood.

And, God help her, she did love him. She leaned towards him.

He put his arms about her. “Lydia, darling,” he whispered against her hair, his arms around her holding her close. “Please, please. Trust me. Trust me for just a little while longer.”

She tightened her arms about his waist. In spite of the pain of Douglas’s betrayal, her mother's desire to see her alone and unloved, and the detective's honest sincerity in the face of Lydia’s skepticism, she wanted…no…she needed to trust him.

She lifted her face from his chest and looked up into his eyes. “I want to trust you. But what about—?”

He stopped her mouth with the tips of his fingers. “I promise, when it’s time, I’ll answer all your questions.”

She had wanted to ask him about Rosemary Pryor, the elderly woman who had not been included in the detective’s written report. But at the stark entreaty in his eyes she remained silent.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll be patient. I’ll wait. I’ll wait for when you’re ready.”

He smiled. “Thank you. You don't know how much that means to me.” He leaned down and kissed her.

Their kiss deepened until Lydia was breathless, her head spinning. He eased her back against the couch. He pushed the report onto the floor. Moving his hands down her neck, the tips of his fingers trailed over her throat until they reached the front of her blouse. He unbuttoned it and clutched her breasts where they swelled out of her bra. He rasped his thumbs across the fabric until her nipples tightened underneath it

Sliding his lips down her neck, he nipped gently at her skin, his tongue licking her heated flesh. He moved his warm, moist mouth across the top of her breasts, his tongue dipping deep into her cleavage. Wetness from her sex seeped between her legs and dampened her panties as she feverishly pressed her breasts against his mouth.

He crouched over her, his thighs straddling her legs. He pulled her bra down her breasts. She arched her back, pushing her breasts deeper into his hands. He kneaded them, his fingers pinching her nipples into hard, aching nubs.

“Hmmm, I love your tits.” He lowered his head and wrapped his mouth about her nipple, wetly sucking and licking the stiff tip with his tongue.

Lydia tossed her head from side to side, a hot ache growing in her cunt. “Oh, Tristan, please, fuck me. Fuck me.”

He jerked her pants from off her hips, pulled them off her legs and tossed them to the floor. Grabbing her panties with both hands, the tore them apart and threw the torn fabric away. He gripped her thighs and pushed them apart, exposing her sex, which was wet and swollen with need.

He parted the moist, tender folds with his fingers then lowered his head and covered her pussy with his soft, warm mouth. He licked her sex, his long, pointed tongue twisting among the seeping whorls.

She moaned and twisted against the couch as he mercilessly teased her cunt with his lip, tongue, and teeth. She shuddered from her need to come. “Please, Tristan, please, oh, please. I want to come. Make me come.”

He held her shivering hips still and slid his tongue inside her, thrusting it softly, wetly, thickly. Then she felt it flicking across her clitoris.

She climaxed. Hard and deep. She shuddered beneath him, her eyes tightly shut. He quickly moved up her body. She reached up and unzipped his jeans. Moving her hand within, she took hold of his cock and eased it out. He slid it smoothly into the warm succulence of her sex. She moved her hips in tiny circles, the base of his cock rubbing against her clit.

“Yes, sweet. Hmmm, you feel so good.” He lowered his head and sucked her breast and as he did he fucked her. Hard. The way she liked it. The way she needed it.

“Yes, yes, harder, harder,” she gasped.

Tristan hammered his cock within her and with each hard thrust and each heated breath, he whispered her name. Over and over. She climaxed again. Then she felt his body stiffen and heard him groan as he pumped his seed inside her.

Once he was done, he lowered himself on top of her, his face nestled deep in her neck.

“Lydia,” he whispered. “My sweet.”

She put her arms around him and rubbed his back beneath his shirt. His skin was hot and damp with sweat.

“Thank you.” he said, his breath warm against her skin.

“For what? For this?”

He slowly raised his head and looked down into her eyes. “Yes, for this. Always for this.” He traced her lips with his finger. “But also for trusting me.”

Lydia's throat tightened. “I do trust you, Tristan.”

He smiled down at her. “Ready for bed?”

She looked at the clock on the living room wall. “It's only four.” Although, at this time of the year, it was close to dark already.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I know.” Then he grinned, his eyes glowing with lust. “But I wasn't planning on sleeping. Were you?”

She ran her hands through his hair and smiled. “No, not in the least.”

* * * * *

Lydia nestled her head against Tristan's chest. His heart beat under her ear just as the aftershocks of her last orgasm pulsed within her. Lying there in her bed, with her arms close around him, she felt as if a storm had cast her upon a strange and alien shore. But even as the languor of sleep stole over her, fear lashed her, like storm-tossed waves thrashing against a beach.

The fear that she'd made a terrible mistake trusting him. His breath had evened into deep slumber. And even as she sank into her own sex-exhausted sleep, she continued to cling to him. She clung to him like a buoy tossed about in a typhoon that bore his name.

* * * * *

Lydia suddenly awoke. She looked over at the alarm clock. The digital readout said 4:17.

4:17 in the a.m.

She sighed. Why had she woken up so early? Although it was a Monday, she was not scheduled to work at the store today and, usually, after a night of wild sex with Tristan, she would have slept until noon.

She smiled and looked over to where he lay next to her.

Her smile dimmed.

His side of the bed was empty.

She glanced at the bathroom door. It was open and the light was off. She sat up, the sheets falling from around her naked breasts. Rubbing at her eyes, she yawned. She was tempted to wrap up in the blankets and go back to sleep.

But that feeling that something had woken her persisted.

She got out of bed and, picking up her robe, which was on a nearby chair, she put it on. Her bare feet sank into the carpet as she made her way towards the closed bedroom door.

Hearing someone's voice from behind it she stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

It was Tristan's voice. But who was he talking to?

A trickle of fear slithered down her spine as old doubts and suspicions rose within her. She slowly turned the knob and eased the door open. The hallway leading from her bedroom to the living room was dark. Now she could clearly hear Tristan's voice. It came from the living room.

She padded silently down the carpeted hallway and stopped at the entrance to the living room. The lights were off here too. She could just make out Tristan's head and shoulders where he sat on the couch. His back was to her and he held a cell phone to his ear.

She frowned. Who could he be talking to this early in the morning? A part of her wanted to let him know she was there but another part—a part she was very much ashamed of—needed to remain unnoticed and undetected. She kept silent and listened.