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The feelings haven’t gone away, the ones that washed over me when I first laid eyes on him. When I opened the door, my chest went tight and a film of sweat covered my body. My sex giving an urgent pulse.
A deep-within place trembled, as though my womb was telling me this was it, him, the man I’m going to be with for the rest of my life.
I look across at him now, even as a blush makes my cheeks burn.
He’s at least six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered in a suit jacket the same shade of silver as his hair and a pair of dark very expensive looking jeans. His features are strong, his icy intense eyes narrowed.
His body looks like it’s about to burst out of the jacket, his arms massive.
How old is he?
At least forty, I’d say by the mature way he holds himself and the fact he has a daughter. The man is handsome enough to be on a magazine cover.
I bet he’s got the most beautiful wife. Or, if he’s not married, he’s probably got the hottest girlfriend.
There’s no way he’d be interested in a girl like me.
I have to remember that.
“I’m not sure how to start,” he says after a pause.
I reach for my coffee.
After we exchanged names, I almost ran into the kitchen, needing a few moments to compose myself before we went on.
Losing Lisa was painful enough. Being visited by the woman who owned her heart would’ve been even more painful.
But being visited by her father, who just so happens to set my heart racing and my whole world ablaze?
That causes nerves to flare, my belly swirl, and a voice to scream from within that I can’t act on these feelings, no matter how deafening they become.
“Me neither,” I admit.
He’s staring at me like he hates me. His forearms resting on his knees, his muscular body hunched over, his muscles flexing, it’s like he’s debating leaping across the coffee table and throwing me to the floor.
My sex sizzles at the thought, my core growing warm. But I’m sure his rage wouldn’t take the shape I achingly want it to.
He wouldn’t leap at me, his strong hand gliding up my thigh, pressing the heel of his hand against my core as I twitched my hips in time with his movements.
No, no.
I can’t let my mind go there.
“Are you Lisa’s sister?” he asks.
I shake my head. “She was my best friend. We grew up in the orphanage together and when we were old enough to leave, we did it together. We considered each other family. I guess that’s why she wanted us to meet.”
“My daughter’s worried you’re going to hate her,” Triston says, with a gruff rumbling in his voice.
“What? No.” I shake my head. “Your daughter didn’t take Lisa away from me. An icy road did. Bad luck did. I’m happy her death meant something. Well, not happy. But you know what I mean.”
I’m babbling. It’s difficult to keep my thoughts in order, my grief for Lisa warring with this primal feeling flowing through me, as though trying to take possession of my body.
Jump into his arms, a voice whispers. Hold on to him tight and never let him go.
I sigh, picking up my coffee, bringing it to my lips, and softly blowing on the steam. I need to distract myself.
Triston’s eyes snap to my pursed lips, his eyes narrowing. It’s like he’s disgusted.
Maybe his daughter asked him to come here on her behalf. He probably doesn’t even want to be here and resents having to speak with me.
“I’ll happily meet your daughter,” I say, averting my gaze, his eyes are so intense. “If she wants to. How is she doing?”
“Much, much better.” His lips twitch, as though trying to smile, but something tells me he doesn’t quite know how. “This morning she was in the garden, taking pictures. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her do that.”
“She’s a photographer?” He nods, and I go on in a rush, “So am I. At least, I want to be. I’m trying to be. I’m working as a cleaner and a waitress, so it’s difficult to find the time. And the equipment is so expensive. But I love photography.”
I cut myself off from going any further, realizing he probably doesn’t want to be bombarded like this. He’s most likely counting down the seconds until he can leave.
“That’s amazing.” His tone says the opposite, deep and husky. “I’ll let Alexis know. Maybe you can work on a project together or something. She’s going to be so happy when I tell her you’re not angry.”
“That would be nice,” I say. But I don’t know if it’s true.
How am I supposed to become friends with this man’s daughter?
That will mean seeing more of him, which will trigger even more of these confusing feelings.
